What You See in the Dark - Manuel Munoz [46]
It was that easy. When she turned back into the storeroom, it was still empty, Candy nowhere in sight. Teresa was surprised at how calm she was, how she could mask herself in the same way Candy had when Mr. Carson had come searching for her earlier in the morning. She made herself look busy, as if all she’d done was sharpen her pencil and gather more index cards. By the time she ascended the ladder again, Teresa had only the vision of the clock in her head, the small amount of time left before lunch and Dan’s soothing presence.
“Teresa,” she heard Candy call out. “There’s someone here to see you.”
She stood on the ladder, waiting for Candy to round the aisle and find her directly, but Candy wasn’t budging. Her voice came from the front of the storeroom, edged with jealousy.
“Teresa?”
“Coming,” she replied. She shuffled down the ladder and walked toward the beige curtain, where Candy stood waiting.
“You should probably tell him,” Candy whispered, “that Mr. Carson would prefer visitors to wait outside.”
Teresa pulled aside the curtain, and there he stood with his hat respectfully in his hands, Dan Watson in a pair of dark jeans and a plaid shirt he must have just purchased, the creases still evident where it had been folded. She could not hide the smile on her face, the previous evening’s dreaming and the morning’s long walk now wiped away, Dan Watson just as handsome as she remembered him from yesterday, his brown hair wet and freshly combed. The hat, she realized, was a measure of respect—he hadn’t actually worn it, judging by his hair—and when she recognized the gesture, she found herself catching her breath.
But Mr. Carson looked over to her and held her gaze long enough to bring her back to her senses. He stared at her as if she should have known better, though there were no customers in the store.
“Are you ready for lunch?” Dan asked.
“Yes, but at noon sharp,” she answered, almost swallowing her words. “Mr. Carson?” She approached the sales counter, putting her hand on it when Mr. Carson did not look up from his work. “Mr. Carson, this is Dan Watson.”
“He’s introduced himself,” Mr. Carson answered, not looking up. “I knew his father.”
“Yes, sir,” Dan said, a little uncertainly.
“You can go at noon on the dot,” Mr. Carson said, not looking up. He finally raised his head and, without a trace of hesitation, said to Dan, “I don’t like my employees to be picked up at the front door, especially in front of customers. There’s a door in the alleyway.”
“Yes, sir.”
“She gets an hour lunch and cannot be late.”
“Yes, sir,” said Dan. He backed away toward the door, Mr. Carson’s fingers back on his ledger, and Teresa watched him exit.
She was about to turn to the storeroom when Mr. Carson spoke.
“Never again,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she said, and pulled aside the curtain. Her meekness gripped itself into a flush of anger at Mr. Carson’s behavior, the embarrassment at being ordered to be picked up from the back alley when she’d seen Candy leave from the front many times at the end of the day, her sweet boyfriend picking her up.
“Don’t be late coming back,” Candy said as Teresa gathered her purse. “I can’t go to lunch until you return, you know.”
“Of course,” she replied, and headed for the back door, wanting to turn back to see if Candy was eyeing her, relieved that Dan had not yet driven up the one-way alley, a skinny passage of broken pavement and splintering utility poles, trash cans, and yellowing weeds. Her Carson’s Shoes bag sat exactly where she’d put it, pristine, and without a second thought, she took it up by its looped handles.
“What you got there?” Dan asked her when she climbed in.
“I’ve been saving for something special,” she said, one hand still on the loops of the bag. The lie slithered out too easily, and she turned to look at him as if he suspected her. She took a peek at the side mirror, half expecting to catch