17 The Red Stain
When Thom waves to Sarah as she gets to the corner, he is practically in the garden a millisecond later. Yet before the notebook, he shrinks. He takes steps towards it but appears to be moving further away. It looks like a person who has jumped from a building; pages bent and twisted at awkward angles, opened with the words bare like a person’s body ripped open on impact.
He kneels beside it, a parishioner atoning his sins, a man humbled by greatness. He touches the pages, feels the ink impressions that are harsh and definite and tries to press them flat. Yet, he can’t force them to retreat; they are as strong as the day they were written.
Thom sags against the back of the house and drags the notebook onto his lap. He smooths down the pages and closes it. Even the cove
