“Two seconds ago you’re sobbing into your sleeve, and now you’re chickening out?”
“I didn’t mean we should steal it. What if we get caught?”
“We won’t. Besides, it’s not stealing if you’re only taking what’s rightfully yours.” He pulls out another glass pane and sets it against the building. “You forget that I have a vested interest in this, too. If you get the ax, then there goes my chance to earn out a commission in merchandise. I’ve already cleared a space in my living room for a few of those movie posters.”
I feel a twinge of disappointment—I should have known Daniel was only here for the collectibles. Not that it matters. It doesn’t. Why should I care for a minute what motivates Daniel so long as it gets the job done? Hard to believe it was only hours ago I was lustily rolling around on a bed with Niko. Now I’m following Daniel as he crawls through the tiny opening he’s made in the window, which is far less fun.
Although it’s dark when I step in, enough light spills in from outside that I can make out we’re in a storeroom. It makes up the bulk of the building, and it’s largely empty, except for a pile of boxes, bags, and crates in a corner that I recognize as Marva’s. On the far side of the room are several doors, which I assume lead to other storage units and the front reception area. A desk and several filing cabinets make up the only furniture. I kick off my shoes, which are caked in mud. There’s nothing I can do about the rest of my wet clothes. Daniel is tugging off his flannel, but the T-shirt underneath is soaked, too.
“Don’t turn on the overhead light,” he says.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Didn’t say you were.” He flips on the tiny flashlight at the end of his phone and shines it in the direction of the pile. “Any idea where the book might be?”
“I’m guessing somewhere in that pile.”
“Excellent. That narrows it down.”
We head over, and he tugs open the flaps of a box. “This looks like as good a place to start as any.” He tips his head toward the other side of the pile. “You want to work over there? We’ll meet in the middle.”
“I don’t have a light.”
“Your phone doesn’t have one?”
“No. But my bra turns into a secret spy camera if that helps any.”
He lifts one eyebrow, and I instantly regret the reference to my bra. Daniel mercifully must sense my discomfort, because he shoves a box toward me. “If we stick close enough together, we should both be able to work off of my light.”
I’m on my third box when Daniel shouts, “Yes!”
My head snaps up. “You found it?”
“The book? No.” He hands me the phone and pulls his T-shirt off over his head. “Glad to see you weren’t lying about that robe from Rocky—I’m freezing.” Daniel pulls a robe out of a box big enough to hold a washing machine and pulls it on and belts it at the waist. It’s comically broad on his skinny frame. Then he dances around me like a boxer, throwing fake jabs.
“You realize that robe is losing value every second you wear it.”
“Don’t care! You know why?” Jab. “Because I float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” Jab, jab.
“Any chance there’s another robe in there?” I grab at my pant leg, and the fabric makes a wet sucking noise as it pulls away from my skin.
Daniel bends back over the box. “I’m afraid not. But, this is your lucky day, my queen, because we have this!” He holds up a long, satiny medieval dress.
“Thanks, I’ll pass.”
“It’s the best I have to offer unless you’d prefer the gold bikini in here. This dress weighs a ton, so at least it’ll be warm.”
“How about I wear the robe and you get the dress?”
“No way. Blue’s not my color.”
I trade him his phone for the dress. It occurs to me that I’m going to have to take my pants off before putting it on or I’ll get mud all over it. “Turn around,” I say.
“What?”
I make a twirling motion with my finger. “Around. I have to take these wet, muddy clothes off or they’ll ruin the material.”
He turns around but shines the phone’s light over his shoulder so I can see what I’m doing. I unzip my pants and slide them down, then pull my blouse off over my head. I’m folding them neatly and setting them aside when Daniel says, “There’s nothing you’ve got there I haven’t seen before.”
It does seem odd to be so modest when mere months ago Daniel would not only have been welcome to see me in only a bra and panties, he’d be an active participant in helping to remove them. Those days are over. I wrestle myself into the dress. It’s got about five layers of fabric; it’s also made for a woman about a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier. When I finally get it on, I face away from Daniel, gather my hair up, and say, “Do me up.”
It takes him a couple awkward minutes to secure all the buttons. When I turn around, the top of my bra and straps are showing. The dress’s waistline hangs to my hips. “You look enchanting,” Daniel says.
“I look ridiculous.”
“Yes, but in an enchanting sort of way.”
I turn back to the box I’d been looking through. “Let’s find a book, all right?”
We’re not at it more than fifteen minutes when Daniel says, “Oh, wow!”
“You found the book!”
“No. Sorry. I’ll quit doing that. But it’s a baseball signed by Robert Redford, I’ll assume from The Natural. Greatest baseball movie ever made—parts of it filmed right here in Chicago.” He tosses the ball up and catches it. “Hey, remember that time we took Ash to that event on Wrigley Field? And he got to run the bases?” As soon as Daniel mentions Ash’s name, I find myself bristling. Sure, now Daniel wants to reminisce about the good times, but when things started to fall apart with Ash, all he could do was point out the negative.
“I wasn’t there,” I say. “It was the two of you. One of your guys’ nights out.”
“That’s right.” Daniel lets the ball drop from his fingers into the box. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s good.”
“Do you get to talk to him much?”
“Once in a while.” That’s close to the truth. At least the once part.
“What’s he have to say?”
Most of my phone call with Ash wasn’t anything I’d care to recount for Daniel. I’m still feeling hopeful after it, but I have a niggling fear that Daniel would tell me I’m in denial—that it wasn’t good news at all. He’d probably only focus on the part of the call where Ash was complaining. Which, granted, was 95 percent of it. “He’s making progress” is all I say.
“You must be so happy. How did you ever get him to—”
I cut Daniel off before he can finish the question. “We should get back to what we came here to do. We are here illegally, after all. We shouldn’t dally.”
My abruptness must have offended him because he says, “Uh, okay. Back to work it is. No dallying. I won’t even dilly, if it makes you feel better.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“No big deal. I get it: You don’t want to talk about Ash. It’s just that I care about the kid. And I—” He pauses, and I busy myself by opening the flaps of another box. Trying to do anything but look at Daniel. “I want to see him get better.”
“It looks like he’s on his way.” No thanks to you.
“I’m glad.”
We go back to work, and we’re not at it for five minutes before Daniel says, “Hey, check this out.”
Could his attention span be any shorter? “Now what is it?”
“Is that any way to talk to the man who has found … this?” He holds up a tattered copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.
Without thinking I throw myself at him in a hug. “I can’t believe you found it so fast! Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
I can feel the book against my back where he’s holding me, and I reach to grab it. I flip to the title page. Daniel’s hand lingers on m
y waist as he holds the light so I can see.
“She’s written all over it!” I say. “I can’t believe she put me through all this for a book she’s ruined!” The spine is cracked and the pages yellowed, and a quick scan of its contents reveals Marva has scribbled here and there throughout—in margins, on blank areas at the end of chapters, right over the top of the book’s text and illustrations.
“Are you sure it’s Marva’s writing?”
“Positive.” It matches the signature on her paintings, and the crazy forward-scrawl of the Do not disturb note she’d taped to her door my first day of work. Plus I’m constantly seeing her writing in a book. I just didn’t realize that was the one I’ve been on this scavenger hunt for.
“She defaced this rare an edition?” he says as if Marva had graffitied a national monument.
“Whatever. The good news is, now I have it. Thanks to you—credit where credit is due. I’ll take this baby back to Marva and wave it in her face. She’ll have to give me my job back.”
“Let me see that for a sec, will you?”
I hand the book over and check my watch. It’s not yet nine o’clock. Marva will still have time to cancel the services of Organize Me!, those lowlife interlopers.
Daniel slides to the floor, back against a box, and starts reading Marva’s notes. I’m eager to get going, but it’s only fair to give him time to look at the book if that’s what he wants. I wouldn’t have it if it weren’t for him.
“Anything interesting?” I ask, gathering up my medieval skirts and taking a seat on the floor next to Daniel.
“It’s strange. I figured these notes would be on the stories or the illustrations.”
“They’re not? Then what is it?”
“At first glance I thought it seemed to be a diary of sorts—I was so excited. To have a chance to read the deepest, most private thoughts of Marva Meier Rios would be unbelievable. But this is … it’s a bunch of lists. Or random ideas.”
I peer down the page he has open and read aloud what’s scrawled down the side of the page. “ ‘Couch vs. bed. Bed’s been done a million times—trite. Couch, might roll off. Don’t want floor. Awkward.’ Ew, do you suppose she’s debating the best place to have sex?” That’s nothing I want to picture.
“Beats me.” He flips a few pages and reads, “ ‘Need to get purple pantsuit altered. Have the blond girl handle. Fits oddly when lying down.’”
“She doesn’t even know my name? I’m the blond girl to her?”
He absently pats my knee, absorbed in the book. “Maybe she wrote that when you first started.”
“I’ve seen the pantsuit she’s referring to. She tried on outfits for me once. I can’t imagine why she bothered since she never goes anywhere.”
“How can she? You haven’t gotten her only pantsuit altered.” He flips to the back inside cover. “Now this is interesting …”
Before I can ask what, I hear the click of a door, followed by the overhead light flipping on. A jolt of terror runs through me. I start to fly to my feet but Daniel’s arms grab on to me, and he pulls me so we’re scooted behind a wall of boxes. I hear a woman’s voice from the other side of the room. “Jeez, it’s freezing in here.”
A man answers, “I turned off the heat before we left. Didn’t expect you’d make me come back here on a Friday night. I’ll go kick it on.”
“Thanks, hon.”
I’m panicked that, even as still as I am, I’m trumpeting my whereabouts. Daniel’s mouth is right at my ear. “Hide your face. While he’s gone, we should make a run for it.”
I mouth my words back to him, She’s still here.
Daniel shrugs. Guess he figures we can outrun her. We quietly gather up our clothing, and we each get our car keys in our hands. He pulls the hood of the Rocky robe up, and I cover my face with the book. Then we leap to our feet and run to the window.
The woman gives a shout of surprise, but by that time I’ve already snatched up my muddy shoes and Daniel’s shoving my skirts out behind me through the window. It’s not raining anymore so I jump over my umbrella rather than take the time to mess with it.
“That must be Kathy, the owner!” Daniel huffs as we race around the building to our cars. “She’s not following. I heard her calling for her husband.” She must have been terrified to confront Daniel and me by herself, looking menacing as we must have in our robe and long dress.
I throw myself into the car, fumbling with the keys. My breath is coming in jagged bursts. I start it up and pull out. Daniel is behind me as I tear out of the parking lot, hang a right onto the first street, and start driving randomly, to put as much distance as I can between my car and the warehouse.
Daniel flashes his brights at me after we’ve been driving for a few minutes, and I pull over into a gas station. When we get out of our cars, he’s laughing. “Holy crap, can you believe that? I almost had a heart attack!”
“You and me both.” I lean against my door, finally letting relief flood in. “You think she recognized you?”
“They’ve never seen me; that was the problem. It’s all been on the phone. I didn’t feel like spending the night at Cook County while they figured out we’re their clients. I hear that those strip searches aren’t as much fun as they sound.”
“Mission accomplished. Now I need to return the book to Marva, and you and I are back in business.”
“Give it to me first. I want to take another look.”
I grab the book out of my car. “Not too long. It needs to be in her hands before she figures out life is more pleasant without me around.”
“No, it isn’t,” he says, not glancing up from the book.
All right. That’s enough of Daniel’s being nice to me. I endured seven months of grieving that he left me, and now he wants to get sentimental on the very day I have moved on to someone else. Instead of addressing what he said—which would only dignify it and, worse, encourage more—I say, “You looking for anything in particular?”
“I’ve figured out why she was so worried about this book. Look.” He opens to the back inside cover, where she’s squeezed a list in tiny letters.
HOW
Gun
Pro: Efficient. Have one. Not typical for a woman, so more powerful a statement.
Con: Messy.
Pills
Pro: Like old times. No pain. Fun for a while.
Con: Risk of vomiting or if don’t take enough, possible vegetative state.
Hanging
Pro: Visually exciting. Could get workers to set up noose (call it art project).
Con: Not sure am the hanging type.
Asphyxiation
Pro: Bag over head.
Con: Bag over head.
Gas
Pro: No pain. No mess.
Con: Don’t have car or garage. (Borrow blond girl’s car?)
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I say. “How hard is the name Lucy to remember?”
“You’re missing the point.”
“Which is … ?”
“Think about it. All these notes—they’re about getting her affairs in order. She has such a tight deadline for you to get the house cleaned. And a list of pros and cons for ways to die? It’s obvious. Marva is planning to kill herself.”
Marva? Commit suicide? My first instinct is to deny it, but that’s only because suicide is nothing I’d ever do. It’s hard to imagine anyone considering it, especially with such calm preparation. As soon as Daniel points it out, though, it all makes sense. It certainly does finally answer the question about why she’s cleaning out her house when she’s never wanted to before.
“That’s horrible,” I say.
“About as horrible as it gets.” Daniel snaps the book shut. “Let me keep this for a while. Study it. I’ll bet there’s something we can do to stop her. The more we know about her plans, the better chance we have.”
I can barely register what Daniel is saying, although it appears he’s already formulating a plan of action. I’m still mired
in the awfulness of it. Even as mean as Marva’s been to me, I sure don’t want to see her dead. Yet I am torn between finding it terribly sad, and downright infuriating. She has a son. Even if she doesn’t want to live for herself, how could she do it to him?
“This whole thing makes me ill,” I say after a while, reluctantly, but prompted by seeing Daniel tuck the book under his arm a bit too possessively for my comfort. “But it doesn’t erase the fact that I need that book. It’s the only way I’ll get my job back.”
“So you’re just going to pretend you don’t know?”
He’s looking at me in disgust. It’s déjà vu, Daniel judging me because I’m not dealing with a problem the exact way he would.
“Look, I can’t do anything about it right now. And I certainly can’t do anything if I’m not working for her anymore. So I’ll return the book. Marva is not going to kill herself tonight, or even this week. She has things to do. For starters, clearing out her house.”
“That brings up a whole other problem. If she’s going to kill herself as soon as her house is in order, then you can’t do it, Luce. She can’t be allowed to finish the job.”
“If it’s not me, it’ll be somebody else. And, yes, it bothers me that I’ll be a party to Marva committing suicide, but it’s her decision to make. Not mine.”
“She’s a creative genius. And someone you’ve gotten to know. It seems to me it ought to be worth a little effort on your part to save her life.”
“I never said I didn’t care. It’s just nothing I am willing to deal with this very minute.”
“It never is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Here, take the book. Get your job back and don’t say a word. Pretend everything is fine and it will be, right? That’s how it works?”
I grab the book and storm back to my car. “It’s easy to be a hero when you’re not the one whose livelihood is on the line. If I’m going to do anything, seems to me it’d help if I had a damned job. If I was in a position to talk to her instead of out on the streets.”
Objects of My Affection Page 16
