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L’il follows me to the street, begging me to stay. “You can’t just leave with no place to go.”
“Honestly, L’il. I’ll be fine,” I insist, with way more confidence than I actually feel.
I hold out my arm and hail a cab.
“Carrie! Don’t,” L’il pleads as I shove my suitcase and typewriter into the backseat.
The cab driver turns around. “Where to?”
I close my eyes and grimace.
Thirty minutes later, stuck outside in the torrential rain of a thunderstorm, I wonder what I was thinking.
Samantha’s not home. In the back of my mind, I guess I was figuring if Samantha wasn’t there, I could always go to Bernard’s and throw myself on his mercy. But now, having splurged on one cab, I don’t have enough money for another.
A rivulet of water runs down the back of my neck. My robe is soaked and I’m scared and miserable but I attempt to convince myself that everything is going to be all right. I imagine the rain washing the city clean, and washing Peggy away with it.
But another rumble of thunder changes my mind, and suddenly I’m being attacked by pinpricks of ice. The rain has turned to hail and I need to find shelter.
I drag my suitcase around the corner, where I spot a small, glass-fronted shop at the bottom of a short flight of steps. At first, I’m not sure it even is a store, but then I see a big sign that reads, NO CHANGE—DO NOT EVEN ASK. I peer through the glass and spot a shelf dotted with candy bars. I pull open the door and go inside.
A strange, hairless man who looks quite a bit like a boiled beet is sitting on a stool behind a Plexiglas barrier. There’s a small opening cut into the plastic where you can slide your money across the counter. I’m dripping all over the floor, but the man doesn’t seem to mind. “What can I get for you, girlie?” he asks.
I look around in confusion. The store is even tinier on the inside than it looked from the outside.
The walls are thin and there’s a door in the back that’s bolted shut.
I shiver. “How much for a Hershey’s bar?”
“Twenty-five cents.”
I reach into my pocket and extract a quarter, sliding it through the slot. I pick out a candy bar and start to unwrap it. It’s pretty dusty, and I immediately feel sorry for the man. Apparently he doesn’t have much business. I wonder how he’s able to survive.
Then I wonder if I’m going to be able to survive. What if Samantha doesn’t come home? What if she goes to Charlie’s apartment instead?
No. She has to come home. She just has to. I close my eyes and picture her leaning against her desk. You really are a sparrow, she says.
And then, as if I’ve willed it to happen, a cab stops on the corner and Samantha gets out. She’s clutching her briefcase across her chest, her head ducked against the rain, when suddenly, she stops, looking defeated. By the weather and, just possibly, by something else.
“Hey!” I yank open the door and race toward her, waving my arms. “It’s me!”
“Huh?” She’s startled, but quickly regains her composure. “You,” she says, wiping the rain from her face. “What are you doing here?”
I muster up my last ounce of confidence. I shrug, as if I’m used to standing on corners in the rain. “I was wondering—”
“You got kicked out of your apartment,” she says.
“How did you know?”
She laughs. “The suitcase and the fact that you’re soaked to the skin. Besides, that’s what always happens to sparrows. Jesus, Carrie. What am I going to do with you?”
Chapter Eight
“You’re alive!” L’il throws her arms around my neck.
“Of course I am,” I say, as if getting kicked out of an apartment happens to me all the time. We’re standing in front of The New School, waiting to go in.
“I was worried.” She steps back to give me a searching once-over. “You don’t look so good.”
