Chapter 10

On Wednesday the board read 0.

Halene met me at the viewing-room counter before the window came on.

She set two cups of the hall's gray coffee on the counter and pushed one my way.

"You go through at ten."

"I know."

I could hear the wall clock now, the second hand stepping over the silences.

Below, Kit was dressed for dispatch, clipping her transit ID to her waist at the kitchen sink.

The letter was in her back pocket.

I watched her fill a water bottle and screw the cap on with the flat of her palm.

Then her phone buzzed, and she answered it with her shoulder against the cabinet.

"Yes, I understand the amount," she said. "Eighteen-sixty. I can do three payments of six-twenty, out of my dispatch checks, starting Friday."

The voice on the other end went on for a while.

"No. The house hasn't sold. It isn't even listed yet. I'm not counting on it."

She listened.

"Then put it in writing, and I'll sign it."

I thought of the months I'd hidden my own late notices from her.

She had just said that number out loud to a stranger without lowering her voice.

I never managed that.

She dialed again.

"Hi, it's Kit Pike in dispatch. I need to drop my Saturday."

"Yes, I know it's a paid shift."

"No, I don't want to put a reason on the form."

She hung up and didn't look at the window.

I didn't ask the glass what Saturday was for.

I had a good guess, and I knew better than to be sure.

"She hasn't said it," Halene said.

"I know."

"Then why are you still standing here?"

"Because I still want one more day to wait for something I didn't earn."

Halene said nothing.

Then she straightened her cardigan and walked me to the far door.

On the way down the hall I did what I'd done every morning, and went through Kit from the beginning to see what was left.

Kit at nine, in her concert dress on the front steps, not speaking to me.

Kit at twenty, with a duffel bag. Kit at thirty-eight, braiding her hair at my sink.

I could still find the baby, but not her laugh.

I could still find a small red bike lying in an alley.

I could not find what my hands had done on it.

The place was clean, the way a drawer is clean after someone empties it.

But I knew the woman at the sink was Kit, and I knew she was mine.

That was most of what I'd need.

The door was gray, the same gray as the chairs, with a handle worn bright in the middle.

I took the cough drop out of my jeans, lint and all, and held it out.

"It's all I've got that's mine."

Halene put it in her cardigan pocket, next to the slips.

"Don't make this a ceremony," she said.

At 9:52 I understood there wasn't a negotiation.

I had used both signals and lost both memories.

I didn't have another lever, and I didn't have another excuse.

Below, Kit touched the counter where the letter had been and pressed her thumb flat against the fake wood.

She didn't speak.

She didn't look up.

Then Halene