Three days later, Evelyn came to settle the bill.
Lisa rang me first.
“Miss LeClaire’s here.”
“Send her in.”
“And don’t forget. Five o’clock.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Just checking.”
I put down the telephone.
There was a box of books beside my desk. I’d taken them off the shelf that morning. My ex-wife had called Lisa on Tuesday and asked if she could collect them.
She’d said five.
I’d been looking at the clock since three.
* * *
Evelyn came in wearing a dark coat. She carried her purse under one arm.
“Hello, Jerry.”
“Evelyn.”
She stopped beside the chair.
“Can I?”
“Sure.”
She sat and opened her purse.
“Fifty dollars.”
She put the money on the desk.
I counted it.
“You could’ve sent it.”
“I wanted to come.”
I took out the receipt book.
“Pembroke been in touch?”
“Yesterday. A few more questions.”
“About Clark?”
“Mostly Danny.”
I wrote out the receipt and handed it over.
She folded it carefully.
“I spoke to his sister.”
I looked up.
“How’d that go?”
“She let me talk.”
“That’s something.”
“Yes.”
She put the receipt in her purse.
“I didn’t know what to say to her.”
“What did you say?”
“That I was sorry.”
I nodded.
“She asked if I knew.”
“Did she believe you?”
“I think so.”
Evelyn looked towards the window.
The motel sign was off. In daylight you could see a few letters needed fixing.
“I’m singing tonight.”
“Freelow’s?”
“Yes.”
“You feel ready?”
“No.”
She smiled a little.
“But I told them I’d be there.”
“What are you singing?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Something cheerful.”
“Do you know any?”
“Not offhand.”
She laughed once. Quietly.
Then she looked at the money on my desk.
“Did you get what you expected?”
“For seventy-five dollars?”
“From the case.”
“No.”
“Neither did I.”
I put the money in the drawer.
She stood.
“Thank you, Jerry.”
“You paid me.”
“I know.”
She held out her hand.
I took it.
At the door, she stopped.
“Does it get easier?”
I looked at her.
“Some days.”
“And the others?”
“I work.”
She glanced back at the desk.
Then she nodded.
“Goodbye, Jerry.”
“Goodbye, Evelyn.”
* * *
I put the receipt book away.
Read the same paragraph of a letter twice.
Lit a cigarette.
At four-fifty I took the ashtray to the wastebasket, thought better of it, and carried it out to Lisa.
“Where can I empty this?”
She looked at me.
“You’ve worked here how long?”
“Never mind.”
I took it to the washroom.
When I came back, Lisa was smiling at her paperwork.
I went into my office and shut the door.
The books were still in the box.
I checked them again.
Two novels. A book about gardening. A thick one with a cracked spine she’d read more than once. I used to know what she liked about it.
I straightened the pile.
Then the telephone rang.
“She’s here, Jerry.”
“Alright.”
I stood.
Tightened my tie. Ran a hand through my hair.
The window was dark enough to give me a reflection if I stood close.
I brushed my hair again.
There was a knock.
“Come in.”
* * *
She opened the door and stayed there a moment.
“Hello, Jerry.”
“Hello.”
She looked much the same.
I’d expected that to help.
“Lisa said you found them.”
“Yea. They were on the bottom shelf.”
She looked at the box.
“I thought they might be.”
I moved it onto the desk.
“All there?”
She came over and checked.
“This one too?”
“It was with the others.”
She picked up the gardening book.
“I forgot about this.”
“You were going to do something with the windows.”
“Window boxes.”
“Right.”
She put it back.
We’d never got around to buying them.
“Want some coffee?”
“No, thank you. I can’t stay.”
“Alright.”
She looked at me then.
Maybe she’d expected me to ask again.
Her eyes moved past my shoulder to the chair by the window. The blanket was folded over the back. Not very well.
“Still sleeping here?”
“Sometimes.”
“Jerry.”
“I know.”
She didn’t say anything.
I wanted her to. I had answers for most of the things she used to say about it.
Instead, she picked up the box.
I reached for it.
“I’ve got it.”
I took my hand away.
“Car outside?”
“I’m getting a cab.”
“I can—”
She looked at me.
I opened the office door.
Lisa was putting on her coat.
“You get everything?” she asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I followed them into the hall.
At the stairs, my ex-wife shifted the box against her hip.
“Goodnight, Jerry.”
“Goodnight.”
She started down.
I almost called her back.
There wasn’t anything new I knew how to say.
So I stood there until I heard the door downstairs open.
Then close.
* * *
Lisa was still by her desk when I came back.
“You alright?”
“Yea.”
She put on her gloves.
“Don’t stay too late.”
“I won’t.”
She gave me a look.
“Goodnight, Jerry.”
“Goodnight.”
I went into the office.
There was a clean patch on the shelf where the books had been. I moved a file into it, then put the file back where it belonged.
Sat down.
The chair was comfortable. I’d spent enough nights making sure of that.
Outside, the motel sign came on.
I watched it for a while.
Then I got up and took my coat from the hook.
Lisa was at the outer door, looking through her bag for her keys.
She turned when she heard me.
“Going somewhere, Jerry?”
“Home.”
She stopped looking.
“Good.”
We went downstairs together.
At the street, she turned one way.
I turned the other.