Chapter 1: The Note Left Over

He picked out the beginning of a tune he had been teaching himself. His left hand stayed in his pocket. When he reached the note, he slowed, then continued to the end of the phrase.

Nora Bell came in carrying a plate under a dish towel.

“Is that the one?”

“It’s close,” Ada Mercer said. “I’d like to check it again.”

“I thought I heard it yesterday.”

The boy took his hand out of his pocket and rubbed the side of his thumb.

Ada Mercer closed the keyboard cover gently. “Let it have a little time. Then we’ll see.”

“Whenever suits you.”

The answer came so quickly that there was no room for the rest of the explanation she had prepared.

At the table, Nora Bell lifted the towel. The bread had been cut thickly and buttered while hot. A small jar of jam stood beside the plate, with a clean spoon laid across its lid.

“Sit while it’s warm.”

“We should catch the bus.”

“There’s another.”

Ada Mercer glanced at the boy, who had already picked up his coat. He waited with it hanging from his hand.

“Unless you have somewhere,” she said.

“I don’t.”

She sat. He draped the coat over his chair again, catching the sleeve this time before it touched the floor.

Her cup had a handle broad enough for two fingers. She remembered it from the previous visit, although she could not have said whether it was always given to her. There were other cups in this house. This one had a brown line inside the rim that washing had not removed.

Nora Bell pushed the plate closer.

“The ends are a bit hard. Leave them.”

Ada Mercer took an end. The crust broke loudly between her teeth, making the room go distant for an instant. When she could hear again, the boy was explaining that the city had moved their bus stop past the pharmacy.

“Only while they fix the curb,” he said.

“That makes it a walk with the bag.”

“He’s young,” Ada Mercer said.

“It’s not heavy,” he said, although it was.

Their hostess sat down with her own cup. She did not begin clearing things or stand waiting for them to finish. She complained about a kitchen drawer that opened by itself whenever the washing machine ran, and the boy suggested a folded piece of cardboard. Ada Mercer listened while they considered where to put it.

She knew how to fix the drawer properly. The thought rose, ready for use. She took another bite of bread instead.

On the table, beside the bowl of buttons, lay an envelope with her name on it.