She flinched.
“I thought you would tell me it was not my fault.”
“It was not your fault that he hit me. It was your responsibility that you watched.”
She nodded slowly.
“I know.”
That answer mattered more than an apology would have.
I poured coffee into a clean cup and placed it in front of her.
She looked at it but did not touch it.
“Why the fourth chair?” she asked.
“Robert’s letter explains some of it.”
“And the rest?”
I looked at the empty place across from us.
“Robert used to say that a table should always have room for one more honest person.”
Marissa’s lips trembled.
“I have not been honest.”
“Not until today.”
She held the cup between both hands.
For the first time since she had entered my life, she looked younger than her fear.
“I do not know where I can go.”
“You can stay in the guesthouse until you find a place. You will pay for your own food and utilities.”
She looked up.
“You would let me stay?”
“I am not offering you forgiveness as a room.”
“I understand.”
“You will speak with the investigator. You will give back every document you took. You will not enter my house without knocking.”
“I understand.”
“And you will never call me confused, incapable, or helpless again.”
Marissa lowered her head.
“I will not.”
The fourth chair remained between us.
