Several weeks later, Nina went to see him under the arrangement she'd asked for and been given. Iris drove. She didn't ask whether Nina was certain, only where she wanted to be collected afterward.
Nina had practiced fastening the coat at home. The large button was easier than a zipper, but she needed the fabric held at the right angle and the healing hand still refused some movements. She left it open for the walk inside.
Adam stood when he saw her. His leg moved more carefully than it used to, but he no longer had to hold the table to remain upright. A person supervising the visit indicated where they should sit.
Nina put her bag on the floor beside her chair. She'd bought a smaller one. Even so, it had filled.
Adam looked at her right hand, then at her face.
“How is it?”
“Some days better.”
“Today?”
She moved the fingers as much as she wanted to show him. “Today I got the coat on by myself.”
He nodded. His mouth moved toward a smile, then stopped as though he wasn't sure whether she had meant it that way.
“You can smile,” she said.
“I didn't want—”
He stopped himself. She was grateful not to hear the explanation finish.
“How are you?” she asked.
He answered about the leg, the practical things, what he'd been asked and what he'd supplied through the inquiry. No dates for a future he couldn't promise. Nina listened until he began describing a document she already knew, then told him she didn't need to hear it again.
“Okay.”
They sat quietly. The table had a pale mark where something hot had once been put down. Nina could feel herself wanting to trace it, test whether it was raised or only discolored. She rested her left hand on her knee.
“I miss you,” he said.
She looked at him.
“I know that doesn't—”
“Adam.”
He stopped. She let a little time pass before answering.
“I miss you too.”
His face changed, hope arriving before he could prevent it. Nina watched him make room for the rest of her sentence, the thing he knew she hadn't promised.
“I don't know what I want to do about us.”
“All right.”
“I'm not saying I'll know next time.”
He nodded. He didn't ask whether there would be a next time.
She told him she'd gone back for some things from their house. Clothes, the tools she'd used years ago to put up the crooked shelves, a book she'd thought she'd lost. She'd left the table where it was.
“The leaf?” he asked.
“Against the wall.”
He smiled then, gently. “It took us four years to take it out.”
“We were busy.”
For a second she could see him beneath the table, laughing because she couldn't stop. The memory came without asking her to decide what it proved.
She let herself keep it.
When the visit ended, she picked up her own bag. Adam rose, but he stayed on his side of the table. There was no awkward attempt to make a familiar gesture fit what they were allowed now.
“Take care of the hand,” he said.
“I'm trying.”
Outside, Iris waited near the car with her coat buttoned to her chin. She straightened when Nina came through the door but didn't begin walking toward her.
Nina stopped on the path to fasten her coat. She had the button through once, almost, then lost the angle and had to begin again. Iris waited. A car passed behind her, tires making a soft noise on damp pavement.
The button went through. Nina pulled the two sides flat with her left hand and came down the path.
“Would you take this?” she asked, holding out the bag.
Iris took it and opened the car door.