“Oh, they’re awful. I used to be an investment banker before I retired. And my father was one, too. So was Lucy’s dad.”
“Can you come to the house? Chicken salad sandwiches and iced coffee. Chocolate cake. That was Joseph’s favorite lunch.”
“I wish I could. But I have to get back to work. Offers come out this week. I wasn’t supposed to be here even.” She didn’t know why she was telling them all this. “But I happened to see the memorial in the Times this morning, and I wanted to say good-bye—” Casey stopped talking. Lucy patted her back.
“Here’s the directions for our house. Our number is on the bottom. You call us when you want the hats. They’re in the attic at Joseph’s place in Litchfield. We can hold them for a while. But why don’t you call us. And give us your number, too.”
Casey wrote out Sabine’s number and gave it to Lucy.
“Joseph said you were a born designer,” she said.
John nodded, having heard the same.
“That’s funny.”
“He said you made beautiful hats and wore the prettiest dresses he ever saw,” she said.
Casey looked over her black suit—a Sabine hand-me-down, the fake Chanel slingbacks, the Kearn Davis tote bag. Her outfit felt like a disguise.
“He was kind to say those things,” she said.
“The old flirt. Gosh, I miss him.” Lucy smiled. She peered at the tall girl. The dark circles under her eyes showed through her concealer. Crying had made her small eyes puffier. “Do call on us, Casey. To get the hats, but come over when you like.”
“Thank you so much,” she said, leaving the Griswolds to attend to the other guests.
It was a glorious August day outside, and Casey dreaded returning to the office. It would have been wonderful to take a long walk in the park to shake off some of this sadness. But she hailed a taxi. After giving the driver her address, she stared at the park on her right as the car moved down Fifth.
On her desk, there were three messages from Karyn and two from Larry. The other interns looked as exhausted as she did, and she felt a little sorry for everyone, including herself. Five of the twenty-one wouldn’t get a spot. There was talk that they might make fewer than sixteen offers. Casey put down her things and immediately returned to Larry’s project. After she finished her assignment, she’d take thirty minutes to pay her personal bills. It was a good feeling to have money in the bank to pay them. The tuition invoice sat on top of the pile, but that would have to wait until the loan check arrived. Including living expenses, she’d borrow almost fifty thousand dollars for her second year of school.
By nine p.m., more than half the interns still remained at their desks. Casey had finished Larry’s project and had another day to work on Karyn’s. She hadn’t eaten dinner yet but couldn’t fathom the idea of more greasy take-out or pizza. The endless stream of coffee and Diet Cokes kept her wired and anxious; sleep would not come easily. All day, she’d been pushing back the idea of asking Unu if it would be all right for her to pick up some of her things. Sabine had been lending Casey skirts and blouses that didn’t fit her anymore, but it would have been nicer to have her own things. If Unu left the key with the doorman, she could get her clothes, the Jane Eyre, Hazel’s hat. The rest, she’d pick up when she found her own place—that being the next item on her to-do list. Of course, she’d understand if he didn’t want to see her.
Casey picked up the phone. After three rings, a recording came on. The line had been disconnected. No forwarding number. She put down the phone and went to the empty conference room that she used occasionally to work in the evenings. No one noticed her leaving the shared office.
It was quiet here, and she was finally alone. She sat at the head of the conference table. Unu was gone. The truth was that she had no right to know where he was. She couldn’t very well phone Ella, who’d certainly know how to reach him. People like Ella knew how to get in touch with others; no one was ever mad at them. She wasn’t stupid enough to torch bridges. But the last time they’d spoken, Casey had heard the judgment in her voice. Ella must’ve heard about Hugh, and though Casey could have imagined it, it sounded as if Ella doubted that she’d even bother to show up at her own mother’s hospital bedside. Whatever good opinion Ella might’ve once had of her had been lost.
She drummed her fingers on the polished conference table. On the credenza beside the wall sat a tray of glasses and a stainless carafe of ice water, stacks of fresh notepads, and two phones with video-conferencing capabilities. The door closed, she felt safe, private. Just a few yards away, more than a dozen interns in the shared office toiled, seeking to edge out the inferiors in the pack. At least five, if not more, would have to go back to school with no offer letter in hand. The people Casey had worked with in the past eight weeks had been perfectly nice, bright, and interesting. They had been uniformly attractive people. They were also out to beat her, so she them—it wasn’t personal.