First Avenue (33 page)
“A little rain might help business,”
One of the few customers got up to leave, and
“A little more coffee?” she asked. She had already picked up the coffeepot and began pouring into his cup before he answered.
“Sure. Why not?”
Maria carefully poured a little on the counter beside his cup.
“Sorry about that,” she said. She wiped the counter with napkins just as she had done the first time and then lifted his cup and placed a napkin beneath it. There was something written on this napkin.
Sam picked up the cup and read the message written in pencil.
“Can you meet me at
Sam nodded with an almost imperceptible movement of his head as he folded the napkin in his hand and wiped his lips.
The attentive
“
“Fine, you watch it then.”
The boy picked up the milk carton as though it weighed fifty pounds and put it back in its place in the refrigerator.
“Of course, if it rains,” Sam said, picking up the conversation where he had left it with Bill, “it’s just as likely to keep all your customers away.”
It’s after three,” she said. “Do you want me to work overtime?”
Maria had planned the words carefully when three o’clock passed and Pierre had said nothing to her about leaving. She had cleaned the kitchen, swept the floor, cleaned the tables, wiped the coffeemaker, the counter, and the doughnut case, and arranged the cups, sugar packages, and straws each time one of the few customers disrupted the pattern she had made. She was not interested in the order of paper cups in the Donut Shop.
Pierre looked at the clock in the kitchen and got off the stool behind the counter. He had done nothing the last half-hour except sit on the stool at the end of the counter and watch. It gave her the creeps. As she expected, the word “overtime” had gotten his attention. His red-streaked eyes looked at her again. Their coldness made her shiver.
“No overtime,” he said. “You can go.”
Without stopping to wash her hands, she started for the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, but she knew she was only saying words that carried no meaning.
Because she was certain
Third Avenue
where she usually caught the bus. Then she walked north a block before turning back. She stopped several times to look in store windows in order to sneak looks backward.
After crossing
First Avenue
she walked downhill into the Pike Place Market where she felt safer. There were more people, so many that they could not separate themselves on the sidewalks. They overflowed onto the brick and cobblestone streets. She remained at the edge of the sidewalk and stepped into the street when the sidewalks became too crowded. She left the narrow path to those willing to turn, stop, and touch shoulders.
She saw a man sitting on the curb with hair like her
She saw him standing outside the half-door. He was leaning on the side of the building with his arms folded. Inside, Silve sat on a wooden stool and fanned himself with a newspaper. When
“Sorry I’m late,” she said.
“No problem. We were just beginning to wonder if we should send out the cavalry.”
He opened the half-door and motioned for her to go first. He wore a dark blue sweatshirt and blue jeans. He seemed to like blue in or out of uniform. He glided behind her silently as she walked down the steps into the dining room.
“You close up, sir,” Silve said. He had walked down the steps behind them. “You want a Coke, honey?”
“No thank you.”
“Help yourself if you do. I’ll lock the door on my way out. When you leave, just pull it closed.”
“I’ll do that,”
“I’ll see you in the morning, sir,” Silve said. There was a display of cheerfulness in his creased face, but as he turned to face the stair, he became weary again. “Ah,” he said as he placed his hand on his bent leg and pushed himself up the last step.
Sam watched the old man go up the steps. His eyes remained far away although they looked toward her. Then he smiled in a way that was something like Silve’s, the same brief expression of cheerfulness. It was probably a smile for the old man and not for her.
“I saw
“The Re(a)d and Green?”
“I didn’t notice the name. It has flowers in the front.”
“That’s the Re(a)d and Green,” he confirmed.
There was so much to tell she was afraid she would not find the beginning. She was also afraid he might be disappointed that he had waited.
She told him about
First Avenue
one way and then back on the other side to the bookstore. She told how she had left
“It wasn’t one of the beat cops, was it?” he asked. “You know, in regular clothes?”
“It wasn’t either of them,” she said.
“Thank god for that.”
“I saw the book he bought.”
“
“No. He left. The other man.”
“How did you do that?”
“I went inside the store after
“Inside?”
“I stood behind him.”
“
“He didn’t recognize me. How would he know who I was?”
“Maybe he’s seen you in the Donut Shop.”
“He’s never been inside.”
“You might not remember him.”
“I would have remembered.”
“Don’t take chances like that.”
His voice sounded the same as her father lecturing her about school grades.
“Do you want to know what the book was?” she asked.
His lecture face broke into a smile. It was like the smile she had seen before, except it was coming closer to her. “Yes,” he said.
“It was some kind of war book. There was an old cannon on the cover. The title said something about ‘stillness.’“
“Stillness?”
“That’s what it said.”
“
All Quiet on the Western Front
?“
“No. It had the word ‘stillness.’ I didn’t see the rest of it.”
“That’s good information,
“Okay,” she said. She had planned to tell him that she was not going back, but she was changing her mind. She would like to see that smile again.
“
“No, but all those kids who hang around must have something to do with it.”
“That’s what we think, too. He does strange things when he leaves the Donut Shop. He doesn’t just go across the street.”
“You’ve seen him?” she asked. She wondered if he had been closer to her than she thought.
“No. I can’t tell you about that right now.”
Somebody else, she thought.
“Has he ever said anything about
Alberta
, the girl who worked there before you?”
“No. He hardly says anything to me.”
“Well, if you see or hear anything, let me know. I’ll be around in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“That was pretty slick today with the napkin. Did
“No.”
“Why was he in the front instead of you?”
“
“I didn’t like the feeling I got when I went in there today. Friday is still the last day. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. No more napkins. I’ll meet you here at
“Okay.”
The smile came this time without information. Maybe she had been foolish to follow
“What do you say we go home?” he asked.
He got up from the table before she could say anything. One of these times she would have to say something. Friday, she decided, rising with him. Friday would be the day.
Again there was the awkwardness going up the steps with him. Should she lead, follow, squeeze by? It was silly to even think about. Outside there was enough room for them both.
“I have a boat to catch,” he said.
“Do you take the ferry?” she asked.
“No. A kayak. Coming from
Alaska
, you should know all about kayaks.”
“I’ve never been in a kayak.”
“You’re kidding.”
“There aren’t that many in
Anchorage
.”
“Not many here, either,” he said. “Which way are you going?”
“Up there, I guess.” She pointed up the ramp.
“Okay. See you here tomorrow.”
Sam turned and walked down the ramp past Silve’s front door. She waited until he disappeared around the corner. Then she walked up the ramp and stopped under the metal canopy. Its afternoon shadow reached into the street.
She was amazed how many different voices there were beneath the canopy. A fish man yelled with excitement, and she turned and saw him lift a salmon from the ice display in front and throw it over the counter to an older man who weighed and wrapped it in white paper. The purchaser smiled as if he had won a prize.
“Two dollars and fifty,” she heard another voice say. She turned away from the fish man and saw a Chinese woman—she thought the woman was Chinese—hand a sack to a buyer across neat rows of green and yellow onions. A black man in a suit exchanged money for the sack. He held other sacks, too.
She walked down a row that was like an outdoor supermarket, except people were behind each counter. Honey, fruit juices, apples. Where two streets met at the end of the Market, wooden animals stood on display. There were bears and deer, whales with curved tails, and wolves. An old Indian man sat carving and blowing chips away with his breath. He didn’t seem interested in selling. That was the job for a young woman, his daughter, his granddaughter, maybe. She stood with her hands behind her back. A customer showed interest in one of the carvings, and she placed that carving in front for inspection. It was a bird with outstretched wings. The young woman didn’t try to improve the bird with her voice.