THE LAST HOUR OF SEVEN BELLS
The Morning After
The sun rose pale and cold.
Nora woke to the sound of rain tapping against the window. The room was gray, the light thin, the air damp. She lay still for a moment, listening to the rhythm of the drops, feeling the weight of the blanket on her chest.
Miles was already awake.
He sat in the chair by the window, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the parking lot. He looked tired. He looked older. He looked like a man who had been carrying a burden for too long.
“Did you sleep?” Nora asked.
“No.”
“Neither did I.”
“Liar. I heard you snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
“You do. It’s adorable.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
They ate breakfast at a diner down the road.
The coffee was weak, the eggs were greasy, the toast was cold. But it was warm. And it was food. And it was something to do.
“The police will be looking for you,” Nora said.
“I know.”
“You’re an escaped convict.”
“I’m a man who was granted a temporary release for a family funeral.”
“They let you out for my sister’s funeral?”
“They let me out because I have a good lawyer and a judge who believes in redemption.”
“Do you believe in redemption?”
He set down his fork.
“I want to.”
“But?”
“But I don’t know if I deserve it.”
Nora looked at her plate.
The eggs were cold.
The toast was cold.
The coffee was cold.
“None of us deserve redemption,” she said. “That’s what makes it a gift.”
“What do I have to do to earn it?”
“Nothing. That’s the point.”
They drove back to the city in silence.
The rain had stopped. The clouds had parted. The sun was bright.
Miles pulled up in front of her apartment building.
He killed the engine.
They sat.
“I have to go back,” he said.
“I know.”
“Will you visit?”
“I will.”
“Write?”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
She got out of the car.
She walked to her door.
She didn’t look back.