Page 77 of 56 Days
“Why did you go out on the street?”
“Why did you go back in?”
Good question, he thinks.
He says, “I didn’t want to disturb you.” It’s lame and he knows it; time to change the subject. He picks up what must by now be ahalf-drunkcup ofstone-coldcoffee. “Want a fresh one?”
“Sure.”
Oliver gets up and starts toward the kitchen, making sure to phrase his next question as a casual afterthought, not at all important, justwondering...
“Who was that woman you were talking to?”
“Just one of your neighbors.”
“Which apartment?”
“Don’t know.”
“What were you talking about?”
“How noisy it was,” she says. “Why?”
“Just wondering.” He clears his throat. “Did you get her name?”
He’s in the kitchen now, at the fridge, his back turned toward her. He wants to still be sitting in front of her, studying her, tracing her face for any glimmers of a reaction, but he also doesn’t want to make it too obvious and settles for a glance as he flips the lid open on the coffee machine.
She’s turned toward the window and he can’t see her face.
“No,” she says. “No, I didn’t.”
When it comes time for her walk, Ciara slips on a disposable face mask before she leaves the apartment. Between Oliver’s door and the main entrance of the Crossings, she walks with her head down, letting ahalf-curtainof hair fall in front of her face. She pockets the mask once she’s reached the street and determined there’s no one else around.
She doesn’t want to risk meeting that Laura woman again.
Not until she’s decided what she’s going to do about her.
Ciara heads in the direction of the canal, following her usual route. If she crosses it and keeps going, she’ll eventually emerge onto Stephen’s Green, which she’s taken to doing laps around while the gates remain closed.
But today, she doesn’t cross the water.
Instead, she turns and follows the canal all the way back to her apartment.
It’s hot and stuffy inside, the space repeatedly warmed by the recent streak of sunny weather that feels like a cosmic joke considering the fact that everyone is trapped at home. There’s a faintly sour smell in the air too, like she’s left something in the trash can or milk spilled in the fridge.
Ciara throws open the windows as far as they’ll go and starts hunting for the source, eventually finding a rotting banana peel hidden under the plastic liner in the kitchen trash can. She puts it inside the liner, ties a knot in the top, and sprays the countertops with a floral cleaner to cover any lingering smells.
Then she takes her phone—herotherphone—from a drawer, plugs in the charging cable, and uses it to call her sister.
Siobhán picks up so quickly, the phone must have been in her hand.
“Ciara,” she says, exhaling. “I was getting worried.”
“It’s only been a few days.”
“Five, by my count.”
“I told you I’d call when I could. Things are hectic here and when I’m done for the day, I’m exhausted. I keep thinking, ‘I’ll call Shiv when I have the energy to actually talk to her ...’”
