The screen lit up with an incoming call, displaying a ten-digit number with an area code I recognized instantly.
Two-zero-six.
Seattle, Washington.
Arthur quickly snatched the phone, flipping it face down against his palm, but his fingers remained tense against the casing.
“I have to take this call,” he said, his smooth tone slipping for a fraction of a second.
“Is that a client from the West Coast?” I asked.
“It is a shipping subcontractor,” he said, turning toward the inner offices before the phone could ring a second time.
At six o’clock, a knock sounded at the door of my small apartment on Elm Street.
Outside my window, the delivery truck for the local oil cooperative was idling, the driver dragging a thick black hose toward the basement fill pipe of the building.
I knew a gallon of heating oil now cost four dollars, and my winter budget was already stretched thin by the sudden change in my position.
I opened the door to find Miriam standing on the concrete landing, her heavy wool coat buttoned up to her chin.
She was wearing her double strand of pearls, her fingers resting over them as if she were trying to hold them in place against a sudden wind.
“May I come in, Eleanor?” she asked, her voice hushed.
I stood in the doorway, my hand resting on the brass knob, not moving aside to let her pass.
“I have a lot of work to finish tonight, Mother,” I said.
Miriam looked past me into the small living room, her eyes scanning the modest furniture and the boxes of files I had brought from the office.
“Your father and I have discussed the wedding guest list,” she said, her voice dropping even lower. “We feel it would be best for everyone if you did not attend the ceremony at the Regency.”
I stared at her, waiting for the explanation she did not want to give.
