By eight o’clock, the Columbus dampness had settled into the floorboards of my duplex. Brenda stood in the center of my small kitchen, her hand resting near the pocket of her faded floral apron.
I handed her the envelope containing eight hundred and fifty dollars in cash. She did not count it, she just slipped it into her pocket with a practiced, heavy sigh.
“The nursery upstairs is going to need some paint before the cold weather locks the windows shut,” Brenda said, her eyes drifting toward the empty space near the pantry where a high chair would go. “Is the father helping with the painting?”
“He has a lot of details to finish with his lawyer first,” I said, my finger finding the silver ring again.
Brenda patted her pocket, the cash crinkling slightly under her palm. “A child needs a roof that is paid for by someone who stays the night, dear.”
She left through the back door, leaving the smell of laundry detergent and cold air in the drafty hallway. I locked the bolt and turned off the kitchen overhead light.
In the bedroom, the small crib catalog I had ordered online lay unopened on the nightstand next to the lamp. The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator downstairs.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled up the call log on my phone from Thursday afternoon. The screen glowed in the dark room, showing three outgoing calls to Jack at two o’clock, all of them missed.
Then there was his single return call at four, and the text message he had sent right after. I opened the message and read the words again.
“I had a late meeting with a client, Rebecca, please understand.”
I stared at the timestamp of his message, then looked at the calendar hanging on the wall. The client meeting log at the office was always cleared by noon on Thursdays.
