I wanted to say yes, although I couldn’t take Mary Grace with me to get the car, either. Maybe Bridget will watch her. “All right.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, the first genuine one she’d sent in my direction in a long time. It struck me how much she resembled Daddy, and I realized how much I missed him and his playful grins, his gruff affection, the way he pleaded to our mother in heaven when we were driving him crazy. A lump swelled in my throat, and I turned away from Molly so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. If I failed…
No. Don’t even think about it.
I collected Mary Grace from a friend’s house down the street, and we walked to the store. I chewed my thumbnail, listening with half an ear to my sister’s steady stream of chatter about her friend’s new kitten. At the store, I sent her up the stairs to Bridget’s apartment and poked my head in the front. Martin was at the register.
“Well, hello, stranger,” he said to me. “Haven’t seen you working much this week. Come to help out?” Martin was a perfectly nice young man with kind eyes and a ready smile, but I was in no mood to chat.
You have to stay here. So make nice.
“Uh, sure. What can I do?”
“How about make room on the south wall for a new Lysol display?”
“All right. Say, Martin,” I began, as if I’d just thought of it, “has anyone brought a package here for me today?”
“Not that I know of, and I’ve been here since nine.” He snapped his fingers. “Come to think of it, there was a woman in here looking for you yesterday. But I think she wanted some whisky.”
“Did she leave her name?”
“No, she wouldn’t. Said she’d try again tomorrow.”
Nodding glumly, I headed for the south wall and began rearranging floor wax and soap flakes to make room for the Lysol display. Every time the bell over the door rang, I jumped, but it was never anyone for me. When I finished with the display, I restocked the dry goods shelves, made a pyramid of soup cans, swept the sidewalk, wiped the back counter, and washed the front windows. Anything to keep my hands busy.
“You’re a regular dynamo today,” said Martin. “Bridget should give you a raise.”
I smiled weakly, feeling light-headed as I wiped one last streak from the glass. What if Joey didn’t come through? What if he left me stranded, like he did the other night at the club? A sweat broke out on my forehead. I’ll go to Enzo and—
The bell over the door rang, and a young boy entered. He looked about ten, a scruffy, undernourished thing wearing torn brown knee pants, black suspenders over a dirty white shirt, and a black cap. The kind of kid hanging around on street corners willing to run errands for a nickel. He reminded me of Joey at that age.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Package for somebody named Tiny.”
“That’s me.”
He handed me a box clumsily wrapped in brown paper, and I turned it over in my hands, inspecting it. It was rectangular in shape and flatter than a shoebox. “Did Joey send you?” When the boy didn’t answer, I looked up.
He was gone. I hadn’t even heard the bell ring again.
“Gift from an admirer?” asked Martin from behind the register.
“No, just something from a friend.” Heart pounding, I tucked the box under my arm and went into the stock room. Out of sight, I pulled off the dirty string and removed the rumpled brown paper. Underneath was a blue box that said Tiffany & Co. Tiffany? What the hell was this? Slowly, I lifted the top off the box. My eyes bulged.
It was a necklace.
Breathless, I picked it up and let it dangle from my fingers. It looks like something from a movie! Five tiny strands of pearls, held together by little diamond-encrusted bars at the sides, came together at the front in a huge, jaw-dropping brooch made up of tiny diamonds in concentric circles. My hands shook as I lifted it to my throat, feeling its weight above my collarbone.
My chest began to pump a little life into my body. I had no idea how Joey had gotten his grubby hands on a Tiffany necklace, but I could sell it, assuming it was real. Even if it wasn’t worth five grand, which it very well could be, it would still bring me a pretty penny. I put it back into the box, did my best to rewrap it, and hid it on a high shelf. Skimming on the periphery of my excitement was the knowledge that the necklace was probably stolen, but I banished that thought from my head. I couldn’t afford to worry about it.
I went upstairs and put on a phony smile for Bridget, who was peeling potatoes at the sink.
“Bridge,” I said, twisting my hands together, “I have to run downtown and pick up the car—I lost my keys last night and had to leave it parked there. And I already promised Molly she could go to the movies. Could you watch Mary Grace?”
Bridget nodded. “Sure. She can stay all night if she wants to. She’s had them quiet in that front room playing school for an hour now. The silence is miraculous.”