next to walk down the stairs. He removes his hat, pushes his fingers through his dark hair, and shakes his head. “Seems we’re done for the night,” he says.
Julia pulls her sweater closed. It’s her loosest cardigan and yet it’s too tight.
“Any of you ladies familiar with Elizabeth’s belongings?” James asks. “Familiar enough you might recognize a shoe?”
The room is silent, but unlike Julia, the others aren’t surprised. They shake their heads because this must be the news they were waiting for, the sign things would not end well for Elizabeth. Behind James and the other men who had been talking with the officers, Bill ducks under the threshold and stands, hat dangling from one hand. He nods in Julia’s direction to reassure her the twins are fine. After spending most of the morning with Julia, the girls had begged to go back home and promised to lock the doors and windows and pull closed the drapes. Bill, in turn, promised to check on them when he was out.
“Julia?” James says, searching the room until his eyes settle on her. “You think you would know Elizabeth’s things?” He is asking because everyone knows Julia was the last to see Elizabeth.
“I’m afraid not, James,” she says. “I suppose Grace best knows Elizabeth.” All around the room, people are staring at Julia. Some lower their eyes. Others look at her with wilted lids. “Or Charles. Won’t you know, Charles?”
“Found a shoe,” James says. “A few of the fellows did. They found it near Chamberlin and Willingham. Near the river. From what I saw, it’s white. Soft-soled. Small, that’s for sure. Not too beat-up. Doesn’t appear it’s been there long. Could belong to anyone, though. Just a shoe. But they say Elizabeth knew that street. Say she used to shop there with Ewa. Think she could have found her way down there and maybe it’s her shoe.”
Someone has handed Mr. Symanski a drink. He doesn’t look up from the sweaty glass he clutches between two hands. Before Ewa died, Elizabeth rode the bus with her mother. She learned to pick out tomatoes that weren’t too soft and bananas that were bright yellow and firm.
“Ask Grace, she’ll know,” Julia says again, hoping she repeats it because it’s true and not because she wants to remind people Grace saw Elizabeth that afternoon too.
“Police’ll see to it,” James says, pulls on his hat and disappears up the staircase that will lead him back to the parking lot and home to Grace.
Julia crosses the room, rests one hand on the back of Mr. Symanski’s chair, and squats at his side. “I’m so sorry, Charles,” she says, and manages a smile. “It doesn’t have to mean something bad. We have plenty of reason for hope.” She squeezes his arm, which is much thinner than she would have expected. “Let me get you a bite to eat. Something sweet to keep your strength up? I brought my rhubarb pie. No one beats my rhubarb pie. You know that’s true enough.”
“Everyone is doing much for my Elizabeth. They are caring very much for her, yes?”
“I saw her last,” Julia says, tugging again at her boxy cardigan.
“The police are telling me this.” Mr. Symanski brushes one hand across Julia’s hair and smiles as if Ewa’s hair must have once been red too, and he is remembering it fondly. “But there is being no need for what you are trying to say.”
“I should have watched her more closely.”
“You are always being good to my Elizabeth.” Beads of water from the cool glass drip onto his blue trousers. “These others are being unkind to you, yes? They are blaming you?”
“They’re troubled, is all,” Julia says. “We’re all troubled.”
While the men continue to eat their fried chicken and thick slices of Bundt cake, the ladies begin to pack up their dishes. They dash this way and that, their skirts fluttering about their calves, their heels in basic black and tan clicking across the gray-and-white speckled tile. Dishes and glassware knock
Julia pulls her sweater closed. It’s her loosest cardigan and yet it’s too tight.
“Any of you ladies familiar with Elizabeth’s belongings?” James asks. “Familiar enough you might recognize a shoe?”
The room is silent, but unlike Julia, the others aren’t surprised. They shake their heads because this must be the news they were waiting for, the sign things would not end well for Elizabeth. Behind James and the other men who had been talking with the officers, Bill ducks under the threshold and stands, hat dangling from one hand. He nods in Julia’s direction to reassure her the twins are fine. After spending most of the morning with Julia, the girls had begged to go back home and promised to lock the doors and windows and pull closed the drapes. Bill, in turn, promised to check on them when he was out.
“Julia?” James says, searching the room until his eyes settle on her. “You think you would know Elizabeth’s things?” He is asking because everyone knows Julia was the last to see Elizabeth.
“I’m afraid not, James,” she says. “I suppose Grace best knows Elizabeth.” All around the room, people are staring at Julia. Some lower their eyes. Others look at her with wilted lids. “Or Charles. Won’t you know, Charles?”
“Found a shoe,” James says. “A few of the fellows did. They found it near Chamberlin and Willingham. Near the river. From what I saw, it’s white. Soft-soled. Small, that’s for sure. Not too beat-up. Doesn’t appear it’s been there long. Could belong to anyone, though. Just a shoe. But they say Elizabeth knew that street. Say she used to shop there with Ewa. Think she could have found her way down there and maybe it’s her shoe.”
Someone has handed Mr. Symanski a drink. He doesn’t look up from the sweaty glass he clutches between two hands. Before Ewa died, Elizabeth rode the bus with her mother. She learned to pick out tomatoes that weren’t too soft and bananas that were bright yellow and firm.
“Ask Grace, she’ll know,” Julia says again, hoping she repeats it because it’s true and not because she wants to remind people Grace saw Elizabeth that afternoon too.
“Police’ll see to it,” James says, pulls on his hat and disappears up the staircase that will lead him back to the parking lot and home to Grace.
Julia crosses the room, rests one hand on the back of Mr. Symanski’s chair, and squats at his side. “I’m so sorry, Charles,” she says, and manages a smile. “It doesn’t have to mean something bad. We have plenty of reason for hope.” She squeezes his arm, which is much thinner than she would have expected. “Let me get you a bite to eat. Something sweet to keep your strength up? I brought my rhubarb pie. No one beats my rhubarb pie. You know that’s true enough.”
“Everyone is doing much for my Elizabeth. They are caring very much for her, yes?”
“I saw her last,” Julia says, tugging again at her boxy cardigan.
“The police are telling me this.” Mr. Symanski brushes one hand across Julia’s hair and smiles as if Ewa’s hair must have once been red too, and he is remembering it fondly. “But there is being no need for what you are trying to say.”
“I should have watched her more closely.”
“You are always being good to my Elizabeth.” Beads of water from the cool glass drip onto his blue trousers. “These others are being unkind to you, yes? They are blaming you?”
“They’re troubled, is all,” Julia says. “We’re all troubled.”
While the men continue to eat their fried chicken and thick slices of Bundt cake, the ladies begin to pack up their dishes. They dash this way and that, their skirts fluttering about their calves, their heels in basic black and tan clicking across the gray-and-white speckled tile. Dishes and glassware knock
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