* * *
The first few hours without Polly are like a holiday. Only two customers stop by, so Marissa has the luxury of sipping tea and straightening every last shelf, drawer, and surface in her shop. She hadn’t realized how pervasive Polly’s presence was in the shop; how watched Marissa felt. Alone with her thoughts, she begins to formulate what she’ll say to Matthew tonight. She’ll suggest another date night this weekend, so they don’t lose the progress they’ve made.
But the moment Marissa checks the calendar on her computer, her hard-fought peace vanishes. Matthew’s overseas client will be here all week, and Matthew will be working late every night. Bennett has a baseball game at three today that Marissa planned to attend. Plus, she has a dental checkup on Thursday, and there’s another auction meeting Friday morning. The only options Marissa has are to cancel everything, to shut down the shop while she’s away, or apologize to Polly and ask her to come back.
Marissa looks around her tranquil, gorgeous store. She’s tempted to hang a little sign on her door explaining the hours have been adjusted, but that’s a guaranteed way to upset customers. She needs Polly here this week. Marissa will blame her irritability on the events of the past few days. Polly will probably understand: the pregnancy disappointment, Marissa’s lack of sleep, the ominous note … But Marissa will simultaneously step up her search for a permanent replacement. She has already reached out to a few friends to see if they know anyone who might be looking, but she hasn’t received any promising replies. Marissa takes a moment to craft an email to the career placement center of George Washington University, asking if she can post a listing.
Then she dials Polly’s number. It goes straight to voice mail: “Hi, this is Polly. I’m out and about. But if you leave your number, I’ll give you a shout.”
Even Polly’s rhyming message irritates Marissa, but she simply asks Polly to please call her back as soon as possible.
Marissa helps a young man choose a cashmere blanket for his girlfriend and a woman on her lunch break select gorgeous bookends for her secretary. Even though the woman shops at Coco every few weeks, Marissa can’t recall her name. If Polly were there, she’d prompt Marissa. Polly made it a point to learn all of the details about their frequent customers.
Ringing the woman up, Marissa glances at the name on the credit card. “Bye, Carole,” Marissa calls out as her customer exits the store.
Then Marissa dials Polly again. Still no answer. This time, Marissa doesn’t leave a message.
Marissa glances at her watch: Bennett’s game is at St. Albans’s field.
She wants to send Matthew pictures of their son playing, not only because he’d love to see them, but also as a reminder of all they’ve built together.
But she can’t man the store and attend the game.
Polly still hasn’t phoned back. And Matthew hasn’t texted.
Marissa reaches for her laptop computer and searches her email files until she finds the résumé Polly submitted when she applied for the job. She lives near American University, just off Massachusetts Avenue.
The cursor blinks on Marissa’s computer screen as she calculates time and distance, mentally reorganizing her afternoon. Polly probably went home, even given the rodent issue. She’d mentioned to Marissa that she would be stopping by her house every day to shower and grab a change of clothes. Perhaps she’s in the shower now, which is why she isn’t answering her phone. If Marissa closes Coco and leaves immediately, she could get to Polly’s, convince her assistant to come back, and still make it to the field in time for the second inning.
She removes her coat from the hook inside her office, flips the store’s OPEN sign to CLOSED, and types the address into Google Maps. It’s a seventeen-minute drive, according to the app.
Marissa makes it in fifteen.
She pulls up to the curb outside the small brick rancher and looks at the house. Polly is a major player in Marissa’s world, but this is the first time Marissa has entered Polly’s orbit.
It’s a pleasant-looking place. The yard has recently been mowed, and though the home is modest, the screened-in porch must be nice to sit in during the bug-filled summer evenings. Marissa hurries up the front walk and presses the doorbell.
She can hear music playing inside—the folksy jangle of the Grateful Dead—then an unfamiliar female voice calls, “Who is it?”
“I’m looking for Polly Walker. Is she here?”
The door opens, revealing a young woman with frizzy brown hair and glasses. “Sorry, who are you?”