My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring of keys, his fingers tracing the brass edges. “The file is still in my desk.”
“Which file?” I asked.
He didn’t answer, but his fingers kept moving over the small brass keys in his palm. He walked past me into the dark hallway, his soft leather slippers making no sound on the carpet.
The wind had picked up when I went back outside, rustling the dry hydrangeas along the foundation of the house. Christopher was standing by the stone wall again, his hands deep in his coat pockets.
“My father doesn’t think you did it,” I said, walking up beside him.
He didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the yellow light coming from my mother’s bedroom window on the second floor. “He is a decent man who wants to keep his home quiet.”
“Why did you agree to come here, Christopher?” I asked, looking at his profile in the dark. “When I asked you in the park, you didn’t even hesitate.”
He turned his head slowly, his thumb brushing his coat lapel before he answered. “I saw your registration card on the dashboard when we got into your car.”
