Rolling in the Deep (3 page)

It doesn’t take me long to find Holly. She’s back in the stockroom piling rolls of toilet paper onto a dolly. I clear my throat and she straightens, a lock of reddish hair trailing across her face. I really want to be that guy in the movies who tucks it behind her ear, but since that guy is a macho dickwad, I shove my hands into my pockets instead.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Ray.” She pushes the lock of hair out of her face with the back of one hand. “Did Timmy send you here to help with the dolly? I think I can do it myself. If I can push it over that lip in the doorway, I mean.”

I shake my head. “Nah. I can help you with that lip, though.”

Sometimes the actual meaning of the words you say doesn’t hit you until they’re already out of your mouth. Holly snorts, thank God, and goes back to stacking. I grab a package of tissue and toss it on the dolly.

“By the way, I, uh…got the Powerball ticket.”

Holly brightens. “Whoa, really? You actually did it?”

“What did you think, I was going to take your dollar and run away?”

“I don’t know. You could, I guess. Just kind of hide the ticket and then run off with it when you win?”

“When we win, you mean.” I shift from side to side a few times to get my blood moving in the unheated warehouse. “And no, I’d never run off. You’ll need your winnings to buy a fur coat so you don’t freeze your ass off out here.”

“There’s a picture.” Holly blows a cloud of dust off the shelf. “Stocking the shelves at Cogmans in a mink coat. You know what, though?” She shakes her head. “Let the minks run free. We’ll say wool coat. That doesn’t hurt the sheep, right?”

“Don’t think so. But you won’t need to buy a warm coat, because of how you’re gonna move to the tropics. You know, like Costa Rica. You could buy a mansion there and retire.”

“I don’t speak Spanish.”

The dolly is almost filled, so I slow down a little, to stretch time out. “I’ll teach you.”

“Okay. But won’t you be busy driving your yacht around the world?”

“What is it with people and yachts? Do you get rich and suddenly have to own a giant boat for some reason?”

Holly smiles. “I think it’s the jaunty captain’s hat. Put that hat on, hold a martini in your hand, and
boom,
you look just like a rich guy.”

I laugh. “Which is important. Looking the part.”

“Very.” Holly stills for a moment and looks at me. I read on some website the other day that people in ancient Greece didn’t have a word for the color blue. There’s no mention of it in Greek literature, for example, even though every other color is described in detail. I try to imagine not being able to describe the blue of Holly’s eyes.

That would be a genuine tragedy.

“What would you do, really?” I ask her. “With the money, if you won.”

“If we won, you mean.”

I grin. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” She stares past me, and while she’s thinking, she redoes her ponytail. For a moment her hair falls around her shoulders and I catch the scent of her shampoo. Like she just stepped out of the shower or something. I cough to cover up the sharp breath I take, but she hears it, and pauses with her hands gathering her hair at the back of her neck. She stops and looks at me, and blushes. Which only makes things worse, because now I am imagining my own hands in her hair, the way all that thickness would feel, the way it would feel to grip it in my fingers and kiss her.

Holly clears her throat and looks down. “Um. I’d probably buy a house, first. For me and my son.”

“I didn’t know you had a kid.” Doesn’t surprise me that much, though. It explains her seriousness, maybe.

“Yeah. Drew.” She smiles when she says his name, as though she can’t help herself. But then her smile slips, and she backs away into herself—cautious suddenly.

“I bet you’d buy him a houseful of toys, too.”

She hesitates for a moment before she answers. “Maybe a pet elephant. He’s always wanted one.”

I chuckle. “Haven’t we all? And possibly a forklift, just for fun. For, like, digging in the backyard.”

She gives me a small smile. “I see you have some experience being a little boy.”

“A little. How about something for you? A tiara full of diamonds?”

“It would go very well with my uniform.” Holly gestures at her work clothes. “How about you?”

“I’d buy a castle.”

“A castle?”

“On an island. In fact, I’d buy the whole island.”

She shrugs. “Why not?”

“Exactly. And there will be thousands of tiny monkeys on it. Who will make my coffee in the morning and iron all my clothes.”

Holly laughs, and I realize what a rare sound that is. I have to admit it makes me feel like a million bucks.

“You can borrow my monkeys if you want.”

She laughs again, and it changes her whole demeanor—lightens it somehow. It loosens her.

Christ, she is beautiful.

Standing there in a freezing warehouse with a blue uniform vest, next to a stack of toilet paper.

Beautiful as hell.

“I don’t need your monkeys,” she says, grinning. “I can buy my own monkeys.”

“When you win the lottery tonight.”

“When
we
win.”

The door behind us creaks open and Timmy stalks in. He’s talking on his cellphone like some kind of Hollywood producer.

“No, Leon, it can’t wait. We need the shipment right now. Pronto.”

Holly stifles a snort.
Pronto.
The guy gets his script from some soap opera version of middle management.

He hangs up the phone and fixes us with what he clearly hopes is an intimidating glare. “What are you two doing back here? Ray, I thought I put you on the register this morning.”

As much I want to rib the guy for holding so tightly to his tiny fistful of power, I need this job, and I can’t. Which he knows all too well, and don’t think for a second he doesn’t enjoy that.

“You did, Timmy. My apologies. I was just helping Holly out for a second.”

Timmy eyes Holly in a way I don’t entirely like. “She can handle herself. Can’t you, Holly?”

“Sure, yeah. I mean, Ray was just going to help me push the dolly over the…you know, the bump in the doorway.”

Timmy rolls his eyes and gestures toward the door. “All right, then. Go ahead. And then get back to it, both of you. Holly, I’m shorthanded in gardening supplies. Becky’s out with a cold or something. I’m gonna need you back there as soon as you’re done with this.”

“Yeah, um, sure. I like gardening.”

I take the dolly while Holly holds open the door.

“You like gardening?” Timmy steps back to let us pass. “I’m so pleased.”

Holly cracks a grin at me as she steps through the door and takes the dolly from my hands.

I glance back into the stockroom. To our good fortune, Timmy is charging off to harass somebody else. “How about I walk you to the aisle?”

She hesitates for only a moment. “Okay.”

The store is quiet, but it’s a Saturday. Customers will flood the floors any minute now, and I’ll be needed at the registers. If I don’t man up and ask Holly what I came here to ask her, the chance will be gone.

“Listen, Holly.” I clear my throat. “Would you want to, I mean…” I stop, and she glances at me, doing her best to steer the dolly around a display of giant rubber balls. “Here, let me take that.”

She starts to argue, but then shrugs. “All right. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” I push the dolly forward.

She swipes a sleeve across her forehead. The dolly is heavy, and the store is hot compared to the chilled warehouse. “What were you saying?”

I take a deep breath and scratch at my temple, which doesn’t itch. But now that I’ve scratched it she probably thinks I have dandruff or something. Maybe lice.

“I was wondering…if you’d want to, I don’t know, get a coffee sometime. After work or something.”

She stops walking, but then quickly starts up again to keep pace with me. I’m barreling forward, pulled by the momentum of the merchandise I’m pushing.

“Coffee?” she says. Her voice sounds higher than usual.

I clear my throat again. “Yeah. Like tonight, maybe? We could go somewhere and watch the Powerball drawing together.”

Ah, there it is. Now I sound like a true letch. Like the only reason I suggested going in on the ticket was to lure her out on a date.

Maybe it was. Maybe I am a letch. I certainly feel like one, listening to her breathing as she walks beside me. She’s still slightly winded from pushing the dolly, and the sound of her exhalations is—I can’t lie—arousing. Her chest is rising and falling, and it’s almost more than I can handle not to stare directly at it.

I’m not succeeding very well at this when she says, “Look. Ray.” And that’s when I know for sure I’ve blown it.

I acted too soon. I should have given her more time. Let her get to know me a bit before I started hitting on her. Asking her out, already? It’s been only six weeks, and I knew she was uneasy around men.

Holly stops, and puts her hand on my arm. Her fingers are hot, and they throw a jolt all the way up to my shoulder. She snatches her hand back, as though she’s felt it, too.

“I just…I can’t tonight. I…I have a bunch of errands I need to do. Maybe, um…maybe another time?”

She’s letting me down easy. I have to give her points for politeness. At least one of us has some social graces.

“Yeah, sure. Okay. Cool. No worries.” I turn the dolly down the right aisle and prop it up for her. “Listen, I’d better get to the registers or Timmy’ll—”

“Yeah, he probably—”

“Anyway. Watch the drawing tonight? Eight o’clock? You want to take a photo of the ticket with your phone, so you have the numbers?”

“Sure, yeah.” She snaps a quick picture, and then backs away.

I wave, and head to the front of the store before either of us keels over from embarrassment.

Nice going, Ray.

When I walk through the parking lot carrying an armful of forsythia branches no one bats an eye anymore. The neighbors probably call me Crazy Flower Lady behind my back, but luckily if they do, it’s affectionate. I’ve won them over just by being Drew’s mother, and he has conquered their hearts the old-fashioned way—by saying please and thank you. A rare thing in this day and age.

“You need a hand, Holly?”

My next-door neighbor, an elderly man in starched trousers and an ivy cap, sits in a lawn chair on the length of concrete in front of his doorway.

“Nah, I’m good. How are you, Efrem?” I reach around the flowers to push my key into the lock.

“Can’t complain. Nice day. Got a pretty sunset on the way.”

“Spring is here.” I turn the knob and knee open the door. “Hang on a sec.”

There’s a small glass vase on the kitchen island. I drop my purse on a tall stool and set the flowers in the sink. Then I quickly snip a few stems and head back outside with a tiny arrangement for Efrem’s window.

“Oh, now.” He smiles and half rises from his chair. “Thank you, my dear. Isn’t that lovely.” He sets the vase down in the fading sunlight. “I’ll just give these beauties a few more minutes outside before we go in for the night. You stop on the parkway again?”

“Sure did. Don’t worry. I was quick about it.”

“You’re gonna get yourself hurt one of these days.”

I stand in my doorway, hand on the knob, and smile. “Aren’t we all, though.”

“True that.” Efrem tips his hat at me, and I close the door.

Inside, I separate the stems into piles and start trimming.

There’s an hour to go before the Powerball drawing and I’m feeling like an idiot for even knowing that. But Ray’s made me promise to watch, and call him afterward. His phone number, hastily typed into my contacts list, is burning a hole in my pocket. I realize I’ve still got my work vest on and shrug it off.

I wore my favorite sweater today, underneath. It’s a soft, light blue that Beth tells me brings out the color of my eyes. I thought of Ray when I put it on this morning, and then shook my head when I pulled the Cogmans vest over it. As if anyone would notice a person’s clothing choices under a uniform like that.

And as if I had any right to be wearing particular sweaters on purpose to catch Ray’s eye. I’m not on the market, and even if I were, I wouldn’t be of interest for long to a guy like Ray.

He’s a good man—that’s obvious. Kindhearted, funny. And hot. Really super hot. He could date any woman he wanted. If Ray is flirting with me at all, it’s probably just out of boredom. Just to pass the time of a long workday.

I stop for a moment, hands in the sink. He does know I’m a single mom now, though. I tossed that turd into the punch bowl today with as much class as ever.

He asked me out anyway, though, didn’t he? And even though I turned him down, he looked for me in gardening and tracked me to the women’s hygiene aisle, just to give me his phone number.

“The drawing’s at eight o’clock tonight, okay?” He grinned hesitantly. “Make sure you watch.”

“I’ll watch.”

Was it a date, even, that he’d been asking me on? Or just a friendly coffee, and I was getting all full of myself for no reason?

Maybe I made us both uncomfortable over nothing.

“I’ll watch the drawing along with seventy billion other people all hoping to win.”

He leaned back against the shelf. “Yeah, well. Hope never hurt anybody.”

“That’s not true.” I paused with my hand on the cart in front of me. “Hope hurts most of all.”

Ray went still, and looked at me for a long time.

Then, in real life, what he actually did was say goodbye and head back to work.

But for a brief moment, here in the present, fingers in the flower petals, I imagine something different.

Ray pressing toward me, knocking the cart out of the way. Pushing me up against the shelf and taking my face in his hands. Kissing me. His warm stomach against mine, his hips. His tongue slipping into my mouth.

Tampon boxes dislodging and falling around my shoulders. Sanitary napkins scattering across the floor.

Pull yourself together, Holly.

I know I’m only human, and it’s fun to fantasize. But at a certain point it becomes ridiculous. Kissing Ray. Winning the lottery.
As if.

Happy endings don’t happen to regular people.

I slide the first batch of flowers into a broad vase and set them on the coffee table in the living room. Drew’s not here to enjoy the colors but they cheer me up when he’s away.

I reach for my phone and dial Beth’s number, putting her on speaker as soon as she picks up.

“Hey, lady. What’s up?”

I’ve known Beth for over ten years, since we took English lit classes together at community college. She’s about as different from me as it’s possible to be—outgoing, brassy, and…How can I put this delicately? Very fond of men.

Pretty much daily I wish I had half the bravado she has.

I gather a smaller cluster of flowers and snip the stems lower. “Your voice sounds scratchy.”

Beth coughs. “Yeah, well. Late night. Just woke up. How are you, pal?”

“Whoa. Stop right there. The sun’s about to set. What are you doing just waking up? What did you do last night?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She laughs—that wonderful throaty laugh she has, so full of vibrant life.

“Yes, I would, thank you. One of us has got to have an interesting nightlife, and I know it’s not going to be me.” I slide the flowers one short bunch at a time into a row of small vases. They’ll go on the windowsills as soon as they’re ready.

“Never say never, my dear. There’s that guy Ray at work, isn’t there? Any developments I need to know about?”

I’ve already decided not to tell her about Ray asking me for coffee. She’ll only lecture me for not saying yes. Beth would say yes, in my shoes. She says yes to just about everything.

“No developments. Who were you with last night?”

Beth clicks her tongue at me over the phone. “Fine, don’t tell me anything. See if I care. I won’t tell you about the hot French guy I slept with last night, then.”

“What?” I pause, hands in the sink, smiling. “French guy? You have to tell. Tell me everything.”

She laughs. “Okay, fine. He’s only in town for the weekend, to climb the Shawangunks.”

“Ooh la la.”

“Totally. Claude! Twenty-four hours and then he leaves the country. Perfect date.”

“Oh my God. Only you, Beth Cody.”

She chuckles warmly. “You coming to the garden Tuesday morning? I’ll tell you all about it then. Right now I need like fourteen coffees.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll see you Tuesday bright and early.” She makes a kissing sound and hangs up.

The garden isn’t much, but for a community space it’s pretty. Beth and I pitch in volunteer hours on Tuesdays. Other people come in at various points in the week from all over the county, and some of the local businesses have donated benches and supplies. It’s a nice place to visit—a little corner of peace in the heart of Poughkeepsie.

For a small city right on the Hudson River—close to the Catskills and two hours north of New York City—you would think Poughkeepsie would have plenty of green space. But aside from a few stretches of patchy grass, downtown Poughkeepsie is as gray and remote as any inner-city neighborhood, full of broken concrete, empty lots, and garbage. It doesn’t help that it’s wedged in on both sides by old and new money. To the east sits Vassar College on a thousand landscaped acres and to the west a rapidly developing waterfront that lures more Manhattan tourists every day. You could walk the length of Poughkeepsie in a single afternoon, but in the center of the city, you’d think you were on a different planet. There aren’t even any jobs to be had here. I have to drive twenty-five minutes to Fishkill to work at Cogmans.

It’s good to take a break from the brick and asphalt and get my hands in the soil once a week—I need to remember that. I wish it were more, but I should be grateful I’m able to go at all. In another life, though, I’d start a landscape business and garden full-time. I’d own a house with a vegetable patch and a hillside of wildflowers, instead of renting this tiny concrete block with barely enough space for a window box. I’d come home every day to a man like Ray.

With his dark hair, and those eyes that look at me so closely I almost want to turn away. To turn away and also to dive right in—both at once. I never knew that was possible.

And here I go again, with the fantasies.

Gratitude, Holly. Be glad for what you have.

I take out my cellphone and look up the photo I snapped of Ray’s Powerball ticket. Our ticket. It’s almost eight o’clock. A live lottery drawing that I don’t win should bring me back down to reality.

I carry one small vase at a time to each window in the apartment. Then I grab a seltzer and sit down on the couch to watch the drawing.

After a few minutes of commercials, a low-resolution live video pops up on-screen, showing an eager young woman in a red pantsuit. Unthreatening house music plays excitedly in the background as she welcomes the invisible audience and announces that the jackpot is up to four hundred twenty-five million. The number flashes neon on the screen.

“So get out those tickets and let’s play Powerball.”

I sit back on the couch and sip my seltzer. The lady on-screen smiles enthusiastically.

“Your first number tonight is nineteen.”

I consult the screen of my phone and then abruptly sit up. Our first number is also nineteen. I don’t think it means anything unless you guess the final Powerball number, too, but still. It’s kind of fun. Maybe we’ll win a few dollars.

“Your second number is sixteen.” I put down my drink. That’s our second number.

The woman in the pantsuit pauses to congratulate a previous million-dollar winner, flashing his photograph briefly on the screen. My heart starts beating strangely.

“Your remaining numbers are twenty, thirty-three, and twenty-nine. Now, remember if you match this Powerball number you are always a winner. Tonight that number is ten.”

I sit like a statue, staring at the screen, and then I start to tremble. I look back and forth between the ticket photo on my cellphone and the numbers on the TV. Each time I look, they are the same. The TV station leaves the numbers up for a minute or two to give people a chance to double check.

I have double-checked. I’ve triple-checked.
The numbers are the same.

“Thank you so much for joining us,” the lady on the screen chirps. “And good luck, everybody.”

I pitch forward without meaning to and a flood rushes through my stomach and up into my throat. I make it to the bathroom just in time, and grip the toilet, retching.

In the living room my cellphone rings and rings, but I can’t stand up. The room is spinning.
I can’t stand up.

The ringing stops and then starts again.

Oh, God.
Ray.

I stumble back into the living room. The TV is blaring a car commercial. “Come on down, folks! Reward yourself—today!” I click it off, my hands shaking, and pick up the phone.

Five missed calls. I hit send, and Ray picks up on the first ring.

“Holy shit, Holly.”

“Ray.” My voice is a croak. “Oh my God.”

He starts to laugh, a bit unhinged. “I think we just won the fucking lottery.”

“But…” I can’t seem to find words. They were there a minute ago, and now…“Ray.”

“I know. Listen, I checked. And checked again. I checked like a hundred times. It’s our numbers, Holly. We won. I mean, there might be other winners, too, but—”

“How can we—”

“I don’t know, man.” He lets out a whoop, followed by what sounds like a howl. “I don’t know. But we did. We won it. Holy shit.” He drops the phone for a second and I hear it clatter across the floor. When he returns, he’s breathing hard. “We have to meet up. Can you…can you meet me at the IHOP? On Route Nine? Just for, like—”

“What? Meet you?”

“Yeah. So we can talk? And, I don’t know, figure this out. Figure out what to do?”

“What is there to—” I let out one short sharp breath. And then another. “Yeah,” I say. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll see you there.”

“Twenty minutes?”

His voice, wild as it is, steadies me. “Okay. Twenty minutes.”

“Oh my God, Holly.”

I manage a brief laugh. “Yeah.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up the phone, and for just a moment, I press my face into a couch pillow and scream.