She hoped he was somewhere making sure those photographs didn’t print on the front pages of theAmericanorTribuneor whatever newspaper would stop the presses to add them to the evening editions.
Mrs. Jennaway made Fern a plate of eggs and bacon and a cup of tea, which she took to the dining room to eat. Once seated at the table, her gaze kept drifting toward the spot where Cal had been, though there was no chair there any longer. Just an open space, thetabletop reflecting the light coming in through the windows.
She couldn’t imagine returning to her room and waiting out the day with nothing but books and periodicals for entertainment. She would only sink into memories of the night before and replay them in her mind again and again. Shivers trembled through her whenever she thought of being chased along the Pier. Her stomach turned at the casual way Cal had said the two goons would have thought nothing of opening fire on them in public. She ought to have felt the latent tremors of panic last night, instead of now, after a long night of satisfying sleep.
The dining room was quiet, though someone was puttering around in the kitchen. Probably Mrs. Jennaway. She’d made no mention of Fern’s black eye, though from her alarmed expression, she’d seen it.
Fern suddenly felt misplaced, sitting in her own home; she was the only one there while everyone else was out and about working and living.
Pushing back her chair, she stood and started for her mother’s study, her palms breaking into a sweat as an idea formed. Last night, she’d gone out. She hadn’t dissolved into a writhing mass of embarrassment. People had stared, but the world hadn’t quit spinning. Her face hadn’t caused any disasters.
She’d slept so soundly afterward too. Her mind hadn’t whirled in endless circles as it always had at night.
Mother kept a telephone in her study, along with an exchange directory in her desk. The room smelled of roseoil. Fern shut the door and padded over the carpet to the desk where she rolled open the center drawer.
She flipped through the directory until she found the exchange she was looking for, then picked up the receiver on her mother’s candlestick telephone. When the operator’s voice filled the earpiece, she swallowed a knot in her throat.
“Armitage-2605,” Fern said, giving the exchange and number for her Aunt Cecelia and Uncle Jep in Old Town.
The operator connected her, and after a few clicking purrs over the line, she heard a polite female voice.
“Hello?”
“Shirley?” Fern recognized her older cousin’s high, sweet voice.
“Yes?”
“This is Fern.” There was a beat of silence over the line. “Fern Adair. Your cousin.”
Another few seconds of silence had her wondering if the line had been dropped. But then she heard an intake of breath.
“Of course, Fern. Why, hello. I didn’t expect a telephone call from you. How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you.” Her fingers curled around the telephone’s long wire. “I thought I might speak to Patrice?”
Neither of her cousins had married after high school, though Shirley did have a serious beau. She and Patrice were still living at home, and Fern had no idea if they worked anywhere or simply lounged away the day in their enormous home along the edge of Lincoln Park.
“Sure,” Shirley said, her voice pitching higher with surprise. “Sure thing. Hold on, Fern.”
There was a loud rustle in her ear, and she figured the mouthpiece had either been set down or smothered by a hand.
She waited, feeling slightly ill. Considered hanging up. But then, she thought of Cal and what he’d say.Buck up and stay on the line, princess.
Her cousin’s end of the line rustled again, someone shushed another person, and then Patrice’s clear voice said, “Fern?”
“Hi, Patrice.”
She didn’t say anything, and Fern realized it was because, though she’d seen her cousin at dinners and holidays over the years, they didn’t know anything about one another.
“I…I’m calling because I thought maybe we could get together.” The words were a jumble of nerves and doubt. Why should Patrice want to get together with her sorry recluse of a cousin? Why should she want to be seen in public with her?
“Get together?” Patrice echoed. “Oh. Well…sure. What were you thinking?”
Whatwasshe thinking? She didn’t quite know. Being out with Cal the night before had been frightening, but afterward, while lying in bed, her heart still jumping, she’d felt the oddest bit of pride for having done it. She wanted to go out again, but not alone. And not with someone like her mother who had never handled being in public with her well. It always seemed as though Dorothy Adair was just waiting for someone to stare ormake a comment about Fern, if only for the opportunity to gather her up and stalk away in a huff.
Patrice, however, with her seemingly genuine smiles and her new, controversial bob, might not mind if they received stares.
“Lunch, maybe?”
