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Since then, she’d seen him a lot. And Emmett, thank goodness, was putting no pressure on her. He acted as if he’d pretty much put behind him those wild nights in Paris. That was a relief-because these days all she had in her to give him was some companionship. It was Joe she still wanted, needed… and, yes, missed. An ocean even wider than the Atlantic separated them now-an expanse of icy politeness she found herself drowning in each time she

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passed Joe on the stairs, or mumbled hello to him at the mailboxes.

She’d twice tried to apologize, but she knew her being sorry just wasn’t good enough. Joe, she sensed, wasn’t trying to be mean or to punish her. No, it was worse, deeper. She had broken something precious, something that-unlike the hole Joe had punched in his wall-probably could never be made solid again.

“Hey, there, early bird.”

Annie turned to find Emmett walking toward her, his red hair necked with snow, his breath streaming out in a long white plume. The collar of his overcoat was turned up, but otherwise he looked as if he could be strolling through a sunlit meadow. She felt warmed, too, just seeing him.

“I was afraid I’d be the one to keep you waiting.” She laughed. “The story of my life.”

“You’ve got that look on your face,” he said.

“What look is that?”

“The same look you used to get with Pompeau … your I-don’t-like-this-a-bit-but-I’m-doing-it-anyway look.”

“Well …”

He placed a finger lightly against her lips, his touch surprisingly warm, despite the fact that he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“Just don’t say anything until you see the inside, okay?”

Emmett fished a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the metal accordion gate, then the front door.

“Don’t look so gloomy, Cobb,” Emmett told her when they were inside. “It’s second-class, but it’s not the South Bronx.”

Annie eyed the empty circular holes in front of the counter where stools had been ripped out. Cigarette butts and cellophane wrappings littered the worn-down, warped vinyl tiles, and along the wall where the grease-coated grill stood like some ancient forge, she saw droppings-or maybe just bits of dirt-sprinkled about.

Her disappointment growing, she looked back at Emmett. “It’s not exactly what I had in mind,” she said

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gently, not wanting him to think she didn’t appreciate his efforts.

“Look, it’s a rathole. But don’t you see, that’s what makes it perfect,” he assured her. “Leastways, it could be. Hell, a good cleaning crew and a few coats of paint and you’d be halfway there.”

That might be true, she thought, but even with this place fixed up, it was a far cry from Madison Avenue. Or even Hudson Street. On the other hand, she reminded herself, nothing she could afford was going to be on Madison Avenue. And wherever she was, to start off, the business would have to be mostly wholesale. She’d already spoken with the department-store buyers and Murray Klein at Zabar’s. Some had been nice, some hadn’t had two seconds to spare her, but they’d all agreed to try her samples-if she ever got to make them.

And there was Emmett, looking so confident, as if one slap of a paintbrush would do it all. She could now see how he might have talked that syndicate of Westchester doctors into buying that Garment District loft building that Emmett’s boss hadn’t been able to sell. Already Emmett’s commissions had to be substantial. Soon, she bet, he’d be buying property on his own.

No more funky clothes, either. He was wearing a rich-looking camel-hair coat over a finely tailored gray worsted suit that looked as if it had set him back a few paychecks—though, knowing Emmett, he’d probably gotten it for cost somewhere on lower Fifth Avenue. A lush red tie of heavy silk was knotted jauntily at his throat. The only memento of the old Emmett-out of keeping, and at the same time reassuring-was his cowboy boots, tanned and creased with age, their stitching worn off in a few spots, but saddle-soaped and newly heeled. Emmett was fond of saying he’d grown into them the way a philodendron grows into its pot. His bad foot wouldn’t know what to do with a new shoe. He liked to claim he even slept in his boots … which she knew wasn’t true.

Even so, her mind formed a picture of Emmett asleep, stretched out on a bed, with only his boots on,

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heels dimpling the mattress cover, squared-off toes pointing up at the ceiling. She felt herself growing warm. Stop it, she told herself. That part of their relationship was over.

“Compared to my studio apartment, this place is the size of Madison Square Garden,” he continued, his breath puffing out in frozen clouds. “You should see it… maybe a hamster would feel at home there. They ran out of room in the John for the shower stall, so they put it in the kitchen instead. A real time-saver … I can wash dishes while I’m showering.”

“Well, I’m glad you can see the bright side.” Annie ran a finger along the counter, leaving a track in the dust and grime.

“Hey, when you’ve spent most of your life living out of a knapsack, you learn to appreciate those little homey touches.”

“Oh, Em, I don’t know … it’s so …” She looked around again, this time zeroing in on the banquettes in back. Most of the seats were cracked or torn, with tufts of gray stuffing sprouting up here and there like some strange fungi. “Well, I just wonder-all that work and expense. And for what? Just so I could pick up and move somewhere better if the business ever gets going?”

“So it’s the neighborhood, huh?”

Looking out across the street through the cloudy side window, she watched a line of pathetic-looking people forming in front of a storefront mission that ran a soup kitchen.

“Look,” he went on. “What if I told you there’s talk of the whole block south of here being redeveloped, heightoned condos, John Portman-style designing . , . you know, lobbies with indoor waterfalls and maybe even those glass-walled elevators. It’s a secret, since there’s still a few crummy old buildings over there they haven’t finished negotiating for. But they’ll get them.” Emmett’s blue eyes sparkled. With his hair ruffled into a cowlick, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, he made her think of a mischievous Tom Sawyer trying to convince his pals that painting

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a fence was fun, not work. “I’ll bet you a dollar for a dime, this whole neighborhood’ll be coming up like rye grass out of cowshit before you can say boo.”

Annie laughed. “Em, you do have a way of putting things. And, yeah, that does sort of put a new complexion on this. I’ll definitely think about it. And I’ll want to come down and look at it again with a contractor.”

“While you’re thinking about it, how about grabbing a bite with me? I know this great deli just a few blocks from here where they give you the pickles and sauerkraut right out of a barrel.”

Annie was tempted. But she’d planned on dropping by Joe’s restaurant to see the new addition, which had to be nearly finished by now. An excuse-really, she just wanted to see him. And at the restaurant, he couldn’t duck away or ignore her.

She remembered the last time she’d cornered him in the lobby of their building. She’d pleaded with him to believe how sorry she was, begged him. Well, maybe begged was too strong. But he had to have seen how miserable she was, how she wanted so very much to make things right between them. He was late for an appointment, he’d told her, then had rushed off. Only his eyes, in the split second before he’d turned away, had spoken the truth-What’s the point, they seemed to ask, of hashing it out all over again?

Her stomach, calm since Emmett had appeared, cut a slow, looping orbit. No, she had to go see Joe.

Still, she couldn’t help feeling torn. She liked Emmett, liked him enormously. And in a way, she even loved him. Or at least she thought she could have loved him … if it hadn’t been for Joe.

“Thanks, Em, but I’ve got another appointment.” She cut her gaze away from his, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. “I’m supposed to meet this confectioner up in the East Eighties who’s going out of business. He’s selling his equipment, and I may be able to get a good deal on some of the stuff I need.”

“I could check it out for you, if you’d like,” he offered.

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“Make sure you don’t get stuck with any lemons. I’m pretty good with machines, if you recall.”

Annie didn’t know what to say. Her appointment was hours away, not until four. But how could she tell Emmett that right now she had to see a man who didn’t know she was coming and who probably would not want to see her when she got there?

“Thanks, I just may take you up on that. Let me see what it looks like first.”

Emmett shrugged. Outside, as he was locking up, he asked, “By the way, how’s your sister? Isn’t she about due?”

“Not until the end of next month.” Annie didn’t want to talk about Laurel or the baby. Talking about her sister only reminded her of Joe … and of how Laurel had deceived her. Even so, she could feel the tiny spur of anger buried in her heart begin to chafe and burn.

“Is she still thinking of…” Emmett stopped himself, seeming to hesitate about bringing up a sore subject.

“Giving the baby up for adoption?” Annie felt a pang that went even deeper than her sister’s betrayal. “She’s talked about it, but she hasn’t made up her mind.” Annie didn’t realize how tightly clenched her hands were until she felt her nails-the chewed-down remains of them, anyway-digging into her palms.

Did she want Laurel to keep the baby? Could they take on the extra responsibility? Because in spite of Laurel’s being so capable, it would place an extra burden on her as well. No … yes … no …

“Hey, Cobb. Relax, will ya?” She became aware of Emmett touching her arm. “No need for you to be taking on the whole world’s problems, not until you’re elected God, that is. Right now, shouldn’t you just concentrate on getting this business of yours going?” He smiled. “If you’re busy for lunch, how about dinner? My place? I’ll bet you’ve never eaten broccoli steamed in a shower, have you?”

She shook her head. “I’d like to, but I’m going to a bris.”

“A what!”

“My friend Rivka’s daughter, Sarah, just had a baby. Her third … a boy. A mohel does a circumcision, and there’s a little party afterwards. You want to come?”

“Not me. I’m Catholic. Church of the Latter-Day Lapsed.”

“What difference does that make?”

Emmett arched a brow, a corner of his wide mouth turning down. “Lapsed or not, the whole idea of somebody snipping away at the family jewels makes me a little nervous.”

“I always close my eyes.”

“Yeah, well, you can afford to.”

Annie thought about Laurel’s baby. Boy or a girl? She might never even see it, she realized. And that would probably be best… though she didn’t know how Laurel was going to live with it.

Lately, a lot of things about Laurel had been bothering her. Like her asking Joe to be her Lamaze coach. With Joe there, Laurel said, she fit in with the other couples. Married couples.

And, Joe, dammit, had agreed. But Annie was keeping her mouth shut. Who was she to say it wasn’t right? What claim did she have on Joe anymore?

Annie looked at her watch. “I’d better get going. Or I’ll be late.” She felt guilty about lying to Emmett. And wondered why she even bothered.

She waited in the outer doorway while Emmett finished locking up. Two Medeco deadbolts in the door, and a steel accordion over the whole fa็ade. The neighborhood might be up and coming, but it hadn’t come all that far yet.

Out on the sidewalk, Annie watched Emmett amble to the curb to hail a cab. When it pulled over, he held the door for her.

“Good luck,” he said.

For a second, she thought he meant good luck with Joe, and she felt a stab of remorse. Then she realized he must have meant about getting that equipment from the Yorkville confectioner.

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“Thanks,” she said, thinking of Joe, her heart quickening. “I’ll need it.”

The

framing for the walls looked complete. In some places, they were already Sheetrocked, and in others the studs stood bare, the electrical conduit and pipes coiled between them left exposed. Annie wandered about the largest of the three rooms, which when finished would open directly onto the kitchen. Carpenters were measuring, levelling, sawing wood, pounding nails. The sharp, sweet smell of sawdust filled her nostrils, bringing Annie a glad, hopeful feeling. Here, everything smelled of fresh starts.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, turning to Joe. “Last time I was here, this area was just a weed patch.”

“One of Rafy’s brothers is a contractor,” he said, adding with a little laugh, “You’d be amazed how quickly things get done when you’re in with the Puerto Rican mafia.” He took her elbow, lightly, so lightly she hardly felt his touch, and steered her around a big coil of conduit and yet-to-be-installed outlet boxes. “We should be ready for taping in a week or so, and from there it’s just plaster and paint.” He paused. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

Annie nodded. She couldn’t take her eyes off Joe. It was him … and yet it wasn’t him. Except for glimpses caught in passing, she felt as if she hadn’t seen him in years. It was strange, she thought, how easy it was to avoid running into a person even when you both live in the same building. And he wasn’t exactly beating her door down, either. When Laurel saw him—which these days seemed to be pretty often, Lamaze sessions or no—she always went to his place.

He looked the same … so what was different? As he spoke, describing how things were going to look, she kept scrutinizing him. And then she got it: He’s keeping his distance. Literally. Where once they had seemed to walk practically in each other’s footsteps, Joe was now determinedly keeping a polite three or four feet between them. A minute ago, when he’d taken her arm, she’d

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thought… well, she didn’t know what she’d thought. But then he’d stepped back, so easily, so naturally, even she at first had failed to notice how purposeful it had been.