A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [34]
“But that’s ridiculous,” Gordon said. “I mean, why should we both be inconvenienced? Especially you.”
“Jesus Christ! You want her calling the parole office, is that what you want?”
What Gordon didn’t want was Dennis mad at him, so the ladder would go to Dennis’s and now a Realtor was showing him a condominium he had no intention of buying.
“It’s expensive,” Gordon told her. Too expensive to even hold the listing sheet. It kept sliding off the dashboard. He held it down with one finger as they rode along.
“Not really.” She turned onto a road lined with identical brick buildings with small wrought-iron balconies. “Not when you consider today’s market.”
Today’s market. Gordon glanced at his watch. He hadn’t eaten yet. He wasn’t used to being hungry. He couldn’t seem to follow what she was saying. Every day for twenty-five years he had eaten at the exact same times. His stomach was growling. He pressed his knees together, clearing his throat and coughing to cover the gassy rumbling. Dennis had said not to be nervous, that she was very nice, and she was—easy to talk to, no pressure. Just sit back and let her do her thing, Dennis had said. That’s all he wanted, he’d said, just to have Gordon see what was out there. He kept glancing at her. She was beautiful, long blond wavy hair. Everything about her was delicate: her turned-up nose, her perfect white teeth, her slender fingers on the wheel, her pink nails glistening in the light. She stopped the car, and he realized he hadn’t felt carsick once.
“Here we are. Building sixteen. Dennis said to show you everything. Both ends of the spectrum,” she said on their way inside.
“Which is how I do it anyway. At this point in the process you’re being educated.” In the closeness of the elevator, she smelled of flowers. Tiny white flowers. Her head didn’t reach his shoulder.
She unlocked the door. Her voice echoing through the empty unit made her seem smaller. The kitchen was not only big enough for a table, she was saying, it even had room in the corner for a good-size wine rack. Or an office niche.
He wasn’t sure what that meant.
“Do you have a computer?” she asked.
“No. No, I don’t. But I learned. They had classes. I mean, I know how to use one,” he added, relieved when she didn’t ask where. She didn’t seem the least bit nervous. If she did know who he was, it didn’t seem to bother her.
The long living room was as big as the entire first floor in his house. He kept wanting to tell her that so she’d laugh, but he hated to interrupt. Her voice was so soft, he had to bend and tilt his head to hear her. She had a wonderful laugh, surprisingly strong and rich for such a small woman. He had made her laugh before, trying to fit into her little sports car. To demonstrate the spaciousness of the walk-in closet, she extended both arms and turned without touching the metal-gridded shelving. “Almost big enough to sleep in. Well, maybe for some people. Not for you,” she added, laughing.
Actually it was, he realized. His cell had been about that size.
On the way back, she told him about an even nicer complex she would show him next time. It had a clubhouse with an Olympic-size pool he’d love.
“I don’t swim!” He laughed and wasn’t sure why, other than this lightness he was feeling.
“You don’t know how?” She pulled in front of his house.
“No, I know how! I just . . . never do it much.”
The purple Navigator cruised down the street with its brilliant hubcaps and booming bass. It stopped in the middle of the road. Gordon said good-bye and quickly got out of the car. He didn’t want her to see anything as ugly as the incident last week. Feaster got out and lowered his sunglasses with a sly smile as she drove by. “Hey, big man, that’s nice. That is really nice,” Feaster called as he swaggered over. “Hey, I just found out. You used to be from around here. But a long time ago, right?”
Gordon nodded.
Feaster lowered his glasses again. “You