Instead she stands and gives me a hug. “Good luck Friday. Call me as soon as you leave. I’ll be waiting by the phone.”
I rest my cheek on her pointed shoulder, the tulle of her shirt scratching my skin, and breathe in her Lydia-ness. Patchouli and some kind of herbal hair spray. I forgot about having someone to call “as soon as you were done.” Henry could schedule a call down to the minute, but I could never call him “as soon as I left” anything. That was a girlfriend’s station, someone to dial as you were leaving a doctor’s office to tell her the sun spot was nothing, or send a picture of a new haircut, or text as soon as you got the job with lots of exclamations and smiley faces. The back of my brain skitters on the thought that maybe Caroline could be this person. I know what Cash said, and it has merit. But who’s to say we couldn’t be friends?
I promise to call and give a quick flitted finger wave in Elisa’s direction, who raises her chin and sniffs back at me, which is as good as I was likely to get. I didn’t bother going back into the warehouse, preferring instead to duck out unnoticed.
“See ya in a year!” Javi’s deep echo follows me out, chased by a chittering of laughter, echoing off the steel walls of the warehouse.
CHAPTER 16
The spread is not only above the fold, but spans two full pages in the Living section. Cash managed to hunt down and interview the board president of CARE, and true to his word the piece is entirely devoted to the charity. The event itself, a small subset of the entire article, was brilliantly tacked on at the beginning and the end to keep it in both the Living and Entertainment pages. He highlighted the organization’s purpose, our triumphs, where we’re lacking, what we specifically need funding for—our scholarship program, propelled by Amanda Natese—and some of the other success stories. I’ve been working on developing a program to improve book distribution in the city’s public schools, but I haven’t given it much thought in the past few days. Admittedly, the whole Caroline thing has taken up residence in my brain, edging out all else.
I smooth the crease of the page flat with my index finger and wipe the ink on a dish towel. I’m perched at the kitchen island, waiting for Henry. The apartment is restored, the break-in erased with a deft hand, the fingerprint powder scrubbed clean. The slashed sofa has been replaced—it’s not an exact replica, but a shade darker, a bit rounder and puffier. I wonder if there were surreptitious conversations about the sofa: I’d like it to be just the exact same size. Can it be slightly larger? It’s only slightly. Does she beg? Does she plead for Henry to accept her suggestions? Who holds the power between them? I can’t figure it out. Does Henry keep these conversations away from me purposefully? If I asked him, he’d say no. That he just has them at work. They’re minutiae, he’d say. Pat my hand.
Penny has left a tapas plate of Brie and olives to rest on the counter, and the apartment is heavy with the aroma of braised lamb. I pinch an olive and pop it in my mouth. Because it is Wednesday, Henry will have had a light lunch, takeout from the catered delivery service at the office. Wednesdays are beef and lamb days. My stomach rumbles and I lick my thumb and turn the page.
There is one photograph of me. The camera is behind me and I am talking to Sophia Restan, a B-list celebrity who was famous in the nineties for her antics as a spoiled heiress but who has become active in and supportive of the city’s charities. She attends almost all the CARE benefits with a different guest, someone with a large checkbook and the desire to impress his date. Our heads are bent together and we’re both smiling, but my features are barely distinguishable in profile. I nod slowly and exhale. It’s a good piece, focusing on the influence of the cause and how it has helped thousands of “system kids” graduate from high school, trade school, and sometimes college. The college graduates always come back.
I hear the elevator doors swoosh open in the hallway. Henry comes through the front door, dusting off the sleeves of his suit, his mouth tipped in a half-grimace.
“Hi!” I stand in his path, raised on my toes to kiss him, and he blinks twice like he’s forgotten who I am. He then leans forward and kisses me, distracted. Perfunctory.
“This goddamn city drives me crazy. I can’t go two blocks without walking under scaffolding and getting covered in sawdust.”
I study his suit and see nothing. I shake my head with a little smile, just to see how easy it will be to break his mood. He stops and smiles back at me. “I’m a grump. I’m sorry. I’ve spent most of the day arguing.”
I tug on his hand. “Come. Look at this.” In the kitchen, we pick at cheese and I fan the paper out in front of him. He reads it, nodding thoughtfully, his fingers tapping gently against the countertop. The bottom half of the second page is devoted to the event, and as his eyes travel down the page, his fingers stop tapping and he frowns.