Chapter Twelve #2
She had wanted to ask Pax what hope he’d planted but kept her mouth shut for fear of his answer.
Instead, Josie rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans, then tucked them under her armpits for warmth, deciding she’d done enough peopling for the day.
Time for hot chocolate and the New York Times Games page.
The lobby was empty except for the gargoyles, both of whom sported New York Yankees ball caps.
A faint scent of violet gum accompanied her up the stairs and Josie traced a finger along the wrought iron vines curling around the banister spindles, the occasional sparrow peeping out from the vines’ leaves.
The delicacy of this work never failed to amaze her.
From the windows on each landing fell lemon-colored bars of light across the marble stairs and tiny motes of dust twinkled as they passed between them.
A long day stretched before her. Josie knew she should finish laundry, mop the floor, pay some bills, and myriad other weekend chores but that would kill a few hours at most. The rest of the afternoon and night she would spend alone, watching baking shows and looking at the clock more frequently as it approached Amos’s bedtime.
The mix of silence and sunlight mesmerized her, and instead of stopping on the third floor, Josie kept her fingers on the banister and continued up the stairs.
A vague notion of finding her way to the building’s rooftop entered her mind, but the truth was she didn’t want to go back to her empty apartment yet.
The fourth- and fifth-floor landings looked exactly like the others, but at the sixth floor, Josie stopped. Here, the iron banister turned so cold it burned her fingers, and Josie could see her breath.
Whoa. No wonder the rent was reasonable if the heat wasn’t working on entire floors.
Josie tucked her hands back under her armpits. Opposite the sixth-floor landing was the elevator and a small alcove where a table stood in front of a rectangular window. On the table sat a gallon-size watering can and a calendar.
Josie ventured forward off the landing and walked into the corridor. Somewhere a tenant played Strauss on an out-of-tune piano, and the sound of hushed murmurs and occasional clink of glasses came and went.
There was no reason to stop on this floor, but the urge to explore itched at her brain. An uncanny stillness blanketed the hallway despite the piano and the muted voices. Each step felt weighted, and her shoes made no sound on the tiled floor.
Odd. None of the sixth-floor apartment doors had numbers on them.
No welcome mats stood in their entrances, no seasonal wreaths or boot trays gave hints as to who lived here.
Some strange optical illusion made the corridor seem longer than it should be, and although the piano continued at the same volume, Josie couldn’t figure out from which direction the music came.
Despite the sounds, an oppressive silence swallowed her as she continued to walk.
A ridiculous fear that if she shouted, no sound would emerge, formed in her brain.
The composition ended and another piece began as the piano grew increasingly out of tune.
Now the music reminded her of Chopin but played in four-four time instead of three-quarter and it scraped at her nerves.
Just turn around and go back, she told herself. Something is wrong here. Something is very wrong.
Even as she had these thoughts, Josie came to the point where the corridor branched into east and west. The door to the apartment at the end of the western corridor stood open, and from what she could see, the apartment was unoccupied.
Josie increased her pace toward the open door, relieved.
It must be that there were no residents on this floor.
That’s why the temperature was so low and there were no hints of habitation.
The piano player could be on another floor and the quirks of the old building created some weird echo so she could hear it up here.
Curious whether it had the same layout as hers, Josie walked into the empty apartment.
The front door led into a small entryway like hers but wider.
The molding was painted a dusty rose color that blended well with the cream-colored walls and deep brown wood planks of the floor.
Past the entryway to the left was a large living area done in the same colors and a kitchen to the right.
Farther down was a crooked hallway with three doors. They must be two bedrooms and a bathroom, like hers. Josie opened the door straight ahead of her and let out a soft gasp.
Unlike the rooms in Josie’s apartment, this room had only one window, circular like a porthole, high up on the outside wall.
The window was small, but the room appeared well lit, the walls painted a faded peach color, the pale wooden floorboards pitted but clean.
Against the wall to the left stood an empty crib.
Josie’s belly fluttered at the sight. Gloria had foisted a suite of baby furniture on Josie when Amos was born.
Between mourning Dan and trying to figure out how to keep a newborn alive, she’d had no energy left to hold her own against her mother-in-law’s insistence.
For the first two years of Amos’s life he slept in a massive fake cherrywood sleigh bed bigger than a Lincoln.
This crib was perfect. Unadorned but sturdy, the crib rails were spindle shaped and the wood beneath her fingertips was satiny and warm. A moss green sheet covered the crib mattress and in the corner of the crib sat a handsewn teddy bear made from black-and-gold calico.
The bear was almost exactly like the one sitting on her bed back in Texas that day she left her gramma’s house forever, except Josie’s bear had lost most of its stuffing and had smelled like Jean Naté.
She’d found it in the attic at the bottom of a plastic bin filled with leftovers from her mother’s childhood alongside chipped spelling bee trophies, a pile of Wonder Woman comics, and an unused Hello Kitty diary.
Josie had left the bear behind as a gesture. When she caught the Greyhound to New York, she took only the clothes she’d bought with her flower money and nothing of her grandparents’ except for Grampa’s watch. As if to show her gramma that Josie needed nothing from her to survive and thrive.
Tears dripped onto the crib sheet when Josie reached over to pick up the teddy bear.
Fuck. She didn’t want to cry, but this was the first time Josie realized Amos had been raised amid piles of furnishings and clothes and toys his father and grandparents bought for him but had nothing from her family.
“I wish I had taken you with me,” she whispered to the bear. “I wish Amos had had something of Momma’s.”
Cradling the bear to her chest, head bent, the drizzle of tears continued while Josie’s brain berated her stupid emotions and stupid reactions to an empty crib, for Christ sakes.
The bear wasn’t her bear. It was clean, the embroidered nose still bright pink, and it smelled like bayberry candles, not drugstore bath splash.
What did this mean, though? What was this place?
Despite the melancholy brought on by the sight of the empty crib there was no hint of danger. Nothing raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Once oppressive, the stillness now felt comfortable.
Cleansing.
Josie had two distinct memories of her momma. In one, they had gone to the pediatrician, whose offices overlooked a small canal-side park. It had been a warm, sunny day, so she and her momma sat on the bank of the canal and threw tiny bits of old bagels to the ducks.
In the second, her momma had come to her grandparents’ house, desperate for a fix and begging for money. Gramma had shut the door in her face and locked it, but Momma went round to the sliding glass doors of the kitchen and stuck her head in.
Josie had been eating a grilled cheese sandwich and listening to a Rangers game on the radio.
“Hey, baby.” Momma had stuck her head in the door and called to Josie. “Got any money on you?”
Josie couldn’t remember if she’d taken change from the kitchen junk drawer or from her own pocket; she just remembered Momma blowing her a kiss as she ran out the backyard and into the alley.
“Ah, Ms. LaChiusa, I thought I—Josie?”
Pax stood in the doorway, eyes widened at the sight of Josie’s tears when she looked over at him. “Are you hurt?”
Josie sniffed, then wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
Slowly he approached her, his large body throwing off warmth in the chilly air. “Did something scare you? Is that why you were crying?”
Josie hugged the bear tighter, staring at Pax’s chest instead of his eyes. She didn’t want to see pity there. Or worse, disdain.
“It’s hormones,” she said. “No big deal.”
Someone must be baking cookies, because Josie could smell the faintest hint of cinnamon.
Pax said nothing, just did that thing of his where he occupied space, comfortable in his own skin.
Josie sighed, then put the bear back in the crib.
“Whose apartment is this?” she asked.
Pax shifted away from her as if he could physically avoid the question, his eyes dropping to the teddy bear.
“No one’s,” he said, frowning at the bear. “This room hasn’t been occupied in ages.”
“Where did the crib and the bear come from?” Josie asked.
He answered with a small shake of his head and a shrug, indicating he’d no idea.
“My living room wall is yellow now.”
Pax pursed his lips, brows raised as if in thought. “I see.” He paused. “Do you like yellow?”
Josie didn’t know how to react to the hopeful note in his voice.
“I don’t know if I can stick to the lease,” she said, apologetically. “I have to think of Amos.”
Pax rubbed his hand over his mouth. The weighted stillness turned into something else. A prickling sensation awoke on the backs of her hands and knees as if someone was watching the two of them.
Waiting.
“What if we lowered the rent?” he blurted out.