At the shop entrance, I shake out my umbrella. Once inside, I take off my slicker and rain bonnet and hang them in the back room. Glancing in the mirror above the restroom sink, I admire my hair once more. I brush a bit of rainwater from the hem of my indigo-blue skirt, which I have paired with my favorite chartreuse sweater and a long string of blue and yellow glass beads; a bright outfit to cheer up a damp day.
Frieda is at the counter, drinking coffee and smoking. I wave my hand in front of her. “I really wish you wouldn’t smoke in the shop.”
She inhales, then puffs out. “And a good morning to you, too.”
“Honestly.” I pour myself a cup of coffee, deliberately place my stool beyond the reach of her fumes, and sit down. “It turns away customers, Frieda.”
She lets out a laugh. “Since when?”
“Since always.” I don’t know why I’m picking a fight with her. I just feel irritable. And uneasy.
Frieda has the newspaper spread in front of her on the counter. She is scanning the help-wanted section. “Looking for a job?” I ask, glad for an excuse to change the subject.
She shakes her head. “Looking for inspiration.” She glances around. “We have to do something, Kitty. We barely made the rent this month; I don’t see how we’re going to make it in November. And if we’re not staying, we ought to tell Bradley immediately.”
She’s right. We did make the October rent, but we had to scrape to do it. Frieda says we will have to delay our loan payment this month, hoping to see a little capital come in before the loan is past due on the fifteenth. But I’m glad we at least paid Bradley. I always feel bad when we are late on our payment to Bradley.
Even so—even though we sometimes pay late and a few times we did not pay at all—I know Bradley would be disappointed to lose us. Chances are, another tenant would not come along easily, not with the lack of business on Pearl Street these days.
“Maybe we can negotiate a lower rent,” I suggest. “That would be better for Bradley than having us leave, wouldn’t it?”
Frieda shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says snappily. “And anyway, what good would that do?” She looks around again. “How long can we stay here, anyway, with no business? Ask yourself that, Kitty.”
I think about University Hills, the shopping center in my dream. Except, of course, it is not made up. That shopping center actually exists. “Have you ever been to University Hills?” I ask Frieda. “The shopping center way down south, on Colorado Boulevard?”
“Once,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette. “It seems so far out of town.” She looks thoughtful. “But everything is far out of town, these days, isn’t it?”
I nod. “May-D&F has a store there, and they probably carry books. But I wonder if there is any other bookstore in the shopping center.”
Frieda looks at me carefully. “Would you even consider it?” she asks. “You’ve shot down the idea of moving to a shopping center—you’ve shot it down numerous times, Kitty.” She stands and looks out at the rain. “Why the change of heart?”
I shrug. “Things are changing, aren’t they?” I ask her quietly. “The world is changing.” I step closer to Frieda, feeling the heat of her body next to mine, smelling her smoke-and-perfume scent. Stinky, but familiar. “We have to keep up,” I say. “Or else get out of the way and let someone else pass us by.”
That afternoon, Frieda and I close early and take a little excursion to University Hills. We have to ride two buses to get there, and it’s still raining, so we are both soaked by the time we arrive. Stepping off the bus, we scan the large parking lot. “All these cars,” Frieda says, shaking her head in wonder. “Where do they come from?”
I point to the west, the south, where new neighborhoods and houses are cropping up like dandelions in a garden plot. “Out there,” I say. “You wouldn’t believe it if you saw it.”
Frieda glances at me. “Have you seen it?”
I nod, hoping she won’t ask more. The rain is letting up, and the sun is starting to poke through. We turn and begin walking along the pathway. The shopping center is exactly as I remember it from my dream. The outsize concrete planters, the piped-in music. The strolling mothers and children. I half expect to see my own self, with Mitch and Missy in tow, walking toward us.
There’s a shopping center directory posted next to one of the planters, and Frieda and I scan the listings, looking for a bookstore. We find none. “Let’s see if there are any available spaces,” Frieda suggests, almost in a whisper.
As we walk along, she suddenly takes my hand. “Kitty,” she says. “Thank you for doing this with me.”
I shrug. “I know it’s what you want.” I gently squeeze her hand. “And we’re just looking, right? Don’t get your hopes up.”
Frieda nods slowly, but I see the sparkle in her eyes. “Just looking,” she says dreamily. “We’re just looking.”
Chapter 13
I wake up alone in the sage-green bedroom. Lars’s side of the bed is empty, the covers rumpled. Putting my hand out and feeling the warmth under the sheet where he was lying, I guess that he arose not long ago. I leave my hand there for what seems like a long time.
After rising and putting on my robe, I enter the hall and turn into the living room. To my left, I can see the dining room. It isn’t a separate room but rather an extension of the living room, the way it was at the Nelsons’ house and the way it so often is in these modern houses. Both the living and dining rooms have pale, faintly golden-hued walls and coved ceilings. The low-pile aqua carpeting matches the color of the front door, I note with self-approval. The dining room features a lustrous oak table; six chairs surround it, upholstered in nubby turquoise fabric. Near the head of the table, under the window, is a small wooden school desk, not unlike those that filled the classroom back in my teaching days. There is a faintly sour smell in the air, but I cannot make out what it is.
Along the back wall of the dining room are several sets of dark wood, shutter-style doors; two are cabinet-height with a counter jutting out below them, and the other is a saloon-style doorway, leading, presumably, to the kitchen. The cabinet-height shutters are closed, but I can see that when opened, they would provide access from the kitchen to the dining room. Quite handy, I think, should the cook be preparing a meal in one room and serving it in the other.