Chapter 6 - DUST AND DIAMONDS
Yacita reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of fine sandpaper.
She began softly rubbing the rough edge of the wooden horse's broken ear.
Shhh.
Shhh.
Shhh.
A tiny cloud of pale pine dust drifted down, landing on the spotless marble floor between her bare feet.
Eleanor Vance stood frozen for two long seconds.
Her lip trembled.
The heavy fur coat seemed to weigh fifty pounds now, pulling her shoulders down, hunching her posture.
She grabbed her handbag strap with both hands, turned on her heel, and walked briskly toward the front doors.
Click-clack-click-clack-click-clack.
Her heels struck the marble in a frantic, uneven rhythm.
The security guard held the heavy glass door open for her.
The cold autumn air rushed inside for a brief second, smelling of wet city streets and exhaust fumes.
The wind caught the bottom of her light-brown fur coat, whipping it wildly around her legs.
She stepped out onto the sidewalk.
The glass door swung shut behind her with a soft, heavy thunk.
Click.
The lock engaged automatically.
Inside, the warm studio lighting immediately wrapped around the glass cases once more.
The violin music resumed its quiet, elegant rhythm from the hidden ceiling speakers.
Leo sat down directly on the marble floor, crossing his small legs inside his worn jeans.
He reached into his canvas backpack and pulled out his battered picture book.
He set it on his knees.
"Mama?" he asked, without looking up from the colorful pages.
"Yes, Leo?" Yacita asked, her fingers still moving the sandpaper rhythmically over the wooden toy.
Shhh.
Shhh.
"Why did that lady have so many rocks on her fingers?"
Yacita paused her hand.
She looked at the pale pine dust settling on the black marble beneath her.
"Because she's cold, Leo."
Leo turned a page of his book. The paper made a dry, crisp sound in the quiet room.
"Why doesn't she just get a sweater?"
Yacita blew softly on the wooden horse.
A small gust of wood dust vanished into the air, caught in the warm light of the chandelier above.
"Sweaters are heavy, my love," Yacita whispered, setting the smooth wooden toy into his small palm.
"And some people prefer to freeze in gold."
Matteo walked quietly over, carrying a small silver dustpan and a soft brush.
He knelt down beside them on the marble.
Without a word, he brushed the pale pine dust off the floor, sweeping it away until the black stone reflected the ceiling lights perfectly once more.
"The thermostat has been adjusted to seventy-two degrees, Doña Yacita," Matteo said softly.
Yacita stood up, smoothing the front of her plain white linen dress.
"Thank you, Matteo."
She held out her hand to her son.
Leo took it, his tiny fingers wrapping around her bare thumb.
His scuffed red sneakers squeaked once more against the clean floor as they walked toward the back office.
May you like
Squeak.
Behind them, Fifth Avenue rushed past the glass windows—a blur of grey coats, flashing yellow lights, and people hurrying through the cold.
