“I don’t need any help,” I said, then shut the window.
Empty for years, he’d said. I found myself wondering: If Nate had bought the building as an investment, why hadn’t he rented it out?
He called that night about five minutes after I got home. Almost as if he’d timed how long it would take me to get back from the theater.
“Did you send the letter?” he asked.
“You said you wouldn’t call.”
“Did you send the letter?”
“You said you wouldn’t call.”
“We had an agreement.”
“Exactly. You said you wouldn’t call.”
The standoff. I leaned against the wall, the receiver against my ear. I couldn’t believe I was talking to an adult like this. I’d only been here a month, but New York had sure taught me not to waste time being polite.
He let the silence hang there stiffly, frozen clothes on a line. I looked down at the carpet. The pretty carpet that wasn’t mine, that I really didn’t have a right to dig my bare toes into.
“I haven’t sent it yet,” I said. “It’s not so easy. I can’t find the words.”
“Tell him you’re here. He’ll have to leave soon, before he’s shipped out. If you don’t mail it now, he won’t come.”
But I don’t know if I want him to come.
Inside me lived a million versions of yes — all of them for Billy. Part of me couldn’t refuse him anything. Part of me was scared of him. But all of me loved him.
I didn’t say yes and I didn’t say no. Quietly, I put down the phone.
It wasn’t until the next week, tired and worn out after the final performance of That Girl From Scranton!, that I sat down at the table again, in my stage makeup and robe. It had turned cold again, and I had a blanket wrapped around me. It was one in the morning.
Dear Billy,
I don’t know what the right thing is. All I know is that it shouldn’t have ended like that. I felt the breath go out of me when I heard that you’d enlisted. I don’t think I’ve breathed since.
Here’s my news. I left, too. I dropped out of school. (My teachers probably threw a party.) I moved to New York City. It was hard at first, but I actually got a job in a Broadway musical! Now I have a nice apartment on the East Side. I can walk to Times Square or the river. I’m right near the new United Nations headquarters.
Everything we talked about — I’m living it. I’m still not sure whether talking about it was better.
Love,
Kit
I added my phone number and address, then put my coat on over my nightgown. I walked to the corner and mailed the letter that night, afraid that if I waited, I would tear it up.
Three
Providence, Rhode Island
September 1950
Jamie didn’t come home that night. Da was furious. He banged on my door and asked me where my brother was and I said I didn’t know. Muddie looked over at me, scared, and I only shrugged. I hadn’t confided in my sister since I was four years old. I’d learned the hard way that whatever I’d done or felt would be too big for Muddie to hold, like an overstuffed grocery sack that kept spilling oranges. Only it would be my secrets dropping to the floor.
My face in the mirror looked wrecked. I had cried so hard that my eyes were swollen. I had gotten sick last night in the parking lot. One of the waiters had brought me a napkin dunked in ice water to clean my face.
I didn’t know how I would get dressed and go through this day.
Last night, Jeff Toland had come to, foggy and still drunk and lying flat out on the rainy pavement. Sammy and the waiters helped him into the kitchen. He kept asking for a doctor, or for the cops, and they kept saying they’d called them, but they hadn’t yet. They were putting ice on his nose while he threatened to sue the entire city of Providence.
Nate arrived as Jeff was sipping Scotch for the pain. He came with two big men I didn’t recognize, who took Jeff’s agent off to sit at the bar. Nate and Jeff sat talking in the kitchen, and I knew everything would be all right when Nate put his arm around Jeff’s shoulder.
“What happened with your brother last night?” Da asked me when I finally had to come out and face him. My