Nothing but a Smile Read Online Free

comfortable than it did a few hours back, when he was facing this woman for the first time. It felt like he knew her a hell of a lot better now. He could do this.
    Despite that, preparing himself to say it, standing in the open front door, he chuckled a little. Even being just the messenger,he felt sheepish and tongue-tied. He turned to look down the street, in the direction of his hotel. He'd forgotten how desolate the Loop got at night, and it seemed even more so now, with all the rationing and belt tightening. “It feels a little personal to be slinging this around, but anyway, Chesty wanted me to tell you that he really … uh,
loves
you … Present tense!” It made him chuckle again. “There you go! And I'm to make it real clear he's being … true—you know—uh, faithful …” He caught her eye now, looking up at him seriously in the dim shadows of the streetlights. She wasn't chuckling. “But anyway, I'm sure you know all that, ma'am. Goes without saying.” He could picture his friend's face, the last time he saw him, and it didn't take any flashing of wallet photos to see how much the guy missed her, and it was hard not to think of that, of what his friend would give to be standing there in his place in this dim doorway, in the glow of his home and his wife, without getting a little choked up himself. “And I knew it, too,” he said. “Obvious to anyone who knew him—
knows
him, I mean, present tense—for even five minutes, him always keeping it in his … Anyway, it's true.” Finally, she said, “Truer than the coconut story?” He felt his ears heating up, but he knew she knew he was giving her the straight dope. “Absolutely.”

8
    All the next morning, she never heard the bell jangle once. Which wasn't all bad—she had plenty to distract her without the public wandering in to buy very little or just look. And at least this one morning she had things on her mind to fill these restless, panicky hours in which the store was officially open but usuallyvacant. She had those new ideas she'd dreamed up for homier, girl-at-home girlie shots, and she hoped to get them down on paper somehow by the end of the day. Maybe this time she wouldn't bother shooting them just yet, but she'd thought she was on to something with this angle last night—the young lady in the kitchen—and it would be smart to jot them down in some manner.
    Before she could get to that, though, she had the past evening's wonderful visit to recount, as best as she could piece it together, most of which was going directly into a long letter to Chesty that she'd started right after her chicory and toast. Maybe it was silly, retelling every little thing his friend had told her, since most of it Chesty probably had already heard before, and much of it he'd actually participated in himself, but she wanted him to know just how much it had meant that he'd sent this man to check in on her and, in a sort of indirect, intermediary way, call on her and share a little slice of his life there. It was romantic of Chesty, in a way, reaching out to her by proxy from across the globe.
    She got so caught up in getting it all down, she started to thank him for the coconut before she had to scratch it out, forgetting for a moment that there wasn't actually a coconut, and even if there had been, it hadn't originated with her husband, but with his friend.
    Plus, she had an idea to propose:
    An idea has come to me, dear, that I think you may think a good one. I do not know the outcome of Mr. Dutton's job search today, but if he does in fact find a means to stay in Chic, I suggest we consider offering to rent him Pop's apartment—at a very nominal rate, of course. In exchange, maybe he could help out with some of the occasional heavy lifting. This is all only if you approve and think it wise, of course.
    She decided it would be best not to upset him with two additional points: her last restocking order for some of the darkroom chemicals had been refused for a