Cal came back with a folding chair, a loaf and the amount Nora said she needed for Mina's deposit. He put the food on the counter and held the chair up.
“This one's for me.”
“It doesn't go in here.”
“I'm not selling it.”
“You can sit on something we've got.”
“Every time I do, you need to move it.”
He opened the chair against the display wall. It was green, made for a garden, and horrible. Nora watched him sit on it with satisfaction.
“Very comfortable,” he said.
“You're doing that on purpose.”
“Yes.”
He handed her the envelope. She didn't open it straightaway.
“You could tell me what you've got left.”
“I've just given you what you asked for.”
“That's different.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his face, tired. Nora had wanted to see tiredness as ordinary work, but now it was something she could use to make her own questions feel unreasonable.
“Have you eaten?” she asked.
“Don't change the subject to look after me.”
She looked at him.
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
The accuracy irritated her. She set the envelope down.
“Then answer.”
“There's enough for the things we said.”
Cal leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The chair creaked.
“It's money I've brought you.”
Nora could have reminded him whose house it had come from. She did not want to say the man's name in the room she was still arranging. Instead she picked up a roll of lining paper she'd been using to sketch the last display.
“I want to finish this.”
“What is it?”
She unrolled the drawing on the counter, pinning its edge with the envelope. The shelves on the right of the room were meant to be narrow, appearing to float without visible supports. Nora had drawn them as thin lines, beautiful and impossible enough that she hoped Cal would enjoy finding the way to make them real.
He stood, came over and looked.
“No.”
“You haven't even—”
“You want books on those.”
“Some.”
“And samples.”
“A few.”
“And something you found last week which is much heavier than it looks.”
She wanted to deny it, but there was a stone mortar in a box under the sink which she had not told him about.
“We can make them stronger.”
“We can make them thicker.”
“I don't want them thicker.”
“Then put something underneath.”
He drew a bracket with his finger on the paper, then reached for a pencil. Nora moved it away.
“Don't change the drawing.”
Cal looked at the pencil in her hand. He had paid for it that morning; she'd asked him to pick up a packet on his way because she couldn't find one she liked writing with. She saw him remember that, or thought she did.
“I'm trying to help.”
“I know.”
“Do you want them to look good until somebody uses them?”
“No.”
“Then let me show you.”
Nora put the pencil down. He drew a much smaller support than she expected, recessed so that it wouldn't interrupt the line from the doorway. He knew where people would stand. He had listened to her arguing about Mina's cabinet, remembered where the eye entered, and made the practical work serve it.
She looked at the drawing for long enough that not agreeing became childish.
“That could work.”
“It will.”
“I'd want it the same colour.”
“I know.”
He took his hand away. Nora looked at the support he had added, then at the wall where it would go.
“All right,” she said.
He nodded, then went to measure the wall.
For a while they worked comfortably. Nora held one end of the tape with her right hand, kept it level, told him where to put the mark. He checked how much plaster stood proud of the wall and made a little calculation on the back of the drawing. She found the paint pot. There was a rhythm to making a thing together which did not require them to agree about anything except the thing.
Then Cal said, “You'll want someone here when you're taking clients round.”
“Why?”
“Deliveries. Fittings. Things you can't leave the room to do.”
“I'll manage.”
“With that?”
He nodded toward her arm.
“It won't be like this forever.”
“And when it's better, you'll still need someone.”
Nora knew what he was asking. He'd asked in small ways since she'd found the premises: what hours she would keep, what kind of jobs she wanted to offer, whether people would expect furniture put together at home. She had answered each practical question as if it didn't add up to a place he wanted in her business.
“I can't give you full-time work,” she said.
“I didn't ask for that.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“That you don't talk as if I'm only here until everything looks nice.”
His voice had sharpened. Nora glanced toward the window; no one was outside.
“It's my business.”
“I know.”
“I've wanted it for years.”
“I've been there for the years.”
She turned away, looking for the paint lid she had just set down. The search gave her something to do which wasn't answering him.
“You have your own work.”
“So does Mina. You haven't told her she can go away now you've got the cabinet.”
“I'm paying Mina.”
It was a bad thing to say. Cal stepped back from the wall.
“Right.”
“That's not what I meant.”
She put the paint pot down.
“I like doing it with you,” he said.
“I like it, too.”
“Then make it a thing we do.”
“It is.”
“When you need me.”
Nora thought of the hospital. She thought of every evening she'd gone home after a job to find he'd fitted something for her before she could ask, every day he'd waited for an answer while she took somebody else's call. She had taken his availability as a fact and liked to describe herself as independent.
“I'll put your name on the installation work,” she said. “Clients can go through you for it. We can agree rates.”
He watched her, measuring whether the offer had somewhere inside it for him.
“And here?”
“You'll be here.”
Cal nodded. He picked up the pencil, marked the paper and folded it so he could put it in his coat pocket.
“I'll make those,” he said.
“Leave me the drawing.”
“I need the measurements.”
“Take a photograph.”
He unfolded it again, smoothed it with his palm and took the picture. There was no argument, which made her feel petty for asking. Still, she kept the drawing on her counter.
He returned to the green chair while she opened Mina's envelope. The notes were neatly folded. Nora began counting, using one hand, then stopped because having him watch made it look like a suspicion she wasn't ready to name.
“It's all there,” he said.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She made herself finish the count.
“Yes.”
He took a piece of bread from the bag and ate it plain. She wanted to offer butter, or a plate, then remembered his warning and let him be a man eating his own food.
“Leave the police stuff to me for a bit,” he said.
“I can't. They're asking me.”
“I mean tell me before you decide to change things.”
“I told the truth about her staying.”
“And what does she say next?”
“I don't know.”
“Exactly.”
Nora looked at the money. The envelope's edge rested on her drawing. She slid the notes back into the envelope and moved it away from the paper.
“What if I want to hear from her myself?”
Cal lowered the bread.
“After what she did?”
“I want to know why.”
“You know why. She wanted everything.”
Nora remembered the handle in her own hand. She hadn't told him the precise words they had exchanged. There was no reason he should know the way Iris looked at her when she said Don't be stupid.
“We wanted something, too.”
“I didn't shove you.”
“I know.”
“Don't make it the same.”
He put the bread down and came to the counter. She thought he might take the envelope back. Instead he lifted the paint pot, wiped a little drip from its side and set it on a folded piece of paper so it wouldn't mark the surface.
“You don't have to do all of it alone,” he said.
Nora said nothing. She watched him tidy around her until the counter looked the way she wanted, then let him lock up while she put her coat on.
Outside, he folded the green chair and carried it to the van. The ugly thing had gone. She felt relieved until he told her he'd bring it back tomorrow.