I remembered Dustin laughing as he jingled the loose keys in his pocket and walked out the door without looking back.

I walked into my tiny kitchenette and turned on the tap.

I needed to do something with my hands before I lost my nerve completely.

I picked up the embroidered cloth napkin I had brought back from Beatrice’s house.

I had washed it by hand yesterday in this very sink, scrubbing away a faint coffee stain.

It was heavy linen, stitched with bright yellow daisies along the border.

My grandmother used to let me fold these napkins when I was seven years old.