Eduardo's Arc

Chapter 39 of 60

Friday came. Eduardo walked to the tea house at noon with his ledger under his arm. The old man had signed his week. Gwen had paid him for two mornings of pots. He wanted the white-haired woman to mark the book and then he wanted to go home. He did not want to hear Kiersten's name today. He had written what the old man told him and closed the book on it. That was supposed to be the end. The round tea house sat at the end of the lane, wooden and curled at the eaves. Lace cloths covered the porch tables. Eduardo climbed the steps and pushed the door open. The white-haired woman was already at her counter. She poured him a cup without asking. He set the ledger down. She read the entries. She read the line he had written under the old man's report. Her finger stopped there. She looked up. "Who is she," she said. "A friend of the woman I hurt." Eduardo kept his hands on the table. "She came to the feed store. She asked about the work. She left." "And you did not follow." "No." She signed the week. She closed the book. She poured herself a cup and sat down across from him. "She was here too," she said. "Wednesday. She sat where you're sitting. She drank the same tea. She asked me if I signed for a man named Eduardo. I told her I did. She asked why. I told her because he does not lie to me." Eduardo felt the pull start again. He pressed his palms flat on the wood. "She did not leave a message," the woman said. "She said thank you. She paid for her tea. She walked out." "Did she say where she was going." "No. And I did not ask." The woman set her cup down. "She is listening, Eduardo. She is asking the people who signed your book. She has not decided anything. She is only listening." He stared at the ledger. Two witnesses now. The old man at the counter. The woman at this table. Kiersten had gone to both. She had heard the same story twice and walked away twice. "What do I do," he said. "Nothing." Gwen's word, in another voice. "You keep the book. You do the work. You do not go find her. If she comes, she comes." "And if she doesn't." "Then the book is still true." He drank his tea. He paid what he owed for the cup. He walked home the long way, past the lane where the truck sat, and did not look at it. At the house he took down the ledger. He wrote the date. He wrote: Two witnesses spoken to. She is still listening. I will not go. He closed the book. He picked up his hammer. Twenty-seven days left. The siding was still waiting.