The Long Bench

Keir knew something had happened because Blythe let him knock twice.

Usually she opened before he finished the first knock, then pretended she had been passing the door. Tonight she came slowly, without a ribbon in her hair.

“I withdrew,” she said.

He took in her face before answering.

“From the conservatory.”

“Yes.”

He had imagined this moment, foolishly. In his imagination she had looked relieved, and he had known the right thing to do with his hands.

Now she looked exhausted. He kept his hands at his sides until she reached for his coat.

“Come in,” she said. “I don’t want to tell it in the doorway.”

He followed her into the kitchen. The clear vessel stood on the table, empty. Beside it, an ugly glass stem leaned at an angle that made him like it.

Blythe told him about the trial amber, the offer, the platform boards going…