Free Antonia Lively Breaks the Silence by David Samuel Levinson

I feel about that,” she said. “Besides, Henry might say yes, but even if he does, it’s only temporary.”
    â€œYou know how temporary likes to become forever,” Jane said, referring, Catherine assumed, to Jane’s own move to Winslow. Winslow was supposed to have been a minor stop along the way, though along the way to what, she no longer knew. She only knew that what should have been a year had turned into a decade. “If you change your mind, I’ll write a check and bring it tonight,” she said, adding that Louise didn’t have to know.
    Louise would know, though, Catherine thought, and a quick fix would not resolve anything. “Thanks, Jane, but no,” she said as a customer entered the store, and she went to help him, eager to leave the conversation behind.
    F OR THE REST of the day, it was impossible for Catherine to think about anything else. Every time the phone rang, she jumped, anticipating Henry on the line. Every time the door opened, she expected him to walk through it. Yet every time it was someone else. The afternoon dragged on in a steady stream of customers, many of them leaving with Henry’s new book. Catherine rang them up, a phony smile pulled tight on her face. Every time she slid another bookmark into the book and another book into another bag, she was reminded again of the previous night, and wondered what he had decided. What she never allowed herself to be curious about was why she cared so very much. By six o’clock, she had dropped the smile, and anticipation had turned to dread. She knew his decision—his silence told her everything.
    There was no joy of anticipation now, only this, tidying up the store, rearranging the shelves, and cashing out her drawer, another day’s end. Once at home, she took a quick swim, then heated up the last of the lasagna. She’d just poured a glass of wine when there was a knock at the door. Startled at first, she quickly calmed herself and remained in the kitchen, taking slow sips of the wine. The person knocked again. He can just wait, she thought, assuming it must be Henry. But the knocking grew insistent, so she headed into the sitting room, and opened the door.
    â€œCatherine,” Antonia said, gazing at her, a cigarette burning brightly in her fingers.
    She almost didn’t recognize the girl, dressed in a black strapless dress, black pearls and high heels, her hair pulled tightly in a chignon. She looked much older and, strangely, even more awkward than the girl who’d come to the door a couple of days earlier. She apologized for the persistent knocking, and told Catherine she was late to a dinner party in Saratoga Springs. “Henry’s meeting me there,” she said. “He had business in the city and left early this morning.” Then she reached into her clutch to pull out a check.
    Lover and amanuensis, Catherine thought, but said, “I wasn’t sure he was interested.”
    â€œYou know how men are. They just need a little push every now and again,” she said, rolling her eyes and drawing deeply on the cigarette. “Do you think I can get the key?” she asked, the smoke hanging like a veil between them.
    Catherine headed for the small desk while Antonia remained on the porch, the night full of her smoke and perfume and an uncontainable intensity. After she handed the key to Antonia, who dropped it in her clutch, Catherine said, “I just opened a bottle of wine. Would you like a glass?”
    â€œI’d love to, but I’m late as it is,” she said. “Another time?”
    â€œOf course. Come by whenever you want,” she said as Antonia moved down the steps.
    Pausing, the girl turned to say, “I’m sure Henry will make an exceptional tenant, Catherine.”
    â€œCan I get that in writing?” she asked, and laughed nervously.
    As her car’s taillights faded, Catherine pictured the manicured streets of Saratoga