Birdie was sure it would change her if she was covered with tattoos like Colette, but she would never. “What made you get so many?”
Colette was quiet for a moment. “The first time I saw someone covered in tattoos, I saw the way it gave him power. They were runes, protecting him from being hurt. I was sick of being hurt.”
Colette as a scared little girl materialized in Birdie’s head. “That sounds so sad.” She wasn’t sure if she’d ever really been frightened when she was young. If her childhood had been different, would she still be the same person? What things made you who you were? Even since the bank had failed, Birdie felt like a different person than the girl she’d been before. Somebody she didn’t understand.
“I started drawing everything that was inside of me on the outside.” The prick of the needle was starting to feel more intense, and Birdie pictured the images on Colette’s skin to distract herself. Lions and tigers with teeth and claws, cowering mice, tangles of vines choking flowers and trees. Birds fleeing skyward. Balloons leaving the earth behind. “I felt powerful when people couldn’t ignore me anymore, whether I drew them in or repelled them.”
“That’s when I met you,” said Milosh. “You were fearless.”
“But I still let the wrong people, the wrong stuff in close,” said Colette. “My tattoos had no actual power to protect me. They were just a way for me to turn the pain into something beautiful. But at some point they became a reminder that I had to protect myself, and that was powerful. And now they remind me of what I overcame on my own, without any kind of magical protection.”
“You have power to give pain the meaning you want it to have,” said Milosh. “Even if what happened was beyond your control.”
Birdie didn’t want to give it that much weight. “I’m just getting this—it’s just for fun.”
“That’s fine.” Colette touched Birdie’s arm lightly. “Some of mine are just for fun, too.”
“I don’t need all of that reminding.” Birdie shook her off before she remembered that she was in the middle of being tattooed. She held still again, but now it felt hard not to jump every time the needle touched her. “It’s not the same for me.”
“You know, you seemed so perfect when you showed up. ‘My dad had a plane. I dance so pretty, everyone loves me.’ But after spending time with you I’ve realized, that person—it’s not really you, is it?”
Birdie gritted her teeth against the irritating pinch of the needle. “I suppose I’ve made that obvious.”
“I think I like the girl hiding under all that prettiness,” said Colette. “You should stay, instead of running away, so we can get to know her.”
“I’m not running away.” It felt like Colette was digging the needle into a sunburn. “I’m going home. That’s the opposite of running away.”
Colette didn’t respond. Birdie watched the candle sputter as she finished in silence.
“There,” Colette said finally. “It’s done. You want to see it?”
They went into the hallway and stopped in front of the mirror. Birdie looked over her shoulder. The hall light illuminated not the single silhouette that Colette had drawn on paper—
“I thought it was just going to be one bird.” Winged silhouettes spread across her shoulder in a delicate arc.
“I love what you did with it,” Milosh marvelled.
“I started with just one,” said Colette. “But I realized when I was done—it looked pretty, alone, but so abstract. It needed a flock, to see what it was.”
“It’s incredible.” Milosh smiled at Colette through the mirror.
Birdie stared silently. It was as if Colette had combined all three images she’d drawn—the sparkle of the stars, the dance of the music notes, and the graceful bird. It was stunning, but now all Birdie could think about what it would always remind her of: not just when she’d soared, but finding out Dad was gone for good, kissing June and having her walk away, kissing Oscar and making everyone hate her, failing the audition. She’d never be able to scrub any of it from her skin.
“It needed to look like this,” said Colette brusquely, after a few tense moments. She turned and stalked back to the kitchen.
Birdie felt like crying. She waited as Milosh put ointment with a strong herbal scent on her skin, then pulled her dress up and made sure none of the tattoo was visible. As soon as Colette and Milosh were distracted, washing their mugs in the sink and murmuring to each other, Birdie hurried into the windy, dark night. She’d waited too long as it was, and she didn’t know what else to say to them. Thank you wasn’t right. Neither was goodbye.
She headed up the gravel road toward the suburbs. She walked for miles and saw no one. The sky was just lightening as houses grew up around streets that became paved, and Birdie made it into downtown Elgin. She found the train station and boarded the first streetcar of the day along with a few bleary-eyed workers heading into Chicago for an early shift. She debarked at Union Station but she didn’t have quite enough money to make it back to Glen Cove. It took her most of the day to find a pawnbroker that was open on a Sunday and would give her a reasonable amount for her tartan coat. Then she purchased the cheapest ticket to New York.
She was on a train back to Long Island early the next morning, staring forward, toward a point in the distance that constricted tighter and tighter in her mind every second she got closer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
BIRDIE WALKED OUT INTO THE PARK-LIKE GROUNDS OF GLEN COVE Station blinking, disoriented. It was Wednesday morning, barely two weeks since she’d found the flyer with Dad’s Jenny on it. The country club on the hill across Saint Andrews Lane looked exactly the same, stately brick and columns and clipped green grass, but she had returned a stranger in a secondhand dress. She felt like she’d entered suspended time and lived two years’ worth of adventure while home patiently waited for her to realize that she never should have left.
It was a short walk to the village from the station. Cars that passed slowed curiously, and Birdie kept her head down and hoped no one recognized her. She’d freshened up as best she could in the powder room, but three nights in coach couldn’t be washed off that easily. She’d eaten only when the train stopped at a station and slept fitfully, day and night, with her head against the window. She’d gotten into Penn Station late the night before and had to wait until morning to take the train home, so that had been another night of dozing on a wooden bench in the women’s waiting room without getting real sleep.
She meant to go straight to David’s house, but instead found herself standing outside of the bank gritting her teeth, tears welling in her eyes. The bank was already desolate, the whitewashed columns dirty, the broken windows boarded up. A couple of posters were pasted to the side of the building, something Dad never would have allowed. Before it failed it had been all bright white columns and handsome brick and clean glass, more than plenty of money in there to send Birdie to dance classes and piano lessons and finishing school. She could always count on Dad being there when he wasn’t at home, his waxed mustache curled up at the corners, taking care of his customers.
She’d been stupid to chase after Dad, looking for answers or adventure when David was right here, the last part of her old life that had a chance of getting her out of this whole mess. It was a week since Izzy had told her he wanted her back; anything could have happened since then. Birdie hurried on her way, tilting her face up as she walked. The sun was bright, a slight breeze, a clear sky. A good day for flying. Birdie wished she were above the treetops.
She saw movement at the parlor window as she stepped off Forest Avenue onto David’s drive, and felt a bolt of nerves. She could have waited until tomorrow to come and find him, she felt so unbalanced right now—but this had seemed like the first place to go. She didn’t know if the bank had taken the house. She didn’t know where Mom would be. And she didn’t want to see Izzy until she saw David so she had a story to tell, a way to get back in cahoots with Izzy. Hopefully David would cooperate. Otherwi
se it was straight off to England—if she was lucky, and Mom hadn’t already left without her. Then she supposed she’d have to make her way upstate to her grandparents, the only people left who would take her in, until Mom sent for her in England.
The door swung open before she reached the front porch steps and David bounded toward her, his face angelic, his shoulders broad. Birdie’s heart jumped into her throat and she couldn’t breathe. “David—”
He came right up to her and pulled her into his arms. He dipped her back and kissed her. He kissed her like the movies. He kissed her until she was breathless. He kissed her like she’d always wanted to be kissed.
In her mind, June put a flower to her lips.
David pulled away. “Birdie,” he said breathlessly, beaming. “I thought I would never see you again.”
She blinked. “David.” Her voice sounded flat. She should be in her body after a kiss like that—but her mind danced somewhere else, miles and miles away. “David.” There, she sounded more like someone who had just been kissed. She put her hand to his face and felt the soft stubble of his cheek, the warm sun on her hair. She was here, in her hometown, on a bright Wednesday morning. Far away from Chicago. “I missed you,” she tried.
“Me too.” He pressed her hand with his. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you since you came by last time.”
“I thought you never wanted to see me again after that.” The words came out more bitter than she’d intended. If only she’d gotten some sleep, she’d be her usual flirtatious, coy self. She already had the beginning of the story for Izzy. He kissed me, just like in the movies! So romantic.
“Birdie, I’m so sorry.” He looked pained. “My parents made me think maybe they were right, that we shouldn’t see each other—but they’re wrong. It’s terrible that your dad lost a bunch of their money, but you’re not him.”
“Izzy told me you came looking for me,” Birdie said, melting a little. He said he wants to marry you.
David looked over his shoulder, at the parlor window. “Come here.” He pulled her quickly off the path and around the side of the house.
He was so excited to see her—Birdie swallowed the fact that he was pulling her out of sight of the house, probably so his parents wouldn’t see them together. He led her to the back garden and hurried down the stone path that cut through the flower beds, ducking beneath the branches of a weeping willow tree. They’d kissed on the stone bench beneath its branches, an awkward kiss when he first asked her to go steady around a year ago. “You remember?” He drew her down on the bench. Trailing, thick-leafed branches hid them on all sides.
“Of course.” A cool morning breeze ruffled her sleeves as she sat down. She couldn’t have scripted this better. Then he took me to the spot in the backyard where he first asked me to go steady with him … She wished she felt more like her old self, but she could embellish this all in exquisite detail to Izzy as soon as she saw her.
“Birdie.” He cupped her cheek and looked into her eyes. “I missed this. I missed being with you.”
She was finding it hard to maintain eye contact, but she managed to. She made herself smile. “I missed being with you, too,” she tried. She’d been caught up with other things. Distracted. Otherwise she was sure she’d have missed him more.
David looked in the direction of the house. “They’ve been crazy lately! Just because they lost a little money—they’re using it as an excuse to come down so hard on me.” He sounded petulant as his hand dropped from her cheek. “They’re holding Columbia over my head. But I’d like to see them not send me, after they see I’m not going to give you up.”
“I’m sure they’ll still send you to school,” Birdie said, leaning into him. “Your father’s wanted you to join his practice since forever.”
He turned back and his face softened. “As soon as I saw you walking up to the house, I knew I was right. I can’t ignore how I feel about you. Monty’s giving me hell, too, but I don’t care.”
“Oh, David.” She missed someone saying this kind of stuff to her. She missed having what Oscar and Hazel had, or Colette and Milosh. Whatever had happened between her and June was not the same kind of thing.
“I went to come find you the next day, to get you back—” He shook his head. “And then you weren’t there. I heard your mom was moving into the village a few days later, so I went there, thinking maybe I’d find you, but she didn’t know where you were, either. I thought I’d never get a chance to kiss you again.”
He leaned in, but she pulled back and put her hand to his chest. “My mom—she’s moving?” Not to England—but downtown?
“It’s over near the school. You haven’t seen it? I’ve got to warn you, it’s tiny. Hardly a yard, much less grounds than you used to have. Still, people are wondering where in the world she got the money, even for a place that small.”
Birdie’s stomach clenched, but she put her arms around his neck and leaned in. “Izzy told me something, when I called her. She said you said—” You said you wanted to marry me.
“I wish you’d called me.” His voice sounded a little hurt.
She kissed his cheek. “You know, you did tell me you never wanted to see me again.”
“I regretted saying that so much. I’d take it back in a heartbeat, if I could.”
Birdie looked away. It had hurt, but as part of the whole mess—Izzy’s coldness, Dad’s disappearance, the collapse of all her dreams. “Once I knew you wanted me back—it was pretty easy to forgive you.”
“I don’t want you to feel like I might drop you on a whim.” David’s voice was soft and suddenly, he was kneeling before her. Birdie’s hand went to her throat. “I never want you to doubt us again.”
She’d thought she was ready for this, but—
“Elizabeth Williams,” he said.
She hated when people used her proper name. It made her feel like David was proposing to someone else.
“I know what I want, and it’s you. Us.”
This was happening too fast. “David,” she choked, heartbeat pounding in her ears.
“Elizabeth Williams,” he said again, and took her hand. “Will you marry me?”
Say it. Say it. Don’t hesitate. If she hesitated she’d lose her chance, and then she’d have nothing. Nothing, no life, no friends, no future.
“You—you don’t have a ring,” she stuttered.
“I’ll get you one! I’ve got one. My grandmother’s ring,” he said eagerly. “I didn’t ask Mom yet but she’s always told me it’s mine, to give to whomever I want. She’ll get over the fact that it’s you.” He squeezed her hand impatiently. “Come on, Birdie. What do you say?”
One word, tethering her always to David Ebington—but tethered was better than completely unmoored.
“Yes,” she said.
“I love you, Birdie,” David said hoarsely.
She leaned in quickly and kissed him. He put his hands around her waist and pulled her down into his lap, so they were sitting in the grass. His hands slid down her back, breath catching in his throat. He pulled her tight against him, and she didn’t draw away. She was his fiancée. She could tell by the sound of his breath, by the way he touched her, that he wanted her—and she really was thrilled about that, so she did her best to match him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SURE ENOUGH, DAD’S SLEEK BLACK DUESENBERG WAS PARKED OUTSIDE A trim, small, two-story house on School Street, looking entirely out of place. Mom was still in Glen Cove, but in a part so different from their old house it was another world. Birdie had never given the houses on this street a second glance. It was nowhere anyone Birdie had associated with lived.
She’d wanted David to come with her to see Mom and let her know the news—and to be a buffer, in case Mom was livid when she saw her—but he’d evaded her. “Lunch is any minute. My mom would kill me,” he said, and gave her vague directions to Mom’s new place, which had irritated Birdie. He hadn’t even taken her inside his house to announced their engagement.
“We’ll tell them soon, I promise,” he said. “I just want the moment to be perfect. You understand, right?”
The perfect moment. She imagined he’d get in a fight with his parents over something, then throw it in their face—yeah, well I’m marrying Birdie Williams, and you can’t stop me!
But he had asked her to marry him. She’d left with a promise to come and see him the next evening, and he’d sworn he’d be waiting for her.
Birdie wanted to go see Izzy next, but she was running on fumes, jittery and exhausted. She’d wait to see Izzy until she was rested and clean and dressed in her real clothes, and tell her the news of her engagement. Izzy would be thrilled! She’d overlook the fact that Birdie lived in this nondescript house in the village now, and everything could go back to normal between them.
The house had bright white siding, a white picket fence skirting the small yard, and a small porch. Birdie pushed the gate open and saw the the front door was ajar. She walked onto the porch, put her hand to the door, and peered inside.
A gramophone played faintly somewhere: “Singin’ In the Rain,” by the Lucky Strike Orchestra. One of Dad’s favorite songs. Maybe Gilda was right, maybe he’d come back. Birdie slowly stepped into the hall, her skin prickling. What if Dad was here? She had no idea what to expect. She couldn’t guess what Mom’s reaction would be when she saw her.
The hardwood floors were worn but clean, and it smelled unexpectedly like fresh flowers. The first door on the left was slightly ajar, and though Birdie could hear a sweet voice singing along to the song lyrics clearly drifting down from upstairs, she paused to push the door open. A huge bouquet of multicolored roses flourished on a coffee table in the middle of the room, and another bloomed on the mantel. The room was small but plenty of light streamed in through the windows. It was spotless, and Mom had decorated with a few of the smaller pieces of furniture from their house—the pink divan that Mom had always loved, a gold-and-cream sofa, the lacquered coffee table. It actually looked cozy and pretty, and Birdie’s nerves settled a bit.
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