John Saul - Midnight Voices

“And I certainly wouldn’t want you to,” Caroline agreed. “What on earth are you doing over here? I thought you lived on the West Side.”

Irene’s laugh pealed again. “I do. But I’m killing three birds with one stone: I love to walk, and I adore shopping. And I quite liked you and your children this morning, so I decided to drop by.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you.” She eyed the vase balefully. “May I assume you don’t really want the vase?”

“Of course I want it!” Irene exclaimed. “I think it’s positively wonderful.” Rummaging in her bag — a huge, satchel-like object that was entirely covered with an intricate needlepoint pattern and looked to Caroline as if it might well be an antique itself — she extracted a gold money clip whose ornate engraving was almost worn away with age. “Is there a charge for delivery?”

“Of course not,” Caroline assured her, calculating the immense profit Claire would be making on the hideous vase even as she made out the sales slip. “I’m sure we can get it to you on Monday. Or if you’d like, I could even bring it to you this afternoon, when I get off.”

“Oh, no, Monday will be fine,” Irene assured her. “Bad enough that you have to be away from your children all afternoon.” Unfolding the bills the clip held, she carefully counted out the money, recounted it, then handed it to Caroline. “Just send it along to 10 °Central Park West.”

Caroline’s mouth dropped open. “The Rockwell?” she asked as if she could scarcely believe what she was hearing. “You’re kidding!”

One of Irene’s thin, penciled eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “You know the building?” she inquired, her voice cooling a couple of degrees.

Caroline felt herself coloring. “Oh, I’m sorry — I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that I was walking by your building this morning and my son—” She faltered, suddenly realizing she was digging herself in even deeper than she already was. But now Irene was smiling again, and she leaned a little closer.

“Did he tell you it’s where the witches live?” she asked, dropping her voice to an exaggerated whisper and peering around the shop as if searching for hidden eavesdroppers. As Caroline’s blush deepened, Irene’s laugh pealed forth once more. “Believe me, we’ve heard all the stories. My personal favorite is that our doorman is a troll who sleeps under one of the bridges in the park at night. Poor Rodney,” Irene chuckled. “True, he’s not the handsomest man in the world, but I don’t think he quite qualifies as an ogre.”

“I’m afraid I hadn’t heard any of them until this morning,” Caroline replied, her embarrassment fading away in the face of the elderly woman’s good humor. “What is it they call that? When you hear about something for the first time, and then hear it again right away?”

“ ‘Synchronicity,’ I believe.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s a fabulous old building, and I certainly haven’t heard a word about your doorman being a troll. In fact, I think you’re the first person I’ve ever met who actually lives there. It’s supposed to be even harder to get into than The Dakota!”

Irene smiled contentedly. “We do love it, and that’s exactly the way we like it, stories and all. Perhaps someday you’ll come and see me.”

“I’d like that,” Caroline replied. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of it.”

“Well, then, that’s settled, isn’t it? If you deliver the vase yourself, I shall be most happy to show you my apartment.” Her eyes wandered over the contents of the shop. “And if you like the things in here, you’ll love the things I can show you.” She glanced at an antique watch that was hanging from a heavily jeweled pin on her dress. “Oh, dear, I must run.”

A moment later she was gone, but even after she left, her laughter seemed to hang in the air for a few seconds before fading away, leaving Caroline alone once more.

Four and a half hours later, when Claire Robinson finally walked back into the shop, the first thing she noticed was the sold sticker on the Chinese vase. “I was right!” she exclaimed. “I just had a feeling it was priced far too low, and you see?” Her fingers snapped. “Voilá!” Then: “When are they picking it up?”

“It’s an elderly lady,” Caroline told her. “I promised her we’d deliver it.”

Claire’s smile faltered. “Deliver it?” she echoed. “I trust she’s paying.”

Caroline shook her head. “I thought there was enough profit that we could afford it. I’ll take a cab home on Monday — it’s right on my way.”

“If that’s what you want to do,” Claire said, shrugging dismissively. “As long as you take the cab fare out of your commission.” By now she was at her desk, and she picked up the sales book, flipping it open. “That’s all?” she asked, her eyes fixing on Caroline. “All afternoon, and you sold just the one vase?”

“It’s a beautiful day,” Caroline said. “I guess most people preferred to be outside.”

Claire seemed barely to hear her, her expression hardening as she gazed at the meager result of Caroline’s afternoon in the store. “I don’t know,” she said, almost to herself. “I hope I didn’t make a mistake with you.”

Caroline knew what she would have done six months ago, when Brad was alive. She would have said something like, “You did make a mistake with me: you didn’t bother to thank me for working on my day off,” and quit on the spot. But Brad was no longer alive, and Caroline could not afford to lose this job, no matter how difficult Claire could be. “I’m sorry,” she said, putting as much contrition into her voice as she could muster. “I’ll do better. I promise I will.”

Claire smiled coolly at her. “Let’s hope so,” she said. “Otherwise, you’ll be looking for another job.”

Leaving the shop, Caroline pulled her coat close around her, but the thin poplin couldn’t protect her from the coldness of Claire’s last words.

“But you promised!” Ryan uttered the familiar phrase with all the outrage a disappointed ten-year-old can muster, and the storm brewing in his eyes looked as if it could build into a tornado at any second.

“I didn’t promise,” Caroline replied. “I said ‘we’ll see.’ ”

“You said we could probably go,” Ryan shot back.

“ ‘Probably’ isn’t a promise,” Laurie put in, and though her daughter was trying to make it sound like she was trying to be helpful, Caroline could also see a glint of amusement in Laurie’s eyes as she watched her brother’s angry disappointment. “ ‘Probably’ only means ‘maybe.’ ”

Ryan wheeled on his sister. “It does not!” he challenged. “It’s almost like yes!” He turned back to his mother. “If Dad were still alive—”

“Don’t!” Caroline said, the single word erupting from her with enough force not only to silence her son, but to drain his face of color and fill his eyes with tears. And where she could defend herself from his anger, she was helpless against his pain. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry,” she said, dropping to her knees and gathering him in her arms. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It’s just that—”

That what? How could she explain to Ryan that she simply couldn’t afford to take them to a movie tonight, not with the threat of losing her job hanging over her like the sword of Damocles? All through Saturday evening Claire’s words had gnawed at her, and though she’d finally gone to bed, she’d tossed and turned sleeplessly, a cold chill of fear threatening to overwhelm her as she thought about what would happen if Claire made good on her threat. And deep in the despair of the small hours of the morning, she’d silently uttered exactly the same words she’d just chastised her son for speaking. Indeed, she’d gone much further than Ryan, silently cursing Brad for leaving her alone, leaving her to cope with the ugly realities that had so quickly replaced the shattered dreams that lay around her. It wasn’t supposed to be this way — she wasn’t supposed to be trying to raise her children as a single mother, trying to figure out how they could survive on the money she was able to make. If only Brad hadn’t—