now.”
“Who are you kidding?” she yells. “Aris is not interested in tramps!”
I just can’t argue anymore. Her words bowl me over. She is so openly offensive that she frightens me. I get the feeling that she could lash out at any moment. My heart pounding, I turn to leave just as Aris walks through the door. He looks like an angel, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to hide behind him for protection. He stares at us both, and I can tell he’s guessed what’s happened, because he immediately ignores her and looks me right in the eye.
“Hi,” he says. “Were you looking for me?”
I nod, too shaken up to speak.
“Your bookshelf is ready. I forgot to tell you that I have to mount it directly in your house. Sorry.”
I can feel Dora’s eyes boring into me from behind, and I lower my voice.
“It’s okay, someone else told me. I work until six every weekday, and I also work Saturday mornings, so would Saturday afternoon be okay?”
“How about Saturday at three?”
I nod again.
“I live—”
“I know where you live,” he interrupts, smiling. I’ve completely forgotten that Dora’s still standing behind me, and I smile too.
We continue to stare at each other for a moment, and then I open the door. Before I leave, I turn around and see him still looking at me with that same reassuring smile on his face. I deliberately ignore Dora. The temptation to peek in the window for one last look at him is so strong, but I resist. The pavement is illuminated by the dim glow of the street lamps. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, my heart pounding, with Aris’s face fixed in my mind.
Over the next three days, I vacillate between elation and anguish waiting for Saturday to arrive. Even Helga, who never picks up on anything, must have noticed my tortured state. On Friday, she asks me if the “weird machine” is broken, since I’m staring blankly at the screen.
“No, Helga, it’s all right.”
After a full month of “Ms. Kohler,” she has eventually decided that I can call her Helga. I can’t say I’ve earned her trust, because I don’t think anyone really can. But I do think I’ve earned her respect, and that pleases me.
I’m building a network of commonplace relationships here in Bren that I never had in the city where I grew up. I’m not ready to take the risk of calling these relationships friendships, as I’m afraid that I’ll wake up tomorrow and find that everyone has begun to ignore me or look at me with suspicion again. But I’m optimistic, or at least trying to be.
“It looked like you didn’t understand what you were seeing,” Helga continues, referring to the computer, “and if you don’t know what’s going on, we’re in big trouble.”
“Don’t worry. I’m just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well.”
“You’re not stretching yourself too thin, are you? I know you work for Emma during your lunch break.”
I knew it wouldn’t be long before word got out. After all, if I’d wanted to disappear into anonymity, I would’ve moved to a big city.
“Well, I had been working for her for a while before you hired me, so I didn’t have the heart to simply abandon her.”
“I understand,” Helga responds, as usual sounding as though she doesn’t really understand.
I sneak a peek at the edge of the computer screen. Still five o’clock. I want to go home, slip into a warm bath, and think about Aris. I decide that the only solution is to throw myself into my work in the hopes that this will help the time pass quickly. Shortly thereafter, Helga leaves the bookstore, saying she has to run some errands. When she returns, she’s accompanied by a man I’ve never seen before.
“Miss Russo?” she asks, attempting to wink (although it looks more like a grimace of pain).
I raise my head, still perplexed about why she won’t call me Emilia.
“Meet Mr. Moser, the director of the school here in Bren,” she announces, as if she had just
“Who are you kidding?” she yells. “Aris is not interested in tramps!”
I just can’t argue anymore. Her words bowl me over. She is so openly offensive that she frightens me. I get the feeling that she could lash out at any moment. My heart pounding, I turn to leave just as Aris walks through the door. He looks like an angel, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to hide behind him for protection. He stares at us both, and I can tell he’s guessed what’s happened, because he immediately ignores her and looks me right in the eye.
“Hi,” he says. “Were you looking for me?”
I nod, too shaken up to speak.
“Your bookshelf is ready. I forgot to tell you that I have to mount it directly in your house. Sorry.”
I can feel Dora’s eyes boring into me from behind, and I lower my voice.
“It’s okay, someone else told me. I work until six every weekday, and I also work Saturday mornings, so would Saturday afternoon be okay?”
“How about Saturday at three?”
I nod again.
“I live—”
“I know where you live,” he interrupts, smiling. I’ve completely forgotten that Dora’s still standing behind me, and I smile too.
We continue to stare at each other for a moment, and then I open the door. Before I leave, I turn around and see him still looking at me with that same reassuring smile on his face. I deliberately ignore Dora. The temptation to peek in the window for one last look at him is so strong, but I resist. The pavement is illuminated by the dim glow of the street lamps. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, my heart pounding, with Aris’s face fixed in my mind.
Over the next three days, I vacillate between elation and anguish waiting for Saturday to arrive. Even Helga, who never picks up on anything, must have noticed my tortured state. On Friday, she asks me if the “weird machine” is broken, since I’m staring blankly at the screen.
“No, Helga, it’s all right.”
After a full month of “Ms. Kohler,” she has eventually decided that I can call her Helga. I can’t say I’ve earned her trust, because I don’t think anyone really can. But I do think I’ve earned her respect, and that pleases me.
I’m building a network of commonplace relationships here in Bren that I never had in the city where I grew up. I’m not ready to take the risk of calling these relationships friendships, as I’m afraid that I’ll wake up tomorrow and find that everyone has begun to ignore me or look at me with suspicion again. But I’m optimistic, or at least trying to be.
“It looked like you didn’t understand what you were seeing,” Helga continues, referring to the computer, “and if you don’t know what’s going on, we’re in big trouble.”
“Don’t worry. I’m just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well.”
“You’re not stretching yourself too thin, are you? I know you work for Emma during your lunch break.”
I knew it wouldn’t be long before word got out. After all, if I’d wanted to disappear into anonymity, I would’ve moved to a big city.
“Well, I had been working for her for a while before you hired me, so I didn’t have the heart to simply abandon her.”
“I understand,” Helga responds, as usual sounding as though she doesn’t really understand.
I sneak a peek at the edge of the computer screen. Still five o’clock. I want to go home, slip into a warm bath, and think about Aris. I decide that the only solution is to throw myself into my work in the hopes that this will help the time pass quickly. Shortly thereafter, Helga leaves the bookstore, saying she has to run some errands. When she returns, she’s accompanied by a man I’ve never seen before.
“Miss Russo?” she asks, attempting to wink (although it looks more like a grimace of pain).
I raise my head, still perplexed about why she won’t call me Emilia.
“Meet Mr. Moser, the director of the school here in Bren,” she announces, as if she had just
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