I realized as I looked around that the Winthrops must be incredibly rich, on paper at least. I’d seen the evidence in the size of the houses the family lived in, their clothes and jewelry and toys: But seeing the vastness of the store, thinking of the huge lumber and home supply store right next to this place, remembering all the fences I’d seen across areas containing working oil wells marked Winthrop oil, no entrance, the amount of money the family must have in the bank just winded me.
Well, I didn’t want it. All I wanted was gloves.
I would have to safari into the camouflage jungle to reach the little area I wanted, a far hike to the rear if I remembered the store layout correctly. Darcy Orchard seemed to feel I wanted his company, and when he found out what I needed he led me down the narrow middle aisle and veered to the left. I lifted a hand to Jim Box, who was explaining to a teenager why he needed a gun case that would float. The young woman who worked in boating accessories came up and gave me a half-hug and asked about my leg, and one of the men who’d worked in the store for over twenty years- his sweatshirt said so-patted me on the back in the friendliest way, though I hadn’t a clue who he was. These were nice people, and their kindness and their courtesy in not asking questions reminded me of why I’d liked Shakespeare in the first place.
“You can meet the new guy, if you haven’t already. He’s ‘bout as mean as you,” Darcy said in that jocular tone some men reserve for insults they don’t want you to take them up on. I suddenly remembered who the new man was, suddenly and for the first time realized… Just as a jolt of alarm went through me, I made myself pay attention to Darcy.
Darcy’s voice had been offhand, but something in his tone had made the hair on my neck stand up. “You sure turn up in funny places,” he said now. “You in the Winthrop house when it’s not your day to work, you in the church when everyone going to that meeting is black.”
“Did your wife tell you everything she was going to do, Darcy?”
I recalled he been married for six years or so, though he’d been divorced as long as I’d known him.
“My wife had more plans than the Pentagon,” Darcy said grimly, but he seemed to relax.
We rounded a corner consisting of men’s jumpsuits (very popular in Shakespeare) which led us into the small open area devoted to workout equipment and workout clothes.
Reading the instructions for an adominal exerciser gadget, with a skeptical sideways pull to his lips, was the detective, Black Ponytail. I’d just figured out who I was going to see, but he didn’t have any warning. I admired the calm with which he took me in. His hands tightened on the brochure, but that was the only outward sign that we weren’t seeing each other for the first time.
“Lily, this is Jared Fletcher,” Darcy said. “He’s got those abs of steel, don’t you, Jared?”
His name wasn’t Jared. I knew him now. He’d had the same skeptical look in the newspaper photos. I could feel my breath shorten.
“Jared, this is Lily, the toughest woman in Shakespeare.” Darcy completed the introduction with relish. “You two ought to hit it off great.”
Even Darcy seemed to realize there was something tense in the ensuing silence.
“You two already know each other?” he asked, his beige head turning from me to “Jared” and back again.
“I’ve seen Lily at the gym,” the new man said easily. “But we’ve never actually met.”
“Oh, sure.” Darcy’s face cleared. “I’ll leave you two to it, then. Jared, Miss Lily here needs herself some new gloves. Might oughta sell her some body armor, too, since she seems to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What size?” the dark man asked as Darcy reluctantly went back to his work area.
I held out my hand. “What do you think?” I asked, meeting his eyes.
He took my hand with his right and stepped closer to me. This area of the store seemed isolated and silent, suddenly, though I knew there were people just through the dense racks of clothes. His other hand reached up to touch the bruise on my forehead. Among my other injuries, the place he’d bopped me had paled into insignificance.
“Sorry,” he said. He was so close I was afraid he could hear my pulse. I laid my finger on his wrist. I felt his blood leap. The apathy that had lain on my shoulders like a fog seemed to be lifting.
“Gloves,” I reminded him. My voice was scratchy.
“Right,” he said, stepping away. He looked around him like the new employee he was. “Jared” hadn’t had much time to get acclimated.
“There,” I pointed. “Women’s mediums?”
“We have some in black,” he said.
“Black is okay.”
He pulled down a plastic container and popped it open. “You better try them on.”
Again I held out my hand, and he wriggled the glove over my fingers, wrapping the strap around my wrist and Velcroing it snugly. I flexed my fingers, made a fist, looked at him. He smiled, and deep arcs appeared on each side of his mouth. The smile changed him totally, threw me off balance.
“Don’t hit me here. Save it for later,” he murmured. “You’re quite a fighter.” I remembered I’d bitten him on the ear. I looked at it. It looked better than mine.
It had been a long time since I’d met someone new. It had been even longer since I’d met someone who apparently didn’t know who I was.
“Lived here long?” he asked, as if we’d just seen each other for the first time and he was introducing a standard conversational gambit. I looked down at the glove on my right hand, considered the fit.
“Over four years,” I said, holding out my left hand.
“And you have your own maid service?”
“I clean houses and run errands,” I said a little sharply. “I work by myself.”
His fingers stroked my hand as he pulled the other glove on.
“Do you think they’re too tight?” I asked, pantomiming a seiken zuki strike to get the feel of the glove. I was able to curl my fingers more easily than I’d thought. I practiced a hammer fist strike. I’d looked at the price tag. The gloves were very expensive, and I’d better be sure they suited me. I picked up one of the twenty-pound barbells, gripped it, raised it over my head. It was a very unpleasant surprise to find it felt heavy.
“They’ll loosen a little. Lily is a pretty name.”
I shot him a look.
He looked back steadily. “I know you live next to my apartment building. But if I wanted to call you, how are you listed in the phone book?”
As if he couldn’t ask Howell. Or anyone else in town, for that matter. I put down the barbell very gently. I’d enjoyed a few minutes of feeling normal.
“Bard,” I said. “My name is Lily Bard.” I knew he would remember.
Because I didn’t want to see the look on his face, I took the package the gloves had come in from his suddenly still hands, walked out of the area stripping off the gloves. I paid for them at the front counter, exchanging a few idle words with Al Ferrar, a big, friendly redheaded man whose fingers seemed too large to punch the cash register keys. The hunting bows were behind him, and I stared at them as he rang up the purchase. The arrowheads hung in bubble containers on the wall behind him, some so wickedly sharp, like four razors joined together, that I could hardly believe the user wouldn’t be frightened to fit them on the shafts. When Al handed me the plastic bag with the gloves in it, I stared at him blankly for a minute and then left the store.
I stood looking up into the sky when I’d reached my car, lost in the gray emptiness of an overcast November day. Wet leaves had piled up in the lower parts of the parking lot. It was going to rain again that evening, the weatherman had predicted. I heard footsteps behind me. The apathy washed back over me, a wave that pulled me under. I was so tired I could scarcely move. I wished the coming scene to be over and done with, wished I could go somewhere else while it was accomplished.