Baptism in Blood(121)

She was standing in the loft when the news about Ste­phen Harrow came over the radio, thinking of all the good things about New York—including the fact that she would not be the only one she knew who loved books like these, with their bindings and their leather. When she heard Ste­phen Harrow’s name, she took a small sip of wine and put the glass down on a shelf. When she had heard the news story through, she picked up the wine again and went to the railing of the loft. Beneath her, the big main room of the bookstore looked dark and shadowy and sinister. The only light on down there was the little one behind the desk, where Joshua was filing the last of the inventory into an IBM PC. If she married David, she would have to buy a whole new set of winter clothes. She would have to learn which subways went where again. She would have to get her books from other people’s bookstores.

She leaned over the railing and called down. “Josh? Did you have the radio on? Did you hear that?”

“Of course I heard that,” Josh said. “Jesus Christ.”

Maggie took another sip of wine and started down the curving metal stairs. Through the big plate glass window, she could see her little patch of Main Street, looking like something out of a Stephen King novel in the puddled light from the arc lamps. In Maggie’s mind, everything was like some novel or the other or some movie or the other. That was the way her brain worked. The problem was, when she tried to think of what she and David were like, she couldn’t.

She got to the bottom of the steps and took another sip of wine. Josh looked at her steadily in the darkness, until she almost thought she could see his eyes glow.

“I wonder if it’s true,” she said. “Do you think it’s true?”

“It has to be true,” Josh said. “Stephen Harrow. For Christ’s sake.”

“For someone who doesn’t believe in God, you call on the name of the Lord a lot.”

“Don’t go all religious on me. I’ve had enough of religion. Stephen Harrow. Can you imagine him killing that little baby?”

“No.”

“Well, you’d better imagine it,” Josh said trium­phantly, “because there it was, all over the news. I can’t wait to get out of here, Maggie, I’m telling you. I can’t wait to get out to some civilized place like California or Chi­cago. Towns like this are snake pits.”

Maggie sat down on the bottom of the metal steps. “Are you intending to leave anytime soon?” she asked him.

“Soon as I can get some money together. I’ve been thinking about applying to a graduate program out there. At Berkeley or San Francisco State. At least it would get me out there and give me some people to talk to. I can figure out what to do after that when I’m settled in.”

“But what about the money,” Maggie persisted. “Do you have it? Are you going to be able to get it in the next year or so?”

“Is there a reason for all this questioning, Maggie? Are you anxious to get rid of me? I thought I was doing a pretty good job for you here. If you don’t think I am, you don’t have to wait for me to go to California. All you have to do is fire my ass.”

“I don’t want to fire your ass.” Maggie finished off the wine. “I want to hire it on a much higher level.”

“I don’t think you ought to drink any more of that,” Josh said. “This is beginning to sound like sexual harass­ment.”

Maggie got off the stair and went over to the desk, where the bottle of wine was. She wasn’t drunk, just floaty—and she thought that was nice, for once. Main Street looked almost as sinister from where she was stand­ing at the desk as it had from where she had been sitting on the step. Out there, the whole town seemed to be alive, and hostile, and angry with her. It wanted to chuck her out, the way—the way what?

“Are you all right?” Josh asked her.

Maggie took her now-refilled glass of wine and went back to sit on the step again. “I’ve been thinking that maybe just after Christmas, I might put you in charge of everything. Make you the manager here. Let you hire somebody to help you.”

“Put me in charge how?”

“Put you in charge period. Without any interference from me. Or without much, anyway. David and I are think­ing of getting married.”

“Married?”

“It isn’t like thinking of going to Mars, Joshua. Peo­ple do get married. They get married every day.”

Joshua stopped even pretending to work on the inven­tory. “I know they get married every day. What has that got to do with putting me in charge of the store? Does David want you to quit work so he can support you?”