“It is fine, Claire,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “I have it under control. Go get some sleep.”
“You look exhausted,” I said.
He adjusted his tie, though he had already unbuttoned his collar. His fingers lingered on the silk knot.
“I am going to work in the garage loft,” he said, picking up his computer and the charging cord. “The lighting is better down there, and I will not keep you awake with the typing.”
He did not wait for me to answer. He walked past me, his shoulder brushing mine in the narrow hallway.
I stood in the center of the office, looking at the dark wood desk. The key to the heavy metal filing cabinet was gone from the little brass hook behind the door.
I walked down the stairs to the laundry room off the kitchen, leaving the lights off. The washer sat silent, a load of sheets waiting inside.
I reached into the pocket of my housecoat and pulled out the small piece of paper I had taken from Daniel’s dresser while he was brushing his teeth.
It was a forty-one dollar dinner receipt from a local bistro, dated for the previous Thursday when he said he was in Raleigh.
The physical receipt crinkled in my hand as I stood alone in the dark laundry room.
I smoothed the receipt flat, tucked it deep into my pocket, and waited for the morning.
By three the next afternoon, the dining room was filled with the heavy, clean scent of polished oak floor wax. I had spent the morning working the paste into the floorboards on my knees, trying to clear the static from my mind.
Eleanor stood at the long mahogany sideboard, her fingers lifting the heavy silver soup spoons from their velvet-lined box. She handled each piece as if she were inspecting it for a flaw.
“We will need twelve place settings this year, Claire,” she said, her voice carrying that thin, practiced lightness.
I laid out the thick flannel pads across the table to protect the wood from the hot serving dishes. My hands were still stiff from the morning’s scrubbing.
