Mrs. A sucks in an excited breath. “Is that Felix?” she asks me in a conspiratorial whisper.
“No idea,” I lie as he appears at the other end of the lobby.
“What did I miss?” Felix asks, wandering over with his tote bag on his shoulder.
“Nothing,” I answer, a shade too quickly. He doesn’t need a recap of the latest development with Claude’s sister, or anything else. Knowledge is power, and you never know when you’re going to need a bargaining chip—or something to lord over someone, just for fun.
Felix sniffs the air. “I take it your guy was here.”
Mrs. A glances from him to me like she’s watching a captivating Ping-Pong match.
“Let me guess, he had to go lift something heavy?” Felix raises an arm to kiss his bicep.
I try not to feel betrayed when my grandmother and Mrs. A laugh as if he’s the most adorable person ever.
“Did you know she had a thing for big muscles?” he asks Grandma Lainey, as if they’re old friends.
“I think not,” she counters. “Her last beau was an unprepossessing physical specimen. He had the chin of an embezzler.”
“Good at math, though.” It’s not clear which of us Mrs. A is trying to console.
Felix snorts, which he should be embarrassed about but probably isn’t, since everyone is too busy being entertained by my sad dating history.
I must have been wrong before, imagining he was working up to asking me out.
Thank goodness I didn’t let on that I was having a delusionalepisode, because Felix would never have let me live that down. I tell myself I’ve dodged a bullet, a knife, and a poison-tipped blow dart all rolled into one.
There’s no reason to feel even the slightest bit disappointed about that.
CHAPTER EIGHTTHE BODY IN THE ELEVATOR
That evening, I run down to the mail room to check for packages, because Mrs. A is expecting a shipment of wigs. It’s a big box, so I’m heading for the elevator when I realize someone else is already there.
“Hi,” I say, because pretending not to see her would be even more awkward than trying to make conversation with Claude’s grumpy sister.
The only response is a sigh, as if my choosing to use the elevator at the same time as her is a personal attack. I’m not sure where to look after that, so I glance at the wall and then the box in my arms and finally at the plastic bags in her hands. It looks like she hit up the mini mart down the block, so naturally I’m curious about her snack selections. You can tell a lot about a person from their taste in processed foods. A bottle of nondairy creamer, one can of soup, a packet of peanut butter sandwich crackers, cat treats, and two boxes of powdered drink mix. So that’s what she puts in her special cup.
She busts me looking and huffily switches the bags to her other hand. Maybe she’s got something embarrassing in there, like wart medicine.
“I need it for the electrolytes,” she says, as if I asked about the ratio of beverage mix to actual food in her shopping bags. “My Crystal Light.”
A better question is why she’s buying groceries from a Circle K. Does she not have a car, or know how to Instacart? I hope she isn’t relying on Bradley to drive her around, because that guy did not give off Auntie’s Little Helper vibes.
“There’s a real supermarket like a mile away,” I tell her. “A lot of people here use this van service, Three Sisters, to get around. Or they do deliveries, if you want to order online. I can bring them up for you from the lobby.”
I can’t tell if she’s ignoring me or just unimpressed until she slides me a dubious look. “I’m not going to tip you for delivery, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Her eyes come to rest on the box in my arms.
“I bring up everybody’s mail when I’m here. For free.” Mrs. A always gives me candy, but that’s her choice. I’d carry her boxes upstairs with or without the Almond Roca.
“Leave my mail alone. I don’t like people snooping into my business.” She tightens her hold on the grocery bags.
“Okay.” I try to tamp down the sarcasm, but she can probably tell I’m thinking,Whatever you say, lady.And then I feel bad, because she may not be likeable, but she’s still Claude’s sister.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” I clear my throat to dislodge the self-consciousness of talking like an adult. “Claude was a wonderful person.”
Instead of softening, she goes rigid. “He certainly knew how to turn on the charm. When he wanted to.”
The elevator dings but it takes me a second to react because I’m still digesting that enigmatic statement. Her mouth pinches when I follow her inside, even though there’s plenty of room for both of us. I fully expect her to ignore me, so I’m surprised when she’s the one to speak first.
