The Red Samples

Rhoswen rang while Adela was choosing between two shades of red that a customer insisted were the same.

She put down the samples and answered before the third ring.

“Hello.”

“Have I caught you working?”

“Yes. I can stop.”

There was a pause. Six weeks of brief messages and one exchange on the pavement, both of them carrying bags, neither able to pretend they had time for the conversation they were avoiding. Rhoswen had given back the brown scarf in a bag hung from her front door. Adela had left a jar of marmalade on the step, then spent a day wondering whether that had been generous or cowardly.

Now it was November. The workshop window steamed at the edges, and customers had begun mentioning Christmas with the tone of people warning her about a natural disaster.

“It’s her birthday next Friday,” Rhoswen said.

“I know.”

“Of course you know.”…