Jack put his arm around her and pulled her into his side. She came to him without hesitation, letting herself be held. They stood just like that at the rail and watched as a storm came in from the west, moving like a great wave in the sky to overpower the sunset and displace the night itself. In the distance the first flicker of lightning and the breeze that washed over them made her shiver. He felt it.
When she turned in the circle of his arm she had to put her head back to look at him, and so he kissed her. It was a gentle, almost-nothing kiss and still through all the clothes between them he felt her tremble, as aware, as alive as the light that forked through the sky. He kissed her again in just the same way, a question without words. In reply she raised a hand and cupped his cheek. Her palm was cold—he had forgotten to give her back her gloves, he realized now—but her touch was sure. This time she met him halfway, her free hand curled into his lapel, her kiss open and warm and welcoming. A strong woman, fragile in his arms.
? ? ?
AT HOME THE little girls had already been put to bed and Sophie had gone out on a call. There was no sign of Mrs. Lee or Margaret, either, but Aunt Quinlan was waiting for her in the parlor. There was a fire in the hearth, which was a welcome counterpoint to the rain on the roof. All the drapes had been drawn shut with the exception of one, where Aunt Quinlan sat to watch the storm.
She had an open book in her lap but no light except the fire and the occasional blue-white splash of lightning. Anna sat down beside her and watched the trees bending in the wind.
“Did Mr. Lee get things in the garden tied down in time?”
“He always does,” her aunt said with a small smile. “I’m looking forward to the garden this summer. I might move out there entirely, dressing table and clothes closet included.”
Aunt Quinlan had grown up in a small village on the very edge of the northern forests, a world different in every way from the one she inhabited now. Anna had been born in that same village but had only the vaguest memories of it.
Now she said, “Is it the spring that makes you more homesick than usual?”
“I suppose it must be. My da has been on my mind today. Now are you going to tell me why it is Detective Sergeant Mezzanotte just helped you out of a cab, or must I torture you to get that information?”
“No torture necessary,” Anna said. “He came to the hospital to tell me that he found—” She glanced behind herself to be absolutely sure they were alone. “Mr. Russo. The girls’ father.”
She related the details as briefly as she could manage. The story of the Infant Hospital she kept to herself, and might never tell at all.
It was true that Aunt Quinlan was not easily surprised, but Anna had expected a little bit more of a reaction when she heard about Mr. Russo’s condition.
Her aunt said, “I didn’t think we’d ever know for sure. That will be a comfort to the girls. Not tomorrow or the day after, but in time. And Rosa has such an imagination, she might have gotten lost in all the things that could have happened to him.”
“You think I should tell them right away?”
The lily-blue gaze met hers calmly. “You are the one to make that decision.”
“I don’t want to lie to them.”
“You don’t want to hurt them,” Aunt Quinlan corrected her. “But it will hurt, there’s no avoiding it. You know that.”
“As a doctor, yes, I know that. But it’s different—”
“When they are your own. Yes.”
It was an odd thought, but one she couldn’t deny. Somehow in the space of a week, Rosa and Lia had become one of them.
“Now tell me about the detective sergeant.”
Even if she wanted to lie to her aunt, Anna knew from past experience that she would fail. Instead she said, “I’m not ready to talk about him yet.”
“Ah.” Aunt Quinlan smiled. “That’s encouraging. When will you see him again?”
“On Sunday,” Anna said, knowing that her color was rising. “The Society for the Protection of Endangered Children, I think that’s what Jack said.” She realized she had used his first name, and found that almost funny. She had yet to use it to his face, even after what had happened on the ferry.
What exactly had happened on the ferry was unclear to her, except that it felt right and good and utterly alarming. Before her thoughts could be read off her face, she leaned forward and took the mail from the table and began to look through it.
Aunt Quinlan went off to bed but Anna stayed just where she was, unopened mail in her lap. It was full dark now, but in the circle of light thrown by the streetlamp just opposite she could see the rain falling, buffeted by the winds so that it almost seemed to be dancing. A man ran past the house holding a newspaper over his head.
A cab pulled up, the door opened, and Sophie’s umbrella emerged and opened all at once.
Anna listened as Sophie opened the door, hung up her things, and then came into the parlor, her color high and her face wet with rain. She fell onto the couch across from Anna, put her head back to look at the ceiling, and let out a long, whistling sigh.
“You know how slimy the cobblestones can be at the produce market,” she began. “Like ice in January.”