Free Strings Attached by Judy Blundell Page B

frustration. Tears sprang to my eyes. My cheek felt as though it had burst into flame.
    Delia’s eyes glittered with what looked like fever.
    “Stop your noise,” she said. “I’ve had enough, do you understand? I’ve had enough.”

     
    We were peppered with questions from a sleepy Jamie and Muddie when we got home. Da was asleep, deep into the cushions of the couch. I could hardly talk. Delia went into her room and closed the door.
    Late that night I woke and went to the bathroom. The door was shut but not locked. I pushed it open.
    Delia sat in the tub, the water up to her waist. Da had left his shaving things on the tub as usual — he liked to shave in the tub. I saw the sharp glitter of the razor. There was a towel on the floor, which surprised me, because Delia was fussy about things like towels.
    Steam rose from the water and I saw the pale perfection of her skin flushed from the heat. Her breasts were full and rosy. Her hair was loose and streamed into the water.
    That’s when I noticed she was crying. She turned her head and looked at me and I saw it was hard for her to focus. She’d been lost in a dream, or a memory, and we stared at each other through the steam.
    The water stirred as she lifted a hand, and I thought she would cover herself, but for once she had no shame. She lifted that hand as if to entreat me, or apologize, I still don’t know.
    I backed up and shut the door.

Ten
     
    New York City
November 1950
    Ten o’clock in the morning and the knock was at the door to the street, not the door off the kitchen that led to the lobby. I was barely awake, and I yawned my way to the door. I peeked through and saw Nate looking over his shoulder. He was carrying a load of shopping bags.
    I opened the door and he stepped in right away.
    “I took the liberty,” he said.
    “What’s this?”
    He went into the living room and put down the shopping bags. He began to take out boxes and dump them on the couch and the floor, flipping the lids off and taking some of the items out of the tissue paper quickly as he talked.
    “I have a client, someone I’ve known for years. Last year he sent his daughter off to college with a trunkful of clothes. Only she lived in jeans and sweatshirts and ran off with some poet. Dropped out of Smith.” The beautiful clothes were tossed against the cushions and the carpets now, and I could hardly speak, they were so perfect. Skirts and dresses, several pairs of high-heeled pumps, a green cocktail dress, a beautiful camel coat with pearl buttons.“So they go into her room, and they see that she didn’t wear one single thing they’d bought for her. You should have seen the parents — they came into my office, practically crying. Begged me to take the clothes — find someone who could use them. If I didn’t take them, they were going to throw them away. I was coming down to New York — so I thought of you.”
    He held out the camel coat. “Try it. I don’t know anything about sizes, but it looked like it would fit. I hope it’s not out of date.”
    “They could take the clothes back to the stores.”
    “They’re a year old! They can’t take them back. That’s the point. Come on — I saw how cold you were in that jacket you have.”
    The shapeless navy jacket I’d worn for two years already, a schoolgirl’s jacket. I gingerly slipped my arms into the thick sleeves of the coat, lined in satin. I’d never felt something so luxurious.
    “Nothing but the best for a Smith girl. There you go.” He wasn’t even looking at me, he was checking his watch, like he’d done his good deed for the day and he was congratulating himself on how he’d managed to fit it in.
    The green silk cocktail dress was just my color. I checked the size on the black suede pumps. Perfect. And the tailored sleeveless black wool dress — it was just like the ones I saw on the other girls, a sophisticated dress, a New York dress. There was even a pair of fawn-colored slacks and a matching