Read Online The Fallen by Celia Thomson - Free Book Online Page B

to remain supportive when she talked about Xavier. He would be interested that Alyec was Russian. He should be, considering it had been
his
idea to adopt the orphan of an ex-Soviet state. Right now Chloe felt like she had
no one
to talk to.
    â€œHey.”
    A pair of black knit kitty cat ears appeared above the rack where she was working. The guy wearing them stood on his toes and waved at her.
    â€œHey,” she said, smiling.
    â€œI think I’m going to buy a whole
suit
this time,” he said. “Or maybe just a jacket,” he added.
    â€œLania is our queer-eye-for-every-person girl. Shecan help you pick out something professional
and
stellar if you don’t mind the constant bitching.”
    â€œOh.” In the flash of sunlight his eyes were almost green and very deep, like an expensive glass paperweight.
    Chloe desperately tried to think of some way of continuing the conversation.
    â€œHey, um, I think I want the pattern for your hat after all,” she said. “My friend Amy knits, and she owes me a birthday present.”
    â€œOh! Absolutely!” He gave up his tippy-toe routine, seeming to suddenly realize he could simply walk around the rack. He wore a dark green shirt with jeans and black square-tipped European-looking shoes. Very much the clove cigarette type: dark and mysterious. His shoulders were larger than they had seemed the other day, and he held a copy of James Joyce’s
Ulysses
under his arm. “I’ll bring it by.”
    â€œSure, that would be great.”
    There was a silence between them for a moment.
    â€œOr,” he added, “I could take you out for a coffee after work sometime and give it to you.”
    Chloe smiled.
“That
would be great.”
    â€œHow ‘bout tomorrow?”
    â€œAbsolutely!”
    â€œI’m Brian, uh, by the way.”
    â€œI’m Chloe. Pleased to meet you.” She made a serious look and held out her hand. He shook it.
    â€œChloe—like ‘Daphnis and Chloe,’ the Greek myth?”
    â€œOne and the same” Chloe said, surprised he knew of it.
    â€œYou know,” he said, glancing at the newspaper section she held, “not everyone who dies winds up in the obituaries.”
    â€œWhat? Oh.” She blushed, thinking furiously. “I—I guess I’m just morbid. I, uh, like to see how old people are when they die and stuff.”
    â€œTry the crossword instead,” he suggested, smiling. “It looks impressive and high-falutin’ when you do it with a pen.”
    Chloe grinned. “Maybe I’ll just do that.”
    She stayed late to help Marisol lock up, checking her watch nervously. Now that the new season of television had once again begun, Wednesdays were
Smallville
and takeout night, her mother’s attempt to connect to her daughter via cable’s younger generation. One of her more successful attempts, actually, since Chloe loved dumplings and Michael Rosenbaum. Plus since the unexpected birthday party she and her mom seemed to be getting along better, something Chloe didn’t want to screw up.
    By the time she helped Marisol pull the chain gate down, it was seven forty-five. There was
no way
the bus was going to get her home in time. Three miles on the bus took forever.
    â€œHere.” Marisol handed her a ten-dollar bill.
    â€œI only stayed an extra hour,” Chloe protested.
    â€œShush!” The older woman pushed it into her hand and closed her fist around it. “Take a cab home. I got a ten-year-old, and someday she’s going to be your age. It freaks me out watching you and Lania. Be safe.”
    â€œYou have a daughter?” Chloe felt twice as embarrassed taking the money now, having just found out about an important part of her boss’s life that she knew nothing of before.
    â€œYeah. She’s at her dad’s this week. Lazy son of a bitch loves his little girl, at least. See you tomorrow.” Marisol tossed