A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [64]
“No, Delores. That won’t work! And besides, there aren’t any openings. There’s no place for you. Everything’s taken.”
She couldn’t speak. She was as shocked by his indifference as by her own blindness. Beads of sweat frosted the pitcher. This was the second batch of squares. She’d thrown out the first; the bottoms had baked too dark. She picked one up.
He paced back and forth. He’d be glad to write reference letters, however many she’d need. With the economy so good right now, there were an awful lot of jobs out there. In the meantime she should apply for unemployment compensation. Stretch it out as long as she could. Enjoy the summer. All he wanted was for her to be all right.
Her thumb flattened the doughy mass. The baby would have been a teenager now. Thank God it had been spared such a pathetic mother. She couldn’t even get mad. Here it was, that same emptiness again and again, the same weak smile with his hand on her shoulder, assuring her that all things work out for the best in the end, “down the road when we look back,” he was saying, when she should be doing something, anything rather than suffocating in his slimy sympathy. If she had a gun right now or a knife . . . that pitcher, just pick it up and throw it. At least she’d be doing something, instead of sitting here with her thighs stuck together, just taking it and taking it, once again letting all the life and love be sucked right out of her. Papers rustled. He was reading order forms. Problem solved. It was over, gone, but what was it? No one knew. Or if they did, they never said. And she would not ask. How could she? The secret would be her only possession of it. She did not deserve such knowledge when she had no regard for its existence. How could she have done that? And now this? To be so empty again. At least pain kept her among the living. But this was unbearable. This was worse than death.
“Hello? Delores?” a man called from out in the store.
Albert’s head shot up. “Shh. Someone’s out front,” he whispered, horrified to see her crying.
“I don’t care,” she sobbed. “I don’t care who’s out there. I don’t care about anything anymore.”
“Stop it, Delores! There’s someone out there. A customer!”
“Good! Well, they’ll just have to help themselves, then, because I can’t. Take what you need!” she called between teary gasps. “Whatever you want! Take it all, I don’t care! Because Albert Smick is a liar! He doesn’t care who he hurts.”
“My God, Delores, what if—”
“And now he’s got little Katie in her crunchy-granola jumper, so he doesn’t need me anymore! Oh, God,” she bawled.
Albert Smick could stand no more. He fled from the back room, through the store, and out to his car.
“Delores?” Gordon Loomis peeked through the doorway. “Are you all right?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
“I just stopped in. I was so abrupt on the phone. I’m sorry. I was going to leave, but then I was afraid maybe something was wrong.”
“That was Albert. My boss.”
“Oh.”
“He just fired me.”
“Well, I don’t blame you for being upset, then,” he said so somberly that she almost laughed.
“People always say that, don’t they? As if you shouldn’t be upset unless you have a really good reason,” she said with a sob. “Well, you want to know something? I never do. I never get mad at anyone. Even when I should. I don’t, and that’s my whole trouble. I always try and figure out why people do things. Why they’re so mean or thoughtless or selfish. So I can understand. So I can try and help them and forgive them. Oh, I’m sorry, Gordon, I’m so sorry,” she wept, feeling even worse to see him look so troubled. “You’ve just caught me at a bad time. Oh, God, listen to me—a bad time. A terrible time, that’s what this is. A horrible time.”
“Should I leave? Would that be better?”
She nodded.
“All right. I will, then,” he said, backing away. “And if there’s anything I can do, just . . . please, let me know.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said as the door closed. She covered her face with her hands. Now she’d done it. In