Free Willow Pond by Carol Tibaldi Page B

perfectly manicured finger to her lips and smiled. Laura took this to mean it was better if she didn’t know.
    They sat on the couch together in a comfortable quiet.
    “You can stay here, you know,” Virginia said after a few moments. “As long as you want. Now’s no time to be alone.”
    Laura shook her head. “That’s a nice offer, but I can’t. I can't hide from life, you know? The best thing for me to do is face what’s happened. That’s what you always do.”
    Virginia nodded and patted the back of her niece's hand. “I understand. But Laura, remember. I’m here anytime you need me.”
    When she got to her apartment, Laura set down her bags and went directly to the nursery. She leaned against the doorframe, vaguely aware of particles of dust dancing in the shaft of late afternoon sun. She stepped quietly through the door, feeling like an intruder in the empty room. Her chair creaked as she settled into it, and she closed her eyes, rocking gently. She could almost feel him in her arms, practically smelled the powder, sweet on his skin. Oh Todd. The anguish of longing was so intense she nearly doubled over.
    But when she was able to open her eyes, to look around the room, she knew she'd been right to come home. Painful as the reminder was, he seemed more real here. His things lay everywhere she looked, making it easier to believe he was still alive somewhere. How could he not be, with his little slippers waiting for him right there under the crib?
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
     
    Laura was stretched out on the flowered chintz sofa, listening to the radio and daydreaming when the phone rang. It was early in the evening, and she was tempted not to answer. A week had passed since she’d left Willow Pond, and she was having trouble working up the energy to do just about anything.
    “I hope I’m not taking you away from anything important,” Erich said when she eventually picked up the phone.
    “Not really. Just listening to Fibber McGee and Molly.”
    He chuckled. “That’s one of my favorites. Hey, I was wondering what you were doing for lunch tomorrow.”
    She sighed heavily. “Oh. No more interviews, Mr. Muller. That piece you did was okay, but—”
    “Please. It’s Erich. Nobody but you calls me Mr. Muller. What do you mean it was okay? Should I start looking for another line of work?”
    “No, I didn’t mean that. Nothing dreadful was in it. About us, I mean. What you think of Virginia is your business, but she’s my aunt and I love her.”
    “I know what you mean, Laura. I was kidding. And to be frank, I’m not asking for another interview. Just lunch. Nothing in it for me other than some good company.”
    She was surprised at how appealing the prospect of seeing him again was, and shocked herself even more when she agreed to meet him at the Pepper Pot Inn.
    The Inn had been one of her favorite places since the day she spotted the poet, E.E. Cummings, sitting at a table and writing in a notebook. It turned out he lived a few doors down from her, at 4 Patchin Place. After seeing him there, she’d gone out and bought herself a notebook to jot down ideas for her novel, but at first was too embarrassed to take it out of her purse. What if he saw her copying his idea? It had taken a few weeks before she felt comfortable using it, and now she never went anywhere without it.
     
    ***
     
    Laura set out the next day for her lunch date, thinking how beautiful the day was. A light spring breeze swayed the budding trees and the sky was like crystal blue water. Laura strolled down Patchin Place, past the one gaslight lamp left in the city and headed toward Waverly Place.
    Walking alone helped her feel the pulse of a place. Helped her clear her mind. It also reminded her of the country road in Maine where she’d been walking when her sister had found her. That was the moment when she’d learned their parents were missing. She thought about them often lately.
    The restaurant was crowded, but Erich had