The Misfortune Cookie

“Hello?” I called back, trying to figure out where he was. “Who’s there?”

“Esther? Is that you?”

“Yes,” I called. “Lopez?”

“Yeah. I think I’m lost,” he said. “Well, no, I’m definitely lost.”

It sounded like he was somewhere in the area on my left, beyond the tall painted privacy screens and hanging textiles that surrounded me. “Stay where you are,” I called. “Keep talking. I think I can find you if you hold still.”

“This place is like a mystery wrapped up in a maze and concealed in a rabbit warren,” he said. “I’m not even sure what floor we’re on.”

“I think we’re on the third floor,” I called. “So you’re back in town now, huh?”

“Yeah, we got back from Saskatchewan last night.”

“I thought it was Saranac Lake.”

“That place feels like Saskatchewan. I’ve never been so cold in my whole li—Oh! There you are.” He smiled at me as I popped my head around a corner and found him. “Did you bring provisions? I’m not confident about finding our way out of here before the spring thaw.”

“I’m going to call Ted and tell him to come rescue us. He was supposed to come back upstairs and never did. Probably forgot about me.”

“Probably,” said Lopez, who obviously knew him by now.

But when I tried Ted, I got his voicemail. “Oh, for God’s sake. He’s not answering.”

“He’s good at that.” As the flaps of my coat swung open, Lopez said, “I don’t know why you’re risking pneumonia on a night like this, but that dress looks great on you.”

“I came here for a costume fitting.”

“Oh, of course.” His gaze roamed over me, and the store suddenly didn’t feel chilly anymore. “Are you sure you’re not playing a hooker?”

“No, just an exhibitionist.” I put my phone back in my purse. “So why are you wandering around here?”

“I was supposed to meet Ted. His mother told me he’d be up here with you. I had no idea what I was getting into when I said, ‘Okay, I’ll just go upstairs and find them.’”

“Fools rush in,” I said.

“And if Ted’s not up here with you, and he’s still not answering his phone . . . I’d bet real money that he’s forgotten I was coming here tonight.”

“I have a feeling you’re right,” I said. “He didn’t mention it.”

“Great. Well, I’m too busy to waste time trying to track him down. So I’m ready to get out of here.”

“So am I,” I said. “I don’t suppose you remember how you got to this spot?”

“Um . . .” He led me to the other end of this aisle, then stopped and frowned in puzzlement. “I could have sworn I came this way . . . But this is definitely not the stuff I walked past before. I’d remember seeing a few hundred old telephones, radios, and analog TVs. Does anyone buy this stuff?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know that there was stock like this on this floor.”

“Well, if we just keep following along the wall,” Lopez said, “sooner or later, we’re bound to come to an exit door or some stairs.”

“You say that with the confidence of someone who hasn’t spent much time in this place.”

As we passed bookcases filled with about five hundred copies of Chairman Mao’s Little Red Book, he said, “Weird. Well, if we get stuck here for a long time, at least we’ll have some light reading material to help pass the hours.”

“Hey, look—stairs!”

We descended these, but when we got to the next floor, we couldn’t find a way down to the main floor. I called out a few times, hoping Lily (or someone—anyone!) would hear me, but there was no response. “I sure hope she hasn’t closed up shop for the night.”

“Probably not, the lights are still on. But if we wind up trapped here overnight, I sure hope there’s something to eat.”

“Me, too.”

“You’re hungry?”

“Starving. I haven’t had . . . Hang on.” I looked around and said, “I’ve been here before. I remember this couch.” It was the elaborate nineteenth-century piece from Hong Kong that I had noticed on my first visit.

“Jesus, at that price, it would be hard to forget,” Lopez said, looking at the tag. “It is made of gold or something?”

“I think if we keep going this way, we can get back down to the main floor.”

“So if you’re hungry,” he said, following me in that direction, “how about I buy you dinner when we get out of here?”

I stopped so abruptly that he bumped into me. I staggered a little, and he caught me by the shoulders. I jerked away from him, saying, “Don’t touch me!”

His removed his hands immediately and backed away. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You’ve lost touching privileges,” I snapped.

“Am I supposed to just let you fall down?”

“Oh, like that would be the worst thing you’ve done to me!”

“I told you why I arrested you,” he said. “Why I had to be the one who arrested—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about!”

He blinked. “Oh. You mean that.”

“Yes, that,” I said. “How could you think I’d go out for dinner with you tonight after you—”

“Had sex with you and then didn’t call,” he said wearily.

“Yes!”

There was a long, tense silence between us.

“Okay. Here it is,” he said. “And you won’t like it.”

“I really, really believe that.”

“I didn’t know it was a week. I wasn’t thinking about time. I was . . . preoccupied.”

I waited, but he didn’t say anything else. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“No . . .” He ran a hand over his face, then sat down on a chair that probably cost more than he earned in a year.

“Don’t sit there,” I said in alarm. “You might—”

“A chair that costs that much should be able to support a person for a few minutes,” he said irritably. “And I’m kind of tired. No, really tired. I can’t even remember the last time I wasn’t exhausted.”

“Fatigue is not going to get you out of—”

“I know. I’m just saying.” He blew out his breath, a weary gesture that made the dark hair hanging over his forehead flutter a little. “It’s been . . . a bad few weeks. Right now, I can’t think of a single person in my life who isn’t mad at me.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve given some of us really good reasons to be mad at you.”

“True enough.”

He did sound exhausted. But I didn’t care.

“Do you have any idea how humiliated I’ve felt? And how . . . how . . .” Okay, if we were going to have an honest talk, I might as well say it. “How hurt?”

He looked at me, his expression softening. I realized his blue eyes were bloodshot again. “I was mostly getting angry from you. But now that you mention it . . . Yeah, I can guess. It must have hurt.” Holding my gaze, he said, “I’m sorry, Esther. I’m really sorry. I screwed up.”

Just like that.

They were the words I’d been waiting weeks to hear. Not eloquent and flowery, as I’d imagined his apology