She sighed. “That’s not the exciting news.”
“It’s not?”
Evelyn shook her head and pulled the chain from her nightgown. “I saw Tony today.”
Vivie grabbed for the ring and reached behind her to switch on the bedside lamp.
“Evelyn,” she breathed. “Does that mean—？”
Evelyn nodded. “Not officially. But unofficially . . .”
“What about Papa? You’ll have to elope.”
“I know. But he’s going to ask him this summer anyway.”
Vivie switched the light back off and settled back on the pillow next to Evelyn. “I want that.”
“What? Someone Papa won’t approve of?”
“No. Someone I love enough to risk everything for. Someone who loves me that much too.”
Evelyn smiled gently and brushed her baby sister’s hair from her face. “You’re only sixteen.”
“I’ll be seventeen in a month. And that’s how you old were when you and Tony met.”
She had a point there.
“But you still have so much time. And so many more options when you go to college. And in New York!”
“If Barnard accepts me.”
“They will. You’ll see.”
Vivie nestled deeper into the pillow and yawned. “Will you bring me? When you elope?”
Evelyn would have liked nothing better than to say yes. “You know I can’t. Mama and Papa would know if you went missing with me.”
“Wait till I’m off at school, then. You’ll drive past New York anyway if you go south.”
“Okay,” Evelyn said. Vivie made no move to go back to her own bed, and Evelyn let her fall asleep beside her, the soft, even rhythm of her breathing eventually lulling Evelyn to sleep as well.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Donna couldn’t get over how much you look like me.”
“Do I?” I asked, picking at my leftover lobster roll distractedly.
My grandmother set her utensils down with a loud clatter. “Spill it.”
I looked up at her. “Spill what?”
“Whatever happened that made you get so quiet.”
“Nothing happened.”
Leaning forward enough that I worried her pendulous chest would land in her food, she peered at me through the glasses that she seldom wore—they made her look old, after all. “Is that the problem, then?”
My shoulders sank as I rolled my head back in exasperation. “You really have to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Trying to play matchmaker.”
“Who’s playing matchmaker? He’s not even Jewish.” She hummed a couple of bars of a song that took me a minute to place. Then it clicked as “Matchmaker, Matchmaker” from Fiddler on the Roof.
“You’ll stop when you’re dead, won’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t plan on doing that.”
“Stopping or dying?”
“Either, frankly. Neither seems like much fun.”
“Let’s talk about you, then,” I said.
“What about me?”
“When are you going to see Tony?”
“Tony?” she asked in either genuine surprise or the best imitation of it. “Why on earth would I see Tony?”
I had done the math. “Because the last time you were here, Grandpa was still alive. What are you waiting for?”
She blotted her lips with her napkin. “Darling, we broke up nearly seventy years ago.”
“But he’s practically all you’ve talked about.”
Her head shook as she waggled a finger at me. “You haven’t been paying enough attention.”
“I asked you why we were coming here, and you’ve spent the last three days telling me about your love affair with Tony. Grandpa seems like an afterthought.”
“Neither of them is why we’re here.”
“Then why?”
She sighed. “I have business to take care of. I’ve told you that.”
“And Tony is no part of it?”
A flicker of something I couldn’t recognize crossed her face, then was gone. “He was . . . then. Not now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you ask too many questions,” she said brusquely. “Isn’t that what got you into trouble this afternoon? Asking about Joe’s wife?”
“I wasn’t in trouble. It was an awkward moment, but we got past it.”
“Yes. You’re welcome for that.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know, if you did want something to happen, crashing our lunch wasn’t the way to do it.”