Page 69 of Save the Date
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As it happened, Cara and Poppy weren’t out for a walk. But they were sitting on the stoop in front of Bloom. Or rather, Cara was sitting on the stoop. Poppy was sitting at the base of a crepe myrtle tree located in a planting bed of ivy in the middle of the sidewalk. The goldendoodle was staring intently up at the tree branches, where a large gray squirrel chattered indignantly.
Cara had her hair tied up in a sloppy topknot, and she was wearing the least amount of clothing she could get away with in public, a short periwinkle-blue cotton sundress, and matching cheap blue flip-flops.
The shop door was propped open with a box window fan, which she’d turned on in an effort to cool herself. Pages of the SundayNew York Timesfluttered in the listless warm breeze from the fan, held down with a tall plastic tumbler of iced tea.
She spotted the familiar figure of Jack Finnerty and his dog as soon as they turned onto her block, and she felt a little shiver of excitement, followed quickly by the dismaying fact of her appearance.
Unable to sleep in the suffocating heat of the apartment, she’d been up since six. She’d fed Poppy, forced herself to eat a container of Greek yogurt and some strawberries for breakfast, and walked over to the coffee shop and newsstand on Liberty Street, where she picked up the iced tea and the Sunday paper.
She’d tried reading out in the back garden, but swarms of gnats and mosquitoes forced her inside. The courtyard was cooler, but at least out here on the stoop she could use the window fan to keep the biting bugs at bay.
Despite the fan, her face was sheened with perspiration, and her arms were slicked with a combination of sweat and insect repellent. Her hair was a hot, damp mess, and of course, she wore no makeup.
“Hey!” Jack called. Poppy turned to see where the voice was coming from, and bounded over to greet her old friend and his dog.
“Poppy!” Cara called anxiously. But the dog was content to give Jack’s outstretched hand a lick of acknowledgment, falling quickly in step with the pair as they approached the stoop.
It was too late to run inside and try to clean up. Instead, she smiled up at him. “Good run?”
“Hot. Shaz wasn’t really too much into it, so we just kind of took it easy this morning.”
Cara leaned down and patted Shaz’s head. “Let me get you guys something cold to drink,” she offered.
“That’d be great,” Jack said. She moved aside the box fan to allow her guests to enter the shop.
“Sorry about the heat,” she said, turning from the refrigerator in the shop’s kitchenette. She held out a bottle of cold water, and went to the sink to run water into a bowl for Shaz.
“Trying to save money on the electric bill?” Jack asked. He’d been in the shop for less than five minutes, and sweat was already dripping from his face. He held the bottle of water to the back of his neck, wiped his brow with a paper towel Cara handed him.
She made a face. “The air conditioner’s not working. Again.”
“Geez,” he said. “How long has it been like this?”
Cara set the bowl on the floor, and Shaz and Poppy both crowded around it, lapping water as fast as they could.
“More than a week,” she said. “It’s been hell.”
“What does your landlord say?” he asked. “Didn’t they send somebody over to fix it?”
“My landlady passed away week before last. I’d been calling even before that, and I’ve been trying to reach her daughter, but so far, no call back. This is typical of them. Worst. Landlords. Ever.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jack said angrily. “You can’t live like this, with no air.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve got two or three box fans, like the one I’ve got in the doorway, but all they really do is move the hot air around. Pretty miserable.”
“Where’s your thermostat?” Jack asked. “I’m no HVAC guy, but I can at least take a look.”
She pointed down the hall, toward the staircase. “On the wall, there.”
Cara followed Jack down the hall. He stood in front of the small metal box mounted on the plaster wall. He punched the Cool button, but did not hear the unit switch on.
“Okay,” he shrugged. “Fuse box? It’s an old house, I’m guessing maybe the electrical hasn’t been updated in a while?”
“Probably not in at least thirty years,” Cara agreed. “Sometimes if I’m using my hair dryer or iron, it shorts out a circuit. The fuse box is back there, near the back door to the courtyard.”
He flipped open the fuse box and studied the row of breakers and fuses. “Doesn’t look like any of the breakers have been flipped. Do you change the filters pretty often?” he asked.
