Enchanted August (27 page)

T
he East Seventeenth Street place felt so small and so dark and dirty when Robert got home. His bags and shoes and fleeces from Maine crowded the front entryway. He'd need to get that food into the fridge. And some of the shirts were damp and would have to be taken out of their plastic bags, pronto.

But not yet.

Robert went over to his pigeonhole desk, which took up too much space in his living room/dining room/kitchen. It was the one thing he had taken from Hopewell for his apartment, a little piece of Little Lost in the big city.

He reached into one of the cubbies. Not there. Tried another. Aha.

He drew out a stack of index cards. “The Rule of Robert's Sign,” he said. And he tore them into very small pieces, one by one.

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