"I wrote it all down," she said. "In case."
"I know. I read it. Every page."
"I didn't know if you'd believe it."
"I believed it before I got to February," he said. "I just needed a judge to believe it too, if it came to that. That's why it took so long. That's why I didn't say anything. My lawyer said you shouldn't have to carry a secret in this house, and she was right. But it meant you had to wait without knowing why. I'm sorry for that too."
She nodded slowly. Then she held out her right hand, the one Celeste had hit, palm down, on the brown paper between them, under the string lights. The red had faded, but there was still a faint mark across the knuckles.
He put his own hand over it. Gently. The way you'd cover a small bird.
"That doesn't happen again," he said. "Not by anybody. Not ever."
"Okay," she said.
They sat like that for a while. Then she pulled her hand out from under his, picked up the mallet, and pushed another crab toward him across the paper.
"You still have to do one by yourself," she said. "Without me helping. Or you lose."