The brooch looked smaller outside its box. Coralie held it over her bedroom table, the blue stone catching a pale square of morning light. Gareth’s mother had lent it to her for the wedding. She had been touched at the time, pleased to be trusted with something that had belonged to the family longer than …
Stellan was waiting by the park gate, holding nothing. Coralie noticed that first. He wore his work pants and a clean shirt, and he looked as though he had been standing there long enough to regret arriving early. “Hello,” he said. “Hello.” He did not reach to kiss her. She was glad of the restraint …
Bryony was already at the café when Coralie arrived, sitting with her back to the wall and both hands around a glass of water. She had chosen a table for two. Coralie was grateful that there was no empty chair in which to imagine Stellan. “Hello.” “Hi.” Coralie sat. Bryony looked at her bag, then …
Lenore opened the door with a dish towel over one shoulder and looked at Coralie’s face. “What happened?” “Could I come in before you decide?” Her aunt moved aside. “I’ve decided nothing.” Coralie followed her into the kitchen. She had come because Farah was at a family birthday and because sitting alone with her phone …
Bryony opened the door. For one second Coralie was relieved. It seemed a good sign that Stellan had not positioned himself in the hall to manage the first moment. Then Bryony looked at the flowers in her hand and said, “Oh. Is Dad expecting you?” Coralie’s smile held by habit. “Yes. He invited me for …
Coralie woke to the sound of Stellan dropping something in the kitchen. He said a word she had heard several times the night before, though with a different meaning. She smiled into the pillow and listened. A cupboard shut. Water ran. He was trying to be quiet and failing with impressive consistency. She reached across …
Coralie changed her mind about the overnight bag at the end of her street. She pulled the car over, looked at the small bag on the passenger seat, and considered going back. Bringing it seemed presumptuous. Leaving it seemed like pretending she had not spent most of Sunday imagining Stellan’s hands on her. She put …
At seven fourteen, Coralie woke and knew the date before she knew the weather. She lay still. A car went past below the window. Someone in the next apartment turned on a shower. There ought to have been other women in the room, a kettle going, a disagreement about the time. She had imagined being …
The mark was on the inside, no larger than Coralie’s thumb. She held the lining toward the window, changed the angle, and saw it again: a pale brown shadow near the waist. It had been hidden by a fold when Bryony wore the dress. There was no reason to make a calamity of it, but …
The sixth chair would not fit. Coralie turned it sideways, caught its back against a shelf of cotton prints, and stood with one foot trapped beneath the table. Petra watched from the doorway. Neither of them said anything until Coralie freed her shoe. “Five people,” Petra said. “You can stand.” “I thought sitting would make …
