“Did she?” I say. How I wish she were here. I look out the window through the tears that have formed in my eyes. “Thank you. For looking out for me,” I say.
“That’s quite all right,” Mr. Preston replies.
My building comes into view, and I’m fairly certain that I’ve never been happier to see it.
“Do you think it’s appropriate for me to go to work today as usual, Mr. Preston?”
Charlotte turns to her dad, then looks back to the road ahead.
“I’m afraid not, Molly. It will be expected that you take some time off,” Mr. Preston says.
“Would it not be correct to call Mr. Snow?”
“No, not in this case. It’s best right now not to contact anyone at the hotel.”
“There’s visitors’ parking at the back of my building,” I say. “I’ve never used it, as the visitors Gran and I used to receive were mostly Gran’s friends and none of them had vehicles.”
“Do you keep in touch with them?” Charlotte asks as she turns into a free spot.
“No,” I reply. “Not since Gran died.”
Once we’re parked, we get out of the car and I lead the way into the building. “This way,” I say, pointing to the stairwell.
“No elevator?” Charlotte asks.
“I’m afraid not,” I reply.
We climb silently to my floor and are walking down the hall toward my apartment when Mr. Rosso emerges from his.
“You!” he says, pointing a plump index finger at me. “You brought the police into this building! They arrested you! Molly, you’re no good, and you can’t live here anymore. I’m evicting you, you hear me?”
Before I can answer, I feel a hand on my arm. Charlotte steps past me and stands a few inches from Mr. Rosso’s face.
“You’re the slumlord—I mean landlord—I suppose?”
Mr. Rosso pouts the way he always does when I tell him I’m going to be a bit late with the rent.
“I am the landlord,” he says. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Molly’s lawyer,” Charlotte replies. “You do realize that this building is in violation of more than a few codes and bylaws, right? Cracked fire door, parking too tightly spaced. And any residential building over five stories has to have a working elevator.”
“Too expensive,” Mr. Rosso says.
“I’m sure city inspectors have heard that excuse before. Let me offer you some free legal advice. What’s your name again?”
“It’s Mr. Rosso,” I offer helpfully.
“Thank you, Molly,” Charlotte replies. “I’ll remember that.” She turns back to him. “So the free advice is: don’t think about my client, don’t talk about my client, don’t harass or threaten my client with eviction or anything else. Until you hear differently from me, she’s got a right to be here, the same as anyone else. You got it? Clear?”
Mr. Rosso’s face has turned bright red. I expect him to speak, but surprisingly, he does not. He merely nods, then backs away into his apartment, quietly closing the door behind him.
Mr. Preston smiles at Charlotte. “That’s my girl,” he says.
I fumble for my keys and unlock my apartment door.
One of the great virtues of Gran’s daily cleaning regimen is that the apartment is in a perpetually suitable state to receive unexpected visitors, not that I usually receive any. Besides the unwanted visit from police earlier today and the shocking visit from Giselle on Tuesday, this is one of the few times I’m able to reap the benefits of this advantage.
“Please come in,” I say, directing Charlotte and Mr. Preston through my front door. I don’t take the polishing cloth out of my closet because I’m still in slippers and they have spongy bottoms that can’t effectively be wiped. Instead, I grab a plastic bag from the closet and wrap my slippers in it, TBSL—To Be Sanitized Later. Mr. Preston and Charlotte elect to keep their shoes on, which is fine by me given how grateful I am to them at this particular juncture in time.
“May I take your bag?” I ask Charlotte. “The closets are small, but I’m a bit of a wizard when it comes to spatial organization.”
“Actually, I’m going to need it,” she says. “To take notes.”
“Of course,” I say, though I feel the floors tilt under me as I realize what she’s here for and what’s about to happen next. Up to now I’ve been concentrating on the new delight of having people—friendly people, helpful people—in my environs. I’ve tried to ignore the fact that very soon, I’ll have to think more deeply about all that has happened to me today and leading up to today. I’ll have to share details and recount things I don’t actually want to think about. I’ll have to explain all that has gone wrong. I’ll have to choose what to say.