Page 47

"You did."

"And then I put your daughter's drawing under my grandmother's photograph and sat at the kitchen table, and I thought, if he doesn't come, I'll go down there in the morning, and I'll knock on the door, and I'll say it myself." She looks up at me. "I love you. I know it's been two days. I know it's absurd. I love you anyway."

The world goes completely still.

I've been told I'm charming my whole life. I've always had something to say. Now I stand on an old woman's porch in the lantern light with every word I own scattered. I put my hands on either side of her face. She turns her cheek into my palm and shuts her eyes.

"I love you." It comes out plain and quiet, without a single joke. "Carolina. I love you. It's been fifty-two hours."

"You counted."

"I'm a detail man."

She laughs, wet and breathless, and I kiss her.

It isn't hungry. It's slow and steady, my mouth warm against hers. Her hands come up and close in the front of my flannel and hold on. She tastes of salt and coffee. Her whole body leans into mine, soft and full against my chest. I put my arms around her and feel her shake. I hold her through it.

The porch light hums over our heads. Somewhere far off the owl calls again. Nobody comes up the lane.

When I lift my head she's smiling, her eyes bright and swollen. I thumb a tear off her cheek and then, because I can't help it, touch the small mark under her ear.

"Did I do that?"

"Dolores will have an opinion."

"Dolores has an opinion about everything."

"I'm counting on it." She takes my hand. "Come inside. It's freezing, and I have a lot of questions."

"Such as?"

"Such as, when do I get to meet your daughter properly?"

"Tomorrow, if you like." I follow her into the hall. She shuts the door and, after a second's hesitation, presses the button in the knob. "She's owed a real goodbye, and I'd like to get her a real hello."

"I'm painting the barn doors in the afternoon. White. I'm going to need a detective."

"She has school."

"After school."

"She'll lose her mind."

"Good." Carolina leans back against the door and looks at me. "Bring a notebook. I need a statement on the paint color."

I laugh. I put one hand on the door beside her head and bend and kiss her again. The kitchen light falls over both of us. On the table behind her I can see the corner of a sheet of construction paper, pinned under a framed photograph of a woman on a ladder. Nell looks out at me with her sleeves rolled. She seems to be considering whether I've done it properly.

"She approves," Carolina murmurs against my mouth.

"You said she was a terrible judge of character."

"I revised my opinion."

She takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. They creak under both of us, each one with a long low note. At the third from the top I stop. She stops too. The old board sounds under my boot with a long, loud complaint.

"Honest," I say.

"Always," she says, and pulls me into the room.