Page 68 of Shatter

Walt knows what I am.

He's the only person alive in America who knows the name on my first passport, and why a nine-year-old boy got off a plane in Philadelphia with a plastic pouch around his neck and nobody to hug him goodbye.

He's never once asked me to talk about it.

"You sound different, son." His voice has gone soft around the edges. "Awake."

My eyes sting, and I can't answer.

"Twenty years, I've been waiting to hear you sound like that." He clears his throat, loud and gruff. "Don't screw it up."

"Yes, sir." It barely makes it out.

"And bring her up here sometime." The skillet starts clattering again. "I'll make scrapple."

I laugh, and it comes out cracked.

When he hangs up, I sit there on the floor of the hall with the phone against my knee for a long time before I go back in.

She's up, sitting against the headboard with the blanket pulled up to her chin.

Her face goes pink when I come in, and heat climbs into mine to match it.

She looks at me, then at the window, and her hands twist in the blanket.

"Hi." It comes out small.

"Hi." My hand stays on the doorknob. "You okay?"

She takes a breath.

"I want to open it." Her voice is steady, but her knuckles are white. "The drive. Tell Tor I'll show him. Tomorrow."

I don't move.

"You sure?" I keep my voice easy.

"No." She laughs, and it comes out shaky. "But I'm tired of holding it by myself."

My throat locks up.

"And tell Aesir yes." She lifts her chin. "About the bakery. If his wife still wants somebody."

* * *

Zizi's Treats sits between a nail salon and a closed-down insurance office on Thomasville Road, with a pink awning and a hand-painted sign in the window reading ‘Fresh Daily’ in loopy gold letters.

At a quarter to four on Monday morning, it's the only lit window on the block.

I park the truck across the street and kill the engine.

She sits in the passenger seat with her hands wrapped around a travel mug of coffee she hasn't touched, staring at the pink awning.

"You don't have to go in." I keep my hands on the wheel.

"I know." She doesn't look away from the window. "I want to."

A figure moves behind the glass, small and quick, and the front door opens.