"Yes."
"The one from the hospital with a little girl?"
"Yes."
He laughed loud, on the porch in the cold, the laugh more release than humor and more for me than him.
He shook his head. "Beau, how?"
"I don't know."
"How did you manage that?"
"I don't know, Cade."
He took a sip and looked at me.
"Does she know?"
"No."
"Does she feel the same?"
"I think so. It's harder for her. She has more to lose. She has a kid, the whole situation of what it is to be a single mother, and getting it wrong with me is — getting it wrong with me costs her something it doesn't cost me. So she's being careful."
He nodded.
"But with this — " I gestured at the house, the cold, the world — "with Dad. I think I'm going to tell her."
He looked at me for a long second. "You do that."
He turned back to the rail and drank his coffee.
I drove home with the envelope in the inside pocket of my jacket, pulled into the garage, sat in the car, and didn't get out.
The envelope was against my ribs.
I pulled out my phone and texted her.
Beau
I need to see you.
The dots came up immediately.
Sabrina
When?
Beau
Now?
A pause. A longer pause. The dots came up, disappeared, and came up again.
Sabrina
I have to drop Bonnie at piano. After that, I'm off for the night. Bonnie has a sleepover later too.
