There was no way to explain that to Freddy. And if someone tried to say the same thing to me, I would have shown them the door. Quite possibly by kicking them through it. But I reassured him, the fingers on my left hand crossed under my leg, where he couldn’t see them, that no, I didn’t care about his family at all.
“We’ll still live nearer to yours,” Freddy said quickly.
I laughed, and he rolled on top of me, kissing me, while he laughed as well.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ada arrived home on Sunday wearing a black dress, her hair wrapped in a leopard scarf to protect it from the wind on her drive from the station. I had made sure to slip her lipstick back into its place Saturday night.
She immediately swooped Sally up, cradling her to her chest. “Did Marilyn even feed you? You’re skin and bones. Don’t worry, darling, I’m back.”
Sally looked exactly the same as she always did. “Welcome home,” I said drily.
Ada looked me up and down, and, for a moment, I was sure she knew. Somehow, she knew. But all she said was “Hmph” before going up the stairs. “Be a dear and bring my suitcase,” she called down.
I exhaled. She didn’t know anything.
I picked up her inordinately heavy suitcase, lugged it up the stairs, and deposited it outside her room. “I told people we’d pick back up with clients tomorrow.”
“Excellent. I’m going to change and lie down for a bit. It was a rough week.” She went to pull the suitcase into her room, but stopped and reached into her purse instead. “Wait. I brought you something.”
She held out her palm, in which sat a snow globe of Chicago. “It’s silly, of course. But other than the abomination that they call pizza, it was the most Chicago item I could find to bring back.”
I smiled at the fact that she had thought of me at all, even if it was a child’s gift. “I’ll keep it next to the typewriter.”
Ada nodded and retreated into her room.
I turned the globe upside down, then righted it, watching the flecks of glitter settle over the city skyline. The return to reality wasn’t welcome, exactly, but I had missed her nonetheless.
After dinner, Ada suggested we drive to Stone Harbor, the other town on the island, for what she claimed was the best ice cream I would ever experience.
We drove the four miles to 96th Street. The town ended around 33rd Street, leaving nothing but houses and scrub brush until we reached Stone Harbor. On a Sunday night, with most of the men on their way back home before work the following morning, it was a quiet stretch of road. Ada parallel parked on the street outside an ice cream parlor on Third Avenue with a sign reading “Springer’s.”
“This is Lillian’s favorite,” Ada said. “She asked us to go get some in her honor.” The line wrapped halfway around the block. I expected Ada to just skip it and waltz in, but she went to the back with the rest of the patrons.
“Does she come with you to the shore every year?”
Ada nodded. “She needs to spend a few more weeks getting her mother’s estate in order. She’ll be able to join us for a week or so before we go back to Philadelphia.”
The line inched forward. “Have you ever thought about retiring? You clearly don’t need the money anymore. And you could live here year-round. You seem to love it so.”
“It’s impertinent to talk about money—especially when it’s not your own.”
“Okay—but the rest?”
She sighed. I was clearly ruining her good time. “I love it here in the summer. There’s nothing to do in winter. Most of the town is only open seasonally. And I’m not ready to retire. What would I do all day?”
It was a thought that hadn’t occurred to me. She had no children or grandchildren to spend her twilight years with. All she had was Sally and a paid companion—which didn’t rule out any true friendship that might exist between her and Lillian. But I envisioned her coming to stay with me someday when I was much older and married with children running around, a vaguely Freddy-shaped husband in the blurry background.
Then I had to hold in my laughter at the idea of a child rubbing its sticky fingers on Ada’s handbag. No. I wasn’t sure she was cut out for that type of retirement anyway.
But was that how she had always been? Or was it her age and the fact that she had spent so long doing only as she pleased?
“Were you ever in love?” I asked.
“My, how your mind jumps about from impolite question to impolite question.” She peered at me carefully as we moved closer to the steps leading up to the store’s entrance. “This better not be about that Goldman boy.”
I couldn’t let her see me flinch. “Freddy? Good grief, Ada, you see me talk to one boy, one time, and you think I’m in love? By that logic, you’re having an affair with Thomas.”
That got the desired laugh. “When you marry, you’ll do far better than Freddy Goldman. But yes. I’ve been in love a couple times.”
“Who—？”
She shook her head. “A lady doesn’t tell stories that don’t belong entirely to her.” She nudged me up the stairs and into the shop. The sign on the door said it had been open “since Prohibition.”
“How old is this place?”
“Younger than me, so watch it.” Ada stepped to the counter and ordered herself a cup of strawberry ice cream. I decided to try the Dutch apple.
We went back outside, where we sat on a bench, and I touched my tongue to the oversized scoop atop my cone. My eyes widened. “Okay, I like Lillian already.”
A real smile lit Ada’s face at that. “She has immaculate taste. I think you’ll enjoy her company.”
“I hope I’ve been a decent substitute.”
“Decent,” Ada said, musing. “Although if you go into my room and take that lipstick again, you’ll be finding yourself a decent seat on the train home.”
I almost dropped my cone.
“I—”
“Eat your ice cream,” she said mildly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ada and I settled back into our routine quickly. She didn’t ask why I took the lipstick, and I volunteered no information. I secretly suspected she knew and was just biding her time. Toying with me seemed to be one of her primary sources of joy. But she said nothing and returned to the task of meeting with the clients we had rescheduled—though she did keep me off the beach for three days, ostensibly to catch up, but I wondered if it was really her way of making sure I didn’t see Freddy.
We hadn’t planned for when we would see each other next. But each of those three nights, I sat with my window open, listening for cars. Tuesday, I went so far as to climb out onto the deck, peering down into the darkness, hoping to see Freddy waiting on me, missing me enough to take the chance that I would be outside.
Okay, what I really hoped for was a pebble thrown up to my window. Our whole lawn was rocks! All he had to do was show up, select one, and gently toss it at my lit window. It wasn’t like I was asking him to slay a dragon or climb up my hair.
But there was no sign of him.
When I finally went to bed Wednesday night, more than a little heartsick, I vowed to find a way to get to the beach Thursday afternoon. Ada sometimes stopped work early on Fridays and often went with me on weekends and if I missed this last opportunity, I wouldn’t see him alone before Monday—and that was if Ada didn’t decide I was finally ready to do some of the actual matching and start making me work afternoons every day as well.