What You See in the Dark - Manuel Munoz [43]
She and Candy had a small worktable near the back door, all of the inventory ledgers neatly stacked, the single rolling chair waiting. The floor was cement, and all day came the echo of their clicking shoes as they searched for a requested pair from the stock shelf, or the scrape of the ladder being pulled into place. A second phone could be accessed from their desk, its bell to be answered by the third ring if Mr. Carson failed to get it at the front of the store. A large floor fan, for the moment, sat turned off. The room, Teresa realized, was actually quiet for once. She listened to the silence, the clock’s tick, the slight creak from one of the shelves settling, everything so faint she could hear the shuffle of Mr. Carson’s newspaper out front as he turned the page, then the quiet again, as if he were thinking.
She knew Candy had arrived when Mr. Carson’s deep-throated but friendly voice greeted her, a little muffled because he’d been caught with his mouth full. The two exchanged morning banter with an unforced pleasantry, something he rarely did with Teresa.
It was not yet nine. Candy finally parted the thick beige curtain and walked across to their worktable. She smiled wanly at Teresa but did not say good morning, passing a few minutes shuffling papers, and when the clock finally struck nine, she turned to Teresa with a clipboard and a stack of salmon-colored index cards.
“Will you do the inventory of the shoes on those racks over there?” Candy pointed to the far wall. “We’re getting a shipment sometime next week, so Mr. Carson is planning to put those ones on sale.”
“Of course,” Teresa replied, taking the clipboard and then going over to the worktable for a sharpened pencil. It would be slow and tedious work, checking each of the boxes, noting the condition of each pair of shoes—some of them had lost their shine after being tried on so many times—but it would keep Teresa occupied until lunchtime.
Fifteen minutes passed in quiet. They were intolerable, lunchtime forever off. This is what it was to be in love, Teresa thought, her heart possessing complete control, allowing her neither rest nor distraction, relentless and constant as a star. She looked at the clock yet again, the long hours until noon.
She was on the ladder when she heard Candy’s footsteps approaching, and she looked down in time to see her appear at the front of the aisle, arms crossed.
“You were here so early today,” Candy said. It had not been a question, but she looked up at Teresa with a measure of genuine curiosity. But there was something else, too, Teresa saw, a vague shadow of suspicion.
“I was up at dawn,” she told Candy. “I didn’t sleep very well last night, so I ended up leaving my apartment very early this morning.”
“You have a record player?” Candy asked.
“Well … no, I don’t,” Teresa answered, but now her admission felt almost like a defeat, like when the salesman at Stew-art’s Appliances had approached her the one time she dared step inside, the way he had asked her, “Are you interested in purchasing this television, miss?”
“I have one,” Candy said. “Pricey.”
“I’d imagine so.”
Candy moved fully into the aisle now, her arms still crossed in front of her.
“You going to buy one someday?”
She looked down at Candy, unsure of how to answer. “Maybe I’ll save for one.”
“They’re expensive, you know. Did you know you have to buy needles all the time? Or else they scratch your records if they’re not sharp enough.”
“What do you mean, needles?”
“For the record player,” Candy answered, her mouth opening a little in surprise when Teresa looked back at her blankly. “The arm on the record player,” she explained. “It has a tiny needle that fits exactly—exactly—into the groove of the record.”
“I see,” said Teresa. They remained looking at each other, Teresa