I did not go back to his office. I went to the rehearsal because my mother begged, and because the A was already in the book.
Saturday’s invitation sat in my bag under the graded page. I had showered. It had not mattered. Two days and I could still feel the desk if I sat wrong, the low mean memory of ink drying while he leaked out of me. I put on a dress she picked, navy, knee-length, the kind of hem a daughter wears to meet the man her mother is about to marry. Under it, clean panties. They did not stay a plan. By the time I walked into the restaurant I was wet from nothing but his name on the reservation card.
Edward Hale was at the head of the table.
Same watch. Same mouth. Sleeves turned once, as if a rehearsal dinner were only another class he intended to finish. He stood when my m
