The apartment over the marina was exactly as small as I'd said. It had a window that looked at the bridge, a two-burner stove, a bed that folded out of the wall, and a shower that ran cold for the first ninety seconds. I bought a desk from a yard sale for forty dollars. I hung two pictures. I put a plant on the windowsill and promptly killed it and bought another one.
The second plant survived.
I took a job with a small accounting firm in town, three days a week, which paid less than the financial district and left me with the afternoons. I did the books for three boatyards and a bakery and a doctor's office. I got good at it. I was good at it before, but now it was mine, in my own name, in a town that didn't know who my husband was.
Foster saw me at the pier on my fourth day there. He
