having fun, but the bad feeling wasnât something Pauline could get rid of by will. It annoyed her that the girl couldnât find the consideration to make a simple phone call. Mal was under no obligation to report to her or anything, but was a quick phone call too much to ask? Sheâd taken offsomewhere with that guy Tug, and while she was having fun Pauline had to sit here and worry. What else was new?
Pauline went and got her phone off the arm of the couch and tried Malâs cell. It went straight to voicemail. About ten minutes later she tried again, with the same result.
The next day, Pauline chewed up several hours going in and out of antique shops and thrift stores looking for pieces for her apartment, end tables and lamps. After all this time, she still didnât have near enough furniture. A framed picture. Maybe a hat rack. She chatted with all the owners, but wound up buying nothing but candles and teacups and the like. She stopped at a liquor store on the way home for a bottle of wine, and as soon as she got into her apartment she opened it and drank down a big glass. She poured another glass right away but only stared at it, feeling very alone. She had felt alone when sheâd first moved here, but that loneliness had felt natural and sheâd waited it out proudly. Sheâd known it was part of coming to this place. What she felt now was close to defeat. She went out to the back balcony and went over to Malâs side and peered in the window. There was a light on back where she couldnât see, back in the bathroom or something. The place wasnât a mess, nor was it particularly neat. Pauline scanned the interior of Malâs apartment and couldnât find anything noteworthy, not that she knew what she was looking for. There was a big plastic pitcher sticking up out of the sink. There were a couple remote controls on the waist-high wall that divided the kitchen and the living room. A hairdryer on the kitchen table. An empty vase. The ceiling fan was spinning.
Pauline slept restlessly that night, using her blanket as a pillow, and as soon as it was morning she went down and looked into Malâs car. She saw nothing in there but a pair of purple sunglasses and a thing of hard candy sticking up from the console. Probably the candies had melted into a single block at the bottom of the box.
Pauline went up and knocked hard on Malâs door, knowing it was asilly thing to do. She pressed her ear against the wood and heard nothing. She dialed Malâs cell phone number again, listened as it went right to voicemail. She had the number to Malâs landline on a scrap of paper in a kitchen cabinet, and once sheâd found it in there she dialed that number, too, knowing it was useless but not knowing what else to do. She listened to the ringing through the wall. Mal didnât have an answering machine for the landline. Sheâd gotten the line and the cordless phone free with her cable and Internet, sheâd told Pauline. The ringing from next door was measured, aloof. It was hard for Pauline to bring herself to hang up and stop it. She had been reasonable for several days now, and had ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach, but maybe the feeling was right. The girl was so young and so tiny. It was hard to imagine her safe. She had made it this far, tempting fate all the while, only due to dumb luck. Sheâd enjoyed more than her share of benevolent fortune and now it had run out.
The next afternoon, Pauline sat outside a taco joint staring at a plate of stuffed peppers. She would feel better, she knew, only if she decided on a course of action. Sheâd give it one more night. Sheâd watch TV like a normal person, would try to distract herself with political news or cooking programs. And in the morning, if she still hadnât heard from Mal, sheâd call someone. Maybe not the police, but someone. That was a semblance of a plan.
The landlord, a man who
Pauline went and got her phone off the arm of the couch and tried Malâs cell. It went straight to voicemail. About ten minutes later she tried again, with the same result.
The next day, Pauline chewed up several hours going in and out of antique shops and thrift stores looking for pieces for her apartment, end tables and lamps. After all this time, she still didnât have near enough furniture. A framed picture. Maybe a hat rack. She chatted with all the owners, but wound up buying nothing but candles and teacups and the like. She stopped at a liquor store on the way home for a bottle of wine, and as soon as she got into her apartment she opened it and drank down a big glass. She poured another glass right away but only stared at it, feeling very alone. She had felt alone when sheâd first moved here, but that loneliness had felt natural and sheâd waited it out proudly. Sheâd known it was part of coming to this place. What she felt now was close to defeat. She went out to the back balcony and went over to Malâs side and peered in the window. There was a light on back where she couldnât see, back in the bathroom or something. The place wasnât a mess, nor was it particularly neat. Pauline scanned the interior of Malâs apartment and couldnât find anything noteworthy, not that she knew what she was looking for. There was a big plastic pitcher sticking up out of the sink. There were a couple remote controls on the waist-high wall that divided the kitchen and the living room. A hairdryer on the kitchen table. An empty vase. The ceiling fan was spinning.
Pauline slept restlessly that night, using her blanket as a pillow, and as soon as it was morning she went down and looked into Malâs car. She saw nothing in there but a pair of purple sunglasses and a thing of hard candy sticking up from the console. Probably the candies had melted into a single block at the bottom of the box.
Pauline went up and knocked hard on Malâs door, knowing it was asilly thing to do. She pressed her ear against the wood and heard nothing. She dialed Malâs cell phone number again, listened as it went right to voicemail. She had the number to Malâs landline on a scrap of paper in a kitchen cabinet, and once sheâd found it in there she dialed that number, too, knowing it was useless but not knowing what else to do. She listened to the ringing through the wall. Mal didnât have an answering machine for the landline. Sheâd gotten the line and the cordless phone free with her cable and Internet, sheâd told Pauline. The ringing from next door was measured, aloof. It was hard for Pauline to bring herself to hang up and stop it. She had been reasonable for several days now, and had ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach, but maybe the feeling was right. The girl was so young and so tiny. It was hard to imagine her safe. She had made it this far, tempting fate all the while, only due to dumb luck. Sheâd enjoyed more than her share of benevolent fortune and now it had run out.
The next afternoon, Pauline sat outside a taco joint staring at a plate of stuffed peppers. She would feel better, she knew, only if she decided on a course of action. Sheâd give it one more night. Sheâd watch TV like a normal person, would try to distract herself with political news or cooking programs. And in the morning, if she still hadnât heard from Mal, sheâd call someone. Maybe not the police, but someone. That was a semblance of a plan.
The landlord, a man who
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