dark and drooping today, like his mouth. She credited Geoffâs graciousness for preventing her from speaking to Jackâs mean delusions with devastating retorts, because plenty were stockpiling in the back of her mind. Geoff opened the door, and she stepped across the threshold.
A phone rang with music like drums. Audrey spun toward the sound.
Jack was walking briskly to the Dumpster as if he expected Geoff or her to intercept him.
He hefted himself up over the lip, enough to lean into the nearly empty can and retrieve the bag Audrey had dumped. The phone stopped ringing. Jack threw the sack on the ground, leaned over it, and pulled the sides apart.
Trash scattered in the alleyway as Jack shook the mess out.
He kicked around in it with his shoe, and when he didnât see what he was looking for, he returned to the bin, looked inside again, then leaned against the outside until it shifted on its rusty wheels and rolled a foot or so away from its original position.
An object wrapped in paper lay on the ground. One long side had been torn, peeled back just enough to reveal a glossy black phone. Audrey recognized it as the one Diane had pulled out of her backpack. She looked at Geoff, questioning, and he shook his head.
Estrella appeared at the door holding a bowl of cream. The cat, tucked under her opposite arm, was already lapping at it. She set them both down in the alley and glanced at Audrey, then at Jack, before slipping back inside.
Jack withdrew his own phone and placed a call requesting someone with a camera. After he hung up, he pulled a paper-thin glove from his pocket and slipped his right hand into it. The material snapped at his wrist. He crossed an arm across his midsection and propped his elbow on it, striking a pose of thoughtful curiosity.
He mocked them, Audrey thought. They should tell him about Diane.
âWhatâs your explanation for this?â Jack said.
Audreyâs lips parted, but Geoff spoke first. âWe donât have one,â he said, and he gently pulled Audrey back into the bakery and shut the door firmly on Jackâs self-satisfied grin.
CHAPTER 10
The apartment over the bakery was small and predictable. Two bedrooms shared a wall and backed up to the alley. The hallway in front of these led to a tiny bathroom at one end and the door to the bakeryâs back stairs at the other. Through the passage opposite the bedrooms was an eat-in kitchen that shared plumbing with the bathroom, and a square living space with the apartmentâs only real feature: a wide corner window with a padded bench seat.
The view looked down onto the intersection of Main and Sunflower and all the simple lives that passed through it every day. Dianeâs parents had been married fifty years ago in the well-kept park across the street, kitty-corner from the bakery. Many, many couples had been married at that park across the years.
Diane estimated that she had spent at least half of her childhood sitting in that window, and then she spent more than half her life in a windowless cell. Even so, she didnât realize until she entered the room how much she had longed to see that view again. She came in from the hall, stepping lightly to avoid being heard below, and saw the curtains drawn and the space in front of them stacked to her chin with cardboard boxes four or five deep. Reaching for the wall switch, she flipped on an overhead bulb. Boxes, plastic storage tubs, empty flour sacks, and outdated kitchen equipment filled every inch except for a foot-wide path through everything and into the kitchen.
The shut-down view was no less disappointing to her than her shut-down life. Even if she could get through this wall of heavy boxes and pull the curtains back off the view again, she feared the exercise would be pointless.
No view, only a silver mirror of fog.
No new life.
No diamond pendant.
It was the pendant that she needed most of all. It was more important than the view or her
A phone rang with music like drums. Audrey spun toward the sound.
Jack was walking briskly to the Dumpster as if he expected Geoff or her to intercept him.
He hefted himself up over the lip, enough to lean into the nearly empty can and retrieve the bag Audrey had dumped. The phone stopped ringing. Jack threw the sack on the ground, leaned over it, and pulled the sides apart.
Trash scattered in the alleyway as Jack shook the mess out.
He kicked around in it with his shoe, and when he didnât see what he was looking for, he returned to the bin, looked inside again, then leaned against the outside until it shifted on its rusty wheels and rolled a foot or so away from its original position.
An object wrapped in paper lay on the ground. One long side had been torn, peeled back just enough to reveal a glossy black phone. Audrey recognized it as the one Diane had pulled out of her backpack. She looked at Geoff, questioning, and he shook his head.
Estrella appeared at the door holding a bowl of cream. The cat, tucked under her opposite arm, was already lapping at it. She set them both down in the alley and glanced at Audrey, then at Jack, before slipping back inside.
Jack withdrew his own phone and placed a call requesting someone with a camera. After he hung up, he pulled a paper-thin glove from his pocket and slipped his right hand into it. The material snapped at his wrist. He crossed an arm across his midsection and propped his elbow on it, striking a pose of thoughtful curiosity.
He mocked them, Audrey thought. They should tell him about Diane.
âWhatâs your explanation for this?â Jack said.
Audreyâs lips parted, but Geoff spoke first. âWe donât have one,â he said, and he gently pulled Audrey back into the bakery and shut the door firmly on Jackâs self-satisfied grin.
CHAPTER 10
The apartment over the bakery was small and predictable. Two bedrooms shared a wall and backed up to the alley. The hallway in front of these led to a tiny bathroom at one end and the door to the bakeryâs back stairs at the other. Through the passage opposite the bedrooms was an eat-in kitchen that shared plumbing with the bathroom, and a square living space with the apartmentâs only real feature: a wide corner window with a padded bench seat.
The view looked down onto the intersection of Main and Sunflower and all the simple lives that passed through it every day. Dianeâs parents had been married fifty years ago in the well-kept park across the street, kitty-corner from the bakery. Many, many couples had been married at that park across the years.
Diane estimated that she had spent at least half of her childhood sitting in that window, and then she spent more than half her life in a windowless cell. Even so, she didnât realize until she entered the room how much she had longed to see that view again. She came in from the hall, stepping lightly to avoid being heard below, and saw the curtains drawn and the space in front of them stacked to her chin with cardboard boxes four or five deep. Reaching for the wall switch, she flipped on an overhead bulb. Boxes, plastic storage tubs, empty flour sacks, and outdated kitchen equipment filled every inch except for a foot-wide path through everything and into the kitchen.
The shut-down view was no less disappointing to her than her shut-down life. Even if she could get through this wall of heavy boxes and pull the curtains back off the view again, she feared the exercise would be pointless.
No view, only a silver mirror of fog.
No new life.
No diamond pendant.
It was the pendant that she needed most of all. It was more important than the view or her
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