If These Walls Could Talk Read Free Page A

elevated train. She rolled over and snuggled up to Reuben. He grunted in his sleep and otherwise ignored her.
    She stretched lazily, then sat up and turned the alarm clock to the OFF setting. She set it only as a precaution; she rarely slept until it went off, even now that it was mid-October and still dark out when she arose. The return of Standard Time would change that, but that wouldn’t happen for another two weeks. She’d be glad to see it come; she much preferred getting up in the daylight. She could open the blinds and let the morning sunlight wake Reuben. He’d pull a pillow over his eyes, but his subconscious would know it was time to get up. She got tired of shaking him every morning like a bottle of soy sauce.
    Carrying the underwear she’d laid out last night and wearing a bathrobe, she stepped out into the hall and crossed to the bathroom to take a ten-minute shower. As she scrubbed herself she mentally went over her personal to-do list. The cable bill was due this week. She had to make appointments for Mitchell and Shayla to get their six-month dental checkups. And she needed to see her hairdresser; her roots had grown in as tough as an overdone steak.
    No, before she made the hair appointment she’d better remind her sister-in-law, Arnelle, about that fifty dollars she’d loaned her three weeks ago. Camille’s expression went momentarily sour when she thought about Arnelle, who usually excused her financial shortages with, “It’s hard trying to raise my daughter all by myself. You’re lucky to have a husband, Camille.”
    Camille resented Arnelle for trying to make her feel guilty just for being married. She and her sister-in-law had been quite close earlier in Camille’s marriage to Reuben, more like sisters than in-laws, but all these repeated requests for forty dollars here and sixty dollars there, which Arnelle often conveniently forgot about come payday, had begun to put a strain on their friendship.
    Camille felt pretty sure that Arnelle had already tried the patience of both her mother, Ginny, and her older sister, Brenda. She usually prefaced each loan request with, “Don’t mention this to Reuben, okay?” Well, once Camille got back this fifty she’d start telling Arnelle she couldn’t spare any extra. Just because she had Reuben’s income to help provide the necessities of life didn’t mean that her children didn’t need things just like anybody else’s kids, or that she should go around looking like a tackhead.
    Still, she did feel sorry for Arnelle. Her daughter’s father had long since skipped out of New York for an unknown destination and hadn’t sent her a fat nickel since. At least Brenda’s ex-husband, that is, if they’d ever gotten around to getting a divorce, helped her with the support of their daughter.
    Camille scrubbed her back vigorously. She’d just have to stop being such a soft touch . . . and stick to it.

    Fifteen minutes later, all dried off and a bathrobe covering her underwear-clad body, she woke the children. When they finished washing up she’d wake Reuben. He hated having to wait to get into the bathroom, something he’d had to do as a child as one of four children, and he insisted it be all clear by the time he got out of bed, so he could get in there right away.
    Wouldn’t it be wonderful, Camille thought dreamily, if their two-bedroom apartment had two bathrooms. The building’s owner, who also owned the sheet metal shop that operated on the ground level directly below them, had once lived in this apartment with his family. For that reason he had made a few nice improvements: butcher block kitchen countertops, an attractive laminate vanity cabinet under the bathroom sink, parquet floors, storm windows. She knew for a fact that the duplicate apartment across the hall had no special features, although admittedly it rented for less money. Once the