together in his crotch. In Detective Inspector 2/Gr Norman Danielsâs mind, Ramon had ceased to exist. Daniels was thinking about his wife, and all the things she had to learn. About all the things they had to talk about. And they would talk about them, just as soon as he tracked her down. All sorts of thingsâships and sails and sealing wax, not to mention what should happen to wives who promised to love, honor, and obey, and then took a powder with their husbandsâ bank cards in their purses. All those things.
They would talk about them up close.
9
S he was making another bed, but this time it was all right. It was a different bed, in a different room, in a different city. Best of all, this was a bed she had never slept in and never would.
A month had passed since she had left the house eighthundred miles east of here, and things were a lot better. Currently her worst problem was her back, and even that was getting better; she was sure of it. Right now the ache around her kidneys was strong and unpleasant, true enough, but this was her eighteenth room of the day, and when sheâd begun at the Whitestone she had been close to fainting after a dozen rooms and unable to go on after fourteenâsheâd had to ask Pam for help. Four weeks could make a hell of a difference in a personâs outlook, Rosie was discovering, especially if it was four weeks without any hard shots to the kidneys or the pit of the stomach.
Still, for now it was enough.
She went to the hall door, poked her head out, and looked in both directions. She saw nothing but a few room-service trays left over from breakfast, Pamâs trolley down by the Lake Michigan Suite at the end of the hall, and her own trolley out here in front of 624.
Rosie lifted a pile of fresh washcloths stacked on the end of the trolley, exposing a banana. She took it, walked back across the room to the overstuffed chair by 624âs window, and sat down. She peeled the piece of fruit and began to eat it slowly, looking out at the lake, which glimmered like a mirror on this still, rainy afternoon in May. Her heart and mind were filled with a huge, simple emotionâgratitude. Her life wasnât perfect, at least not yet, but it was better than she ever would have believed on that day in mid-April when she had stood on the porch of Daughters and Sisters, looking at the intercom box and the keyhole that had been filled with metal. At that moment, she had seen nothing in the future but darkness and misery. Now her kidneys hurt, and her feet hurt, and she was very aware that she did not want to spend the rest of her life as an off-the-books chambermaid in the Whitestone Hotel, but the banana tasted good and the chair felt wonderful beneath her. At that moment she would not have traded her place in the scheme of things for anyoneâs. In the weeks since she had left Norman, Rosie had become exquisitely aware of small pleasures: reading for half an hour before bed, talking with some of the other women about movies or TV shows as they did the supper dishes together, or taking five minutes off to sit down and eat a banana.
It was also wonderful to know what was coming next, and to feel sure it wasnât going to include something sudden andpainful. To know, for instance, that there were only two more rooms to go, and then she and Pam could go down in the service elevator and out the back door. On the way to the bus stop (she was now able to differentiate easily between Orange, Red, and Blue Line buses) they would probably pop into the Hot Pot for coffee. Simple things. Simple pleasures. The world could be good. She supposed she had known that as a child, but she had forgotten. Now she was learning it over again, and it was a sweet lesson. She didnât have all she wanted, not by any means, but she had enough for now . . . especially since she didnât know what the rest might be. That would have to wait until she was out of Daughters and
They would talk about them up close.
9
S he was making another bed, but this time it was all right. It was a different bed, in a different room, in a different city. Best of all, this was a bed she had never slept in and never would.
A month had passed since she had left the house eighthundred miles east of here, and things were a lot better. Currently her worst problem was her back, and even that was getting better; she was sure of it. Right now the ache around her kidneys was strong and unpleasant, true enough, but this was her eighteenth room of the day, and when sheâd begun at the Whitestone she had been close to fainting after a dozen rooms and unable to go on after fourteenâsheâd had to ask Pam for help. Four weeks could make a hell of a difference in a personâs outlook, Rosie was discovering, especially if it was four weeks without any hard shots to the kidneys or the pit of the stomach.
Still, for now it was enough.
She went to the hall door, poked her head out, and looked in both directions. She saw nothing but a few room-service trays left over from breakfast, Pamâs trolley down by the Lake Michigan Suite at the end of the hall, and her own trolley out here in front of 624.
Rosie lifted a pile of fresh washcloths stacked on the end of the trolley, exposing a banana. She took it, walked back across the room to the overstuffed chair by 624âs window, and sat down. She peeled the piece of fruit and began to eat it slowly, looking out at the lake, which glimmered like a mirror on this still, rainy afternoon in May. Her heart and mind were filled with a huge, simple emotionâgratitude. Her life wasnât perfect, at least not yet, but it was better than she ever would have believed on that day in mid-April when she had stood on the porch of Daughters and Sisters, looking at the intercom box and the keyhole that had been filled with metal. At that moment, she had seen nothing in the future but darkness and misery. Now her kidneys hurt, and her feet hurt, and she was very aware that she did not want to spend the rest of her life as an off-the-books chambermaid in the Whitestone Hotel, but the banana tasted good and the chair felt wonderful beneath her. At that moment she would not have traded her place in the scheme of things for anyoneâs. In the weeks since she had left Norman, Rosie had become exquisitely aware of small pleasures: reading for half an hour before bed, talking with some of the other women about movies or TV shows as they did the supper dishes together, or taking five minutes off to sit down and eat a banana.
It was also wonderful to know what was coming next, and to feel sure it wasnât going to include something sudden andpainful. To know, for instance, that there were only two more rooms to go, and then she and Pam could go down in the service elevator and out the back door. On the way to the bus stop (she was now able to differentiate easily between Orange, Red, and Blue Line buses) they would probably pop into the Hot Pot for coffee. Simple things. Simple pleasures. The world could be good. She supposed she had known that as a child, but she had forgotten. Now she was learning it over again, and it was a sweet lesson. She didnât have all she wanted, not by any means, but she had enough for now . . . especially since she didnât know what the rest might be. That would have to wait until she was out of Daughters and
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