The phone rang. Della picked it up.
“I just wanted to let you know I’m still okay,” Sara told her.
Della thought of Leo Labriola, felt again the hard grip of his fingers on her wrist, the bite of the pen, and knew that her friend was not in the least okay. She could warn her, but what would be the consequences of that? What if the Old Man found out about it? There was Nicky to think about. And her daughter. And Mike. You save one person, you put another in danger. Because there seemed no way to act rightly, she said only, “That’s good, Sara.” She added nothing else, because the important thing was to get off the line as quickly as possible, learn as little as possible about where Sara was or what she was doing. That way, if Labriola really used muscle, she’d at least have a weapon against him, the fact that he could squeeze and squeeze and she still wouldn’t know any more about Sara than she already knew, and so there’d be nothing he could get out of her.
“Have you seen Tony?” Sara asked.
Labriola’s warning sounded in Della’s mind, If she calls, don’t tell her nothing.
“Listen, Sara, Nicky’s sick. He had a fever this morning, and I got this appointment, so…”
“Sure,” Sara said. “Sure, Della.”
“I’m sorry to rush off like this but, you know…”
“I understand,” Sara said. “Take it easy, Della.”
The click of the phone swept over Della in a deep, relieving wave. But then the wave receded, and the relief turned to accusation. Her friend was being hunted by a vicious old bastard who’d stop at nothing, and she, Della, could do nothing to warn her. She had mentioned Labriola’s visit to no one, not even Mike, and she’d lied to Tony, though at least he’d figured that out and so knew without a doubt what his father was up to. None of that removed the stain of her cowardice, however, the fact that she’d not only betrayed her friend but that she was at this very moment being drawn deeper into that betrayal.
“Who called?” Mike asked as he came into the kitchen.
Della stepped over to the sink, began rinsing the dishes. “Just one of those calls. Somebody selling something.”
“What this time?”
Della thought fast. “Insurance.”
“Insurance?” Mike said doubtfully. “I didn’t think insurance companies did any telemarketing.”
“I guess some of them do,” Della said weakly.
“I thought you might have a secret admirer.” Mike drew her into his arms.
She laughed. “You’d know it if I did.”
His eyes drifted away, and she knew that he was staring at the wifeless home across the cul-de-sac. “Well, it took Tony by surprise, didn’t it?”
She abruptly drew herself from his arms. “Sara didn’t have a… she wasn’t doing anything like that.” She turned back to the sink. “I mean, some other guy.”
“How do you know that, Della?”
She picked up a plate, began moving a yellow sponge over its floral surface. “I just know, that’s all.”
Mike’s large hands gripped her shoulders, turning her to face him. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Della answered, but saw instantly that he didn’t buy it.
“Della, what do you know about this? Did Sara talk to you?”
“No.”
“Did Tony?”
“Tony? ’Course not. I don’t know anything, Mike. Really.”
He considered this briefly, then said, “Okay,” but in that voice that meant “for now.”
She smiled and quickly changed the subject. “I’m going to drop Nicky off at my mother’s this afternoon. Then a little shopping.”
“Okay,” Mike said. He kissed her lightly, then went back upstairs, grabbed his jacket, and came tromping down again, the jacket slung over his right shoulder.
“I’ve got an early tee-off time,” he said as he headed out the door.
“Have a nice day,” Della called to him, though no longer sure she herself would ever have another. After a moment she heard the car as it backed down the driveway. From the kitchen window she could see Mike as he drifted into the cul-de-sac then drove away, and this entirely familiar scene suddenly struck her as infinitely precious, something that had seemed so sure and firm before but now gave off a sense of being terribly at risk.