A Nearly Perfect Copy - By Allison Amend Page 0,129

tears, tears of regret, not anger. She could say nothing to defend herself. Greer was right, horribly right. She had put the entire auction house in jeopardy. Her great-grandfather was really rolling around in his grave. But how had Greer found out about the drawings she sold through Relay, if these were the dealings to which he was referring? Ian must have told him. He was the only one who knew about her relationship with Relay. But why would he do that to her?

“I’ll try to protect you from the law,” Greer said, “but I want you to have nothing more to do with the auction house.”

“Yes,” she said. What hurt most right now, besides her fear, was that Greer, after acting superior to her in every way for years, did occupy that space now. As vile as he was, as mean and as hypocritical and as condescending, he had the moral hegemony that Elm could only dream about, a rightness she would never, ever recover.

“But, Elm,” Greer said as he stood to go, his face even redder now than it was when he walked in. “I don’t understand. Why?”

Elm thought. “None of your fucking business,” she said.

In May, Moira and Colin left for Ireland so Colin could start his new job. Elm moved back into their apartment. It had once felt so small—a two-bedroom with four people living in it, all sharing one bathroom and one small living room; now it was an empty mansion. Colin had packed quickly; in their closet errant socks and summer clothing sat where they’d fallen.

Every morning Elm Skyped with Moira. “How’s Ireland, honey?”

“I’ve been here before, ’member?”

“I know, silly goose, but how do you like it there now?”

“Good. When are you coming?”

“As soon as the baby’s born and old enough to travel, pumpkin.” Actually, nothing had been worked out. Colin’s parents agreed to pick Moira up from school and take care of her while he worked. It was a perfect arrangement, and the fact that it didn’t include Elm broke her heart.

Moira sighed, then got distracted by something away from the webcam. She skipped out of view for a minute, then came back, fiddling with one of her dolls whose miniature plastic clothes were always getting lost.

“Have you made any friends at school?” Elm asked.

“Yeah, there’s this girl, her name is Siobhan. She’s nice. She has really really blond hair.”

“Good. I can’t wait to meet her.” Elm hoped that Moira would attribute the crack in her voice to the imperfect wireless connection.

“She has a little brother too. And, Mom?”

“Yes,” Elm said.

“It’s raining here.”

“It’s raining here too, sweetie.”

“But not the same rain?”

“No, sweetie. I think it’s different rain.”

Colin came up behind her. He looked different on the webcam, elongated, disproportionate. “Go on and wash your teeth,” he said. Moira left without argument or good-bye.

“Hi,” Colin said.

“Hi,” Elm replied.

“Rain here too,” Colin said.

“It is Ireland.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. I still have two weeks until I’m even full-term.”

There was a long silence. Colin looked at his shoes. Elm wished she could reach her own feet to rub them.

“Elm?” Colin said.

“Yes?”

“I’m scared.”

“Me too,” Elm admitted. “I’m terrified.” She wasn’t sure they were speaking of the same fear, but Elm didn’t want to pry; she wanted to let this small moment of agreement last for as long as it could.

Elm had thought Ian would come by with the contents of her office. Then she assumed he’d call to see how she was. She was upset at his silence, even as she didn’t really blame him.

Finally, he came to see her bearing a large box of chocolates that sat uneaten on the coffee table between them. He was telling her some story that she wasn’t really trying to follow, about someone from facilities who took it upon himself to talk up some buyers on the floor last week.

“Don’t worry,” he said, noticing her inattention. “The gossip will die down.”

Elm smiled, a dissimulation so phony she didn’t even convince Ian. In the past few weeks she’d received letters from both charitable organizations she worked with thanking her for her help up to now and wishing her good luck in her future endeavors. The museum on whose board she sat suddenly reorganized its trustees. Elm was not on the new list. The gossip would never die down, Elm knew. Even if there was no criminal prosecution.

“Did you tell Greer about Relay?”

Ian shook his head. “No. Elm, how can you think that?”

“I don’t know, sorry,” she said. “I’m just paranoid. Then who …” As soon