For Love of Audrey Rose by Frank De Felitta Read Free Book Online Page B

that she was alone, the rumbles of distant plumbing, elevators, and electric appliances made a soothing symphony through the walls. The rum agreeably relaxed her. Gradually, her panic died.
    There was nothing to fear, she thought. The past would die of its own momentum. What wouldn’t die could not harm her. She would move, alone, into the mysterious future and learn what she had to learn. That was how Ivy would have wanted it. And Bill, were he himself.
    Janice opened the window in Ivy’s room. A warm night air wafted in, redolent with the smell of the distant river, and the summer dust. In her bed, which now had one pillow, Janice, for the first time in months, slipped into an untroubled sleep.

3
    B reakfast alone, and the sunshine poured into Des Artistes. Janice drank Colombian coffee and ate muffins with jam beside an open window. It was a curious feeling, secure and quiet in the kitchen.
    Time slowed to a crawl now that people stopped paying calls on account of Ivy. The mail decreased. The telephone rarely rang except for Carole Federico.
    Carole and Janice walked together toward the Marina off Riverside Drive. It had been Ivy’s favorite place. With bittersweet memories, they watched yelling children crawl over the jungle gym.
    “It seems so long ago,” Janice said quietly. “As though Ivy were here in a dream.”
    Carole smiled sadly, took Janice’s arm, and they found an outdoor buffet where a fat man dispensed lemonade, pretzels and socialism at no extra cost. They leaned back against a picnic table, and they watched the glittering wakes of small pleasure craft on the Hudson River.
    “I thought I would be crushed,” Janice said thoughtfully. “Being alone, I mean. But I’m not. I feel—”
    “Independent is the word,” Carole said, with a suggestion of jealousy.
    “Exactly,” Janice agreed. “I feel like I want a place in the world now. For me. Not as Ivy’s mother. Not as Bill’s wife. For me. Because I feel I have something to offer, even though I’m not sure exactly what.”
    “You mean a job?”
    “Well, yes. A job. I can’t just sit around the apartment all day. Besides, our money won’t last forever.”
    Janice knew that her friend’s mind was already clicking through any leads, connections, or even wild rumors that might help. But Carole only shook her head regretfully.
    “What about going back to school?” Carole asked. “Have you thought of that?”
    “Lots of times. I’m too old for that. Besides, what would I do for money while I was in school?”
    “You draw, don’t you?” Carole said. “You used to make the most beautiful decorations. And Christmas cards. And didn’t you design some theater programs for that Armenian church?”
    Janice laughed again and crooked her arm in Carole’s elbow.
    “You’re sweet, Carole, but that was years ago. Besides, being an art major in college and being a professional artist are two different propositions.”
    “Nonsense. You’ve got a natural talent that could be parlayed into real success.”
    Janice smiled, then rejected the idea.
    “Well, how many Armenian churches can there be?” she said.
    “The trouble with you is, you have no confidence. Let me ask Russ. A lot of people from the design trade come through his shop. They always hire extra staff.”
    Janice was grateful for the support that Carole gave her. She began drawing again. She enrolled in an art class, was advanced to a higher level, and studied the figure with a famous designer from Italy. She worked hard. She needed to feel the pressure of schedules, pressure to execute assignments, to meet deadlines. To feel that vast, rumbling force that throbbed through the heart of the densest city in the world.
    Janice felt on the edge of a teeming life, tantalizingly close, hungering for it. She began to feel, more and more, as her figure studies improved, that she really did have something to offer. An eye for color, an instinct for gesture. She knew how to work hard, to