“I’d love some.”
She looked a little bemused but waved a hand in the direction of what had obviously once been the parlor. A scattering of tables took up the floor space there and spilled overinto the dining room beyond.
The walls were high and white, hung with old sepia photos of the area and framed artifacts. A fan here, a shawlthere, a pair of kid gloves laid across a tassled dance card, collected in a deliberately haphazard way. A sketch or twoof inconsequential things that drew Tony’s eye with theirsimple elegance.
The tables were just as mismatched and set on a glossy hardwood floor that had been laid with very nice old Oriental rugs. The music being piped in was Debussy, and the windows were hung in swaths of burgundy paisley. Tonytook his seat at a table against the wall. He sat facing theroom, just as he always did, and noted that there wasn’t anashtray in sight. Just as well. It was something he’d beenpromising Gina for about five years now.
“Would you like to see the menu?” his hostess asked.
“I guess I’d better. I have a feeling hamburgers aren’t onit.”
He got another giggle and a vellum card that listed aboutfifteen different types of tea and an assortment of salads,finger foods and desserts. At least it would be enough untilhe could get up to Richmond and real food.
But when he looked back up to place his order, the punkfairy was gone. Across the room, a table of older womenwas watching him with undisguised curiosity. He smiled andwent back to perusing the menu, as if his decision wouldchange appreciably.
“Uh-oh,” he heard from the foyer. His little friend. Herecognized that tone of voice. She’d been caught. At what,he wasn’t sure.
And then he heard it and lost all track of the place, thetime and his purpose.
“Yeah, I thought that was child services on the phone justnow asking what a thirteen-year-old was doing waiting tables,” the answering voice said with wry amusement.
Her voice.
He would have recognized it anywhere. He didn’t knowwhat she looked like. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her. Buthe’d remember her voice until the day he died. Soft, a littlesmoky, with equal parts grit and humor and a heavy dollopof compassion.
He knew that voice. He’d been hunting for it for overtwenty years.
“Well, you’re the one who let Marissa have the week off,Mom. And Bea had to be sick. Can I help it if she’s pregnant?”
“I’m sure you can’t, Jess. I’m here now, though, so youcan get back to homework.”
“But Mom—”
“Now,young lady.”
“No, Mom, really. I have to tell you.”
Tony couldn’t see them. He imagined they were standing, mother and daughter, in the doorway that led to theback rooms, the woman smiling at all that barely controlled enthusiasm. He barely heard the girl for the memories that flashed from the sound of that older voice. Smells and sounds so strong they took his balance. Emotions thatmade his hands sweat and his head spin. He held still andwaited for it to pass, just as it always did.
“Tell me what?” she was asking.
There was a pause—a dramatic one, if Tony was anyjudge of prepubescent girls—and then a stage whisper thatcould easily be heard out in the driveway. “There’s amanin there.”
And then her voice again. Even more highly amused thanbefore, light, companionable, conspiratorial, whisperingjust as loudly. “A man? Oh no, and I almost had that NoMen Allowed Here sign finished. You think if I grabbed itand waved it in his face he’d leave?”
“Mom.”
Tony couldn’t help but smile. The ladies at the other table smiled. The young lady who’d seated him sounded quite disgusted.
“We could sic Peaches on him,” the mother said.
“Mom, I’m serious. What do you think he wants here?”
“I don’t know, Jess. You don’t think he could want sometea, do you?”
“He didn’t look like the tea kind of guy to me.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to go ask, won’t I?”
