6

Ghosting the Widow

Maria’s Converse sneakers hopped over the uneven sidewalk, dodging broken glass and sloppy spills. She stopped running to catch her breath. She’d made it to Atlantic Avenue, the edge of her neighborhood, where heavy traffic rumbled and honked. She’d never been much farther than this before.

After she caught her breath, she searched down the street for the familiar cape of Mrs. Fisher.

The woman couldn’t have disappeared into thin air, she thought, as the slap of feet that had been following her slowed down. Maria swung around to discover Sebastian.

“Where are you running to?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Are you following me?” Maria knew she sounded harsh, but she was on a mission, and this kid was getting in the way. She turned and scanned the sidewalk again for the widow.

And then she saw her.

She was standing in front of a grimy building across the street. The old woman paused to look at the back of the business card and held it up to the numbers over the unmarked door. Mrs. Fisher rang the buzzer to the foreboding building while a truck unloaded boxes into the garage next door.

“Why are you hanging out by Atlantic?” asked Sebastian. “There’s nothing over—”

“Shhh!” said Maria, pushing him behind her. “You’ll mess it up.”

Mrs. Fisher tried knocking on the door this time. After a long pause, she stepped away from the door and turned around.

Maria stopped and watched the widow.

Mrs. Fisher twisted her wedding band around her finger and began to walk away from the building.

“Hey, missus. You looking for something?” called a voice from the garage.

Mrs. Fisher stopped.

There, from the shadows of the alley, stepped Mr. Fox. He was sweating under a suit that was too small for him. A bolo tie dangled from his neck. The strings were joined unevenly by the turquoise clasp, as if it were a noose.

“Why, yes.” Mrs. Fisher’s voice wavered. “I’m looking for the Brooklyn Urban Youth Initi—”

“You got the right place, lady,” said Mr. Fox. “You the one that called the other day?”

Mrs. Fisher frowned and brought her hand up to her chest. “Why, er—yes. That was me, but is this a nonprofit?”

“Yeah, what’s it to ya?”

Mrs. Fisher shook her head and backed away, but Mr. Fox swooped in front of her, pushing her shoulder toward the building. “Relax, lady. This is our loading dock, where we receive deliveries. The kiddies are down the block!”

Mrs. Fisher seemed to be relieved, bringing her hand up to her head to flatten her hair. “Okay! I was beginning to think that this place was—”

“The place is legit, lady,” Mr. Fox assured her, and gave her a fake smile. “Didn’t you have a donation for our charity?” He opened the door to the building and pushed the lady inside.

Maria could feel Sebastian watching her. She turned around.

“Are you spying on that lady?” asked Sebastian. The traffic at the end of the block almost drowned out his voice.

“Of course not!” Maria found some scraps of old newspaper in the trash by the curb. She grabbed one for herself and shoved the other into Sebastian’s hands. “Quick. Make yourself look busy!” Then she hid her face behind the newsprint.

“You ARE spying!” Sebastian said, before hiding behind his paper, too. They said nothing for four whole seconds before Sebastian peeked above the newsprint. “Why are we following her?” he whispered.

“Sebastian, please leave!”

Sebastian dropped the paper. “Okay. I get the message. I just wanted to see what you spend all your time doing!” He turned around and disappeared down the block.

A moving van pulled away from the garage, and behind it stood a bewildered Mrs. Fisher. She stepped past the driveway, shaking her head.

But the ring was missing from her finger!

Maria brought the paper up to her face as the widow shuffled past her. She waited until Mrs. Fisher had hiked half a block before she followed.

The old woman quickly turned the corner onto Fulton Street, where there was a cluster of restaurants. Maria weaved through the pedestrians with baby carriages until Mrs. Fisher descended the stairs into the subway.

But Maria stopped at the entrance.

She’d never left her neighborhood, much less ridden a train. What if she got lost and couldn’t find her way back? Maria began to shake and took a deep breath to calm herself. There was no time for worry.

Soon Mrs. Fisher would be gone forever. Maria willed herself forward and descended the stairs to the C train, the temperature dropping as she fell into the shadows of the station.

The widow fumbled through her purse until she pulled out a MetroCard and swiped it through the turnstile. Maria didn’t have a MetroCard or any money to buy one, but she knew she couldn’t turn back. She’d promised Edward.

Mrs. Fisher passed through the turnstile.

Maria waited for the widow to descend the second set of stairs that led to the train before she approached the entrance.

The turnstile came up to her chest. It would be so easy to hop over it. Maria looked around. The station was empty.

“DO IT,” she told herself.

She knew she was taking a risk, and she was not a risk taker.

Maria took a deep breath. She slapped the metal turnstile with both hands and lifted her legs high above it. Then she flung her body over and landed on her feet. Maria steadied herself and took off after the widow.

The train entered the station just as Maria was descending the stairs. She hopped aboard and exhaled, blowing the hair out of her face. Maria grabbed hold of the pole while the train rocked back and forth and increased in speed. This was her first time on a train, and a mixture of excitement and fear overcame her. It felt so good to be moving somewhere fast, to be anyplace but her stuffy closet at home. Maria scanned the seated passengers for Mrs. Fisher’s plaid cape and her bright white hair.

There was a white hoodie on a teenager, a plaid sweater on an old man, and a red ball cap on someone reading the paper. Then she spotted the widow. Mrs. Fisher was inspecting her wrinkled hand, rubbing her finger where the ring had rested for all those years.

In between the moments of exhilaration, Maria felt sorry for Mrs. Fisher and a little ashamed at having a part in the con. She hoped she would be able to make it up to her when she found the treasure in her apartment. But she had not anticipated the widow living this far away.

The train made many stops: first stopping at Lafayette, then Hoyt, then Jay Street, then High Street where it continued under the East River into Manhattan. Maria didn’t sit down. She wanted to keep her eye on the widow.

At West Fourth Street, the train filled with more people. Maria glanced back at Mrs. Fisher’s seat.

The widow was suddenly gone!

Maria dove for the door just before it closed, and landed on the platform.

People swirled around her, bumping into her as they exited the station. Students plugged into their headphones glided by. Tourists holding bags paused to look at a map. A blind man breezed past her, the sound of his tapping cane becoming lost in the hollow thuds of beating bongos.

Maria pushed her way through the crowd gathered round the bongo player. She scanned the ramp of the exit, where she could just make out the familiar white hair of the widow weaving through a pack of people holding bags.

She chased after Mrs. Fisher, dodging a tattooed person with pink hair and just missing a family of tourists wearing I LOVE NY sweatshirts. She climbed the stairs into the gray light of the October sky.

Maria caught her breath, shaken by the heavy rumble of the trains below her.

Screeeeeeeech! A bus slowed down in front of her.

Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk! Taxis swerved around the bus letting off passengers.

Manhattan was much louder than the quiet library and peaceful sidewalks of her neighborhood in Brooklyn. And there were so many people. Maria waited behind Mrs. Fisher at the crosswalk, the yells from the crowd behind her soaring as a basketball hit a net. She spotted a movie theater across the street with a line outside it. The crosswalk sign turned white, and the mass of people walked down Sixth Avenue.

Like a swan caught in the rapids of a moving river, Mrs. Fisher’s hair bobbed between the uneven lumps of heads in front of Maria. The old lady veered left down a tiny, quiet street that made a semicircle. She stopped in front of a brick town house with paint chipping off the door and dug through her purse for her keys.

Maria cleared her throat and pulled on Mrs. Fisher’s cape. “Excuse me. Mrs. Fisher?”

The widow slowly turned around, a little startled. “Yes?” she said.

“I—I—I have a message for you.”

“Oh? From whom?” asked Mrs. Fisher, a faint smile hinting at the corners of her lips.

“It’s from your late husband.” Maria tried to sound reassuring. “Can I talk—”

“What?” Mrs. Fisher stepped back, her expression troubled. “I’m sorry?”

“Please don’t be angry with me,” said Maria. “I was sent to—”

“My husband?” said Mrs. Fisher. She composed herself so that she stood just a little taller than Maria. “Who are you, and how do you know—”

“Robert Fisher has asked me to contact you,” Maria said, and moved closer to Mrs. Fisher. Then she whispered, “He said I should tell you first: Remember the light of the silvery moon, and the honeymoon a-shining in June.”

Mrs. Fisher slowly raised her hand to her heart. “Oh, good Lord,” she whispered, and seemed to shrink.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Maria added, and backed away. “He asked me to help you.”

“Well, I, well, I…” Mrs. Fisher stuttered, and her words seemed to float higher and trail away from her. She straightened her glasses and examined Maria. After a long pause, she asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Maria.”

The widow nodded and said, “Would you like to come in for tea, Maria?”

Maria nodded.

Mrs. Fisher pulled out her keys and fumbled with the lock until it clicked.

The door slowly creaked open, and the two of them entered the widow’s home.