Chapter 5: The ATM

"Nothing," I said, and tried to shove the bills into my bag.

Serena took the boat apart out of my hand with two fingers.

She read the pencil on the fold.

"Not part of the deal," she said. "Luce. What deal?"

I didn't answer, which was an answer.

Her face softened.

She steered me into my room and shut the door and sat me on the bed.

"I wasn't going to tell you," she said. "But you'd tell me."

"Tell me what?"

She took my hand in both of hers.

"I was at his restaurant last Friday, with my cousin. Damiano's friends were at the bar after his shift."

"He doesn't have friends."

"The guys he works with. They were joking about you."

"Joking."

"Not mean, exactly. He has a nickname for you. He says it when he can't make plans."

She looked at the carpet.

"'Can't come out tonight. I've got to go to the ATM.'"

The room was very quiet.

"Everybody laughed," Serena said. "I'm sure he doesn't mean it badly. He's just broke. Who wouldn't be funny about it?"

I looked at the four hundred dollars in my lap.

I had left it under his coffee mug.

It made sense in about one second.

A coat. A phone. A suit. A night.

Of course he'd had a word for me.

If I were him, I'd have had a word too.

"Thank you for telling me," I said.

"Oh, honey." She hugged me hard. "You can always tell me anything."

She went down the hall, and I heard her door close, and then I heard her laugh on the phone.

I went to the studio and cut a skirt pattern I didn't need.

I worked until three in the morning.

I didn't call him.

I didn't ask him.

If I asked him, he could answer.

I left the pattern pieces on my table and went to bed.

At six, when I came back, my table was bare.

The night custodian was at the end of the hall, winding up her cord.

She was the one who left a sandwich on Damiano's stool every night, and folded the foil when he gave it back.

"Where is it?" I said.

"Where's what, miss?"

"My pattern. It was right here."

"It was on the floor, honey. I thought it was scrap."

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