Chapter 1
His hand was already on my zipper when I realized he wasn't going to ask first.
That was the collision. His fingers, pale under the cuff of that white coat, the black watch band tight against his wrist, pinched the little metal tab at the center of my chest. My hands were lower, both of them fisted into the fleece of my gray hoodie, knuckles white, hood up around my ears so I could hardly hear anything except my own breathing. I was crying so hard my cheeks were wet and cold, my mouth open, and I couldn't get enough air. He pulled up, just a half inch, careful, like he was trying not to scare me. I pulled down, hard. The zipper didn't move. For a second we just stayed like that, his grip at the top and mine at the bottom, the jacket stretched tight between us.
He was at his peak then, not loud, not mean, just absolutely sure he was supposed to do this. The hallway behind him was that pale bluish-gray color they paint clinics, the white floor shining under the fluorescent lights, the dark trim along the baseboard. Everything was clean and bright and too quiet except for me.
That morning I'd zipped it myself in the entryway.
It was maybe three seconds after he first touched the zipper when the door at the far end of the hallway banged open. I didn't see it clearly because I yanked back and the camera in my memory blurs there too — I remember the pale wall rushing past, an out-of-focus smear, my hands still locked on my jacket, my chest heaving. Heavy breathing filled the hall. Then boots. Light gray coveralls came into view, brown work boots hitting the white floor one step at a time, coming toward us from the narrow end of the hallway. The man in them was walking slow, deliberate, like he already knew he shouldn't run.
And then the line came, exactly when he appeared. I heard it from behind me, not from the man in coveralls, but from the doorway near the front desk. A woman's voice, frightened, not shouting, just flat and fast.
"There's a muffler. Call 911. Lock the doors. Don't let him leave."
The white coat's hand froze on my zipper. He didn't let go. He turned his head just enough to look down the hall toward the boots, then back at me. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead. My tears kept coming. I could taste salt. The man in coveralls stopped about ten feet away, his hands at his sides, breathing hard too. No one moved to lock anything yet.
The white coat crouched a little so his eyes were level with mine. His light blue shirt cuff showed under his sleeve. He tried again, his thumb and finger barely lifting the zipper tab near my collar, not pulling, just holding it.
"I just need to check," he said quietly. "It'll be quick."
I knew what was under there. I knew what he'd see. My fists tightened.
"Nothing's under there," I said.
It was a lie and we both knew it the second I said it. My voice cracked on nothing. His eyes dropped to my hands, to the way the fleece bunched around my fingers, and I saw his jaw shift, a tiny micro-expression I didn't understand then but can't forget now. He didn't argue the lie. He just breathed out slowly through his nose.
"You're holding it awful tight for nothing," he said.
That was his quiet call-out. No anger in it. Just a sad, careful observation that pinned me worse than if he'd yelled.
I stared at his black watch, at the second hand ticking, and the hallway felt like it got narrower.
"Please don't open it," I said.
May you like
He didn't open it. Not then. He let his hand rest lightly on the zipper without pulling, and I kept holding the bottom like if I let go I'd fall. Behind him, over his shoulder, I could see the man in coveralls still standing in the hallway, pale walls boxed in around him, and past him the glass doors at the entrance. Someone near the desk was reaching for the phone. Someone else was reaching for the lock.
The white coat shifted so his shoulder was between me and the hallway, his back to the man in coveralls, facing me completely. The shallow depth made everything else blur except his coat and the edge of my gray hood. The light didn't change. The zipper stayed closed between us. The door was about to click shut.
