corridor earlier, yeah? And Miss James asks what’s wrong, and I own up that my mum’s been sick, and times is hard. Not feeling too jake herself, Miss James here offers to pay me to carry her things. She a genuine example of piety and charitableness, says I.”
Max is fibbing like a born grifter.
That means Nobody the sweet flapper can fib too.
“Oh yes—I do feel so weak, and George here needs everything he can scrape together for his family.”
Mrs. Snider’s brows lock. “My dear, this is—”
“No time, Mrs. Snider,” I insist, knowing Max can’t. He picks up my flowered carpetbag and valise. “I’m expected by my roommate, and she worries over the smallest delays. I’ll go much faster with George’s help. Thank you for your kindness. I just know we’ll see each other again when I’m better!”
With my last reserves, I follow Max’s deliberately slow strides. Not used to being abandoned like an empty tuna tin, Mrs. Snider doesn’t yammer over it. Which might be proof of the existence of a Higher Deity after all.
Every step is torture. The aisles fill with strangers squeezing past one another, pinstripe suits, fedoras, silk skirts under wool cloaks, flat cloth caps. I concentrate on Max’s broad back until we reach the exit and I falter at the handrail, eyeing the steps as if they’re Niagara and I donned a barrel this morning.
Max turns. “Right this way, Miss James, steady as she goes.”
A red-hot railroad tie is lodged in my side, and this time I can’t help it. A pleading noise escapes my nose as I descend, and Max takes my arm. Quickly releasing it, he hovers. Not touching me, wouldn’t that be simply scandalous, but ready to catch me should I go the way of the high pop fly ball. A chill April breeze brushes my damp skin.
People are probably staring now.
Well, if watching me die is their brand of flea circus, I’m not giving them a curtain call.
“Miss James, you gotta get through the station, and then I’ll help,” Max says under his breath. “Ready?”
I don’t answer.
I walk.
Union Station is bigger than I thought it would be, more elegant. In fact, it’s altogether jazzy. Marble walls the color of sand with pretty etched arches, a high coffered ceiling painted a warmer yellow, stone floors in the same beach-bright tones. Dignified metal chandeliers hang over the benches stretching away, away, away as my vision tunnels. It’s no Penn Station, but it’ll serve.
Concentrate on the floor.
Concentrate on your shoes.
Max’s hand is three inches from my left elbow.
Concentrate on that.
When we emerge into star-spangled night, my jaw unhinges. There are so many galaxies strewn like fistfuls of seed pearls behind the station’s clock tower with its pointed peak. Shockingly, achingly beautiful. I wouldn’t mind its being the last thing I see.
“You ain’t used to the light.”
“The what?”
“One thing I’ve learned from trains is the less city you’re in, the more stars there is. That there’s science, Miss James.”
As we step away from the glow of the station, I stumble, Max says, “Easy now, scrapper,” and his hand wraps around my forearm, warm and comforting, and tears are making fast tracks down my cheeks because I can’t hold down the fort any longer.
“Where are we going?” I choke.
Max looks down. “Aw, none of the waterworks, Miss James. A tough bird like you? Put a dab of mustard on it. On our way, you can tell me where you’re from, ’cause it sure as hell is summery ain’t Yonkers.”
If I weren’t so compromised, I’d be flabbergasted. It’s impossible to see through Nobody’s personas.
She isn’t there.
“Harlem. But don’t bother sending back my remains, the river will do. I presume you have a river here—any city that’s of any consequence simply must have a river. Crooked police department and working sewers likewise impressive features.”
“Speakeasies. A good deli.”
“Maybe even a fountain, if you’re terribly posh.”
“Sure, we got a river. There’s even a fountain.”
“Max, you amaze me.”
“I’ll show ’em to you.”
“Some other time.”
“That’ll be swell. Harlem, you say. Born and raised?”
“Bred too. Established eighteen ninety-six.”
“Well, that explains it,” he mutters.
“Please say where you’re taking me, the suspense is altogether too decadent for five a.m.”
“I’da thought you’d have that much figured by now. We’re going to see the doctor.”
I fight him, wild with terror, until he folds me up using his coat like a straitjacket.
Sucking in air despite the burning hurt it causes, I nestle there with my head on his chest. Rain starts to fall, a cool pitter-pat of moisture mingling