Chapter 57
We spend another evening barely talking to each other, but at least we keep things civil enough to avoid an all-out argument.
Sam doesn’t even try to follow me into the bedroom when I rise from the couch at ten and declare that I’m getting an early night.
He eventually slinks in two hours later and climbs quietly into bed, then lies facing away from me.
Apparently, one night on the couch was enough.
I sleep late on Saturday morning. When I wake up, the bed is empty and there’s a text message on my phone. Sam has gone into the office to finish up some work he couldn’t complete before the weekend.
Weak sunlight filters in through the shades.
A faint breeze stirs the air when the heating unit kicks on.
In our old place back in Jamaica Plain, I would almost certainly have heard our neighbors having one of their regular weekend fights, bleating car horns on the street outside, and the distant wail of sirens from the firehouse on Centre Street.
Here, though, there is nothing. The Glendale’s construction is so sturdy that I doubt a twenty-one-gun salute would penetrate its walls.
At least if I ignore the crying baby I’ve been hearing.
The one Sam thinks is all in my head. Thankfully, it isn’t crying right now.
I linger in bed for another half hour—it’s the weekend, right?
—then reluctantly decide that I need to get moving.
But when I swing my legs off the bed and stand up, a sharp, piercing pain shoots up my leg from my foot.
I let out a startled yelp and sit back down on the bed, then pull my foot up and examine the sole.
A small glob of blood oozes from a pinprick on my heel.
Confused, I look down, searching for the cause of my injury.
And there, on the floor next to the bed, I see a delicate gold earring.
But not just any earring. Because when I reach down and snatch it up, I recognize the cascade of shimmering rough green gemstones that dangle between my thumb and index finger as part of a one-of-a-kind, handmade set that Kalina was wearing at the Glendale’s monthly cocktail party and our dinner party.