“It’s the building key. I just need you to lock the doors in the evening and unlock them in the morning.”
“Of course.” Aria took the key and then held it up to the light. “It’s so shiny and golden.”
“Yes, it’s made of gold.”
Aria’s eyes opened wider. “Realgold?”
“Yes, dear, and it’s one of a kind so don’t lose it. I’ll leave it with you tonight and let you practice locking up. The key can be a little tricky.”
Aria nodded and clutched the key in both hands.
“Is that what you’re going to wear to go home?” Mrs. B. looked her over in her sleeveless top and short, flowy skirt and leotard with a worried frown creasing her brow. “Don’t you have anything to cover up your legs a bit more? Also, it’s dangerous out there, dearest. That skimpy top you’re wearing might be taken the wrong way by unethical men.”
Aria looked down at herself. “It’s ninety degrees outside,” she muttered quickly. In a louder voice she looked up apologetically. “Mrs. B., you know I can take care of myself out there. You’re the one who paid for my self-defense lessons. Besides, I don’t have anything here to change into.”
Mrs. Blagden sucked her teeth and shook her head. “What’s that pink shirt hanging over there? And I know I saw a blanket in your office the day before last. Bring them.”
Aria blinked at her. “Bring my sweatshirt and a blanket? Why do you want me to take a blanket? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course, my dear girl. Just humor me and wear the shirt over the top you’re wearing.” She took a little breath and shook her head slightly. “It doesn’t even have sleeves. Take the blanket, hmm?”
Aria bit her bottom lip, then did as she was bid. Was her friend ill? Should Aria insist on taking her to the hospital? Why would she need to wear a sweatshirt and have a blanket? It was hot and humid out in the middle of August.
Nevertheless, she slipped on the sweatshirt, gathered the folded blanket in her small office, then returned to her Mrs. B.
“Isn’t today your brother’s birthday?” Mrs. Blagden remarked after Aria shut off the lights and they left the studio together.
“Yes,” Aria answered, not surprised that her dear friend remembered Connall’s birthday. “Twenty-five.”
“Oh, maybe I should give you the key for another night.”
“Nonsense,” Aria said, refusing to give it back. “What does Conn’s birthday have to do with anything?”
Mrs. B. looked to be thinking about the question, then she sighed softly. “How is the poor dear doing?”
“He’d love it if you came by,” Aria told her.
“Oh, I’d love to, but my flight is in a few hours. I’ll bring something back for him.”
Aria smiled lovingly. Mrs. Blagden claimed to be eighty-three, but her skin was peachy smooth with very few wrinkles.
“He’ll be happy just to see you,” Aria told her, taking her hand as they walked together to the exit of the building. The sad truth was that Conn wasn’t happy about anything anymore. “Mom will make your favorite, her beloved crock-pot beef stew.”
“You know I do love her beef stew.”
Aria looked at her as they came to the building doors. “You sound melancholy, as if you won’t eat it again. Is everything alright?”
“Yes, yes. I was just remembering all the flavors and how tender the meat is. Perfect for my old teeth.”
Aria pulled her a little closer. “I’ve been practicing the recipe so I can make it for you.”
Mrs. Blagden pulled Aria’s hand to her cheek. “You are my dear girl.”
Aria smiled, knowing how much Mrs. B. cared for her. She’d already written Aria into her will to inherit the building. Aria couldn’t express her gratitude enough. Bills were beginning to get paid off and there was money for her parent’s rent.
They left the building, and Aria slipped the key into the keyhole.
“Aria, my dear,” she heard Mrs. Blagden say. Her voice sounded different—weaker, distant. “I saw you dance.”