Page 271 of The Forbidden Center

“Your floor.”

“Yes.”

I step out. She stays inside, and the doors close between us.

Colt opens the front door before I knock.

He is barefoot, wearing gray sweatpants and an old Stampede shirt. No brace. No tape. Nothing dramatic enough to tell me what Guerra said this morning.

His left hand hangs loose beside his thigh. I look at it anyway, and he catches me doing it.

“Had the appointment.”

“What did Guerra say?”

“Imaging. Full workup. A neurologist on Thursday whose name I can’t pronounce.” He leans a shoulder into the doorframe. “He also said I’m the first patient he’s had all year who didn’t argue with him, so I’ve got that going for me.”

“And you will tell me what they find?”

“You’ll know when I know.”

He steps back from the door and I walk inside.

Tova’s shoes are gone from beside the stairs. The piano is closed. Her purple cup is upside down beside the sink.

Colt follows my eyes to it.

“She left it.”

“I see.”

“I washed it.”

“I also see that.”

His mouth shifts. Mine almost does.

He closes the door and takes his phone out of his pocket. For a moment I think he is going to check it the way he checks it when he wants somewhere else to look. Instead he turns the screen around and holds it out to me.

Tova’s name at the top. One message beneath it.

27

“She sent that before I got my door shut,” he says.

I hand the phone back.

“She took it to bed with her. I let her.”

“I figured somebody let her.”

“I heard about the retirement.”

“Fast news.”

“Tova read it to me off her phone at breakfast. Twice. The second time she read the comments.”

“God help her.”