“Tomorrow. I want to sleep in my own bed Saturday night.”
“I’ll call Pereira tomorrow morning,” Farrow said. “She can drive us in. I’ll move some things over from my place for the first week.”
“You’re moving in?”
“I’m staying with you while you heal.”
“That’s what we tell Stanley.”
“Agreed, but after you heal, I’m moving in.”
Farrow’s phone buzzed on the counter.
He picked it up, read it, and turned it toward me.
Wiley:Stanley wants to know if you and Dane will come to dinner Sunday. Samuel is making something elaborate. Bring wine.
I read it twice and looked up at Farrow.
“Yes,” he said.
He thumbed a reply and set the phone down.
He stood and moved around to my side of the table. He stopped at my shoulder and placed his hand against the back of my neck. His thumb moved once against my hairline, settled, and stayed.
With the other hand, he turned my chin enough to share a kiss. “I’m already home,” he said.
Epilogue - Farrow
Iwas at the kitchen island with theGlobeopen to the metro section and the second half of a coffee I’d let go lukewarm. Dane was on the couch behind me, sock feet on the ottoman, reading something on his phone. It was six weeks out from the Harcourt wedding, and he still favored the leg when he stood up too fast. He put the crutches in the closet a week ago and didn’t bring them back out.
I slid off the stool and went to the door to gather the mail.
We had two pieces. It was a heating bill and a postcard with international postage and no return address.
The front was a gray European street, narrow and slick with what looked like recent rain. There was no caption or tourist text along the bottom.
I knew who it was from before I turned it over.
On the back side, one letter, printed out and pasted on, large and centered.
K.
It was dated three days earlier.
I stood at the door with the mail in my hand and didn’t move.
“Blaise.”
Dane was up. I hadn’t heard him come over. He was at my shoulder, close enough that I could smell the bergamot of the soap he’d started using because he liked the bar I kept in the shower.
I held the card up so he could see.
He read it.
“Where?” he asked.
“Somewhere it rains in January and the streetlamps are old.”