LYSSARA
I told him about the examination table on a Friday night.
Not because Friday required it. Because he had given me Serael and the Tuesday and the anger at a woman who died before the arrival, and what had moved between us across two evenings had the specific quality of something that had traveled in one direction long enough that the other direction was now owed.
He had given me the inside of things.
I owed him the same.
We were in the study. Not the terrace. The terrace was for the ordinary evening meeting. And this was not going to be an ordinary evening. The study had the specific quality of a room that had already held difficult things and knew how to hold them without making them larger than they were.
He had made tea.
I had not touched mine.
“I need to tell you somethi
