“Oh! I’m so sorry.” She watched the brown liquid spill over the surface, then drip onto the floor.
Merriment danced in Jasper’s eyes as he pointed to a dirty rag hanging from the kitchen sink. “Over here, we clean up our own messes. No Lucy to help you this time.”
“Oh! Of course! I’m so sorry.” Allene grabbed the damp rag with two fingers, holding it like it harbored every rude and untoward germ in the nation, and mopped up the mess.
“I’ll bet that’s the first time you’ve cleaned anything, Miss Cutter.”
“Don’t be impertinent,” Allene retorted, trying to regain her composure. “What is all this, anyway?”
“My uncle’s project. He’s a dandy entrepreneur, he is. In this kitchen, the best moonshine ever will be concocted before all alcohol is illegal. Someone’s got to keep New Yorkers crocked if that law goes into effect.”
“Well, that’s ambitious, if not entirely legal.”
“Pfft. He’ll probably drink it down before it pays the bills, anyway.” Jasper exited the kitchen, and Allene followed him to the very end of the hallway, her dirty hand forgotten. Inside Jasper’s room, there was a neatly made mattress on the floor and towers of books everywhere. Jasper patted the seat of a rickety chair while he leaned against the wall. He lit a match and sucked on a small cigarette before tossing the match out the window.
“Look at all these books! Getting ready for medical school, are we?”
“Not this year. Maybe never.” He handed the newspaper to Allene.
“What is this?”
“Obviously it’s the New York Times.”
“I ought to pinch you.”
“Just you try,” he said, but his expression was anything but playful. “Read it.”
Allene scanned the headline. “French Drive Pushes Closer to Saint-Quentin.” And then her eyes fell to the smaller articles below. Her heart thumped harder. “Crowder Says Many Thousands Probably Will Be Needed at Camps in October.”
“Registration tomorrow . . .” She dropped the newspaper to her lap and stared at Jasper. “Oh. The draft. Registration is tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She bit her lip. “You’re eighteen.”
“Just like you. Our birthdays are both in June.”
“Yes. When summer cherries go ripe, we always got our birthday cake.” But she wasn’t smiling at the memory. She pointed to a number in the newspaper. “And now, General Crowder wants to register thirteen million more boys.”
“Including me.”
“But it’s not for sure, right? The lower age limit? And just because you register doesn’t mean you’ll get picked. Surely you can get an exemption!”
“I don’t know if Norris has that power. He might, touch wood. Anyway”—he extinguished his cigarette—“the war is going to ruin my future illustrious career as New York’s best-known medical examiner. At least I’ll look good in olive drab wool, six feet under in a trench.”
“Stop it.” Allene’s eyes were watering. “By God, sometimes you’re awful, Jasper.”
“You know, I spend so much time not thinking about what happened to Oscar, it’s no surprise. The dead don’t like being ignored.” It was hard to read his expression. “Speaking of the dead, I suppose Florence’s case has gone cold. Have you seen Ernie lately?”
“Ernie? What about Ernie?”
“I forgot to tell you. At the end of interment, he showed up, sad as a drowned kitten, crying his eyes out over her casket.”
“He did? Really? He wasn’t at the reception afterward.” She frowned. “Do you think he felt guilty? Oh, but I don’t believe Ernie could hurt a fly! Florence wasn’t any meaner to him than anyone else. Less, actually, because you know how everyone ignores him all the time.”
“Maybe he wanted more attention than that,” Jasper suggested.
“To the point of committing a murder? This is Ernie we’re speaking of.”
“Maybe they were secretly lovers,” Jasper said, but he and Allene both laughed at the thought.
“Completely unbelievable,” Allene said. “Anyway, I’ve brought Florence up a few times, and Ernie acts appropriate enough. Not like a guilty killer.”
“You’ve seen him?”
“Unlike you, Jasper, he still cares enough to visit,” Allene said. She waited for a retort; there was none.
“So. What brings the illustrious Miss Cutter down to my neck of the woods? You’re lucky you caught me. I only ran home for lunch, and here you are when I’m all set to leave.”
“You haven’t visited.” Her voice was thin as a thread.
“Neither have you.”
“Well, I only came to deliver this.” She pulled out a slightly bent invitation from her purse and handed it to Jasper. He didn’t take it.
“Oh. I already got one. Quite a tony invite too.”
“Well, weren’t you going to at least pay me the respect of responding?”
“What for?” He stared out the window and exhaled smoke from his nostrils.
Allene looked at her feet. What could she say that wasn’t the wrong thing? Why was she even here?
She knew the answers. He didn’t care. He was leaving her behind, as she’d left him behind years ago. She could tell him that she was lonely. She could say she’d missed him, but the words sounded childish and weak. Good God, Allene. What a mess you are.
Tears welled in her eyes. She wouldn’t let him see them. Never. She stood up quickly and dropped the invitation to the floor. “Well, here it is, all the same,” she said, and escaped into the hallway. She wanted to leave before he could see her swimming eyes. Why did the hallway have to be so damned long?
A strong hand hooked her arm when she neared the kitchen and, off balance, she nearly fell over. Jasper clasped her waist to keep her from falling. By God, he was strong. There was no jest in his face anymore. He looked contrite, and when he saw the tears streaking down her face and darkening her dress, the expression was replaced with shock.
“Oh jiminy! I’m sorry, Allene. Really sorry.”
Allene freed an arm to blot her face with the back of her hand. “Never mind. I want to go home.”
“Don’t. Let me get you some water first.” He walked her back to his bedroom, and she let him. It was such a relief to be led, to be placed gently in the chair, to be cared for. It was comforting, what Allene was used to. He kneeled in front of her, already forgetting to fetch the glass of water. “Look, Allene. I’m sorry. I’m the rottenest. I guess I figured that you sent the invitation to be nice, but you didn’t really want me to be there.”