Black Mirror by Nancy Werlin

abandoned factory. I felt the beginnings of the headache Saskia had just mentioned. I scurried up beside her and waited while she rang the bell.
    Andy Jankowski answered. We blinked at each other in surprise. Then I remembered: He’d told me he worked here sometimes.
Pretend work. They have me watch the door.
    “Hi, Andy,” I mumbled. For a reason I didn’t understand, shame washed over me and I found I couldn’t look straight at him.
    “Hi, Andy!” said Saskia cheerily. “You on door duty this afternoon? Come on in, Frances.” We stood in a small entryway furnished with an old kitchen chair and a space heater.
    Andy closed the door behind us. “Yes,” he said. “I sit in this chair and when someone rings, I let them in. Then I carry boxes to the vans. And from the vans.” He paused as if thinking, and then added pointedly: “It’s boring.”
    Saskia laughed. “I bet! Okay, we go through here, Frances.” I followed her through another door, but as I did, I glanced over my shoulder. Andy was just settling himself again into the chair. “Boring,” he repeated softly. “I could do something else. If there
were
something else.” His eyes were on mine. I thought he looked sad.
    I shrugged helplessly at him. He shrugged back.

C HAPTER 15
    “ O kay,” said Saskia as we moved into a giant open room. I looked around with interest.
    This space had clearly once been the factory floor. Although it had now been emptied of everything connected with its past life, you could still see marks on the wide-planked floorboards where heavy machinery had once stood.
    I could easily imagine those machines because, unlike this place, Leventhal Shoes had not been so comprehensively stripped. One rainy afternoon, the summer after we’d moved to Lattimore, Daniel had broken a window and we’d sneaked in to gawk at the grimy, useless old machines. For an instant the scene was vivid in my memory. If I were to close my eyes, I could almost be with Daniel again on that day. The way the musty air smelled, the creaking of the planks beneath our feet …
    I kept my eyes open.
    Saskia was gesturing largely at the room. Her voice had slipped into a singsong that told me she’d given this talk countless times. “As you can see, Unity has grown into much more than a food pantry, though we still tend to call it that. In fact, there’s so much we do nowadays, the only real question is where to begin talking about it.”
    I nodded and gazed around the room as she spoke.
    The factory floor had been divided into lots of different sections, each labeled with a handmade poster board sign. I could see “Canned and Dried Goods,” “Women’s Clothing,” “Scholarship Program,” “Toys,” “Children’s Clothing,” “Shoes,” “Agency Referrals,” “Packing and Transportation,” “Emergency Cash Assistance,” and, more mundanely, directly to our left in an enclosed section, “Office.” There weren’t many people around, although I could see the backs of a couple working in the “Packing” area. And in the “Emergency Cash Assistance” area, I recognized George de Witt with a cellular telephone clamped to his ear. He was intently taking notes on a piece of paper.
    “Frances, let’s dump our coats in the office before I give you the tour,” Saskia said. “The heat in this place is always either completely on or completely off, and as you can tell, today it seems to be on.”
    It was stifling, I realized. Slowly I unbuttoned my coat, conscious that I was wearing what I suddenly thought of as an “Andy outfit”—an old flannel shirt and jeans. And Daniel’s salvaged gray scarf around my neck. MeanwhileSaskia had revealed a deep blue boucle sweater. Very cute.
    Why was I noticing her clothes so much today? I didn’t know. She was always well dressed. It was nothing new.
    Maybe she scavenged from the “Women’s Clothing” area.
    I followed her into the office where, to my surprise, we found Patrick Leyden. Did he