“Who were you?” Rolanda asked the empty street.
She wasn’t expecting a reply, but just for a moment, she thought she heard Cosette’s laughter again, sweet and chiming like tiny bells, echoing not in her ear, but in her mind. She stood there on the porch for a long time, leaning against the support pole, before she finally went back inside and closed the door behind her.
VI
I guess I really messed up this time, didn’t I?” Marisa said.
Alan was sitting at the kitchen table, staring off through the window at the patchwork row of backyards that the view presented. He hadn’t heard Marisa come in and he jumped at the sound of her voice, scraping the legs of his chair against the floor as he half rose from his seat. He sat back down again when he saw Marisa standing in the doorway, still wearing his shirt. It had never looked half so good on him. Her hair was a little more disheveled than it had been earlier. Her eyes were still swollen, the rings under them darker. Alan’s heart went out to her.
“Pull up a chair,” he said. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee, maybe, or some tea?”
“Tea, please. Coffee would just make me feel even more jangly than I already am.”
Alan filled the kettle and put it on the stove. He rummaged around in the cupboard and came up with a box of Bengal Spice that still had a couple of bags left in it. Marisa sat at the table, hugging herself, her hands lost in the long sleeves of the borrowed shirt. Neither of them spoke until Alan finally brought two mugs to the table, steam wafting up from the rims of each. Alan wanted to say something to show his support for what Marisa was going through, but nothing had changed since he’d sat with her in the living room earlier. He couldn’t promise that things were going to get better. And while he was certainly willing to give her a place to stay, he couldn’t promise her anything else beyond his friendship. Even if Isabelle hadn’t been in the picture, thinking of Marisa as a friend for so long had eroded his desire for their relationship to become something more. At least he thought it had. Seeing her sitting there across from him in his shirt, barefoot and without any makeup, stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt for a while, but he didn’t feel right about bringing it up now. It wouldn’t be fair—not unless he was sure.
Marisa was the one who broke the silence. “What did Isabelle say about the project?” she asked.
“She’s going to do it.”
“That’s great. Did you call Gary to give him the news?”
Gary Posner was the editor at the paperback house who was interested in acquiring the rights to the omnibus. Thinking of him brought up a whole other set of worries for Alan.
“I called him while you were sleeping, but he’s not exactly thrilled with the news.”
“How can he not be?”
“Oh, he loves the idea that Isabelle’s on board,” Alan explained. “It’s Margaret Mully that concerns him. He’s afraid that if she appeals, it’ll put the whole thing on hold again. He says he can’t afford to commit until we have something from her in writing that says she won’t interfere with the project—preferably something notarized.”
“But you’ll never get that from her.”
Alan nodded glumly. “Tell me about it.”
“So what happens now?”
“We go ahead with our edition.”
“But you were counting on the paperback money ....”
“Only for the Foundation,” Alan said. “As the bank account stands now, we can afford to publish the East Street Press edition—especially since Isabelle’s donating the use of her art to the project.”
“Still ... you must be disappointed.”
Alan nodded. Talking business, Marisa seemed to have perked up some. Alan hated to remind her of her problems, but he didn’t see that he had any choice.
“Marisa, we have to talk.”
As soon as he spoke the words, Alan saw a change come over her. She sat up a little straighter and bit at her lower lip, but appeared determined to tough out what she seemed to think was coming.
“I won’t impose on you any longer,” she said. “I just didn’t have any other place to go. But I’ll call around. I ... I’m even thinking of moving back east. At least I know some people out there ....”
Her voice trailed off as Alan shook his head.
“We’re not talking about you leaving,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to. We can move the boxes of books out of the spare room and set it up for you.”
There, he thought. Though he hadn’t meant to, he’d already begun to define how their relationship would go. Separate rooms, separate beds ... “I couldn’t let you do that. I know you need your own space.” Alan gave her an odd look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve always known you were a private person,” Marisa said. “Sort of reserved. Why do you think I tease you so much? It’s the best way to get a rise out of you.”
Alan didn’t feel able to explain why she had gotten the idea he was reserved. Originally, it’d had more to do with her, and her marriage to George, than his own feelings toward her. By now it had become a habit.
“I want you to stay,” he said. “That was never in question. What I wanted to talk to you about was what you wanted to take from your apartment and how you wanted to go about doing it.”
“Oh, god. I don’t know. If I could afford it, I think I’d just go out and buy all new things.”
Alan shook his head. “That’s your being upset that’s talking.”
“I don’t want anything from George.”
“Fine. But you should at least take your own things.”
She gave him a helpless look. “I don’t even know how I can face him. My leaving do you know that it came as an absolute shock to him? He had no idea our marriage was even in trouble, little say over. It’s like he’s never heard a word I had to say about it.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to think about it,” Alan said. “You know—if he didn’t acknowledge the problems, then they’d just go away.”
“Well, I guess it worked,” Marisa said. “Because I’m not going back.”
“I doubt this is the solution he was thinking of.”
Marisa shrugged. “It’s too late for anything to be done about it now.” She looked so hurt and confused that Alan’s heart went out to her. “Tell me I’m not making a mistake,” she said.
“The only mistake you made,” Alan told her, “was waiting this long to leave him.” 7
The smile that touched Marisa’s lips held no humor.
“Thanks,” she said. “I needed to hear that.”
VII
This is perfect,” Isabelle said. She stepped back from where she’d been looking out the window to survey her new studio once more. “There’s so much space.”
Jilly was sitting on the floor across the large room, surrounded by all the various cases and boxes and bundles that they’d just finished lugging up the stairs. Rubens lay sprawled across her lap, half-asleep and completely relaxed.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve often thought I should go into real estate. It’s just a gift I have.”
“I’ll have to get some furniture,” Isabelle said. “Nothing too fancy. A futon. A drawing table.”
“A kitchen table and chairs.”
“A bookcase.”
“An easel.”
“I’ve got one—it’s just in pieces in one of those boxes.”
“It’s like being a student all over again, isn’t it?” Jilly said. “Do you think you’ll survive?”