“Why does Gordon like you?” Ada asked.
“We’ve been together for nine months now,” Charlie said. “Haven’t you figured out that everybody likes me?”
Being best friends with Corinne meant being practiced at looking unimpressed. Ada put on that expression now and crossed her arms. Charlie chuckled and offered her his arm. She wanted to be annoyed at him, but his expression was so earnest and genuine that she tucked her hand under his elbow and walked with him to the street. The alleyway wasn’t the most pleasant place to have a conversation, what with the stench of garbage lingering.
“You hear about the raid the other night?” she asked.
“Why do you think I came?” He slipped his right hand over her fingers on his arm.
“We’re all fine,” she said.
She wanted to tell him about the close call with the cops, but the words curdled in her throat when she remembered the dead look in their eyes as she’d played them into oblivion. Charlie didn’t have any family to support, and he made enough money at the Red Cat that he never had to run cons with Carson’s crew. Charlie was a songsmith who played hope and joy better than any other feeling. Ada, on the other hand, could make a grown man forget his own mother’s face with only a few bars. She could play loss so keen that regs would sometimes fall to their knees and weep. What did that say about her?
“I wish I’d been there,” Charlie said.
“I’m glad you weren’t,” she told him. She coughed around the lump in her throat and realized that she had inadvertently brought them back to the argument they had started and never finished before the show. She worried her lip between her teeth and waited for him to speak.
The street was quiet today, with a crisp cold breeze and a sky the color of a troubled sea. Ada could smell the bakery around the corner, and somewhere distant a child was laughing.
“If you’ll tell me why you’re mad at me, I’ll apologize,” Charlie said. “I just don’t know what I did.”
It took Ada a few seconds to figure out that he wasn’t joking.
“You didn’t do anything,” she said. “I’m not mad.”
Charlie pulled her gently to a stop and turned to face her, holding her hand between them. He studied her face intently, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe her.
“I never know exactly what you’re thinking, Ada,” he said at last. “I love that about you, but I also can’t help but feel that there’s something you aren’t telling me. Something you don’t want me to know.”
Ada wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t get the words out. The truth was that there were a thousand things she didn’t want him to know. Things that scared her about herself. Things that shamed her. Things she didn’t trust to anyone but Corinne. Being with Charlie was easy, and she was terrified of losing that.
“I just want to be with you,” she managed to say. That was true, at least. “The rest doesn’t matter.”
“You told me you wouldn’t have wanted my help at the asylum.” The accusation in his voice was gentle, but it was there.
“Because I don’t want you to get hurt.” Because if he risked that much for her, she could no longer pretend that whatever was between them was simple and uncomplicated.
“I want to be there when you need me,” he said, gripping her hand more tightly. His brown eyes were golden bright in the daylight. He moved a half step closer, just close enough that she could feel his warmth pressing up against her. “I love you, Ada.”
The words were somehow both a succor and a crushing blow. Love had never been on the table before. Love wasn’t simple and uncomplicated. Ada wanted to slide her hands around his neck and feel his lips against hers. She also wanted to run away.
She took a step back.
“I have to go see my mother,” she said. The heat rising in her cheeks was almost unbearable. She tugged her hand free and shoved it into her coat pocket so that he wouldn’t see the trembling. She took another step back, finally daring to meet his eyes. The wound she had inflicted was manifest in his features. Her chest was aching so fiercely that she couldn’t breathe.
“Ada,” he said, but he couldn’t seem to find more words.
“I meant what I said,” she told him. “I want to be with you. I just . . . I have to go.”
She walked away from him, her hands deep in her pockets, her eyes to the ground. She counted her steps until tears blurred her feet past recognition.