The Vanishing Half

by Brit Bennett

She felt, again, overwhelmed by Early’s help, unsure of how she could ever manage to thank him. After they finished their drinks, she walked him to the boardinghouse. He tucked her hand under his arm as they climbed up the muddy steps and she didn’t pull away, not even once they were inside his room. She wasn’t drunk but the room suddenly felt hot. She hadn’t undressed in front of a strange man in years. Slowly, then. He was leaning against the worn dresser, waiting, and she pressed against him, trailing her hand down his stomach. He stopped her at his belt. “It’s just a start,” he said. “I ain’t no closer to findin her.” He held on to her hand, as if he understood that this was a condition for them to go any further. “All right,” she said. “I might not. She might just be gone. You know that, right?” She paused. “I know.” “I’ll look as long as you want me to,” he said. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” She wrested her hand free, slipping it under his black T-shirt. Her fingers brushed against a rough scar stretching across his stomach. He shivered. “Don’t stop,” she said.