went with it: who had the stronger grip, who was taller. Garrett stretched to his full six two; Tony slouched against the counter looking amused.
“I can’t go home early, Garrett,” Jordan broke in before they could start on the next part of the ritual, which was to figure out who had been in the war and who hadn’t. “Anna is seeing the lawyer, and I’ll have to stay until closing.”
“I can close up for you,” Tony said unhelpfully.
“See?” Garrett reached down, tousled Ruth’s hair. She ignored him, still playing her imaginary violin. “We could go to the movies, take Ruth. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” I have, Jordan thought. I have.
“Mr. Kolb’s already gone,” Tony said. “There won’t be much to do here.”
Jordan hesitated. Her father wouldn’t have left any new clerk alone in the shop until they had a good month under their belt and he was absolutely certain he hadn’t hired a thief. But Tony had worked a flawless three weeks, and Anneliese had given her seal of approval. “You know how to close up,” she told Tony, handing over the keys. “Come on, Ruthie. Want to go to the movies?”
Ruth’s imaginary bow stopped midarc. She had been mesmerized by Cinderella early that year; she’d driven Anneliese mad begging for pet mice. “Cinderella?”
“Get your glass slippers, princess.” Tony put her imaginary violin into a case with great care. “You just leave that with me, I’ll keep it safe for your violin lessons . . .”
Garrett was holding the door, smiling, but Jordan paused, struck by a sudden idea.
“Don’t forget this, Miss McBride.” Tony held out the print of Jordan’s father that she’d left on the counter, trimmed and ready for framing. He lingered a minute, looking at it. “Your father?”
“Yes.” Jordan felt a lump in her throat. She could mention him with ease a hundred times, and on the hundred and first for no reason at all her throat would close up. She wished she understood it. Maybe it would hurt less. Probably not.
“It’s a good picture.” Tony passed it over. “You should keep it here.”
“Why?”
“This was his shop.” Nodding at the photograph. “In that, he looks like the quintessential antiques dealer at work.”
“That’s what he was,” Jordan said, and click, there was another idea. Slowly, she smiled.
“Jor?” Garrett sounded puzzled.
“Miss McBride?” Tony cocked his head. “I like making a girl smile, but normally I’ve got some idea why.”
If they hadn’t had a counter between them, Jordan would have hugged him. She beamed instead, yanking her black straw hat off the stand and clapping it down over her hair. “Tony,” she said, forgetting the Mr. Rodomovsky, “thank you. Twice!”
“ANNA, I’VE JUST HAD the best idea—” Jordan stopped, coming out onto the tiny balcony where her stepmother stood looking out at the street. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I used to like a cigarette before dinner.” Anneliese took a drag, tilting her face up to the long summer twilight. She still wore the black suit she’d donned to visit the lawyer, but her pumps sat on the deck beside her handbag. “You know how your father felt about women who smoked, so I stopped. Would you like one?”
“Sure.”
Anneliese took out a silver case and lit a fresh cigarette from her own. “Where is Ruth?”
“Playing with Taro upstairs. Garrett just dropped us off—he came to take us to the movies, but nothing was playing.” Jordan inhaled smoke, coming to lean on the balcony railing. “I had an idea today, something Tony said. Let’s get Ruth violin lessons.”
For a moment Anneliese looked almost shocked. “Why?”
“She can’t look at a violin without being mesmerized. It would make her so happy.”
“A child who shrieks and lashes out doesn’t need more indulging, she needs discipline. We’ve been too lax with Ruth.”
“She’s not spoiled,” Jordan protested. “She’s sad and angry, and she misses Dad. Why not try something different, something to remind her she can be happy?”
“Not the violin, though.” Anneliese took another drag. “Whatever those memories of her mother are, they aren’t pleasant. I don’t want her even more stirred up. Better if she forgets about violins altogether.”
“If she doesn’t like it, we’d stop the lessons. But—”
“No, Jordan. I don’t want her remembering more.” Anneliese smiled, as if to apologize for her refusal. “Besides, it’s a rather Jewish thing, isn’t it, being obsessed with music? One of their nicer qualities, of course, they make fine musicians. But we don’t want Ruth tarred with that brush. With a name like Ruth Weber she was undoubtedly