Rescue - By Anita Shreve Page 0,22

be even slightly vain.

She’d undone his shirtsleeve and was rolling it up his arm. “What kind of a place will we be able to get?” she asked.

He looked down at his arm. “I’ve done a little hunting,” he said. “When I was thinking about getting out of my parents’ house. Not that I don’t love them and appreciate the meals. I do. But it’s past time. I’ve seen a few places. A one-bedroom at best.”

Sheila stroked the inside of his arm. “We have to have someplace to put the baby,” she said.

“Well, two bedrooms if we get extra lucky.” The only two-bedroom Webster had seen during his short quest had smelled of dead animal. Tomorrow he’d walk over to Carroll & Carroll and see if there was anything new in the window. And he’d buy the Sunday paper, look at the ads. The problem was that the apartment had to be in Hartstone. Rescue had a bunk room and a living room with a TV for use during tours. All the furniture was from grateful patients. The kitchen had three spoons. Webster didn’t understand why the medics didn’t just go out and buy a dozen spoons. He’d thought of doing it himself, but couldn’t presume until he’d earned a little more seniority.

The search for an apartment might be hard.

“OK,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Sheila, drawing her fingers away from his arm, seemed confused.

“The Giant Mart,” he said.

They took the first apartment they could afford: a one-bedroom the size of Webster’s parents’ living room situated over an ice-cream shop. That the apartment had a washer and dryer sealed the deal. If they’d been willing to look further, they might have been able to find a better place, but this one was available, and Webster was impatient. Now that the decision had been made, he wanted to make it a reality as soon as possible. They could move in any time, the owner of the ice-cream shop had said.

They transferred Sheila’s belongings the following Saturday morning. Webster wouldn’t start moving in until the next day, after they’d had the dinner with his parents. He didn’t want to appear too eager, even though he’d move no matter what they said.

Once Webster had paid the security deposit and the first month’s rent, he and Sheila walked into their new home together. The kitchenette allowed only one person inside it at a time, but the round table Webster would bring from home could seat three in a pinch. The appliances looked tired, but they worked, which was all Webster cared about. They studied the small living room, noting water damage on the ceiling. They didn’t much like the blue wall-to-wall either. Someday they’d own their own place, Sheila said, and Webster wondered if that would ever be true.

They walked into a single bedroom with a slanted ceiling and one window. They debated where to put the bed, a short debate, there being only one section of wall without a door or a window. They drove to the Giant Mart to buy a broom, a wastebasket, kitchen and bath supplies, and enough food to get by for a couple of days. When the parental dinner was behind them, Webster would go to his father’s hardware store and purchase a full-length mirror for Sheila. The only place he could put it would be inside the only closet in the apartment, the one in the bedroom. The owner had put hooks, in lieu of a coat closet, by the front door.

Sheila had asked the nurse if she could borrow the mattress from the porch for two nights until Webster moved his own bed in the next day. The nurse had been annoyed at the abrupt notice but had said yes to the mattress. Webster hauled it up the outside stairs. “Let me sweep first,” Sheila said.

Together they settled the mattress on the floor of the bedroom. After it was in place, Webster asked where the sheets were.

“I don’t have any,” Sheila said.

“You didn’t bring them?”

“They weren’t mine.”

“But…” Webster shook his head. “A towel?”

“Nope.”

“We’ll just have to be careful, then,” Webster said.

“Careful with what?” Sheila asked.

“We have to christen the place,” he said with a grin.

“Your father’s going to recognize me,” Sheila said from the passenger seat of the cruiser.

The hardware store.

“You didn’t go wild in there, did you?” Webster asked.

“No, I just bought a lot of cigarettes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t light up during dinner.”

“Jesus, Webster, give me some credit.”

He was inclined to give her a lot of credit. When she’d