Everlasting by Nancy Thayer Read Free Book Online Page B

the doors open?”
    “Oh, of course,” Catherine said, moving quickly, thinking: The help ? Her mother would die. Good .
    She could not stop staring at Piet Vanderveld as he passed in front of her, carrying bags from a van in the alleyway. He was wearing jeans, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a dark narrow tie. Nothing unusual there. But he was unusual, that was obvious. He was so … foreign. He was slender, with black tulip eyes and sleek black hair. His face was long and narrow, his eyes slanted slightly, his eyebrows arched up like a devil’s. He had a deep cleft in his chin. His looks were exotic; he would have looked perfect naked, frozen into marble, a wreath of flowers on his head, a chalice of wine in one hand, a cluster of pearly grapes in the other. His beauty was excessive, satyric. When he passed by her, she thought she smelled sweat, and immediately she sensed him on the back of a horse, or part of a horse, a centaur, slathered with sweat from the rider’s legs.…
    Piet set down the last box. “I’m Dutch,” he said as if answering a question. “I’m the Vandervelds’ nephew.” He was panting slightly. “I help them, sometimes here, sometimes from Amsterdam.”
    “Oh,” Catherine said, embarrassed but caught in her intoxication. She wanted only to stand staring, even sniffing, like an animal trying to place a scent. Finally her old school manners saved her. “This is all just so new,” she said as if that would explain why she was staring, dumbfounded. “This is my first day. I have a lot to learn.”
    “I’m sure you’ll do well,” he said, smiling. His teeth were very white and even.
    “Catherine? Dear? Have you started the coffee?” Mrs. Vanderveld called from the front.
    “Oh! I’m doing it right now!” Catherine called back.
    She moved quickly to the hot plate. But she was spellbound, and for a few minutes more she could only stand, watching the rings turn from dull black to glowing red as heat rushed through the coils.
* * *
    T he afternoon rushed by. Catherine brought Mrs. Vanderveld her coffee and drank a cup herself as she filled out the employment forms. She held the door for Piet as he carried arrangements to be delivered out to the van. She didn’t see Mr. Vanderveld again that day. She promised Mrs. Vanderveld she’d be at work at nine on the dot the next morning.
    Stepping out onto the street that evening, she felt buoyant. It was still light, and the June sun gleamed off taxi bumpers, store windows, and doorknobs like golden blasts from heavenly trumpets. It had come to her! She had a job; she had a home; she had a future. She was starving. Stopping by a bakery, she bought a sandwich and, in her glee, an apple pie for herself and Mrs. Venito.
    Back at the apartment, she ate ravenously. She wrote Leslie, words racing from her pen as fast as her hand would go. Before she went to bed, she spent an hour deciding just what to wear the next day. The linen sheath she had worn today now had to be dry-cleaned, and she knew she’d never save any of her salary if it all went to cleaners’ bills.
* * *
    T he next morning, dressed in a washable blue-and-white-checked cotton shirtwaist dress, Catherine arrived at Vanderveld Flowers exactly at nine o’clock.
    Already the shop was in chaos. Catherine was shocked, almost offended. All her hard work!
    Mr. Vanderveld was working with robot speed at the long work table, stabbing a mixture of flowers into small round clear glass bowls that were already filled with green pittosporum, or pit as Mr. V called it. Flash, flash! in went two white carnations, two yellow daisies, two day lilies, and in the middle, two tight-budded yellow daffodils. Flash, flash! Mr. V slid the bowl aside and did another one. Sloshed water, discarded leaves, and sliced stems flew over the table to the floor.
    Without preamble, without so much as a “good morning,” Mr. Vanderveld barked at Catherine: “Take these. Five flats,