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Chapter Text

Jack thought it was unfair that the day should be so beautiful. It was early October, and the city was lit by the saffron light that could only belong to the few elusive days of fall that wedged their way between the heavy swelter of summertime and the winter’s curtain of gray sleet. The air felt light and crisp. Even the shadows felt friendly. This would normally be the kind of day a guy’d do his best to finish selling early so he could beg off and wander a little. There had been a day like this last fall when he and Davey had taken Les to the park on Printing House Square, near Katherine’s office at The Sun. He remembered lounging on one of the benches with Davey, splitting a knish and watching Les as he rattled the trees with his wooden sword, bringing down russet leaves by the handful and pumping his fist in victory.

He could almost believe that they’d do the same thing today. That he and Katherine were on their way to the Jacobs’ apartment to pick up Davey and Les and head to the park. But the sour feeling in his gut told him otherwise. He knew, even though he did not want to.

They couldn’t take Les to the park because Les was dead.

Les was already in a cemetery somewhere in Queens. He was too far away from his mama and papa, too far away from Sarah, too far away from Davey. And Davey…

Jack almost lost his footing as they turned the corner. Katherine squeezed his hand, gently running her gloved thumb along his chapped knuckles. The scratchy lace felt like sandpaper on Jack’s skin. Too much. With an apologetic squeeze of his own, he pulled his hand away. Katherine wasn’t deterred and looped her hand stubbornly into the crook of Jack’s elbow. It was like she knew he might fall without someone to guide him. Jack supposed he might.

“Do you think they’ll wonder why we didn’t come before?” he asked. He could hear Yiddish coming from the pushcarts, see the Hebrew on the signboards. They were getting close.

Katherine shook her head. Her voice was low, careful. “No. I don’t think they’ll wonder. I doubt if they’ve even thought about us at all.”

“Right. You’re right. Of course, you’re right.”

It had been nearly a month.

***

Jack had been at the Jacobs’ for dinner the night the decision was made; David’s folks had made sure of it. After all, Jack was an integral part of the plan. They were snug around the table, and Jack noticed that he, David, and Sarah all had small glasses of wine next to their plates.

Jack leaned toward Davey, whispering, “S’it some kind of holiday?” he asked nervously. He didn’t want to look foolish.

Davey didn’t say anything, just shook his head, staring at his own glass as though it were the only thing on the table. Jack saw Sarah grab her brother’s hand under the table.

“Why do they get wine? S’it some kind of holiday?” Les whined. Sarah shushed him. Jack felt sick.

No one spoke for a moment.

Esther smiled, a little too brightly. “Well, my boys, how was the selling today?” Normally, Jack liked being part of Esther’s “boys.” But something did not feel right.

“Um…” Les began, looking to Davey and Jack. Davey continued to stare into space; Jack continued to watch Davey out of the corner of his eye. Les shrugged. “It was good, Mama! I sold fifty papes by myself, no problem.”

“So many!” Mayer replied, putting his hand to his chest in mock surprise. “Boychik, you are practically a professional. You do not even need these two meshugenehs to help you.”

Les rolled his eyes, “Oh, Papa.”

Jack realized he should have joked back, pretended to take exception, but the tension emanating from Davey was too much to ignore. He could see the other boy’s shoulders starting to creep inward and up toward his ears. Davey fidgeted with his hands.

“And David?” Esther tried again. Her smile was tight. “How did you and Jack do?... David?”

Jack saw Davey lurch as Sarah nudged him with her foot. He shook his head, blinking unsteadily. “What, Mama?”

Jack rescued him. “Don’t listen to Les, Mrs. Jacobs. Davey and I still helped. Made better’n two dollars today. ‘Course a lot of it’ll go back into the merchandise tomorrow, but…”

“Of course you did,” said Esther, nodding. Her eyes were on David. “You always help our boys, Jack.”

“He does,” agreed Mayer, heartily slapping the table. “We have been blessed.”

“Papa, what is this about?” Sarah asked suddenly, gesturing vaguely at the wine. Davey shot her what would have been a grateful look if he had full command of his body. She let her hand fall on top of Davey’s, and Jack saw her give it a gentle squeeze. Les had picked up his fork and was drumming it on the table cloth.

“I’m glad you asked, ahava shel,” Mayer said gently. He fixed his eyes on David, who raised his chin as though he were preparing for a blow. “This is a day of many blessings. We should celebrate.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, and Esther shot her a pained look. “Yes, Papa, but what should be celebrating? You want we should age ten years before you tell us?”

“Sarah,” Esther chided softly.

Mayer chuckled. “No, Esther. She is right. Children, we have something to discuss. With all of you.”

No kidding, thought Jack. There was another excruciating pause. Jack tried to give Davey’s foot what he hoped was a reassuring tap with his own. Whatever was happening, it was going to come down on Davey.

“Well,” Mayer began, leaning forward in his seat. He looked away from David and reached for his wine glass, bumping it awkwardly into the air. “We are celebrating David’s return to school. Mazel tov!”

Esther reached for her glass so quickly that it nearly spilled. None of the others moved. Les’ fork clattered to the ground. Esther and Mayer lowered their glasses. Sarah had given up hiding underneath the table, and she wrapped her arms around Davey’s waist, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. Jack sat there, unmoving and unsure of what to do. His stomach was roiling. He could hear Davey breathing next to him, close-mouthed, in quick bursts. Jack thought the other boy might actually explode.

“But Mama,” Les started. “Davey can’t go back to school. Papa is still—"

Mayer raised his hand, as if for silence. “You’re right, Les. I am not back to work yet. But I’m hoping I will be soon. And I heard you say that you sold fifty newspapers all by yourself today. You are very grown up.”

“I’m not so grown up,” Les said uncertainly. He tucked his chin.

“Ah, but you are,” Mayer insisted. “David needs only to complete this last year of school, and the term begins soon. It is possible he could still go to college. I did not come to this country to keep my children from making their lives. I think, Les, that you can do very well even without your brother. So that he can finish.”

“As long as Jack is with you, of course,” said Esther quickly.

Jack started at the sound of his name. He thought maybe David had actually stopped breathing. “Huh?”

“Jack, you would still be willing to keep an eye on Les, yes? Even with David in school?” Esther asked.

“Oh, yeah. Of course,” he muttered. “But Davey…”

Mayer interrupted him. “And Les, you will be able to go back as soon as I am back at work. But it will be easier to have one at a time.”

“I think it would be better if I kept selling,” said Davey. Everyone was surprised to hear him speak. His eyes darted around the table until they finally landed on his father. “I can’t ask you to go without—”

Mayer shook his head. “We will not go without. Les will still work with Jack, your mother has her needle work and laundry, and Sarah will stay on at the factory. The loss will not be great. And I will be at work again soon.”

Sarah disentangled herself from her brother. David kept his eyes on his father but carefully took her hand. Jack noticed that no one had said anything to her about returning to school.

“Papa, that’s not true. And with winter coming…”

“Months away, zeesinkeh,” his mother murmured. “Don’t worry so much.”

“Mama,” David’s voice was helpless. He sounded younger than Les for a moment.

“Better we scrimp for a while than you miss your opportunity, ahuv,” Mayer said. “It is already decided.”

“I didn’t decide.”

“It is not for the son to decide, David. I am your father, and you will do as I say. You are such a smart boy. Why don’t you want to go back?”

Davey didn’t say anything.

Sarah looked at her brother, and he nodded to her. “Papa, they were…unkind to him. Don’t you remember?”

Mayer waved his hand, although Jack noticed a nearly imperceptible twitch in his lips. “It is what schoolchildren do. David, you have changed since then. You are stronger now. You will not have such problems.”

“But the newsies—” David began.

“Will be just fine. And you will still see Jack. Yes, Jack?”

Jack nodded stupidly. He knew that was cold comfort for Davey. Davey had confided in him over the last year. Davey had always been smart, but it didn’t help him win any friends at school. Being smart didn’t stop the other boys from taunting him, calling him a “yid,” and throwing his homework in the privy; words were never enough to stop the schoolyard beatings or the pretty girls from laughing at him. Being smart probably made it all worse, because Davey understood exactly how unfair it all was. Davey had told him that being with the newsies was the first time he’d ever felt like he might belong somewhere. And Jack knew he didn’t want to give that up, college or no. 

But it didn’t seem to matter. Mayer raised his glass again, looking sternly at Sarah and David. Both children picked up their glasses. Jack nervously followed suit.

“You’ll start in a week. Mazel tov—a blessing on this opportunity,” Mayer said firmly.

“Mazel tov, Davey.”

***

Davey had been back to school for only two weeks when the diphtheria hit; there had been an unusual September cold snap, so most people assumed it was the change in season to blame for the scratchy throats and fledgling coughs. No one thought much about it until nearly a dozen boys were taken ill, Davey included.

Even Esther hadn’t thought to move Les out of the bed that the boys shared. Not soon enough.

Jack didn’t realize anything was amiss until Les didn’t show up at the distribution center. He’d waited nearly an hour, watching the others stream out into the streets, and halfway kicking himself for agreeing to be Les’ permanent nursemaid. He dragged himself to Davey’s tenement house to heckle Les about his whereabouts.

When he knocked on the door, Esther opened it only a crack. She looked years older than when Jack had seen her just three weeks ago.

“Mrs. Jacobs?”

“Jack, darling, I’m sorry. The boys can’t come out just now.” She seemed distracted; Jack could see her craning her head over her shoulder, her body half poised to move across the room. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The boys? David should be in school. “But Mrs. Jacobs, is Les—"

“He can’t come out, Jack. He and David are sick. And you should go. Better we keep it with us than give it to you.”

“Do you need any—”

Esther shook her head. “No, thank you. Just go, sweetheart,” she said softly.

She closed the door.

A note from Sarah came to the lodging house the next week.

I’m sorry I’m sending a letter instead of coming myself. I can’t get away. Davey is still fighting, Sarah wrote. It is a blessing that he doesn’t yet know what happened. Les is gone. I shouldn’t be writing—we’re sitting shiva now—but I had to let you know.

Jack hadn’t known what to do then. None of them had. Race had hustled the littles downstairs into the common room to try and explain where Les had gone to; Crutchie sat next to Jack, and he pretended not to notice when Jack’s chest heaved and tears began to collect on his vest front.

***

He hadn’t been able to get to Davey.

Katherine had told him in no uncertain terms that, until Davey was well, there would be no visiting. Diphtheria was incredibly contagious, she said, and Jack was lucky he hadn’t caught it from Les in the first place. She was unfailingly practical.

But she also knew Jack couldn’t wait forever. Sarah had sent word that Davey had turned the corner, and that was that. They were going to see Davey.

And Jack was afraid. Afraid of seeing the apartment without Les bouncing from pillar to post. Of seeing Esther and Mayer grieving. Of seeing Davey, weakened and probably changed in ways Jack couldn’t begin to imagine.

“Right. You’re right. Of course, you’re right.”

Katherine stopped walking and gently pulled Jack to the side. She reached up tentatively, ever so carefully turning his chin so that he’d meet her gaze. He wished she hadn’t worn gloves. “Jack, we don’t have to go today. We can—”

Jack shook his head. His voice was hoarse. “I already left ‘im alone too long.”

“There was nothing you could do,” she said soothingly, letting her fingers rest on his shoulders. “There’s nothing any of us could have done. If you’re not ready to see them yet, we shouldn’t go. This isn’t supposed to be about us, Jack. We’re going to be there for them.”

Jack shrugged her hands off his shoulders. “I ain’t tryin’ to make it about me, Kath.”

Katherine looked stung, but she quickly righted her expression and let her hand rest pointedly on his bicep. “I know. I do. I’m just…I’m worried for Davey too. And for you.”

“I been through worse. Davey hasn’t.”

Katherine pushed herself up on her toes and gently kissed Jack’s cheek. “I’m sorry, love.”

Jack closed his eyes, letting himself lean into her touch. “Don’t be. Let’s just go see ‘im.”

They moved back into the swell of foot traffic, hand in hand.

Chapter Text

Jack understood grief. It was a part of him. It had been, nearly his entire life. He, like so many of the other boys, had the kind of sad story that became exhausting the more it was recounted. Dead mother, incarcerated father, a host of people who had hurt him or let him down. He and the boys never discussed it, but it was understood; most of them knew exactly how cruel the world could be, and they were going to do their best to pretend like they didn’t. They could beat back the memories together, them against the world. It was part of the reason they bounded through the city like unbroken colts. Fake it ‘til you make it.

But he hadn’t been prepared for something like this to land on Davey and Les. That he couldn’t understand.

In Jack’s head, Davey and Les were somehow untouchable. Things did not happen to them the way that had happened to Jack, to Crutchie, to Race. Strictly speaking, Jack couldn’t be entirely sure this was true—there had been veiled references to things that had happened in the old country—but he had liked the idea that the Jacobs boys were safe. If they were safe, then it stood to reason that Jack could be safe too. It was a talisman he could cling to when everything else was spinning out of control.

Not anymore.

Jack’s palms were sweating against Katherine’s lace as they climbed the stairs. He could feel his heart thudding at a harried clip as they got closer to Davey’s front door.

“Are you ready?” Katherine whispered to him. In her violet tailored suit and smart hat, she stuck out like a hothouse bloom in the dingy tenement hallway, and Jack had never been so grateful to have her with him.

“As I’ll ever be,” he replied.

“All right,” Katherine said with a curt nod. She squared her shoulders and smoothed her hair, as though she were preparing for battle. Jack stared at the door for a moment, his eyes stopping on the well-worn mezuzah fastened to the gnarled frame.

Then, he knocked.

It was Mayer who opened the door.  The shirt he wore was torn at the breast and his cheeks were covered with a fine layer of grizzled hair, but Jack felt somehow relieved that the older man still looked like himself. Tired, careworn—but still, the same warm man who never hesitated to let Jack sit at his table. Mayer’s eyes widened for a moment, and he pulled Jack into his chest.

“Ah, Jack,” Mayer said. His voice was soft and ragged, but as he released Jack, he offered him a subdued smile. “We were hoping we would see you. Miss Pulitzer, a pleasure to see you again. Esther, look who’s here.”

Mayer swung the door wide, and Jack could see Esther at the table, hook and lacework in hand. She looked up suddenly, but Jack could see that she wasn’t surprised to see them. She set her work on the table and moved to greet them. Like Mayer, the breast of her shirtwaist was rent. She looked so worn and fragile that Jack was afraid to return the embrace she offered him, but her arms held him fast.

“I’m so glad you’re here, children,” she said, keeping Jack enfolded in one arm while reaching for Katherine’s hand with the other. “It’s good to see you. Sarah will be sorry she missed you; she’s at work just now.”

Jack pushed away the thought that Sarah was probably always at work now. With Davey still recovering and Les gone, money would be tight.

“Come in and sit down. I can put some water on for tea,” Esther said, leading Jack and Katherine to the table. Mayer followed, graciously pulling out a chair for Katherine as they settled. Davey was nowhere to be seen. As Esther moved to put the heavy iron kettle on the stove, Jack noticed that Les’ chair had been pulled away and tucked in the kitchen corner. His little cap was balanced carefully on one of the wooden pegs on the chair’s cane back. Stung, Jack quickly diverted his eyes.

He thought of the last time he’d been there, the night they found out Davey was going back to school. He and Davey had gone out on the fire escape after dinner. They weren’t talking, not exactly—his father’s news seemed to have stolen Davey’s voice, and he was committed to staring moodily at the ladder’s rusted railing while Jack supportively smoked a cigarette from a few feet away—but Les had wanted to come out with them. They’d told him no. Davey had snapped at him, and Jack had backed him up. But Jack had seen Les’ face hovering dejectedly in the corner of the window the whole time. He suddenly hoped Davey hadn’t noticed.

“Well, children. How have you been?” Mayer’s voice pulled Jack away from the memory.

“We’re fine, Mr. Jacobs,” Katherine answered for both of them. “How are you both? How’s Davey?”

Esther turned from the stove and rested her hands on Mayer’s shoulders. There were lines on her face that Jack had never noticed before, and he could see that the rims of her eyes were red. “It would be wrong to tell you this hasn’t been hard on us all. It has. It will be.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t come before,” Jack said quietly to Esther, whose eyes were fixed on a space not quite above his head. “I didn’t—”

Esther shook her head. “It’s all right, Jack dear. It was right for you to wait for David to get well.”

“Is he?”

“Yes, he is. Nearly,” Esther said with a sad smile. She was looking toward the bedroom Davey shared with Sarah & Les. Had shared with Sarah & Les. Just Sarah now. “He will be all right. We all will. It will just take time.”

Mayer nodded. “Les’ memory will be a blessing. David just can’t see it yet.”

Jack wasn’t sure what to say.

“Do you think we could see him?” Katherine asked. The kettle was starting to whistle. Esther didn’t turn to take it off the burner. She was still staring at the doorframe of Davey’s room.

Mayer reached up and grabbed her hand. “Esther?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. She turned to the stove, taking the kettle off the flame and immediately busying herself with finding mugs and the sugar bowl. Mayer watched her for a moment, and then turned back to Jack and Katherine.

“Of course you can see him,” he said. He lowered his voice. “But I want that you should be prepared. He’s…not like the last time you saw him.”

“We wouldn’t expect him to be,” Katherine said, her voice gentle but matter-of-fact. “We’ve just missed him.”

“So have we,” Mayer said, half to himself.

Esther started absently passing out the mugs of tea. Jack’s was last, and when Esther set it in front of him, she gently cupped his cheek. “We’re hoping that maybe seeing you will help him. He always took such care of our Les, and he seems to think this was all his fault. He doesn’t hear when we tell him it’s not true.”

Jack grabbed for the hot tea, unsure of what to say. He took a sip without thinking and promptly scalded his mouth. He sputtered, but managed to choke it down. Katherine bit her lip and shifted a little in her chair. Neither Esther nor Mayer seemed to notice.

“We, uh, we also were thinking that David shouldn’t return to school right now,” Mayer said confidentially. He searched Jack’s face as Esther self-consciously picked up her lacework and pretended to busy herself with it. “It would be too painful for him.”

Sure, now you change your mind, Jack wanted say. Instead, he said, “Oh.”

“We thought perhaps it would be good for him to go back to selling?” Mayer continued. “That the fresh air and exercise might help? And you and the other boys, of course.”

Couldn’a had that thought a month ago, huh? Jack knew it wasn’t right to be bitter with Mayer—he’d just been doing what he thought was best—but he couldn’t help himself. He’d never had anyone do what they thought was best for him, and for the first time, he felt glad about that. He remained silent.

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Katherine replied diplomatically. She took a demure sip of her tea, somehow managing to discreetly dig her elbow into Jack’s ribs at the same time. “Won’t it be nice to have Davey back, Jack?”

Jack shot her a look but nodded with what he thought would pass for enthusiasm. “Yeah, of course. Can’t think of nothin’ better. The guys’ll be over the moon.”  

“I’m so glad,” Esther said. Her voice was warm, but there was a lingering note of worry. “I don’t know what we would do if we lost him too.”

Katherine took another sip of tea. It was quiet for a moment.

“Have you told him yet?” Jack heard himself saying. “Or should we give ‘im the good news?”

“I think it would be good for him to hear it from his partner,” Mayer said.

Jack slid slowly back from the table. Esther nodded to him, “He’s resting just now. It’s all right if you go in.”

The handful of steps to Davey’s room might as well have been a mile. Jack practically tiptoed into the room, stopping suddenly in the doorjamb when he saw his friend. Mayer was right. This wasn’t the Davey he knew at all.

Davey’s lanky body was propped up awkwardly against the rusty iron bedstead. Jack could hear the other boy’s breathing, wet and crackling; it was the only sound in the room. All he could think was that Davey looked like he might break. Like if Jack were to reach out to touch him, he’d crumble into pieces under his fingertips. Esther had wrapped her son in an afghan, but even underneath the knotted yarn, Jack could see that Davey’s frame had withered. The stained undershirt that Davey’s shoulders and biceps had been straining against all summer now hung off of him like a flag of surrender. His skin was sallow and clammy, his gray eyes slit open but glassy and unfocused. Jack wasn’t even certain Davey could see him.

“Davey?” Jack whispered. Davey didn’t stir, and Jack somehow couldn’t drag himself forward. Esther had said he was nearly well. If this was “nearly well,” he couldn’t imagine what his friend had looked like two weeks ago. He didn’t want to imagine what had happened to Les.

As Jack stood there, staring at Davey, he felt something brush his hip. Katherine gently pushed past him and knelt down next to the bed. Jack braced himself as she reached for Davey’s hand, cocooning it carefully in both of her own.

“Hi,” Katherine said simply.  Her voice was feather soft, but Davey’s shoulders rolled forward with a small shudder. She didn’t react, just kept his hand resting safely between hers. It was an awkward fit, with Davey’s long, tapered fingers hanging limp over Katherine’s petite lace gloves. But she didn’t mind, and Davey didn’t pull away. “Davey, it’s so good to see you. We were so worried.”

Davey didn’t say anything, but he raised his head, just a little. Of course she knew how to do this. Was there anything Katherine didn’t know how to handle?

“I know I can’t say anything to make it better,” Katherine was saying. She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it, softly. “So I won’t try to. But I’m so sorry, Davey. We all are. It isn’t fair.”

Davey shut his eyes tight, just for a moment, and Jack saw that he was holding fast to Katherine’s hand now. “It’s okay,” she said. And suddenly, Katherine—tiny, feisty Katherine—was holding Davey as he wept. At first, his tears were silent, but as Katherine held him closer, hoarse, choking sobs started to rattle through his chest and from his mouth. She rubbed careful circles across his back, seemingly unbothered by everything pouring out of Davey. Jack wished he could wrap his arms around them both, but there was something in the moment he felt he couldn’t interrupt.

“Thank you.”

The words were so quiet, Jack wasn’t sure that he’d actually heard them. But Davey was raising his head off of Katherine’s shoulder. Davey was mopping his tear-stained face with his hand. Davey was looking at him. Oh, God. Davey.  

“Thank you, guys,” Davey tried again. It wasn’t his voice—everything about him seemed shaken—but it was a start. “For coming.”

Jack mustered his courage and finally moved all the way into the room. “What’d you think? We’d just leave you here? Ain’t our style, Dave.” He helped Katherine up from the floor, and she immediately nestled herself against Davey, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head against his gaunt shoulder. Davey was too weak to protest—it almost seemed unfair, Katherine squeezing him like some kind of stuffed toy. Jack rolled his eyes at her and settled in at the foot of the bed. “How are you?”

Davey closed his eyes again. “Been better.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. He set his hand gently on Davey’s ankle. “I know.”

“We’re just glad you’re still here,” Katherine said.

Davey made a sound that could have been a laugh, but it was hollow. “Yeah.” He sniffed.

“You ain’t gotta talk to us, Dave,” Jack said. “It’s fine if you ain’t ready yet. But we got some news.”

“Good news,” Katherine added, nudging Davey’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything. She looked at Jack with pleading eyes.

“Your pop says you don’t have to go back to school,” Jack started. He could hear Davey’s breath catch. “He says…he and your ma, they think you should come back to selling. That it’d be good for you.”

“Good for me?” Davey’s voice cracked, and Katherine squeezed him a little tighter. She looked nervously toward the room where Mayer and Esther still sat, listening to their conversation and pretending to drink their tea.

Jack dropped his voice. “I know, Dave. Trust me, I do. But your folks love you, and you’re scaring them. You’re scaring me a little too. What you’re doin’ right now, this ain’t a thing that I’m just gonna let happen. I meant it when I said you don’t have to say nothin’, but hear what I’m saying: this ain’t the place where you get to stop.”

Davey rolled away from Katherine’s grip and tried to shift his leg from under Jack’s hand. Jack held him easily. Davey wasn’t any match for Jack under normal circumstances; right now, he didn’t have a prayer.

“You hear me, Davey?” Jack asked. “You take your time, but this ain’t it. We’ll be waiting for you. Can’t get rid of us now.”

“Or he’ll send Race and Albert next time,” Katherine whispered with a smile. Jack shot her a grateful look. Davey curled further in on himself, tucking his chin into his chest and squeezing his eyes shut.

Jack let go of Davey’s leg, and Katherine stood, reaching over to give Davey’s shoulder one last squeeze.

“We’ll see you soon,” Jack said matter-of-factly.

Esther and Mayer sent them out of the apartment with sheepish looks and crushing hugs.

***

“Do you really think he’s ready?” Katherine asked uncertainly. They were back in the autumn sunshine that had ushered them to the Jacobs’ door an hour before, but it felt somehow too bright after the airless tenement.

Jack shrugged. He was thinking of Davey, pale and thin; Davey, with nothing to say. “It don’t matter if he’s ready. It’s what you do.”

“No, Jack,” Katherine said. “It’s what you do. Davey isn’t—”

Jack interrupted. “I told you on the way over. He ain’t never been through something like this. And neither have you, Kath. You talk to any of the boys, they’ll tell you. The worst thing a guy can do when life deals him a shit hand is fold.”

“You spend too much time with Race,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Davey’s hurting. He—”

“Yeah, an’ if he spends too much more time up there in that bed he ain’t never gonna stop hurting. Gettin’ back to business is what keeps you going.”

“But—”

Jack stopped walking for a moment, staring down at Katherine’s lace-covered hands. “Kath, just trust me on this one. If I hadn’t found the newsies when my ma died, I would’ve died. What do you think would happen to Crutchie tomorrow if he wasn’t with us? Work ain’t a perfect solution, but it takes the edge off. It gives you something else to think about when your mind can only call up the one thing. Maybe folks on Park Avenue can drop on their faintin’ couches and stew when something bad happens, but that’s not how it works for us. And Davey’s one of us, even if he ain’t been up against something this before. If he ain’t ready, it don’t matter. It’s what he needs.”

Katherine kissed him. “I’ll choose to ignore that Park Avenue comment. I live on east 55^th Street.”

“Avenues run right across those streets, Miss Pulitzer,” he said with a smirk. “But you understand me, right?”

Katherine sighed. “I don’t. But I’ll try. I just…didn’t think he would be so bad.”

“’Course he is. He’s lost his right arm. He and Les…that don’t just happen every day. But he’s still got brothers behind him. We just need’a remind him.”

“All right. We’ll try it your way.”

“Well, I’m right, so I think you’ve made a solid decision,” Jack said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes. “You are unbearable. But I love you.”

“For sure?”

“For sure,” Katherine replied. “I have to head to the office. I’ll see you later?”

Jack nodded and kissed her cheek. He watched the swivel of Katherine’s hips as she walked away; he knew she still didn’t agree with him. But he knew. He knew Davey coming back to work was the right thing. He wouldn’t lose Davey to something he knew how to beat, and he knew how to beat back the kind of demons plaguing Davey now. Or at least, he hoped he did.

“Heya, Jack!”

Jack turned and saw Race galloping up the block toward the lodging house, cigar wedged between his lips. “Hey, Race. How was it today?”

“Eh, ain’t had much luck. Somebody must’ve fed the horse’s yesterday’s papes,” Race said. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and back, back and forth, back and forth. “How’s Davey?”

Jack shrugged. “He’s about how you think he’d be. Looks like shit, ain’t sayin’ much.”

Race whistled through his teeth. “If Davey ain’t sayin’ much, we’re in a bad way. Is he feelin’ okay? You know, is he still sick?”

“Nah, not like he was,” Jack said. “But it’ll be a while before he’s back to normal.”

“Happens quicker than you’d think,” Race snapped his fingers. “All’s he needs is somethin’ else to think about.”

“S’what I tried to tell Kath just now! Davey’s folks want him to come sell again. They think it’ll help him get stronger.”

“Aw, the poor kid’s been through enough. He don’t need to be reminded that he’s awful at movin’ papes,” Race smirked. Jack punched him softly on the shoulder. “Nah, but that’s great. That’ll be a start.”

“A start? I think work’ll be enough for Davey right now.”

“Jack,” Race rolled his eyes. “Jack, Jackie, Jack, Jack, Jack.”

“Race?”

“Just work by itself? Have you met Dave? He’s wound tighter than the string on a top. We’re gonna need to find a way for him to blow off some steam if he’s really gonna get better.” Race started shadowboxing, bobbing and weaving around Jack, jabbing at his biceps. “We all got somethin’ else, right? You got yer art, I got the ponies. Davey’s gonna need somethin’ too.”

“Well, whatcha got in mind?”

Race smiled and raised his eyebrows. “I’m glad you asked. Because I think I might be having a moment ‘a brilliance.”

Suddenly, Jack felt a lot less certain.

Chapter Text

“So, what’s this ‘brilliant’ plan?” Jack leaned back against the wall, digging a cigarette out of his pants pocket and fumbling in the other for a match.

“You’re gonna love it, Jackie,” Race said confidently.

Jack struck the match on the sole of his boot. “I feel like I’m not.” He lit his cigarette and threw the match on the pavement, stepping on the smoky tip for good measure. Race was practically dancing around him, literally bouncing himself off of the alley wall and back again.

“Would you cut the vaudeville act and just tell me?” Jack glared at Race and took a long drag.

Race ricocheted off the wall once more and paused dramatically in front of Jack. He leaned toward him confidentially. “Jenny. We go see Jenny, and we see if she wouldn’t mind droppin’ into Jacobi’s a few times or something.”

Jenny? That didn’t make any sense.

Jenny Egan was a girl they’d grown up with. Jack, Race, and Jenny had all lived in the same tenement rowhouse when they were kids. It was a fetid Irish slum, overrun with too many unsuspecting future orphans. Many of their fathers—if they were even still around—worked on the docks and found solace from the backbreaking work at the bottom of a whiskey jug. Their mothers were always seven different kinds of weary, worrying over rosary beads and trying to figure out how to stretch a loaf of bread between the pile of children they couldn’t seem to stop adding to. No one paid too much attention to what the kids were doing.

He and Race and Jenny—and Jenny’s big brother, Danny—had the run of the place. The Egans didn’t have parents, and no explanation was ever offered for where they might have been or what had happened to them. They stayed with another family in the building, and no one seemed to care when they came or went. Not that it was all that different in the Sullivan and Higgins households. Jack remembered risky slides down splintering bannisters and elaborate games of pretend on the roof; there had once been a debacle with some communion wafers that still made him wonder if he was definitely going to hell.

Danny had been the one to bring Jack to the lodging house when his mother died—delivered him to Kloppman and asked the old man to look out for “the cowboy.” He’d shown Jack the ropes, teaching him how to “improve the truth,” and showing him the best pushcarts to lift a snack from—usually the ones guarded by fat men who couldn’t chase you too far. Race had followed not too long after, no longer keen on being used as a whipping boy for his frustrated mother. Neither of them had ever looked back.

Except to visit Danny and Jenny. They stayed in the crumbling rowhouse for a long time; nearly all of Danny’s pay went to renting a corner of a room in another family’s flat so that they could stay together—Jenny couldn’t have stayed in the lodging house. Danny would come over and sell with the boys, and Jenny would tag along. The boys would take turns using her as bait to get gullible customers to come their way. She had been an excellent little actress, and they’d had fun.

Until Danny was killed.  

Jack and Race had done their best to look out for Jenny since then, but it had been a while since they’d seen her. The two boys had taken on more responsibility with the newsies since the strike, and it was harder to steal away. And with what Jenny had to do to make ends meet now, it was hard for them to see her at all. She’d been selling herself out of a cathouse on the Bowery for nearly a year. The money was good and she had a safe place to stay, she’d told them. Plenty of girls do it.

Danny would’ve boiled them alive and stripped their bones if he’d known.

Jack wondered what Race could be thinking. Jenny? “I’m not followin’. Why?”

“To kinda catch Davey’s eye and pay him a little attention,” Race said with a waggle of his cigar. He started to launch himself for another wall bounce, but Jack stopped him by the shoulder.

“Because?”

Race shrugged. “So’s he’s got somethin’ besides work to distract him. She comes around a few times, they maybe canoodle—”

“Canoodle?” Jack almost choked on his cigarette.

“S’what I said,” Race said matter-of-factly. He threaded his thumbs under his suspenders and snapped them against his taut chest. “But ain’t nothin’ like feelin’ a little mushy to get a guy’s mind off his troubles.”

“With Jenny?” Jack’s words were slow.  

“Why not with Jenny?” Race looked at him pointedly.

“Jesus, Racer. I gotta spell this one out for you?”

“I love Jenny. You love Jenny,” Race moved his hands back and forth in the air between him and Jack. “What’s the problem?”

“I do love Jenny. Like a sister. But she ain’t for Davey,” Jack was sure Race could hear the frustration in his voice.  

Race waved him off. “Of course not. I ain’t sayin’ they should get married. It’s just a little fun. Get ‘im back on his feet.”

“You know what she does for a livin’.”

“Exactly! This’ll be like a vacation for her. Davey’s a nice guy, and she can keep all her clothes on. Win win.”

Jack’s stomach turned at Race’s cavalier tone. He didn’t like thinking of what Jenny had to do to keep her place, and he certainly didn’t like thinking about lying to Davey. There was no way this could be good for either of them.

“You wanna pay her to go out with Davey?” Jack asked incredulously.

Race snorted. “Nah, we can’t afford that. I wanna cash in some of those favors we’ve done for her over the years. We been there for her plenty a times. This is easy.”

Jack blinked at him. “Did you fall down and hit your head on somethin’ hard?”

“Aw, c’mon, Jackie. It’s foolproof.”

“Given you’re the guy who made it up, I think we can agree to disagree there.”

“Wasn’t you the one tellin’ me we hadda help Davey?” Race asked sanctimoniously.

“Yeah, but—”

“Said he needed more than work to focus on?” Race continued, looking at Jack and shaking his head in mock sadness.

Jack rolled his eyes. “You said that. I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m right.” Race stuck out his chin triumphantly.  

“And how do you know that?”

“When ain’t I?”

Jack snorted. “You ain’t actually askin’ me to answer that, right? Because—”

“I got a sense ‘bout these things, Jack,” Race lifted his eyes beatifically. Jack wanted to slug him.  

“Since when?”

Race dropped the act. “Aw, stop bustin’ my balls. Just listen to me—”

“Your plan is to distract Davey with a girl.”  

Race didn’t bite. “Shouldn’t be too difficult neither. I doubt he’s ever seen one up close—‘sides Kath and his sister, of course, but he can’t do—”

“And not just any girl. You wanna hire—”

“Trade favors—”

Jack threw his hands in the air exasperatedly, sending his cigarette flying. Race dodged it neatly. “That don’t make it sound any better, Race.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine. But you want to trade, hire, whatever… a workin’ girl.”

“Not to do that kind of work. And it’s Jenny,” Race replied, as if it made some kind of difference.  

“It’s still lyin’,” Jack said.  

“Nah. Improvin’ the truth. And who’d I learn that from, eh?” Race made to elbow Jack conspiratorially, but the other boy shoved him off.

“Shut up.”

“Jackie, it’s a good idea. We know Jenny. It ain’t like we’re payin’ her to jump into bed with Davey—we’re just askin’ her to make good on a couple a’ favors and help a friend.”

Jack wanted to die; he wanted to burrow beneath the pavement and never come out again. Or to kill Race. Either would be fine. “Davey ain’t her friend.”

“But he will be,” Race clicked his tongue suggestively.

“I swear to God—” Jack smothered his face in his hands.

“Ain’t gotta be sacker-ligious about it—”

Jack clenched his fists. “And what if he likes her? Wants to keep seein’ her? Because that—”

“Jack, from what you told me, Davey ain’t gonna be movin’ that fast anytime soon. This is just a little distraction. You remember what you used to be like before Kath.”

Jack did remember. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been with other girls before Katherine, and he knew exactly what he’d done with most of them. But Davey didn’t know he’d done that. Davey was somehow too pure for all of that, as ridiculous as it sounded. But he didn’t know how to say that to Race. It was hard for him to tell anyone exactly what he felt about Davey.

Jack took a deep breath. “And what if he finds out that we…traded for him?”

“He won’t,” Race replied. He sounded so sure.  

“And how do you know?” Jack asked. Another breath.

Race smiled wickedly. “Because I’m brilliant.”

Jack shook his head. “I could say a lot here.”

“And you ain’t gonna, ‘cause you know I’m brilliant.”

“This is a shit idea,” Jack mumbled to himself.

“What’sat? I couldn’t hear you,” Race feigned ignorance, cupping his ear toward Jack.  

“Shit idea.” Jack kicked the pavement.

Race gave. He leaned back against the wall next to Jack. His voice was a little softer. “You got a better one?”

“Just letting him get back to work. That was my idea,” Jack replied pleadingly.  

Race shook his head. “And I’m tellin’ you that ain’t enough. You said so yourself, Davey’s goin’ through it right now. Wavin’ papes around—'specially the way he does—ain’t gonna do what you’re expectin’. Now, a pretty girl--”

“She ain’t his kind’a girl, Race.”

“And how do we know that? Davey ain’t never been with a girl before. ‘Least I’ve never seen him with one.”

Jack’s gut clenched. “And setting him up with a girl like Jenny is the best way to start him off?”

“A little experience never hurt no one,” Race said. He made it sound like the most natural thing in the world.  

“Jesus, Race!”

Race shrugged. “We ain’t got much else to go off’a right now.  I think if we give it a chance, it’ll pull him outta his funk—s’just a little fun.”

“Yeah, ‘til it ain’t.” Jack’s resolve was weakening, though. Race was right—he didn’t have a better idea. He sure as hell didn’t like this one, but what if he was being selfish? Having Kath in the wings had helped guide him through the end of the strike. It was because she’d accepted him for who he was, right then. So had Davey. They didn’t have a past with him, but they were still willing to make a future, even if it was an uncertain one. Even if neither of them had still been with him now, that would have made all the difference to Jack. Maybe Davey deserved that same chance now—to let someone new remind him that he was worth something. But, God, did he wish he could know if it would be okay before he agreed.

As if he could hear the thoughts grinding through Jack’s brain, Race nudged him. “Ain’t gonna get that far, Jackie. Stop worryin’ so much.”

“One of us should worry.”

“All right, so it can be you,” Race said with a wry smile, but his voice was even and considerate. “But tone it down. We’re helpin’ a friend, here.”

Jack sighed. “Let’s say I go along with this—”

“Which you should—”

“How do I know we ain’t doin’ something that’s gonna hurt him worse than he’s already been, Race?” There was a desperate note in Jack’s question.

Race must have heard it, because he turned suddenly serious. He pivoted and put his hands on Jack’s shoulders. “Because I wouldn’t never hurt Davey. Never, Jack. ‘Specially now.”

Jack could see that his friend meant what he said. “And you really think this would help?”

“Yeah, I do. You know Jenny. We let her know what’s what, and she’ll be careful with him.”

They both knew Jenny, and no matter what they thought of her current situation, Race was right—she would be careful and kind. Which might be exactly what Davey needed. As long as everything went according to plan.

“I guess… maybe it could work.”

Race’s eyes got wide. He clapped Jack’s shoulders. “So, you’re sayin’ we could try it?”

“I—yeah, I guess.” Jack knew he couldn’t take it back now.

“Then we gotta go talk to Jenny,” Race said, almost in disbelief. He clearly hadn’t thought he was actually going to win. He flopped against the wall and started fidgeting with his suspenders, staring awkwardly at the sidewalk crack.

Jack knew exactly what he was thinking. “I ain’t seen her for a while.”

“Me either,” Race gulped, and then shook his head, as if he were trying to snap himself out of something. “But I’m sure she’ll be glad to see us.”

***

Jenny’s “place” was on Bowery and Broome. The walk was just under a mile—a distance that Race and Jack could easily clear in under a quarter-hour. This time, they dragged their feet. They’d taken Lafayette instead of Park Row to avoid going past the old block. It bought them another few minutes. Perfect. Plenty of time to reconsider.

“This was your idea, you know,” said Jack, as they shuffled east on Canal Street.

“And it was a good one,” Race said, pulling his vest out and puffing his chest a little. “Don’t mean I can’t be a little nervous. I mean, it’s been—”

“Since the strike? Maybe before?”

Race nodded. “I know we shoulda been to see her sooner. But I always feel a little queasy-like when I think about it. I know Jen is still Jen, and it ain’t like we don’t know other girls doin’ the same thing, but—”

“Makes you think about Danny, don’t it?” Jack said softly. They didn’t talk about him often.

“Kinda,” Race admitted.

“Me too.”

One block left.

“We wouldn’t be where we is if Danny hadn’t helped us out, and I sort of feel like we let Jen down,” Race said.

“She made the choice, Race,” Jack reminded him. “She coulda worked in one of the factories or the mills.”

“Yeah, and after she saw that girl’s fingers get ripped right off by that machine, I just can’t think ‘a why she wouldn’t,” Race rolled his eyes.

Jack suddenly thought of Sarah, at work in the same kind of overcrowded, grimy garment factory Jenny had left behind. He wanted her out of there just as much as he wanted Jenny out of the brothel. He kicked himself. “Fair point. Not a lot of choices, huh?”

“Nah, not for folks like us,” Race agreed absently. “We’re almost there.”

“We should go up the fire escape, yeah?” Jack said, noticing that the sun was starting to set. Race nodded. If they marched in the front door, someone might think they were customers. They’d have to make this quick if they weren’t going to end up in the middle of a very awkward situation.

The two boys squirreled up the fire escape and to a third-floor window. The peeked carefully inside, and with luck, Jenny was in the room alone. She was facing away from them, sitting at a shabby vanity and trying to pin up her dark hair. Jack rapped at the window, using a rhythm they’d always passed back and forth as kids. Race snorted at the memory. They saw her hand freeze, hidden in a mass of ratty curls. She suddenly turned, hair pin forgotten, and launched herself at the window, throwing it open and awkwardly wrapping her arms around them both, wedged as they were against the outside sill.

“Jack! Race! What are you doing here?” Jack could hear the giggle bubbling up under her words. Her arms felt familiar and warm. Maybe she was doing all right.

“Just payin’ a friendly call, m’lady,” Race joked as they climbed into the room, ducking under an abbreviated laundry line of delicates as they went. Jenny fought back a laugh as the lanky boy held a worn-out pink corset to his chest. “How’d I look?”

“You look wonderful,” Jenny said warmly.

“Likewise, Miss Egan,” Jack said with a low bow. She slapped good-naturedly at his shoulder.

“Why don’t you take a seat, gentlemen?” Jenny asked, gesturing at a flimsy brass bed wedged against the wall. It was tidily made, but neither boy was stupid. They knew where they were, and they knew what that bed would be used for later that night—had likely been used for just a few hours before. Jack and Race exchanged an uneasy look. Jenny saw it, but clapped her hands insistently. “Sit down, huh?” They sat, but they did not relax. The reunion had been brief—things were off to a great start.

“You ain’t busy?” Jack asked carefully.

“Not for a little while yet. It usually gets a little thick once the sun goes down, though” Jenny replied, her tone still  somehow light.

Race gulped audibly. Jack elbowed him.

“You two caught me in the middle of my toilette,” Jenny explained, making an elaborate show of spinning away from them and bending down to pick up her errant hair pin. She moved to sit on the vanity bench, turning herself so she could face Jack and Race on the bed. She was wearing a cheap ready-made chemise, nipped in at the waist with frayed yellow ribbon and cut down so far that Jack and Race had to avert their eyes from her partially bared breasts.

He hoped she couldn’t see, but it broke Jack’s heart a little to look at her. He could still see the little girl she’d been under the mask she’d applied for her work. Her green eyes had always been a little too large for her face, and the kohl she’d lined them with just made them look bigger and sadder; the spray of freckles across her nose was still visible, despite the job she’d done with rouge and powder. He remembered Danny patiently tying back her dark mop of curls, which were still wild as ever, hanging in a tangled, glossy curtain down to her waist.

But it was the way she held herself that really gutted Jack. Her legs were splayed open on the bench, and she instinctively arched her back, leaning her elbows against the vanity table and pushing her breasts forward. He could see the remnants of bruises on her bare chest, the fading scratches on her freckled arms—she couldn’t hide those with powder. That she could sit there that way and still smile her little girl’s smile—how could she possibly do what he and Race were going to ask of her? How on earth could they think Davey could handle all this?

“Close your legs, Jen. You ain’t gotta put on that kind of show for us,” Jack said softly. This time, Race elbowed him.

“Sorry, habit,” Jenny said quickly. The smile disappeared. Embarrassed, she ferreted out an old dressing gown from underneath the vanity and hastily covered herself. She crossed her legs, looking down at the floor rather than at the two boys. “How are you two? I ain’t—haven’t seen you in a long while. Not all of us could strike last summer, you know?”

Jack winced, but he tried to look nonchalant. “Oh, you heard about that?”

“C’mon, cowboy. Everyone heard about that. I told all the girls I knew the guy,” she laughed, seeing Race’s incredulous look “—sorry, guys leading it. They were impressed.”

“Say, why don’t you girls unionize?” said Race with a stagey wink.

“Very funny,” Jenny replied. It didn’t sound as though she thought it was particularly funny at all.  

There was a pause before Jack finally answered. “We’re all right, Jen. Just workin’. You know how it is.”

She nodded. “I do.” She still wouldn’t quite look at them.

Race cleared his throat. “You been okay?”

“Sure, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I’m fine, Jack.”

“You ain’t gotta pretend with me.”

This time, she met his gaze. Don’t I? her eyes seemed to say. She shook her head. “I’m not. I’m getting used to it. It’s all right. The money is good.”

Jack chuckled ironically. “Well, thank heaven for small miracles.”

“Your ma used to say that all the time,” Jenny said, a sad smile creeping across her lips.

“Yeah, she did,” Jack said softly. There weren’t many people in the world who could remember a thing about his mother, and she’d been gone for so long now. Sometimes, he was afraid of what he’d already forgotten.

“I miss her sometimes,” Jenny said. She bit her lip. “She always looked out for me and Danny.”

Jack felt a little ashamed of his own judgment. But Jenny was his childhood. And damnit, even if it hadn’t been a happy childhood, it was just hard to see it slipping so far away—but it wasn’t her fault. “Well, you was like family. Are. Sorry we ain’t come around in a while.”

She shrugged, but seemed to relax a little. “I don’t think I’d want to visit me here either. But I’m glad to see you. Even if I don’t quite know the occasion.”

Race leaned forward, clapping his hands together. Jack and Jenny both jumped. “Yeah. ‘Bout that.”

“All right, spill it,” Jenny said.

“We got this friend—” Race began.

Jack cut in. “Davey.”

“Davey. He’s really goin’ through it—”

Jenny shifted her jaw, arching an eyebrow. “And you thought maybe I could show a good time?”

“Well, yeah!” Race said, relieved she’d caught on so quickly.

But Jack saw the look on her face. “No! No, that’s not it at all.”

“Jackie, ain’t that what we talked about?” Race asked. He was clearly confused.

“What did you talk about?” Jenny asked. She was not amused. She let the dressing gown drop and turned her back to them, snapping up the hair pin and jabbing it into her curls. Jack could see her eyes in the mirror; he could recognize an Irish temper from a mile away. They were on dangerous ground.

“Jen, we don’t want you to sleep with him. That’s not—”

“Then, what is it?” she asked, exasperated. “I’m a little confused.”

Jack’s words tumbled out in a frenzy. “He’s a really good guy, Jen. The best, even. But he’s been through some real hard stuff in the last month or so, and he’s sacking out. I just saw ‘im this morning, and he… he didn’t even look like himself. I’m afraid he might…” He didn’t particularly want to think about what he was afraid might happen to Davey.

Race jumped in, seeing Jack falter. “An’ so I told Jackie we’d better find some way to distract him, remind him that life’s worth the livin’.”

Jenny stared at them in the mirror. She didn’t say anything, just grabbed a powderpuff and slammed it into a ceramic dish of talc. Shit. Shit shit shit.

Jack tried again. “What we’re askin’ is that maybe you just…come around a little bit once he gets back to work? Not for nothin’ serious, but just to… I don’t know, help me out here, Race?”

“Look, Jen, Davey’s real shy, and right now, he’s real sad. He ain’t hardly gonna get out of his bed if someone don’t make him right now. We was—well, I was thinkin’—that if you wouldn’t mind showing up and maybe payin’ him a little attention every so often, makin’ him feel good—”

Jenny set the powderpuff down, recoiling.

“But not that good!” Jack corrected desperately.

“—that he might kinda start comin’ around, you know?” Race finished.

“And here I thought you guys might have missed me,” she said, shaking her head.

“We do!” the boys said together. The looked at one another sheepishly.

“You’re beautiful, Jen. A girl like you looks at a guy, he’s going to feel some kind of way about it,” Race tried.

“And Davey? He’d treat you nice, make you feel like a lady. Like you should feel,” Jack said firmly.  

Jenny sighed. She reached into a jar on the vanity table, pulling out a slender brush and dipping it into a pot of lip rouge. She pouted her lips, painting them as she spoke. They could all tell she was trying—and failing—to sound casual. “I don’t know, fellas. I’m still earning my place here, and if I’m not here, I might miss jobs. The new girls have to take a little more on, and I—”

Jack moved off the bed. He stopped her hand with his own, guiding it down to the tabletop. “Jen? His brother died. That’s how come he’s having a bad time.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh.” Jack squeezed her hand, and then turned her to face him.  

“Yeah. And I know you know what that feels like. What it takes to get through it. Danny would—”

“I’ll do it,” her voice was barely audible. “But you don’t get to do that. Don’t talk about Danny. Please”

“Okay, okay,” Jack said. He wrapped his arms around her. The familiarity of their first embrace was gone. He could feel her powdered skin against his own at his open collar, but her shoulders were tense and firm. She did not soften. He’d given every thought to how Davey might feel about this, but he hadn’t thought at all about Jenny. He could feel the shame starting to swell in his gut. For the second time that day, he found himself drowning.

“Did I hear you say yes?” Race asked, breaking the moment. Jack thought it might have been intentional. Race was too smart not to realize what was going on.

“You did. I’ll help you out,” Jenny said, unshed tears in her voice. She sniffed, pushing away her unease with a self-conscious laugh and detaching herself from Jack. He sat stupidly on the floor next to her bench. “Not like I don’t owe you guys for all the things you’ve done for me. I know you can’t not help a friend.”

“Jenny, you are a saint,” Race said, pirouetting off the bed and planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Christ, Race. I think you should look around,” she scoffed. She started to root absently through her make-up brushes again. “Anyway, I can’t say no to you two. God knows why, but I can’t.”

“Don’t matter. You’re a queen so far as I’m concerned—and you’d better believe Davey’s gonna treat you like one!” Race said. He gave her shoulders a squeeze.

“Nothing serious, though?” she asked.

“Nothing serious,” Jack seconded. He picked himself up from the floor, straightening his cap.  

She nodded, looking at herself in the mirror. “Okay. I—I better get ready for work.”

“You’re an angel,” Race kissed her again, and waltzed into the hall. Jack tried to grab him, but he could hear Race introducing himself to the girl next door already.

“I wish he’d stop saying that,” Jenny said, more to herself than to Jack.

“We don’t know yet when he’s gonna come back to work, but we’ll come and see you to work out the details when when he’s back,” Jack said quietly.

“Okay.”

“Be careful, Jen, okay?”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m sorry, Jackie. You can talk about Danny. It just—"

“I know,” he cut her off, kissing the top of her head. “And thank you. You… I think you’ll like Davey. Just be careful with ‘im, huh?”

“Of course,” she replied, giving him the tiniest of smiles.

Jack heard Race’s laugh down the hall. He shook his head, laughing a little himself. “Now I gotta get Race outta here before he moves in.”

This time, Jenny laughed for real. “I don’t think he’ll find what he’s looking for here. Now, Brooklyn maybe.”

***

It had taken Jack about fifteen minutes to get Race out of the brothel. He’d made fast friends with a girl named Gertie, and she’d been nice enough to let them sneak out her window and avoid the madame downstairs. Race had swiped a warm bottle of beer from her night table on the way; he and Jack were splitting it now, sprawling on a bench in Mulberry Bend Park.

“Are we crazy?” Jack said, finishing a swig with a gasp. He still felt uneasy, and the yeasty taste of the beer wasn’t helping the jumble of nerves in the pit of his stomach.

Race grabbed the bottle from him, knocking it back with gusto, “Nah, just concerned citizens. We’re doin’ this to help a pal out.”

Maybe if he kept repeating that to himself, Jack would believe it. He hit Race with his knee. “Okay, but we need to agree right now—we don’t tell Kath about this plan. She’ll tell Sarah, and Sarah will kill us.”

Race nodded enthusiastically, draining the rest of the bottle. “Right. And we’re too young to die.” He smiled wryly.

Jack shook his head. No one was too young to die. That he knew for certain.

God, he hoped they were doing the right thing.

Chapter Text

David felt his mother’s eyes on his back as he walked down the tenement hall. His pape bag was slung across his body, and he felt the wax paper-wrapped sandwich Esther made for him—and that he would definitely not be eating—thumping against his hip with every step. He was vaguely aware that Sarah was walking next to him. Her hand was pressed gently to the small of his back, guiding him toward the stairs. She nodded politely at the neighbors on their way to work; David stared at his feet. He knew that his tread was slower, that his legs weren’t moving quite the way they had just a few weeks before. He felt a little dizzy.

The last time he had been out of the apartment was Before.

David had always felt that he could see time. It unspooled into a thin, precise line, stretching from one end of his mind to the other, every event in his life standing at attention. He could search the line and grab memories at will, and he could put them back in their proper place when he was finished with them. The end of the line seemed to stretch on forever, clean and waiting for whatever would fill the empty space. Picturing it in such a linear fashion made the unknown seem less frightening, which was something David had always desperately needed.

When Les died, David’s line was bisected. There was Before, and there was After, but they were completely disconnected now. Les was Before; David was facing After. He couldn’t see it the way he once had, and it terrified him. There was no line to follow. He couldn’t control any of what was coming, and David craved—he needed—control. His mind couldn’t quiet itself without it.

Sarah stopped him on the landing. It didn’t take a genius to see how far David had retreated into his own thoughts, and Sarah was not unfamiliar with pulling her brother out of whatever spiral he had worked himself into. She had been doing it a long time.

“How are you feeling?” Sarah asked. She took his hand, and he knew she was trying to bring him back. He could always rely on Sarah for that. 

David shrugged. He couldn’t look her in the face. He had a feeling he would cry if he did, and if he started, he might not be able to stop. Control. He needed to stay in control.

“Can you say something, please?” She was still holding his hand, but he could hear the frustrated edge in her words. He knew that he should do better.

“I’m fine,” David replied. His voice was barely audible. He was not fine, and Sarah knew it, but he didn’t know how to explain to her about Before and After. It would sound crazy. He was enough trouble to them without being insane too.

“You aren’t fine, and you don’t have to be, I promise,” she said. “But can you make it to work? Will Jack be there to help you?”

David nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Sarah smoothed his shirt front, pulling the tails of his vest out and holding him fast. “I wish I could go with you.”

“You don’t have to look after me,” he said. He didn’t know why he said it. He wished she could come with him too.

“Oh, Davey. I do,” she said, burying her face in his chest. David felt his arms move to hold her, but it was purely instinct. He still felt a little like he was floating away.

“I can do it,” he whispered. He didn’t want to make Sarah upset. He had hurt her enough. He could do what they needed him to do. He would control himself.

Sarah pulled away from him and leaned back to study his face. “Be careful. If something happens, you can come home. You can try again tomorrow.”

“I can do it,” he said again.

Sarah stared at him for a moment longer. Then, she nodded. “Well, then, let’s go. Neither of us should be late.”

***

Sarah left him a few blocks from the distribution center, breaking off to head toward the garment district. David was suddenly alone.

There was something about the sun that felt too bright. When he was little, David had often felt this way. On sunny mornings before shabbat, Esther would shoo him and Sarah out of the apartment so that she had time and room to prepare for the sabbath meal—she would never have done that before they came to America, but the apartment was so small. There was something about the buttery morning light that always made David feel uneasy, like he shouldn’t stray too far away from home. He’d always been that way—he could feel the threat lurking behind every corner, and he couldn’t talk himself out of constant concern.

David didn’t have a name for the shapeless dread that had curled itself into his brain; he just knew that he’d always felt it. He couldn’t remember how old he was when he finally identified the fact that his mind never stopped moving, that nothing was entirely quiet. Even on those sunny mornings, when other boys would have happily sprinted into the street to play with their friends, it always seemed that something was going to tip the balance he fought every day to achieve. Until he’d found the newsies, he felt like he’d spent all his time trying to figure out what that something was—and not enough of it doing the things that everyone else seemed to do so effortlessly.

Before, he’d found a way to hide it. Jack’s arm around his shoulders and unforced conversation made it easier; the way the other boys looked at him like he counted; how Les told all of his little girlfriends that Davey was a bigtime union leader—all of that had granted him some tenuous control. That was gone now. After, the feeling was worse than ever. David could practically feel it flaring in his skull.  

Now, tripping toward the distribution center, he felt exactly the same as he had on those sun-drenched mornings. His stomach felt queer and shuddery. His legs, after nearly six weeks of convalescence, seemed to struggle to find their balance. He wanted to go home—but he didn’t want to disappoint his parents, not after all that he’d already done to let them down. He wanted to keep going, to let the boys fall on him and welcome him back—but he didn’t want to be there without Les, and he knew he didn’t deserve whatever affection was waiting for him. What he really wanted was to go back to Before, but he knew he couldn’t do that either.

So, he kept walking. His body knew the route by heart. He was there before he realized—

“I’ll be damned! It’s Davey!” Albert was the first to spot him. He stood up from the box crate he had been sitting on and jogged toward David.

Mush was right behind him. “Heya, Davey!”

“Davey!” he heard Smalls say.

“Shit, it’s good to see ya!” Specs was saying, moving to join the group.

“How ya feelin’?” That was Crutchie. His voice was a little softer than the others.

The words were well-intentioned and David knew it, but he didn’t know what to say—so he didn’t say anything. He could feel hands slapping his back and squeezing his shoulders, but he couldn’t register exactly who they belonged to. He flinched, but no one seemed to notice. The crush of bodies continued to grow and press in on him. Didn’t they know what he’d done? Why were they so glad to see him? How could they be?

“Hey, boys, give ‘im some room,” a voice was saying with a laugh. David felt space beginning to open around him. “Let him breathe.”

It was Jack. Jack was standing right in front of him. “It’s good to see you, Davey.”

David nodded, still vaguely shellshocked. Jack cocked his head sharply, and the other boys dispersed, lining up to get their papes.

“We’ll go slow today, Dave,” Jack said. He put a comforting hand on David’s shoulder and steered him into the distribution line. David did his best not to shrink from Jack’s touch. Even weeks later, his nerves still felt raw. “I won’t leave you.”

“I can do it,” David said. No matter how many times he’d said it, he still wasn’t sure he believed it.

“I know you can,” said Jack. He bit his lip, looking at David a little sadly. “Born to the breed, ain’t you?”

No, that was Les, David wanted to say. But he couldn’t say Les’ name. He shrugged.

“Back in the saddle, eh, Davey?” Race was behind them now, Crutchie at his side. David gave them a half-hearted nod.

“Was just tellin’ him that it’ll be a cinch,” Jack answered Race, but his eyes were on David. They shuffled forward in line.

“Nothin’ to it,” Race agreed.

“And whatever you need, Davey… it’s okay. We’ve all been there,” said Crutchie. “But it’s good to get back out there.”

“Yeah,” David replied. He heard how weak his voice sounded, and he cleared his throat. “It’ll be… good.”

“It will,” Jack reassured him. He touched his shoulder again. “Just takes some time.”

David wanted to tell them that he couldn’t see time anymore, that there was no way of knowing how much time any of this would take. But he knew they wouldn’t understand. “I know. Thank you.”

The line moved again, and some of the boys started doubling back to see David, stuffing their canvas bags with papes and murmuring their greetings all over again. As they got closer to the front, David could feel dread starting to knot itself deep in his stomach. Jack kept his gaze trained on David’s face, easing him forward with the slightest touch.

“All right, Dave. It’s you.”

And then he had fifty papes in his bag. He had merchandise to sell. There was no going back now.

“Start in the usual place, huh?” Jack was saying. “After we get a look at the headlines, of course.”

“Um, yeah. Sounds good,” David replied.

“Well, good, then,” Jack said. Race was next to him, leaning against his shoulder.

“Whaddaya say we maybe do lunch at Jacobi’s between editions?” Race asked. He looked significantly at Jack.

“I don’t have the money for that,” David said quietly. “Papa isn’t working regular yet, and I haven’t sold since—”

“You don’t need money, Davey,” Crutchie said. “We’se celebratin’, and you’re the guest of honor.”

“Some honor,” David muttered to himself.

“Hey, none of that,” Race said sternly. “We’re glad to have you back, and you ain’t gonna win this fight. So, take the free lunch, alright?”

David almost smiled, but he caught himself. “Alright.”

“S’what I thought,” Race said with a sniff. David saw him exchange another look with Jack. “We’ll see you two in a bit, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, rolling his shoulder and then throwing his arm around David. The boys started streaming out of the yard, and David felt himself being pushed into the stream with them. He could do this. He could.

***

He couldn’t.

David had no illusions about his skills. Jack and Les always moved the real papes; David carried the bag and kept the change safe in his pants pocket. It had been a solid arrangement—until now. They’d been at it for two hours, and David had managed to sell maybe ten papes to Jack’s cool fifty. The fact that, at this point, he could barely stand unaided was not helping his sales.

“Let’s take a break before we head back, eh?” Jack said.

David shook his head. “Can’t stop. I still have so many—”

Jack put a warning hand on David’s chest. “Hey, you remember that little strike you organized last summer? They’ll buy ‘em back. You need a break. Now.”

“Okay, okay,” David relented. He let Jack push him into an alley, and he was surprised at how grateful he was for the support of the brick wall. He sank into a crouch, resting his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He groaned a little.  

“You know, nobody expects you to be 100%, Davey,” Jack said, slouching on the wall next him. “I told you we’d take it slow.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” David said, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t want to slow you down. It isn’t fair.”

Jack shook his head. “We’re a team. I got you, whatever you need.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” David said bitterly. He didn’t mean for Jack to hear it.

Jack pushed off the wall. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing. I just—” David faltered. He let his rear sink all the way to the pavement, hiding himself behind his knees. “I don’t want you to put yourself out.”

“What I do is my own business, and in case you ain’t noticed, you’re my business too,” Jack said fiercely. “Maybe you didn’t hear me: we are a team.”

David wanted to ask him why. His brain could not wrap itself around what made Jack or Sarah want to help him, why the boys were so eager to welcome him back, why Mama and Papa even let him stay in the apartment. Everything was his fault. He was why Jack would lose money today, why Sarah had probably been late for work—

Why Les was dead. David choked down his tears, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes. He could just imagine what Jack was thinking. He was sure that the other boy couldn’t wait to get away from him. David would give anything to be able to get away from himself too. He couldn’t control any of it.

“I thought I could do it, you know?” David said. He could hear the gasps bursting out between his words. He felt ashamed, showing this part of himself to Jack, but the words started to tumble out before he could hold them back. “I just wanted to show them that I could make it up to them, that I can still be useful, and I… I don’t know what I mean, but none of this is what I thought it would be. I shouldn’t be here.”

“I know we don’t talk about this stuff, Davey,” Jack said. He took a deep breath and knelt down in front his friend. “I ain’t never really talked about this stuff. And I told you before, I ain’t gonna make you say anything. But I been watching you for the last couple hours, and whatever is goin’ on in your head ain’t what’s real. You’re smarter than that.”

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” David said softly. “I can’t see it.”

Jack grabbed David’s hand, slipping his fingers around the other boy’s clammy palm and rubbing his thumb across his knuckles. “Then let me see it for you for a while, huh? You done it for me.”

David looked up. “Jack, I—”

“I told you, no words required. But you belong here.”

“I don’t know—”

“Well, I do. And I’m gonna keep knowin’ for both of us ‘til you figure it out,” Jack said, hauling David up from the concrete. He slung David’s arm over his shoulder and wrapped his own arm around David’s ribs. “And now you’re gonna let me drag your ass to Jacobi’s, because I’m starved.” 

***

“Well, you’re a cheap date, Davey,” Race was saying as the boys divvied up the bill. “You didn’t hardly eat nothin’.”

David started to respond, but Jack laughed. “Well, he’s sittin’ next to you. That’s enough to kill any guy’s appetite.”

Race rolled his eyes, “Whatever you say, cowboy. All right, boys, cough it up. I’ll take it up to Mr. Jacobi.” The other boys groaned and started digging change out of their pockets. Race held out his hand like a greedy taxman, chewing impatiently on his cigar. Next to him, David could feel Jack’s leg bouncing. He looked at his friend, but Jack just smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, watching Race as he went to the counter.

Crutchie was on Jack’s other side, and he leaned over to David. “So, how’d it go?

David shrugged. “I guess I’ve had better days.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, Davey. You’ll get your sea legs in no time,” Crutchie said, with an ironic wink at his own leg. He suddenly looked at Jack. “Jackie, what’s with the earthquake?”

“Huh?”

“You can’t stop movin’ your leg,” Crutchie said. “You nervous or something’?”

“Nah,” Jack said evasively. “Just probably shouldn’t’a had that bowl of coffee.”

“Right,” Crutchie said, raising an eyebrow. Jack ducked his head.

There was a sound of bells at the front door of the restaurant, and David heard Race gasp. “Well, if it ain’t a small world! What are you doing here?”

The table looked over, and David saw Race throw his arms around a girl. “Who’s that?”

Jack seemed lost in space for a moment. “Huh?”

“Who’s the girl with Race? I’ve never seen her before.”

Jack cleared his throat, peering over toward the door. “Her? Oh, that’s Jenny. She grew up on the same block as me and Race. Ain’t never seen her in this neighborhood before.”

Crutchie looked at Jack, confused.

“C’mere,” Jack said, pulling on David’s elbow. “We should say hi.”

“Me? I don’t even—” David stammered, tripping over his feet as Jack dragged him across the restaurant. This was not a day that he felt like meeting new people.

“Look, Jackie! Look who it is,” Race said, spinning the girl around to face Jack and David.

“Heya Jen,” Jack said. He dropped David’s arm and wrapped her into a hug. David could just barely see a smart straw hat floating above Jack’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you. You look…different than the last time I saw you.”

As Jack released her, the girl smoothed down her starched white shirtwaist. She wore a green gingham skirt, and her dark hair was swept into a neat Gibson girl. She wasn’t as fancy as Katherine, but she certainly didn’t seem like someone Race and Jack would have grown up with. Evidently, Jack thought so too, because he was looking at her strangely.

“Jen, this is my pal, Davey,” Jack was saying. “Davey, this is Jenny.”

“Yeah, this is Davey,” Race said. Jack shot him a look.

The girl called Jenny extended her hand to David. She smiled warmly. “Hi there, Davey.”

“Hello,” David said quietly. He shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jenny said. She didn’t let go of his hand immediately. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

For what felt like the millionth time that day, David panicked. He couldn’t tell this person that he’d never heard anything about her. “Uh—”

The bells rang again and Katherine swept in. “I’m sorry I’m late, I was on deadline and—oh! Who is this?”

Race made a noise like a strangled cat.

“I just came to check on Davey,” Katherine said. She stared at Jenny, not unkindly, but sizing her up all the same.

“Ah, Kath—this is Jenny. She grew up with me and Race,” Jack interjected quickly.

“And she happened to be passin’ by—” Race put in.

“Grabbing my shop foreman’s lunch order,” Jenny finished. She smiled. “Jenny Egan.”

“Katherine Pulitzer,” Katherine said coolly. The two girls nodded at each other. Katherine shifted her attention to David, grabbing him by the elbows. “Davey, how are you?”

She started to steer him back toward the table. David looked back at Jack and Race, helpless, but their heads were already together in conversation. Jenny smiled at him, waving just the slightest bit, before she turned to them as well.

He thought absently that it seemed to be taking an awfully long time for her order to come out.  

Chapter Text

Jack watched as Katherine hauled Davey back to the table, petting him and worrying over him like she had the day they’d gone to his apartment. He could see that Davey was trying to be polite—accepting her embrace, nodding at her questions—but he knew he shouldn’t leave them alone for too long. Kath absolutely meant well, but he didn’t need Davey to shut down again before the evening edition.

“You clean up good, Miss Egan,” he whispered to Jenny.

Race nodded, “Your face is so clean I didn’t even know it was you for a second.”

“Strange, I know, but I do know how to use soap and water,” Jenny said with a roll of her eyes. “Pulitzer, Jack?”

Jack winced. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Moving up in the world, aren’t we?” Jenny said archly. She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Some other time, Jen,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Uh, I don’t know if you noticed, but this ain’t exactly off to a great start,” Race hissed. “Davey’s supposed to be over here.”

“Oh, let him be,” Jenny said, glancing quickly over her shoulder. She smiled a little sadly. “He seems like he’s had a bit of a day.”

“That’s an understatement,” Jack agreed, taking a glance at Davey over his own shoulder. “Practically had to carry him here. He’s not doin’ so hot.”

“I don’t think that surprises you,” Jenny observed.

“No,” Jack said. “It don’t.”

“Well, look. He’s seen us all together now. I technically have an excuse to meet up with you again now that we’ve, uh, ‘bumped into’ each other,” Jenny said. “And if I don’t leave soon, it’s going to be obvious that something is up. At least to her.”

“Her name is Katherine,” Jack said. Race snickered to himself.

“I heard,” Jenny replied. “And I can see she’s a smart girl. So, let’s not mess around here, huh?”

“She is smart,” Jack said a little defensively.

“Oh, calm down, Jackie,” Jenny said with a wink. “I’m not going to pull her hair out or anything.”

“I’d pay to watch that,” said Race, stifling a laugh. “Remember when you held Siobhan O’Leary’s face down in that mud puddle? That was amazing.”

“She deserved it,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “But I won’t hold Miss Pulitzer’s face in a mud puddle either, if that makes you feel any better.”

“She could take you,” Jack grumbled. He was half-inclined to call Katherine over to give it a try.

“Oooh, you like her,” Jenny giggled. Jack snarled. Race snorted.

“I’m just playing, Jackie,” Jenny gently grabbed his forearm. “Fellas, let’s try this again. I think your Davey seems sweet. I don’t mind giving it another go—maybe when he feels a little more ready. I don’t know that he was even really seeing me just now.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, still smarting a little.

Race looked crestfallen. “I guess.”

Jenny shook her head at them, and she suddenly turned serious. “Let the poor guy get his feet under him, huh? Trust me on this one. I know.”

She did know, and Jack and Race couldn’t argue.

“Now, I’m going to go. You know where to find me. We’ll try again soon.”

And even though her hands were empty, and even though there was no order to pick up for the shop foreman she didn’t have, she gamely called out her thanks to Mr. Jacobi and left the restaurant.

***

The evening edition hadn’t gone much better than the morning. Davey had limped along, but he still looked half-dead on his feet; at one point, Jack had left him on a box crate in front of a green grocer’s so that he could finish selling, insisting that he’d be right back and that it would be better if Davey just took a load off. Davey had tried to protest, but it was clear that he could barely hold himself upright. Jack had managed to sell most of what Davey couldn’t, and they’d sold back what was left over. Dusk was giving way to the surprisingly inky dark of the autumn night, and he could see Davey bracing himself against the cold.  

“I’m gonna walk you home, Dave.”

“You don’t have—” Davey began, but he saw the look on Jack’s face and caught himself. “Thanks.”

They didn’t say much as they walked the long blocks back to the Jacobs’ tenement, Jack’s arm keeping Davey tucked in close to his side. He knew that they probably looked a little strange to the other people on the street, but Davey’s feet were failing him and Jack could feel the other boy shivering against his own body; better to keep Davey vertical and warm than to worry about what anyone else thought.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Davey said miserably. “I thought I was ready.”

“Just a little further,” Jack said, giving Davey an encouraging squeeze. “And don’t worry about it. You ain’t done nothin’ like this in a while. ‘Course you’re wiped.”

“Mama’ll be worried.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “But you did fine today, Dave. And you just need some rest. You’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

As if on cue, Davey started to cough.

“Okay, maybe not good as new,” Jack said, slapping his back. “Maybe fair to middlin’.”

And just then, through his coughs and wheezes, Davey laughed. Not loud, not full out, but Jack felt his own chest tighten with pleasure. Davey had laughed.

They tripped up the stairs, and Jack was careful to unwrap himself from Davey before they got to the apartment. Davey paused in front of the door, bracing himself against the frame and pressing his fingers to his lips and then to the mezuzah.

“You gonna come in?” Davey asked. His breathing was a little heavy, and Jack could see tiny beads of sweat just below the brim of his cap.

“Sure, for a minute,” Jack replied. He felt suddenly hesitant, but he couldn’t refuse Davey. Not just now. “I ain’t seen everybody for a while.”

Esther was on them as soon as they opened the door. She peeled off David’s coat and hat, inspecting his face closely. “Oh, thank God. David, your hands are like ice. Jack, sweetheart, it’s good to see you. Come in, come in. Sarah! Sarah, can you warm that broth? And see about some goulash for Jack?”

“Yes, Mama,” Sarah replied. She’d been sitting at the table with Mayer, darning a sock. Jack could see how tired she was, the way that she pressed her hands into her lower back as she stood, but still she turned to him with a smile. “I’m sorry I missed you last time.”

“I was too,” Jack said. “Can I help?”

“Shah, of course not! You’ve been working all day!” Esther said. “Sit!”  

Jack didn’t point out that Sarah had been working all day too. Instead, he followed instructions, plonking himself down at the table and watching Davey’s sister organize their meal. He saw Sarah swallow a yawn, but her hands were deft and confident, spooning beef and potatoes into a bowl for Jack while keeping a weather eye on the steaming broth for Davey. 

Esther bustled Davey into his own chair, wrapping his shoulders in a blanket and kissing his dark curls. She pressed her hands gently to his cheeks and forehead, checking for any sign of fever. Davey leaned slightly into her touch, closing his eyes.

“You’re tired, tateleh,” she murmured. “I’m sure it was a long day.”

“I’m fine, Mama,” Davey said, but Esther stayed close to him, raking her fingers through his hair. Sarah spun from the stove, dutifully setting a saucer of broth in front of her brother and sliding Jack a bowl of stew.

“Thank you,” Jack said quietly. He dug his spoon into the bowl, shoveling the meat and potatoes into his mouth, maybe a little too quickly. The flesh of the potatoes was scalding. He tried to shift the food away from his tongue, but then it hit his cheeks, and Jesus, it was hot.

“You’re welcome,” Sarah replied, smothering a laugh as she took in Jack’s puffed cheeks and wide eyes.  She sat down heavily on the other side of Davey, picking up her work again. Her father patted her hand.

“And how did it go today?” Mayer asked, clearly directing the question to Jack. He watched his wife and son closely, his brow furrowed.

“Went great. Just like old times,” Jack’s mouth was still full of stew, but he fished some coins out of his pocket, slapping them on the table with what he hoped passed for confidence. Davey’s net profit for the day couldn’t have been more than a nickel, but Jack had enough for the lodging house, and better that Mayer and Esther believed Davey was finding his way back to normal—and to be fair, they had no idea that Davey’s “normal” wasn’t all that impressive anyway. Jack & Les had always seen to that.

Mayer nodded seriously, but Jack wasn’t sure he’d really been listening. As Jack managed to swallow the molten goulash, Mayer’s eyes were still fastened on Davey and Esther—and he didn’t look pleased. Esther was cradling Davey’s head with one hand and dipping a spoon into the saucer of hot broth with the other. She brought it carefully to her own mouth, blowing the heat away before she moved it toward Davey, tilting the spoon gently as the broth disappeared between his lips. Davey looked a little pathetic, like a baby bird who couldn’t survive outside the nest. Mayer’s gaze shifted to his daughter, who was pointedly absorbed in her needlework, before he looked back to his wife.

“Esther, that’s enough,” Mayer said quietly. He shook his head. 

Esther startled, looking around guiltily. “Mayer, I—”

“That’s enough,” Mayer said again, this time with a bit more force. “The boy can feed himself. Can’t you, David?”

Davey looked miserably between his parents, but he knew what he ought to say. “Yes, Papa.”

Esther set the spoon down, the metal clattering hard against the china saucer. She looked wounded for a moment, but she set her jaw, wrapping her hands around the back of Davey’s chair. She purposefully did not touch her son. Mayer watched her closely. Jack looked away, watching as Sarah’s needle moved meditatively through the ball of wool in her hands. Sarah hadn’t been still since he and Davey had arrived; Jack wanted to bat the yarn out of her hands, to let her rest. It was hard for him to see this family—a family that, if he were being honest, he’d thought of as his own—stretched so thin. He poked again at the bowl of stew.

The room was nearly silent but for the sound of Davey slurping a few miserable spoonfuls of broth under his father’s watchful eye. Jack wished he had just gone back to the lodging house.

Finally, Davey pushed the saucer away. He turned to reach for his mother’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Thank you, Mama. For supper.”

“You’re welcome, zeesinkeh,” Esther replied softly. She looked at Mayer, who nodded evenly. Sarah continued with her work.

“Children, I think it’s time everyone said good night,” said Mayer. “I’m sorry, Jack. I know you’ve come all this way, but –”

“No worries, Mr. Jacobs,” Jack replied steadily. “We’s all had a long day. And I know Davey needs his beauty sleep.” He heard Sarah snort; she stabbed her darning needle into the ball of wool and slumped back for a moment. Davey shifted a little awkwardly in his chair.

Mayer sounded relieved. “That he does. We’ll see you soon?”

“Absolutely,” Jack replied. He felt something clip his ankle under the table. Sarah had finally looked up from her sock and was staring right at him. He nodded subtly and ran his hand through his hair. “You mind if I go out the back way? That, uh, night air is something special tonight.” His brain didn’t have the capacity for an elegant lie.  

“Of course not,” Mayer replied, waving his arm at the back window. “Better you should take advantage of it before the winter rolls in, yes?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jack said nervously. “Thanks. And thanks again for the food.” He didn’t call attention to the fact that his bowl was still practically full. “Davey, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Davey nodded. He looked completely unsure of what to do, but he managed to lift his body out of his chair and extend his hand to Jack. “Yes. And thanks.”

“Anytime, Dave,” Jack said, holding Davey’s hand for what he knew was a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Esther hovered just behind Davey’s shoulder, but she didn’t follow her son as he let Jack’s hand go and moved toward the bedroom he shared with Sarah.

“Good night, Mama,” Sarah said. She stood in front of Esther, but Esther’s gaze followed Davey where her feet could not. Still, Sarah pressed a perfunctory kiss to her mother’s cheek before she turned toward her father.

“Good night, my love,” Mayer said, wrapping Sarah in his arms. Sarah leaned hard into his embrace. Mayer cleared his throat as he released her. “And good night, Jack.”

Jack waved awkwardly. He had no idea what to say. 

“Papa, I’m going to see Jack out, all right?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, it’s all right,” Mayer replied. He clearly knew that she needed a moment. “Just don’t be long, yes?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Jack couldn’t have moved any faster to the window if the apartment had actually been on fire. He could hear Sarah behind him, wrestling her skirts over the sill and cursing, quietly. The night air was something special, especially after the weight that had settled in the room he just left. He filled his chest with as much of the cool air as he could, noticing that his breath left a cloud of vapor when he exhaled. The seasons would change again before he knew it. He didn’t turn back until he heard Sarah settle herself on the iron stair with a sigh.

“How’d it really go today?” she asked plainly, gripping her knees and pressing her elbows backward in a stretch. She groaned a little.

“It went how you’d think,” Jack answered. He knew that bullshitting Sarah would get him nowhere, and she clearly did as well. “He ain’t that strong just yet, so I helped him out today. But he’ll get back to it.”

“Probably not fast enough for you to keep slipping your money in with Davey’s. You can’t do that, Jack,” Sarah said. “You need your pay.”

Jack dropped his head back. He could see traces of the stars above, and he breathed deeply again. “All due respect, but what I do with my money is my business. You Jacobs kids are sure bossy.”

“David told you not to worry about him, didn’t he?” Sarah said with a small smile.

“Yeah, he did,” Jack said. He pushed off the railing and sat next to her. “But, like I said, I’m the only person in charge a’ Jack Kelly, so I’ll do what I please.”

“I suppose I can accept that,” Sarah replied.

“You’d better—or I’m gonna get real sick of makin’ the same speech all the time.”

Sarah laughed quietly. “Point taken. But don’t do anything stupid on our account.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack replied airily. He shivered a little and noticed that Sarah didn’t have a shawl. Time to get to the point. “You doin’ okay, Sarah?”

“He doesn’t sleep in their bed anymore,” Sarah said. She stared at her hands, wringing them against the cold. Jack could see that they were red and chapped, the skin on her knuckles cracked and flaking.

“What?”

“The bed he shared with Les. Davey can’t sleep in it,” she replied.

Jack realized she was right. When he and Katherine had been there the week before, he hadn’t stopped to think about it, but Davey had been in Sarah’s bed.

“When he was still sick, he didn’t realize where he was. But after?” Sarah shook her head, and Jack wondered what she was remembering. He thought of Davey crumpled in the alley, and he was impressed at Sarah’s steely reserve. She gazed steadily ahead.

“So, I sleep in their bed,” she said. And then, almost a whisper. “And I’m not supposed to mind.”

“Do you mind?” Jack asked, bumping Sarah’s knee with his own. He got the impression no one had asked her in a long while.

“I’m…fine,” Sarah said hesitantly. “It’s hard because—well, Mama is so worried about David. And I understand, I do. We just lost Les, and… we were so close to losing him too, Jack. You don’t know. She looks at Davey, and I know she’s still afraid. And I’m afraid too. I know he isn’t quite well yet—he probably shouldn’t even have gone out today.”

“He did okay, I told you,” Jack said. “But that’s not really what I asked. I asked about you.”

“I’m tired, Jack,” she said softly.

Jack snaked a brotherly arm around Sarah’s shoulders, and he felt her sag into his side. He knew how to be present in a crisis, he usually knew the things to say to keep people going, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that ground beneath his feet felt a little less solid just then. Sarah and Davey, Esther and Mayer, were his constants. That they were at loose ends made Jack feel more than little out of control himself, but he knew better than to say so. So, instead, he said what he knew Sarah needed to hear.  “I know.”

Sarah nodded. “I know you do. I just wish Mama did too.”

Jack inhaled sharply.  

“You know what I mean,” Sarah said quickly. “I know you saw. It’s just that I work so hard, and that place is so awful, and I miss Les so much, but she only sees Davey right now, and I—”

“Hey, I see you,” Jack said, squeezing her shoulders tight; he could feel them shake a little as she inhaled, but she sniffed and looked toward the apartment. Mayer was alone at the table, staring at his hands, which meant that Esther must have followed Davey into the bedroom.

“Thanks, Jack,” Sarah said, her voice small. They were quiet for a moment. In the silence—well, as silent as a tenement fire escape could possibly be—Jack thought he could hear Esther singing, softly.  A lullaby that he knew she’d sung for Les. He suddenly felt a little embarrassed for Davey, though he wasn’t sure he could explain why.

Sarah heard it too. She looked back at Jack. “Do you think…do you think that this will really help him? Going back and selling? Because if it doesn’t, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

He was still straining to hear Esther. He didn’t think. Before he could catch himself, he nodded. “Yeah. Don’t worry, Race and I got a plan.” Shit. Sarah couldn’t know.

“What kind of a plan?” Sarah asked immediately.

“A good one,” Jack relied, pasting on a saucy grin. Get out, get out, get out. He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the head before he swung himself off of the stair. “Can’t get into it just now, but trust me—we’re gonna get him back to normal.”

“Very mysterious,” Sarah said, looking at Jack with mock scrutiny. But she had relaxed a little. “Good thing I trust you.”

God knows why, Jack thought. But he just nodded. “I’m glad you do.”

“I do. And so does Davey,” she said. “We all do.”

“You guys is my family,” Jack said with a shrug. His stomach was anxiously pitching back and forth, but he meant what he said. “I’m gonna try my best. You let me know if you think it’s working.”

She shook her head with a smile, “All right, keep your secret. But, thanks. I’m glad you’re looking out for him, Jack. He’s lucky.”

“For you too, Sar,” Jack said quietly.  

“Thanks,” she said again. The wind whipped past them, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “I’d better go in, huh?”

Normally, Jack would say something about catching your death, but he thought better of it just then. He nodded. “Yeah, go get some rest, huh? I got this. It’ll be okay.”

“I hope so,” she said. “Good night, Jack.”

“Good night, Sarah.”

He could hear the window sliding open as he started to head down the fire escape. As he went, he peeked in Davey’s room. Esther was still there, cradling her son’s head in her lap and murmuring the same lullaby. Davey was asleep, but it didn’t look like his mother would be leaving him anytime soon. Something about the vacant look on Esther’s face told Jack that she wasn’t really thinking about Davey at all.

Chapter Text

Davey had been back for a week when Jack finally had to face Katherine and her reporter’s notebook of questions about how he was doing. She’d been on deadline the week prior, but she had met Jack with a kiss at the lodging house door that morning and—literally—dragged him to the park.

Jack knew she’d be concerned. He hadn’t forgotten the way she held Davey the day they went to the Jacobs’ apartment, or the way that she ran into Jacobi’s the week before, looking for him. Her questions were inevitable. But Jack also knew that he didn’t have any answers that would satisfy her.

Katherine’s life wasn’t perfect. She had to deal with her father, for starters, and some of her editors still treated her as though her long skirts and lady’s manners somehow made her simple and slow. But she had escaped so much of what Jack, Race, Crutchie, all of the boys—and now Davey—had not been able to outrun. She’d never been without a warm bed, never gone hungry, never been beaten or misused—and she’d certainly never lost someone before she was supposed to.

Jack knew it was frightening for her to face something she couldn’t fix. And she certainly wasn’t going to be able to fix Davey.

Which is not to say that Davey hadn’t made any improvements. He had. But they weren’t going to be enough for Katherine, who was going to want Davey to be the same boy he’d been at summer’s end. Davey was never going to be that boy again.

Jack didn’t know how to tell her that. Particularly when she was sitting next to him on a park bench, hands folded in her lap and eyes locked seriously on his.

“So, what I’d like is for you tell me all about Davey.”

Jack slouched back on the bench and tried to sound casual. “You know, it’s good to see you too, Kath. I’m doin’ just fine; thanks for askin’.”

Katherine hit him playfully on the chest. “Oh, shut up. It’s been a week.”

“And she can read a calendar too. Boy, am I lucky,” Jack replied mischievously. He leaned over to kiss her cheek, but she stopped his face with her hand.  

“Ja-ack.”

“Ka-ath.” He took her hand and kissed it instead.

She wriggled her hand away and socked it back into her lap, looking around to see if any passersby had noticed. He grinned to himself, but Katherine wasn’t deterred. Jack could see the determined set of her jaw. “Don’t,” she said with manufactured ice, “avoid the question.”

Jack shrugged. “I ain’t avoidin’ it.”

“Well, then, I’m waiting.”

And she was. She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. Jack wanted to slip through the open slats of the bench. He also thought she was adorable. The combination was utterly confusing.

“He’s…fine,” Jack said. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. This was not going to fly.

Katherine rolled her eyes. “Descriptive. That wouldn’t even fill a column inch.”  

“Ace reporter, on the story.”

“By all means, keep it up. You know I’ll win.”

He did, too.

Katherine smoothed her skirt, deliberately avoiding his gaze.  “Explain to me what ‘fine’ means in this context.”

Jack ticked off the inventory. “He’s stringin’ more than two or three words together at a time. I ain’t had to carry him anywhere in a few days. I saw him eat two bites of a sandwich yesterday.”

Katherine blinked. “My heart be still.”

“Well, c’mon, Kath. I ain’t got much I can tell you. He’s fine. Little better every day, but he ain’t exactly tap dancin’ down the Bowery.” Which would, Jack had to admit to himself, be fantastic.

She sighed, but he could still see the determined look in her eyes. “What can I do?”

This was what he’d been afraid of. Katherine could not sit idle, particularly not when it came to something she cared about. And he knew much she cared about Davey.

Jack sighed. “Nothin’, love. This is how it goes. He’s back at work, he’s doin’ fine—”

“—there’s that word again—”

“—and eventually, it ain’t gonna hurt as much,” he finished.

Her face fell, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and childlike. “As much?”

“Sure,” Jack said evenly, but he felt his chest quicken at the defeated look on her face. He put his hand out, and, this time, Katherine took it without hesitation.

“Where is he now?” she asked.

“He’s out with Race so you and me could talk.”

“Oh.” Katherine’s eyes widened. She did not seem thrilled by Jack’s choice of chaperone.

Jack laughed a little. “What? You think Race is gonna get ‘im into trouble?” If she only knew…

“No. I just miss him is all.” There was that tiny voice again.

Jack wished he could pull her right into his lap, but he knew he shouldn’t. Not right out in the open. Instead, he settled for squeezing her hand. “Kath, you’d miss him even if you saw him right now.”

She nodded miserably. “I know. I felt like he was looking right through me last week.”

He knocked his knee gently into her own. “Just give it some time, eh?”

She sighed. “How much time?”

Jack smiled at her. “Remember the talk we had about doin’ this my way?”

“I assumed that was on a trial basis,” she said, this time in her own confident tone.

“Of course you did,” he said, shaking his head. Katherine was nothing if not stubborn.

“I guess I’m just impatient.”

Jack was astonished she’d admit it. “You think you are? Think about how he feels.”

There was a pause. When she spoke again, Katherine didn’t look at him. “Was it like this for you?”

“When?” Jack was confused.

“When your mother…”

He sometimes forgot that he’d told her. Jack nodded. “And some days, it still is.”

What he didn’t say to Katherine was that he purposefully pushed his memories of his mother away, down as far as he could make them go. At first, right after she died, he’d been like Davey was now. He’d stared at every fair-haired woman he passed on the street, thinking it was her; he’d clung to the stories she’d told him and the songs she’d sung, imagining that if he repeated them enough, she’d be there with him; he’d walked around with a gaping hole in his heart for so long that he’d barely noticed when he stopped thinking about her every moment—that’s how bad the pain was. And when he did notice that he’d forgotten, it started all over again. Now, it felt like worrying a fading bruise. Dull, and sharp only when he pressed too hard. He’d had to hide her from himself for his own good. Davey would have to do the same with Les. Katherine couldn’t understand.

“I didn’t know,” she said.

He nodded again. “I’m glad you don’t. I want you to stay this way as long as you can, Kath. It’s what I wanted for Davey too, but—”  

She kissed him, quickly. “You’re a good man, you know?”

Jack sniffed. He pointedly cocked his head at her. “So, that means you’ll give us some time?”

“You’re ruining the moment.”

“S’what I do,” he said with a grin.  

Katherine groaned exasperatedly. “Yes. Fine. I’ll continue to let you run the show here. You are a noted leader, after all.”

“I’ve heard that,” he smirked. He was about to kiss her again, but they were interrupted by the frenzied thumping of feet on the cobbles. Race was suddenly in front of him, red-faced and panting—and alone. Shit. If something had happened to Davey, Katherine would never let him hear the end of it.

“Race? Where’s Dave?” Jack asked.

Race didn’t answer. He waved at Katherine instead. “Hiya, Kath…”

Jack tried again. “What’s goin’ on, Race?”

“Uh, I happened to try out Bowery and Broome and—”

“Oh.” Jenny. Race had been to see her again.

“Seems like the sellin’ is pretty good up that way,” Race said significantly. “Might want to take Davey up there. I told Crutchie I’d sell with him this afternoon.”

Jack nodded. Check. He was going to go find Davey—wherever Race had left him—and head to Jenny’s neighborhood, where presumably a second run-in had been set-up. By Race. Shit. He wanted to ask for more specifics—for instance, where exactly should he take Davey? It didn’t seem smart to haul him straight to the whorehouse—but Kath was sitting right there, and the look on her face made Jack want to take off running.

“Where is Davey?” Katherine asked suspiciously. Well, at least Jack would be able to figure that part out.

“A couple blocks back. He needed a rest, so I left him in front a’ the butcher’s while I went to check out the other spot,” Race said matter-of-factly.  He was rocking his weight back and forth on his heels.

Katherine looked horrified. “You just left him alone?”

Race laughed at her. “You want I should put ‘im on a leash first? He’s fine!”

“Don’t any of you know any other words?” Katherine was almost growling.

Race looked at Jack, gesturing at Katherine with his thumb. “She okay?”

Jack put up his hands. “She’s a writer. You know how they is. Temperamental and all.”

Katherine glared at him. “One of these days, I’m going to punch you right in the face.”

“Yeah? Remind me what happened the last time you tried.”  

Her face was immediately red.

“He’s at the butcher’s?” Jack asked.

Race winked at him. “Ready and waitin’.”

“Thanks!” Jack said. “Look, Kath, I’d better go make sure he’s okay. And I gotta do some sellin’ or I’ll be sleepin’ out tonight.”

“Don’t you mean ‘fine?’” she said with a scowl.

“He’s just sittin’ there,” Jack reminded her.

“All alone!” Race put in helpfully. Katherine shot him a look, he just grinned at her.

“He’s sittin’ there all alone. You want me to leave him there?” Jack said.

Katherine sighed. “No, I don’t. Please tell him I said hi.”

“I will!” Jack said. He speedily pecked her cheek and took off, leaving a giddy Race standing there with her.

“You left him in front of the butcher’s?”

Race clicked his tongue. “Gotta go! Can’t keep Crutchie waitin’. Good to see you, Kath.”

Katherine watched as Race sped away. “I don’t understand any of them.”

***

David was frustrated.

He’d been sitting in front of the butcher’s for nearly an hour. Race had taken off and just left him there. Yes, it was probably off-putting that he wasn’t sure how to hold up a conversation right now, and yes, it was likely doubly concerning that he still got faint every so often. But Race had practically pushed him against the window, saying something about how David looked like he needed a rest and that he’d go get Jack—and left. Presumably, Jack would be coming to find him here, so now he couldn’t leave. He’d tried to stand for as long as he could, but Mr. Kellerman told him he was blocking the window dressing, and besides, he wasn’t feeling his best. So now, he was just sitting on the sidewalk, embarrassed and alone. He knew he couldn’t keep up, he knew that no one wanted to be around him—and he couldn’t blame them—but this was humiliating.

Fifteen people had come in and out of the shop since Race had left. David had counted.

Maybe he should go in. Just so he could look slightly less pathetic. But Mr. Kellerman didn’t keep a kosher shop, and he didn’t have any money.

He decided to get up and look in the window. Then, at least, he’d look like a potential customer, although not to Mr. Kellerman, and the people passing by wouldn’t look at him so strangely. His muscles felt stiff as he stood, and he gazed vacantly at the ropes of sausage links on display. The sight of the raw meat made his stomach churn. Maybe he would take a walk. He would stay on the same block, so Jack could find him, but he would take a walk. Yes. That would help.

He turned away from the window and promptly collided with another passerby. “I’m sorry—”

It was a girl, and he had nearly knocked her down. “Would you watch where you’re going? I—oh!”

The girl’s anger seemed to abate as soon as she saw David’s face. She was pretty. Objectively, he could acknowledge that. And she was smiling at him. Of that, he had less of an understanding. Maybe he should go back to the sausage.

“Davey, right?” And now she was talking to him.

David stared at the girl for a moment. He took in her dark hair, her green eyes—smudged a little around the edges with something dark—her upturned nose. His brain felt as though it were tripping over itself trying to unearth where he recognized her from. Her face looked familiar, but he knew that it didn’t look quite the way it had whenever he had seen it before. She knew his name, she was smiling at him like she knew who he was, but he was at a complete loss.

“Um,” he said. Fantastic. Well-played, Dave. Where on earth was Jack?  

She extended her hand. “I’m Jenny? Jenny Egan. Race & Jack’s friend from—”

“From when you were kids,” he heard himself say. He took the hand she offered, and there was a flicker of recognition somewhere at the back of his mind. His first day, at Jacobi’s. She’d been there when Katherine came in. He remembered that Kath had asked about her, but he’d barely known where he was that day. And now he looked like a complete imbecile. “I—I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her smile easy and warm. She was still holding his hand, and he thought he felt her give it a little squeeze. Like she knew. “It didn’t seem like you were having your best day when we met.”

How had she known? He suddenly let go of her hand. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Well, how’s this day treating you?” she asked. She sounded as though she were interested in the answer. David didn’t know what to do with that.

“I guess it’s all right,” he said uncertainly. It had been all right, so far—at least until Race abandoned him. He’d managed to justify his presence on the street by actually selling some papes; he hadn’t needed Jack to hold him upright yet; he’d almost made it to lunch without thinking about Les. By present standards, he was practically having a ball.

“Well, that’s something,” Jenny replied.

David shook himself out of his thoughts. He realized he’d been staring at Jenny—well, not at her, but near her, his eyes riveted to the space just above her right shoulder. He must have seemed like an idiot.

“Something,” David repeated stupidly.

“Yeah, something,” Jenny said, without missing a beat. There was a hint of a giggle in her voice. “It’s at least a place to start.”

“Start what?” David asked. The words tumbled out before he meant them to, but he genuinely wanted to know. What on earth did anyone think he could start? He could barely walk down the street without making a mistake.

“Whatever you want, I think,” she replied. She shrugged a little helplessly. “I don’t know for sure.”

“Me either,” David said. He wasn’t sure why he’d said it, but he felt like he should say something. He could feel the corners of his mouth tugging slightly upward, almost against his will. “Well…”

“Well?” Jenny asked. “Well, what?”

“I guess I don’t know,” he said with a shrug.  

She laughed. “You don’t have to know anything. It’s just nice to run into you again.”

“Literally,” David said. He was actually smiling now, and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was a relief to talk to someone who didn’t know all that he’d been through, all of the things that he’d done. She wasn’t his mother, who hovered too close and made him feel like a butterfly trapped under glass, fragile and something to be contained. She wasn’t Sarah, whose endless patience made him feel like a burden. And she wasn’t Jack or Race or any of the boys, who meant well but didn’t quite know what to do with him.

Maybe it felt good just to be normal. He wasn’t the boy who’d killed his brother—or the boy whose brother had died, depending on who you asked. David knew better.

But just now, it didn’t seem to matter. Jenny smiled back at him, and he could see the soft crinkles at the corners of her green eyes, catching tiny sprays of freckles in their folds. She was really smiling at him. He had gotten so used to the pity in everyone else’s expressions that he was startled at the difference. He didn’t want to look away.

“Where, uh, where were you heading so quickly?” he asked shyly.

She looked startled for a moment, but her smile stayed in place. “Oh! Um, I was just heading to—to the druggist. For my friend. She has a headache, and I wanted to get her some powders before work.”

David was puzzled. “It’s almost noon.”

“Well, you know, before work tomorrow. So she can get some rest tonight,” Jenny replied quickly.

“Where do you work?” he asked. He hadn’t meant to start a conversation, but this was infinitely better than sitting on the pavement and feeling sorry for himself.

“A factory in the Village,” she said evenly. “One of the places that makes readymade pieces. I, uh, need to get her the powders before my lunch break is up. We, uh, board at the factory so it’s hard to get out after.”

David nodded. Sarah had told him about the girls that boarded. They practically lived in the factory—it was easy for the foremen to strongarm them into working longer and harder, since they had no place else to go.

“I don’t want to hold you up,” he said. “I don’t want you to get in trouble or anything.”

Jenny shook her head. “It’s no trouble—I can spare a few minutes before anyone knows I’m gone, and I could use the fresh air.”

“No shortage of that here,” he replied, waving his arms in what he was suddenly sure was an absurd gesture. “I mean—”

She stifled another giggle, biting her lip. “You’re absolutely right. Plenty to go around.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” she replied, but he knew she wasn’t making fun of him. “Where were you headed before?”

“Me?” Davey asked. He panicked. He didn’t know how to answer that question. How did someone explain that they weren’t ‘heading’ anywhere—that they didn’t know where to go or what to do. It would sound completely idiotic if he explained he was waiting for Jack so he would know what to do, and--

“Davey?” Jack was suddenly jogging up the street. He sounded concerned; David immediately felt guilty for making him worry. Again. He looked at his feet. “Are you o—Jen? What are you doing here?”

If David had looked up, he would have seen Jack’s eyes nearly popping out of his head when he saw Jenny and David together. He would have seen the quick and desperate shake of Jenny’s head as she tried to stop Jack from saying something stupid. But he saw neither of these things because he was studying the way his shoelaces were threaded through their grommets.

“I was just heading to the—to the druggist,” Jenny offered, pulling Jack in for a quick hug. “And Davey here practically knocked me down.”

“Well, that’s—” Jack began, but he seemed to be fumbling for words. He put a hand on Davey’s shoulder. “Glad you found him. Race told me he wasn’t feelin’ so well and—”

“I’m fine,” David said, shrugging Jack’s hand away. He hoped that he didn’t sound rude, but he didn’t want Jenny to know that he’d been dumped here. He didn’t want her to think he was pathetic. He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared what she thought, but he did all the same. He looked up from his feet and met Jack’s eyes.

Jack blinked at him. “Uh, okay.”

David glanced at him apologetically. “I mean, Race misunderstood. I’m really okay.”

“He is,” Jenny said. Jack stared at her. “And I should, uh, get going.”

“Yeah. You should get your friend her powders,” David said. He felt triumphant for just a moment. He knew something about Jenny that Jack did not. He had done something on his own.

“But it was nice to see you again, Davey,” Jenny said. She smiled again, and she very definitely did not leave. Next to him, Jack began fidgeting with his hands.

“It was,” David said with a little nod.

“Maybe,” Jenny began. David didn’t see the way that her eyes flitted momentarily to Jack; he was too distracted by the rush of blood in his ears. “Maybe I could see you again? On purpose? We could run into each other without running into each other.”

David froze. She wanted to see him again? And what exactly was she asking of him? Was she allowed to do the asking? What would Mama and Papa say? Where would they do this running in? What would happen when they did? What if—

“Davey?” Jack nudged him. “What do you think?”

He couldn’t have quantified what he thought if he tried.

Instead, he nodded.

Chapter Text

Objectively, Jack knew that preparing Davey for a date was going to be entertaining. He had seen the look on Davey’s face as he nodded his silent assent to Jenny’s request: sheer and total panic. He had half-expected his friend to peal down the street screaming once Jenny left, but Davey had just stood there, blinking, slack-jawed, like he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Jack hadn’t quite believed it himself, and he was part of the reason it was happening at all.

And it was happening.

They had finished selling the morning edition, and Jack had dragged a decidedly green-around-the-gills Davey back to the lodging house for preparations, and, of course, Race and Crutchie had tagged along. A few of the other guys lounged around the bunkroom, casually eavesdropping. Davey going on a date was enough to draw a small crowd.

Davey stood helplessly in front of the washroom mirror and studied his reflection. Jack could see the concern in his friend’s eyes. Davey’s face was still a bit thin and pale, but for the dark circles stamped under his eyes. There was a shadow of stubble on his chin, either because he hadn’t noticed or cared to shave it. He pulled awkwardly at the shoulder seam of his shirt, where the fabric bagged in a way it hadn’t just a few months before. Jack realized that Davey likely had never thought about what anyone else saw when they looked at him. Suddenly, he was trying to see himself through Jenny’s eyes—and he legitimately looked like he might throw up. 

“This was a terrible idea,” Davey said. He kept his eyes on the mirror.

Race muscled in next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. He leaned toward the mirror with a smile, as though he were talking to Davey’s reflection. “You’ll be fine! She asked ya, didn’t she?” He raised his eyebrows and bumped his hip against Davey’s suggestively.

Davey shook his head. “But aren’t I supposed to do the asking?”

“You obviously don’t know Jenny,” Race replied, winking back at Jack. Jack almost laughed, but the look on Davey’s face stopped him.

“No, I don’t,” Davey pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned away from the mirror, leaning dejectedly against the porcelain lip of the sink. “What am I even doing?”

“You’re going to meet a girl for a walk in the park,” Crutchie replied with a supportive smile. “That’s all.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” he moaned.

Race snorted. “Yeah. We know.”

“Not helpful,” Crutchie said through his teeth. He knocked Race in the shin with the tip of his crutch. Race threw up his hands, feigning innocence.  

Jack sighed. He settled himself in front of Davey and put his hands on his friend’s shoulders; Davey’s muscles were knit tightly together. “Dave, you need to calm down.”

Davey closed his eyes and shook his head. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“But you don’t know what you’re doing,” Race put in helpfully. Crutchie raised his crutch, and Race jumped out of his way. “Sorry, I’m sorry. You got this. It’ll be good for you.”

“What if she laughs at me?” Davey asked miserably.

“You ain’t been particularly funny lately,” Jack said lightly.

Davey sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Hey. Dave.” Jack’s hands were still on Davey’s shoulders, and he kneaded them gently with his fingertips; they were still taut as a piano string. Davey looked absolutely terrified. “She ain’t gonna laugh.”

Davey hid his face in his hands. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Jack insisted, giving Davey’s shoulders one more squeeze. “And you should. Have some fun, yeah?”

“He ain’t good at that under normal circumstances,” Race muttered to Crutchie.

“Shut up,” Jack hissed. Hadn’t this all been Race’s idea anyway? It was definitely easier to look at Davey’s ashen face if he blamed all of this on Race.

It seemed like a popular idea; Crutchie glared at Race, and then took the next swing. He flanked Davey’s side and nudged him gently. “Ain’t no harm in letting yourself do something—”

“Fun?” Jack tried.

“Terrifying,” Davey groaned.

Crutchie shook his head. “—do something that ain’t about Les.”

Everything stopped for a moment. Jack and Race looked anywhere but at each other or Davey.

“Oh,” Davey whispered. His shoulders caved forward. Jack gingerly pushed him upright.

“You know what I mean,” Crutchie said seriously. “It’s okay to let yourself go a little, huh?”

“I think what he means is: you need to relax,” Jack put in.  

“I don’t see that happenin’,” Race mumbled with a roll of his eyes.

“Hey!” Davey protested half-heartedly. Jack took advantage of the change in tone.

“Look, Davey. You ain’t gotta marry the girl or anything,” Jack said. Davey’s eyes widened comically. “But there ain’t no harm in meetin’ someone new and seein’ what happens. ‘Specially right now. You…deserve it.”

“Meetin’ new people probably don’t sound too bad. You gotta be sick of listenin’ to these two,” Crutchie said with a wicked smile, using his crutch to gesture at Jack and Race.

Davey nearly smiled. “I might be.”

“Okay; the only way to get ‘em to shut up is if you do this,” Crutchie said with a determined nod. “So, first things first. Lose the tie.”

***

David had been standing alone under the Washington Square Arch for nearly ten minutes.

He had not been alone for long, however.

After Crutchie had approved his outfit—absolutely no tie, and vest “casually” but pointlessly unbuttoned since everything was hidden under the pilled navy wool of his coat—David had been marched from the lodging house across town by a small entourage—Race, Crutchie, Jack, and somehow, Albert, Elmer, and Finch—because the boys insisted that they didn’t trust him to make it on his own.

They may have had a point. He was, at that moment, trying to calculate the odds that he could run the mile back to his tenement without collapsing; he thought he might be able to make it as far as Bleecker and Third before he fell over dead. Anything was preferable to standing alone with a steadily growing pit of existential dread taking root in his gut.

David’s fear existed on several levels.

He’d never been alone with a girl who wasn’t Sarah or Katherine, for one. He was not entirely clear on what Jenny was asking of him, for another. And Crutchie’s words—that he shouldn’t feel badly about doing something that wasn’t about Les—had gone to seed and were ripening into a sharp blossom of guilt that stung in his chest. What was he doing?

Jack had insisted he would be fine, that the whole point of these things—whatever it was he was about to do—was to have fun, to “take a load off” of his mind. He had been strangely intense before the others left; he’d taken David aside twice to make sure he was okay. David hadn’t wanted to disappoint him, so he had just nodded along. But he had felt Jack’s eyes on him as the gaggle of boys retreated. David was sure that Jack thought he was in over his head. And why wouldn’t he? David was a complete idiot.

Les would know what to do. Les, all of eleven, knew what to do with a girl. But Les was gone, and David was standing alone in the park like a lost child.

On second thought, maybe he would fall over dead right here. It would be a relief.

“Davey?” Oh, God. There she was. Jenny.

Objectively, David knew that Sarah was pretty, but she was his sister, and so it wasn’t something he dwelled on. Katherine was certainly beautiful, but in a brassy and self-possessed way that intimidated him a little. Jenny was something else entirely.

She was bundled against the cold, but rather than the kind of smart overcoat Kath would have worn, she had on what looked like a worn-in sailor’s coat, the black wool collar turned up around a bright red scarf, brushing against her cheeks. The sleeves were comically long, and her finger tips were just barely peeking out from under the cuffs.  Sarah’s hair would have been neatly gathered away from her face; Jenny had tried to sweep her dark curls into a pompadour, but tendrils had definitely escaped during her walk. David thought he might want to reach out and touch one. Her face was flushed from the cold, and it somehow made her eager smile seem even warmer than the last time he’d seen it. Sarah’s smiles were reassuring; Katherine’s were buoyant; Jenny’s, new though they were, made him feel seen. 

She strode confidently in his direction, curls flopping, smile creeping across her face—and David knew he wouldn’t be able to escape. His feet felt as though they were bolted to the pavement, which he supposed was good, since his knees were decidedly less stable. He hoped she couldn’t see him wobble.

He took a deep breath. “Um, hi,” he said. Brilliant.

“Hi,” she replied shyly, dipping her chin into the rosy wrap of her scarf. David noticed how long her dark eyelashes were against her windblown cheeks.  

He cleared this throat. “You look—”  

His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Oh God.

Jenny put a comforting hand on his forearm. “Thank you. You look nice too.”

“Thank you,” he repeated. Could she tell his vest was open? He couldn’t think of anything else to say. She was touching him, and his brain had ground to a halt.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked with a cock of her head. She wrinkled her nose. “Should we just stand here, or should we chance a walk?”

“I guess we could… walk?” David replied. He didn’t move.

“Davey?” Jenny’s green eyes were looking up at him, which didn’t necessarily encourage progress.

He managed to locate a response. “Yeah?”

“Would it be okay if I took your arm?” she asked.

“Don’t you already have it?” he asked. Did she not see that her fingers were already wrapped around his arm? What was he missing?

Jenny bit her lip. “No, like this.”

She let go of his forearm and gingerly took him by his coat sleeve, bringing her body close to his side and sliding her hand into the crook of his arm. The cuff of her jacket slipped down as she wrapped her fingers gently around the curve of his elbow, and he noticed that her hands were small and neat. She felt warm and cool all at once. Even through his layers of flannel and wool, David felt his skin prickle.

He suddenly remembered something Les had said after he’d gone out on one of his “dates.” Sarah had been teasing him about his latest paramour, joking about birds singing and stomach butterflies. Les had just looked at her and said, very seriously: “It’s like your heart comes right out your rear-end. That’s how you know she’s a good one.”

David sort of felt like his heart was about to drop out of his rear-end.

Jenny looked up at him expectantly. “So? Walking?”

“Right. Walking,” David replied. He was shocked to find that he could still breathe. “Where to?”

“I think I’d like to go…nowhere in particular,” she said teasingly. “So, let’s start with putting one foot in front of the other.”

Just like that, Davey thought. And it really was. Suddenly, they were moving together, as though they meant to, like they actually knew one another.

Except that they didn’t know one another, not really, and David knew he didn’t deserve to be walking through the park with a beautiful girl, no matter how much he suddenly wanted to. The guilt throbbed in his chest just as sure as his skin had prickled under Jenny’s fingers.

“I’m glad you said yes. You know, to running into each other on purpose,” Jenny said. Her voice was casual, as though she didn’t know that what they were doing was wrong. She snuggled closer into his side, leaning her head just south of his shoulder. It felt wonderful, which was unforgivable.

He pulled away. Strangely, Jenny didn’t look alarmed or offended. She stood, watching him. A tiny crease crept between her eyes as she studied him. Predictably, David fastened his eyes on his feet.

“I’m sorry. I don’t really know how to do this,” he said. He felt the phantom pressure of her hand on his arm and wished that she was still holding onto him.  

Jenny shook her head. “You’re fine.”

“I just—I’ve never—” he sputtered. The words were stuck in his throat. No one’s ever made me feel this way. I don’t deserve to feel this way. You don’t know what I’ve done. Please touch me again.

“It’s all right. I understand,” Jenny replied. She was so calm. Shouldn’t she be angry with him? Wasn’t he letting her down?

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” David said to his feet. He heard Jenny sigh, and he knew she was going to leave.

But she didn’t. Instead, she came closer to him. He looked up.

She was self-consciously twisting one of her curls around her finger. “Davey, I—look, I know.”

He stared at her, not understanding. She didn’t meet his eye for a moment.

She sighed again. When she looked at him, his stomach dropped. She was looking at him just the way everyone else did. “About your brother.”

David swayed. Of course. “Oh.”

“Jack and Race told me,” she said quietly.

David wasn’t accustomed to feeling angry—or at least, he wasn’t accustomed to showing it. Even Before, he knew better than to let anyone see the feelings that might annoy them or send them running in the other direction. He was too afraid of losing what little he had to risk showing what he really felt. Sometimes, that hurt. Sometimes, it was really difficult. Now, with Jenny’s eyes locked on his face in sympathy, was not one of those times.

He was livid. His blood rushed to his face, and his chest tightened against a scream that seemed to be ripping up from inside; he clenched his jaw to keep it from spilling out.

He couldn’t believe they’d told her. When had they even seen her? After the show they’d put on to get him here—

Unfortunately, all that came out was a strangled, “Oh.”

Jenny was still staring at him, but she didn’t move. She raised her chin a little, locking her eyes with his. “I hope you’re not angry,” she began.

“I’m not.” He was, and he had the distinct feeling she knew that.  

“—but I think they were trying to protect you,” she finished. She looked at him expectantly.  

David scoffed. His hands balled themselves into fists. How was this protecting him?

“Please don’t be mad,” Jenny said. She closed the gap between them. For a moment, she hesitated, but then he felt her hands, cold, warm, soft, small, on either side of his face.

He took in a shaky breath and turned his head; her hands stayed put. “I said I’m not.”

Her thumb brushed his cheekbone. “You seem like you might be.”

“I might be,” David conceded. He sighed, closing his eyes. “But not at you.”

Her hands slipped to his shoulders. “Don’t be angry at them either. They had a reason.”

“What? So that you’d look at me the way they all do?” he spat.

“How do you think they look at you?”

“Like—” he floundered. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he knew there was a difference. That Jack and the others thought he was pathetic. That no one trusted him to make his own choices, sell his own papers, eat his own meals, choose his own routes. Nothing. It was humiliating. Particularly when he was standing in front of a girl that he thought might just see him as he wanted to be.

Jenny shook her head. “They weren’t trying to warn me or anything. Not about you anyway.”

“I don’t understand.”  

“They thought that I might be able to help,” she said.

Her hands were still on his shoulders, and David sloughed them off. “I don’t need help. You don’t even know me. And you don’t—”

She bit her lip. “Understand? I do.”

He wanted to scream. “You can’t—”

She put her hand on his arm again, forcing him to look at her. “Do you know how Jack and Race ended up with the newsies?”

He shook his head. “I don’t really see—”

“My brother. Danny.”

“All right?”

Her voice wavered. “Danny is why they told me. About your brother.”

“Les,” he whispered.

“About Les.” It felt so strange to hear his name from unfamiliar lips. He could feel his anger giving way even as the park started to spin around him.

“Don’t you want to know why?” he heard her ask.

“I—you don’t have to do this for me—”

“I’m not doing anything for you,” she seemed agitated, but he didn’t know how to anchor himself and didn’t know what to say. “I’m trying to explain why Jack and Race—”

“Betrayed me,” he muttered to himself.

Her hand squeezed his arm, not exactly tenderly. “—why they thought I might want to know. Because Danny died. When we were kids. Jack was there.” Jenny’s voice was pinched, and David thought she sounded angry. She had every right to be, of course.

“Oh.” He fell immediately back to earth. “Oh.”

Jenny let his arm go and wrapped her own arms around herself. “Yeah.”

David felt nauseous, his anger starting to recede and replacing itself with deep embarrassment. Jenny looked so small, dwarfed by her enormous coat, her pink fingertips desperately gripping at the folds of black wool. He knew he couldn’t do what he wanted to—he didn’t know Jenny well enough to wrap her in his arms and pull her to him, and why would she let him now? He hadn’t known, no one had told him—because, apparently, no one told him anything anymore—so why did he feel so stupid?

He forced himself to say something. “Jenny? I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she said with a decisive nod, as though she were reminding herself of something. She relaxed the slightest bit. “You didn’t know.”

He took a step toward her, but his legs felt like cement. “Do you want—”

She studied him thoughtfully, pursing her lips. She didn’t move any closer, and David felt himself begin to sweat. Then, she took a breath. “I can talk about it. It’s been a long time. And I think you might understand.”

He looked at her with wide eyes.

Jenny sighed—probably annoyed with him, he was sure—but she closed the space between them anyway. This time, she didn’t take his arm. Instead, she laced her fingers through his. He inhaled sharply, but he let her guide him toward a bench. He’d almost forgotten they were in the middle of the park.

She loosed his hand as they sat down, and David immediately wished she hadn’t. However, she’d already stuffed her hands in her coat pockets. She looked at her knees for a moment, and then she faced him deliberately. “I want to tell you about Danny. And then, if you think you’re ready, you can tell me. About Les.”

There was that feeling Les had mentioned again.

He took a deep breath. What else could he do? “Okay.”

She didn’t look at him while she spoke. Instead, her eyes were fixed right in front of them, as though she could conjure the memories for a command performance. “We never really had folks. It was always just me and Danny, and he took care of us. When I was little, we lived in the same building as Jack and Racer, but we didn’t even have our own apartment. Danny joined up with the newsies before I can even remember, and he paid so that we could have a corner in the McCormicks’ place. I know it sounds awful—”

“Not so awful.” David knew. He remembered the first place the family had stayed when they got to America. It was derelict and filthy, and all of them, including infant Les, had shared one room and one dirty mattress. His parents had turned it into a game—the mattress was their tratwa, their raft, in the middle of a rolling sea; every rat or cockroach was an opportunity to learn a new Angielski word. He’d felt safe, so safe that he’d never even noticed how terrified his parents must have been. He hadn’t thought about it in a long time.

“Then you know,” Jenny said with a small smile. “It didn’t matter, because we were together.”

“Yeah,” David said. He thought about Sarah, her hair in long brown braids, throwing Les into the air; Mama would laugh at Les’ gurgles, and David would snuggle in closer to his father. Their raft stayed afloat.

Jenny’s voice lured him out of the memory. “He helped Jack out when his mama died. Took him to the lodging house, showed him what to do. And when Race’s ma… well, he helped Race find a place too. Danny would’ve been what Jack is. All the boys looked up to him, and the ones that didn’t knew better than to cross him.”

She sounded desperately proud. Like he was of Les.

“I—it was five years ago. I’d gone with him to sell—he used to take me every so often. Jack was with us. Danny was so quick. I mean, you know how Race moves?”

David nodded. He leaned a little closer to her. Her voice was even and clear, but he was on tenterhooks waiting for the blow.

“He was like that. Just couldn’t help himself. He liked being in the most crowded spots because he wanted to see how fast he could weave through everyone, like it was a game.”

David could almost picture it.

Jenny stopped for a moment. She looked away from the mental stage she’d set and, instead, looked right at David. “He saw a regular on the other side of the street, and he…he thought he could beat the trolley.”

David winced, and his stomach clenched. “Jenny—”

“So, you can imagine,” she said simply. As though whatever he’d imagine didn’t include blood, and screams, and, oh God. He tried not to picture Jenny, her hair probably in braids like Sarah’s, standing on the corner and seeing it all for real. He hadn’t seen with Les. He hadn’t known what was happening. He couldn’t imagine.

He took a shaky breath. “What did—”

She shrugged. “Jack got me out of there. I don’t remember a lot about it. I’ve—I’ve worked to forget.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to him. “How long did it take you?”

“What?” Jenny asked, looking at him curiously. She was remarkably at ease, which somehow made David feel better and worse at the same time.

He ducked his head a little. “To forget?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, she looked at him, hard. “Do you think you want to?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. And he didn’t. Before, when he could choose his memories like a volume from a library, they’d brought him solace in difficult moments. After, it was unpredictable. He might remember the raft game and feel happy for a moment—and then he would realize that he wasn’t safe anymore. Remembering Les was particularly complicated.

Jenny seemed to understand. Of course she did. “I think that’s okay too.”

“I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “About Danny.” As though she didn’t know. Idiot.  

“Thank you,” she replied. Her eyes were dry, and they were locked on his.

“Do you want to—”

Les. He was supposed to talk about Les now. He shut his eyes. “I—I don’t know.”

She scooched a little closer to him and put a hand on his knee. “Have you talked to anyone? To Jack?”

“No,” he said definitively.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because it isn’t like what happened to your brother.”

“I don’t understand.”

He could feel the tension starting to radiate from the center of his chest, and he hunched over his knees. Jenny drew back her hand but kept her eyes on his face. He could practically feel them burning into his temple. “Yours—it was an accident.”

She looked confused. “Yes. But I—”

David shook his head, rocking forward. “What happened to Les… it was my fault.” Of course he hadn’t told Jack or Race or Crutchie or any of them about this. Their sympathy was bad enough; their rage would be worse. They would never forgive him. They should never forgive him.

“Oh, Davey.” Her voice was so soft.  She didn’t say anything else, just waited for him to go on.

And he did. Somehow, he couldn’t stop himself. “Because I was at school. I got sick. I thought it was just because I was tired or I was cooped up inside with all those other boys. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know how sick I was until I was. And Mama didn’t realize. I can’t remember much—because of the fevers—but it was so hard to breathe. And Les was there. We shared a bed, and Mama didn’t know—”

He was shaking and his breath came faster and faster. Tears were damming at the back of his eyes, but there was no way he could stop them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jenny give a conciliatory nod to a staring passerby. He must look crazy.  

“The money. For the doctor and the medicine. They spent it on me, because they were so worried, and I—I don’t know, I don’t know—but then there wasn’t any for Les when he got sick, and I—” he was choking on his own sobs now. He had a vague notion that they were in public, and you weren’t supposed to do these kinds of things in public. Jenny must have had the same notion, because he felt her arms wrap around him. She shushed him gently.  She would tell Jack and Race. She would tell them that Les had died because David had lived, and they would never forgive him.

His chest heaved, and Jenny’s arms tightened around him. The words fell out before he could stop them. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I don’t even remember what the last thing I said to him was.”

“I don’t either,” he thought he heard her say.

There was an excruciating pause. David tried to collect himself, and Jenny didn’t let him go.  

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you it wasn’t your fault?” she said finally.

He buckled forward again. “No. It was my job to keep him safe, and if it weren’t for me—”

Her hands were on either side of his face again. She forced him to look at her. “People get sick, Davey. There are accidents. But it isn’t anyone’s fault.”

David stared at her helplessly. “How do you know?”

She shrugged and dropped her hands. “I don’t. But it’s easier than guilt.”

“I deserve guilt,” he said, more to himself than to Jenny. It wasn’t the kind of thing you were supposed to say out loud, but he was currently past the point of caring.

“You don’t,” Jenny said. She sounded angry. “I know I don’t know you—” he scoffed “—but you don’t. I can tell how much you loved him. When you love that hard, you can’t blame yourself. You would never do anything to hurt someone you love that much. None of us would.”

“But I—”

She softened. “You miss your brother.”

He nodded. They were quiet again, and David tried to steady his breathing—he noticed a beat cop watching them with concern. Jenny put her hand over his without saying anything. He let her.

He did miss Les. He would always miss Les. But he didn’t know how to convince himself that what happened wasn’t his fault. If it wasn’t his fault, why had it happened at all? Yes, Jenny was right, there were accidents—but it still felt like something that had happened on purpose.

But Jenny seemed to have the answers. And she did seem to understand.

Maybe she wouldn’t sell him out after all. He had told her, and she was still sitting next to him, almost holding his hand.

He took another deep breath. “What did you do—after?”

“I didn’t have much time to think about it. But Jack was there. And Race. They helped me find my feet,” she replied matter-of-factly. He could hear the fondness in her voice.

“They…I think they’re trying to do that for me too,” David said. The words were slow, as though he were trying to convince himself.

Jenny nodded. She squeezed his hand. “You just have to let them.”

“I hadn’t told anyone any of that. Not even Jack.”

“I know. He’d beat some sense into you if you had. But I think maybe you should. He’s a good listener. So is Race, if you can get him to sit still for a minute.”

David cracked a smile. “Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a moment. With his free hand, David self-consciously wiped away the evidence of his tears; Jenny nodded politely at the beat cop, who was still watching them from nearby. The cop winked at her before he walked away.

Jenny watched the policeman’s retreating back. “Davey?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here.” And there was that smile again.  

“I…I am too.”

“You sound surprised.” There was the hint of a laugh in her voice, but he knew she wasn’t laughing at him. She looked down at their hands and decisively threaded her fingers through his.

“I haven’t been glad to be anywhere for a while,” he said.  

“I think it’s less about the place.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

And suddenly, he felt nauseous again—but for an entirely different reason.  

“Jenny?” he whispered.

She looked up from their intertwined hands.

“Could I--?” he leaned forward uncertainly.

“Yes.”  

And then, David kissed her.

Chapter Text

Jack sucked at the end of his cigarette, flaring his nostrils as he took a drag. The paper was flimsy, and bits of cheap tobacco tickled the inside of his cheek. When he blew out the smoke, his breath followed in a chilly cloud. Winter was definitely creeping closer. It was hard to believe that it was already November.

It was also hard to believe that Davey had already been back for nearly three weeks. Davey had been back for nearly three weeks, and Jack had barely seen him. They sold together, yes, but Davey was quick to beg off between editions so that he could be with Jenny, which was, Jack reminded himself, the point of introducing them. He just didn’t think the plan would work quite this well—or quite this quickly.

In truth, Davey did seem a little better. He was getting stronger every day. Jack even caught him smiling to himself every so often, and his words were slowly returning to him.

It just seemed that Davey didn’t have as many words for Jack as he used to. 

Right then, for instance. He didn’t even know where Davey was. It had been a slow morning, the first real cold snap keeping folks in front of their fireplaces and off of the streets. Once they figured they were bust, Jack had headed for the distribution center to sell back his surplus, and he had assumed Davey was behind him, the way he normally would be. He’d turned to say something to Davey, and no one was there.

He knew that he should just be happy that Davey was doing better. That should be enough. But somehow, it didn’t feel like it was.

Jack shivered and took another drag.

“So, I think we done good.”    

What Jack had found at the distribution center was Race, who looked smug and entirely too satisfied. They sat on the cement steps, the cold concrete biting through the seats of their pants.

Jack blew his smoke toward Race. “Huh?”

Race rolled his eyes and fanned the smoke away from him. “For Davey.”

“Do you think?”

“Did you see them just now?”

He had not. Jack groaned inwardly but merely raised his eyebrows at Race. “Jenny was here again?”

“I know! Feels like it’s been almost every day lately. I saw her eatin’ his face a few blocks back,” Race replied with glee.

Well, that was graphic. It also explained what had happened to Davey. “Race.”

“The girl’s got technique,” Race said appreciatively.  

Jack did not need the reminder. “Race.”

Race couldn’t be tamed. He slapped Jack’s chest with the back of his hand. “And Davey looked like he knew what he was doin’. And I saw him smile yesterday. Twice.”

“He does seem like he’s been a little better,” Jack conceded begrudgingly.   

“A little? I mean, no, he ain’t exactly dancin’ a jig, but c’mon, Jackie! He’s walkin’, he’s talkin’, he’s sold a few papes on his own. We done it!” Race rolled backward on the steps, kicking his legs like an upended cockroach. Jack would have squashed him if he could.  

“Well, technically, Jenny’s done it,” he said flatly.

Race shook his head. “But we came up with the plan.”

“I don’t need credit. You came up with the plan.”

“I did, didn’t I?” said Race. He raised his eyebrows devilishly.

Jack rolled his eyes and pushed off the step, pitching his cigarette away. “Yeah, well, don’t break your arm pattin’ yourself on the back.”

Race sat up. “What’s wrong with you? I figured you’d be over the moon about this. Davey’s doin’ better.”

“I am,” Jack replied. He spat a few errant tobacco fragments on the pavement.  

“Could’a fooled me,” Race said. He didn’t look directly at Jack.

“It ain’t that hard to fool you,” Jack said flippantly.

Race’s brow furrowed. “Hey, now.”

Jack sighed. “Sorry, Racer.”

Race waved his cigar magnanimously, and Jack flopped onto the stair next to him.

“You’re right,” Jack said. He reclined back on his elbows and did his best to sound nonplussed. “We done good. I just…ain’t used to seein’ Davey with a girl. ‘Specially not one I’ve known my entire life.”

Race snorted. “You ain’t used to sharin’ Davey is what you mean.”

Well, that was unfair. And possibly a little too close to the truth. Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

“Jack Kelly!”

Oh, shit. Katherine. She stomped through the distribution gates, auburn hair bouncing with each step and her gaze trained on Jack like a sniper. The green velvet sash of her hat was knotted firmly under her chin, and the artificial dove perched on top of the straw brim leered at him. He hadn’t seen her in a few days, and this did not appear as though it was going to be a particularly fond reunion.

Race immediately shot up. “Shit. Ah, I gotta go see a guy about a horse.”

“What? You can’t leave me with her!” Jack gripped desperately at the back of Race’s coat. He tried not to make any sudden movements.

“She’s your girl,” Race said, tugging furiously at his jacket. Katherine was practically on top of them.

Jack looked at his approaching girlfriend and bared his teeth in an awkward smile and wiggled the fingers of his free hand in a piss-poor attempt at a casual wave; he held fast to Race’s coat with the other. “Race!” he hissed through his teeth.

Race shook him off and bolted. “See ya later, cowboy!”

Katherine halted her advance for a moment, watching Race’s escape with narrowed eyes. Jack gulped as she turned back to him.  Whatever this was, it was not going to be good.

“You need to explain to me why I saw David Jacobs kissing a human female.”

Jack’s stomach flipped. It was inevitable, he supposed, that Katherine would find out about Davey and Jenny—especially since one them was apparently prone to “eating” the other’s face at any given moment, regardless of location or circumstance. What Katherine couldn’t know was how he figured in to any of this.

Jack’s mind sped through his available options. He’d had plenty of practice at bailing himself out of tight spots, and this was no exception. “You want he should kiss a lady dog?” He grinned at her. That should do it.

Katherine’s face hardened. “Oh, I’d advise against jokes right now.” She took another step toward him.

Jack fell back, eyes wide. “Um—”

She poked her lace-covered finger at his chest, nailing his third button hard against his breastbone. “Let me restate: why was Davey kissing a girl? More importantly, who was Davey kissing?”

“Where—” he began, but Katherine’s eyes flashed, and he immediately shut his mouth.

“Just now in front of Jacobi’s. And that is not what I asked.”

Maybe it was best just to agree. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, what?” Katherine snapped.

Jack spoke slowly. “You saw him kissin’ a girl.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that I saw him kissing a girl. What I don’t know is why or who, and I know that you know both of these things.”

“So many questions. You a reporter or something?” Jack said. He tried to sound flip, but he was terrified Katherine would see right through him.

She absolutely did. “You are not adorable right now.”

He shrugged. “Right now. I can work with that.” He took a chance and tried to wrap his arms around her.

She reached up and flicked the side of his head before he knew what had happened. “Please. Continue pushing.”

Jack took another step back, and his heels ran into the stair. He fell backward and abruptly sat down, raising his hands in defeat. “It’s Jenny. He was kissin’ Jenny.”

“Jenny?” Katherine blinked.  

“Me and Race’s friend? You met her the one time,” he mumbled, hoping she might not remember.  

No such luck; she didn’t look pleased, and she was absolutely not thrown off the scent.  “Which begs the second question?”

“Why?” Jack asked innocently.

“Quick boy,” Katherine said. He almost expected her to pat him on the head. Instead, she doubled-down and leaned closer to his face. “Yes, why?”

 “Because they’ve been seein’ each other?” Jack replied. He tried to slide further back, but the concrete stair caught his tailbone with a jolt.

“Is that a question?” Katherine asked, her tone curt. Jack felt like he was back in catechism with Sister Mary Theresa breathing down his neck.

“No?” he said hesitantly.

“They’ve been seeing each other?” she parroted his words, emphasizing each one like a hammer hitting a nail. Jack flinched.

“Yes?” he replied.

“They’ve been seeing each other for how long?”

Jack fumbled. “…a couple weeks?” He braced himself.

Katherine pursed her lips so tightly that they nearly disappeared. “Excuse me?”

“They’ve been seein’ each other for a couple’a weeks,” he repeated, studying his fingernails with manufactured intensity.  

He heard Katherine exhale. “Davey doesn’t see people.” She suddenly sat down next to him on the stair, shaking her head.  

“Looks like he do now.”

“Why exactly am I finding out about this now?” she poked him in the ribs.

“Because you just saw them?” Jack said helplessly.

“That,” Katherine said, “is beside the point. You should have told me.”

Jack thumbed at his nose. “You been busy.”

She nudged him with her shoulder; it was the gentlest touch she’d delivered so far. “I have seen you at least four times in the last two weeks.”

“Yeah.”

“And we’ve discussed Davey each and every one of those times.”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me about this.”

He shrugged. “Slipped my mind.”

Rightly, Katherine was wholly unconvinced. “Do you see this hat pin, Jack? Do you know what I could do with this hat pin?” Her voice was dripping with false sweetness.

Jack snorted good-naturedly. “Buy a guy dinner first.”

“I swear to everything holy—”

“All right, all right! I was afraid you’d be mad. Can’t think why,” he said sarcastically.  

“I am not mad,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Jack rolled his eyes. “You just threatened to stab me with a hat pin.”

“That’s not out of the ordinary,” Katherine pointed out.

“Fair.”

Jack chanced putting his arm around her. Katherine reluctantly leaned into him, snuggling her shoulder under his arm and leaning her head against him. Even though it meant that he ended up with feathers in his face, Jack much preferred holding her to being interrogated. He ducked under the brim of her hat and pressed his lips to her cheekbone. She bristled a little, but he saw her smile. Good. Maybe he could relax.

“So, Davey has been seeing this girl—”

No such luck.

“—Jenny—”

He could almost hear her roll her eyes. “—Jenny for two weeks. And now they are kissing. In public places.”

Jack did not point out that he and Katherine had kissed plenty of times in many public places. He valued his life more than making a point, and so he kept his eyes forward. “That’d be it.”

“The last time I saw him he could barely stand on his own. He wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone,” Katherine said softly.  

He held her tighter. “Yeah?”

“How do you go from one to the other in two weeks?” she asked. This time, she wasn’t haranguing him; she sounded genuinely curious.  

“Luck?” Jack replied. Or two friends who don’t know when to keep their ideas to themselves.

Katherine leaned backward so that she could see his face. She rested her hands on his hips. “How did this even happen? What did you do?”

“What did I do?!” Jack said, putting a hand over his heart in mock offense. How did she always know?

“She’s your friend,” Katherine replied. She made it sound like a crime. Jack supposed she’d probably think it was if she knew the full story. “You must have something to do with it.”

“And Race don’t?” Jenny was half-Race’s, as far as Jack was concerned; if he was going down, he wasn’t going down alone.

“Oh,” she said with an ironic chuckle. “I’ll get to him later. Right now, I’m asking you.”

“I’m sorry, what’re you askin’?” he said. He grinned at her, but his heart felt like it was beating out of his chest.

Katherine was not amused. “I will murder you in your sleep.”

He leaned toward her confidentially. “You’d have to sleep with m—”

Her hands were still on his hips, and before he realized what was happening, she yanked roughly at the waistband of his pants. His seam sliced upward against his groin, and Katherine didn’t flinch when he stifled a cry. “Walk that back.”

Jack nodded furiously. “Yes, ma’am.”

Katherine released her hold, satisfied. She fluttered her eyelashes at him, as though she weren’t a cold-blooded thug in girls’ clothing. He was clearly going to have to give her something to get her off his back.  

He shimmied his pants back down to their original position without looking at Katherine. “You remember the day that Race left Davey in front a’ the butcher’s?”

She scoffed.

“Okay, yeah—you do. That butcher ain’t far from where Jen lives. She was out on an errand, and she ran into Davey before I got there.” That sounded entirely reasonable, and so far as Davey knew, that’s exactly what had happened. If Davey and Katherine were on the same page, they just might be able to pull this off—although it was hard for Jack to remember exactly what he’d been trying to achieve just then.

“Hmm,” was her only response. Her steepled fingers rested against her lips.

“’Hmm,’ what?” Jack asked nervously.

“Nothing,” Katherine said archly. She swept her hand in front of him. “Continue.”

“That’s it,” Jack said.

“What do you mean ‘that’s it?’”

“I mean that’s your whole story,” he replied. Better to keep it simple—and technically accurate. “They ran into each other, they talked, they decided to spend some more time together. Here we are.”

“Hmm,” she said again.

Jack groaned. “I don’t like it when you do that.”

Katherine shrugged in protest. “I’m just thinking.”

“Don’t overheat,” he mumbled. She glared at him, reaching for her hatpin again, and he scooted a little further away from her. Katherine shook her head incredulously.

“And you’re all right with this?” she asked.  

Jack sniffed and rolled his shoulder. He wasn’t sure how ‘all right with this’ he really was, but, now that she knew, he was committed to making Katherine believe that he was all in. “’Course. She’s my friend, he’s my friend, he was sad, he’s a little less sad now, and kissin’ is fun.” He risked wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She didn’t bite. “And that explanation is satisfactory to you?”

He pushed off of the stair so he was standing above her. Maybe having the high ground would make the conversation slightly less torturous. “Yes?” he said with about as much certainty as if he were taking an exam on Greek literature.

“How well do you know this girl?” Katherine stood on the stair, and now she had the advantage. The dove on her hat was staring at Jack with its glassy eyes.  

Jack tried not to shift his feet. “Pretty well.”

“And you trust her with Davey?” she asked soberly.

That was the question. Did he trust Jenny with Davey?

He had known Jenny longer than Davey, that much was certain. Jenny was a reminder of everything he’d left behind when he left the old block. She was a little coarse and hardscrabble, but she knew the Jack who had held his mama’s hand on the way to mass; who had played elaborate games of cowboys and Indians on the roof; who had cried bitterly in her wiry arms when he realized his mama was going to die. He knew the Jenny who would dig through trashcans for scrap metal, haul it to the junk man for a few precious pennies, and then show up on the street corner with sweet buns for him and Race and Danny; who wandered through the streets singing drinking songs at the top of her tiny lungs without shame; who refused to ask for help even when she needed it most.

Jack didn’t really know Jenny as she was now. He knew Davey better.

He knew that Davey cared too much about everything, that he was easily hurt and that his mind was never still. Davey’s thoughts would stack up like bricks in a wall, trapping him behind, and sometimes Jack didn’t know how to get through that wall to help him. Now, for instance.

And maybe that was why he was mad or conflicted or whatever the hell he was—because Jenny had already succeeded where Jack had not. She had gotten through the wall almost without trying. Or at least it seemed like she had. Should it matter so much that it wasn’t him that did it? Nothing was supposed to have gotten this far in the first place. How could she have gotten that far when she was just  pretending? Was she pretending? Could he trust her with Davey?

“I do,” Jack replied, trying more to convince himself than Katherine.

“Hmm,” was her immediate response.

He dragged his hands down his face, pulling at the skin of his cheeks with a moan. “Oh, for the love of God.”

Katherine laughed at him. “I suppose I can handle it,” she said. She moved closer and looped her hands behind his neck.

“You can?” Jack asked, dumbfounded. He didn’t know if he could handle it now, but somehow Katherine had adjusted to the idea in the blink of an eye. He didn’t know anything anymore.  

She pecked quickly at his lips. “Yes, if you say she’s trustworthy, then I can handle his seeing her,” she said imperiously.  

He rolled his eyes. “Well, how big of you.”

Katherine grinned. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Kath—” Jack began. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, whether he wanted to reassure her—and himself—or whether he wanted her to reconsider her support. Nothing felt quite right.

“He seemed happy,” she said. She cocked her head, and the doves glared at him. “Well, happier.”

“He is,” Jack said softly. And he was. Davey was doing better. Right? That was all that should matter.

“Good. And if she hurts him,” Katherine leaned in to whisper in his ear, kissing his cheek as she went. “I’ll kill you.”

Shit.  He had to do something about this, before it got out of hand.

***

Davey had found him just before the evening edition. He looked sheepish, but not exactly miserable; his lips were bee stung and pink, and he’d apologized for not telling Jack where he was. The hazy look on Davey’s face should have made Jack happy; instead, he was annoyed. Jack made some off-handed comment about not being Davey’s mother and told him it was no big deal. And then, he had suggested that Davey take his half of the evening edition and see if he could find Race; Jack had to take care of something.

Davey didn’t ask any questions, but Jack could see the wheels turning in his head. Let them, for now. Jack shoved his papes in his bag and took off toward the Bowery.

He didn’t know what the hell he was going to say, but he had to talk to Jenny. He supposed he wanted to know her intentions toward Davey, but he couldn’t ask that—not unless he was planning on pledging Davey’s hand in exchange for a goat and a pair of candlesticks, which he certainly was not. But Katherine knew now, and she seemed to think what was happening was real. Jack had to know if it was.

The iron bars of the fire escape were blistering cold against his bare hands; he’d have to remember to throw his gloves in his pocket tomorrow. He paused at her window, checking to make sure she was alone. He figured he still had a little time before she started business for the evening, but better safe than sorry.

Jenny was stretched out on her bed, paging through a ladies’ magazine. She was lying on her stomach, stockinged feet waving awkwardly in the air and dark curls gathered in a ribbon at the nape of her neck.  Jack was relieved to see that she had a kimono covering up her undergarments this time. He rapped their childhood rhythm against the windowpane.

Jenny craned her head over her shoulder, and a smile spread across her face when she saw him. She rolled off the bed and threw open the window, wincing a little at the cold. She helped him over the sill and into her room, shutting the window behind him. “Jack!”

Out of habit, Jack wrapped her in his arms. “Heya Jen.” She squeezed him tightly in return.

When they withdrew, Jenny looked up at him with a wicked grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jack snorted. “To what do you owe the pleasure?”

“What? It’s a thing people say!” she replied. She was bare-faced and rosy, damp locks curling around her face, just like the little girl he’d grown up with—Jack figured she must have just gotten out of the bath. And she looked so damn happy.

“Do they?” he asked absently.

“Well, I just said it to you, so yes, I’d say they do,” Jenny replied with a giggle. She flopped back on her bed, rolling onto her side and cradling her head in her hand. She gestured for Jack to sit on the vanity stool, and he obliged. “So, why are you here?”

Jack unbuttoned his coat, suddenly warm. “Just wanted to check in. See how it’s goin’. With Davey.” He pulled awkwardly at the knee of his threadbare pants.

Jenny sighed happily. “Did you see him today?” Her eyes had the same obnoxious far-off look that Davey’s had had when he’d left him. Jack bit his lip. It was rapidly becoming clear to him that he’d missed his opportunity to keep this from getting out of hand.

“Just left him with Race so I could come talk to you,” Jack said. He didn’t offer any further explanation.

Jenny blinked. “Oh. I was just hoping he was doing all right.” Clearly, Davey and Jenny had not had much time for conversation earlier.

“It seems he is,” Jack said without embellishment.

“Oh,” she said again. Her brow furrowed, and she looked at him nervously for a moment. She opened her mouth as though to ask a question, but she suddenly shook her head.

There was a knock at the door, and a woman’s shrill voice came in from the hall. “Hey, Jen! Probably another half-hour, aw’right?”

“All right!” she called, sitting up. She looked deliberately at Jack, as if she were daring him to say something. He didn’t. “I’m going to get ready while we talk, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. He watched as Jenny slid off the bed and opened a trunk at its foot. “So, how is it goin’ with him?”

She looked up from the tangle of clothes. Her voice was soft, but Jack couldn’t mistake its warmth. “Good. It’s really good. You don’t think he seems better?”

“No, I do. He’s a lot better,” Jack said quickly. Jenny nodded pertly and went back to digging in the trunk. “That’s actually why I came.”

“Hmm?” Her head was practically submerged in fabric. Perfect. He wouldn’t have to look at her face.

“I just wanted to tell you that you can lay off now. He’s doin’ better.”

Her head bobbed up immediately. “What?”

“Yeah. I mean, the plan worked. You don’t have to worry anymore.” He tried to smile encouragingly.

Jenny shook her head, pulling a faded crimson skirt from the trunk. She balled it up in her hands. “I thought the point was to help him. I’m doing that.”

“To help distract him,” Jack said pointedly.

 “What’s the difference?” She stood and dropped her kimono. She pulled the skirt over her head, and turned to Jack expectantly. “Would you?”

He nodded, moving to button her up. He tried not to be bothered by the fact that she wasn’t wearing a shirtwaist. “Jen, this wasn’t supposed to be—”

She stepped away as he fastened the last button, spinning to face him. “What? Wasn’t supposed to be what?” Her tone was dangerous.

“I—” he began stupidly, eyes darting around the room.

She was flushed from her exposed chest to the tips of her ears. “No, really. Help me out here. What was this supposed to be?”

“Jenny—”

She pushed past him disgustedly and sat down on the vanity stool. “Do you enjoy lying to Davey?” She caught his eye in the mirror.

She’d hit him where it hurt. “What? No, I—”

“Because that’s what this would be,” she said matter-of-factly, undoing her hair ribbon and raking her fingers through her curls.

“Would be?” he asked. “It ain’t that now?” He was legitimately lost.

“No,” she said. “It isn’t at all.”

He shook his head. “How do you figure?”

She didn’t turn to face him. “Because I like him, Jack.”

And there it was. “You can’t,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Why can’t I?” She picked up her kohl pencil and started to line her eyes.

Jack wanted to scream. How could she not understand? “Because you’re—” He fumbled for the right thing to say.

“Because I’m a whore?” she asked quietly, the kohl still moving smoothly across her eyelid.  

Yes, he thought, and it broke his heart. “Jenny, no. That’s not what I—”

She slammed the kohl down on the vanity top and whirled to face him. “No, really. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? That Jenny spreads her legs—” and the bell of her skirt widened as she drew her knees apart.

Jack looked away. “—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—"

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Don’t get cute about this. You don’t think I’m good enough for him.”

“No, that’s not it at all, but I—I—” he stammered. This was not how he had seen this going.

“You what, Jack?”  she spat at him.

“I—you’re plenty good.”

“Wow. You sold that,” she scoffed.  

“C’mon, Jen.”

“No, I want to know what your problem is. We’ve known each other a long time; you know me. And I know you love Davey. You wouldn’t have asked me to do this if you didn’t. What is so wrong about the two of us—”

She was right—he did love Davey, and Jack wanted so badly to believe that he could trust her with him when Race came up with this ridiculous plan. But sitting in her room put everything in stark relief. He could hear voices and footsteps in the hall, and not all of them belonged to the other girls; he noticed the package of French letters on her night table; and when he looked at Jenny, really looked at her, he saw what she was now. Her kohl-rimmed eyes hung over dark circles, and even in the lamplight, he could see the faint marks of other men’s fingers at the small of her throat and on her slender arms. Yes, the girl he knew was still in there, but he didn’t know how to bring her back. If Davey saw this, saw her like this, it would gut him. It certainly gutted Jack.

“Jenny, he ain’t ready,” he said simply. It seemed like the safe explanation. Davey had been hurt, and he was too fragile to get hurt anymore. Case closed.

Jenny shook her head furiously. “You need to make up your mind. You want me to distract him, but saints preserve us if we have actual feelings for each other.”

“You can’t—” he tried helplessly.

“Can’t what, Kelly?” she sneered, challenging him. That got Jack’s back up. He was just trying to do the right thing. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t understand?

“Don’t crawl up my butt about lyin’ to him,” he snapped.

“Such manners,” she rolled her eyes again.

Jack set his jaw, gritting his teeth. If that’s how they were going to play it, he was going to play for keeps. He’d never let Jenny best him before, and he wasn’t going to start now. “You know what I mean. You don’t think you’re lyin’ to him?”

“I—” she faltered.

Jack knew exactly how to twist the knife. “Because he don’t know what you do. What’ve you told him about why you can’t see him at night?” He spread his arms wide and gestured around the room.

“Stop it,” Jenny whispered fiercely.

He was on a roll. “No, really. What do you say? Because if he knew—”

She stepped closer to him. “I told you to stop.”

“He ain’t never been with a girl before. Did he tell you that?” Jack asked.

“It doesn’t take a genius to see—”

“And he thinks you’re an angel. He don’t know that—”

“Jack,” she said warningly. He knew without looking that her hand was balled in a fist, and he didn’t care. They were standing face to face, but Jack had a good few inches on her—something he hadn’t had when they were kids. “Whattaya gonna do? Hmm?”

Jenny glared at him, but she didn’t back down. And then he saw the angry tears glinting against the whites of her eyes.

He sighed. “I know you ain’t had a lot of luck. I know that there ain’t a lot of other choices.”

“No, there aren’t,” she said with a snide laugh. “We can’t all stand on a corner and wave papers over our heads.”

“Jenny—”

“I can’t believe you.”

“I’m sorry! But—”

“But what, Jack? I—yes, this is what I do,” she stepped away from him and perched herself back on the vanity stool. He saw her examine herself in the mirror, running her hands over her red-splotched skin. She dug out her powder dish. “But it’s my choice. I have what I need for the first time in my whole life. I’m not in the corner of the McCormick’s apartment anymore. And maybe what I have to do to make that happen isn’t good enough for you—”

He relented and moved to stand behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders. “It ain’t about ‘good enough,’ Jen, and you know it.”

She met his eyes in the mirror, pleading with him.  “Then what is it about? I care about Davey, Jack. And he cares about me. For real. What happens in here? It isn’t real.”

Jack wanted so badly to believe her. That she could help Davey, that Davey could help her, and none of what happened in this room would ever touch them.

But then, he heard a man’s laugh in the hall, and he couldn’t. “Explain that to him. Cause I don’t think he’ll see the difference,” he said gently.

Jenny wrapped her knuckles white around the handle of her hair brush. “This was your idea!”

“Yeah, and this isn’t how I thought it would work out,” Jack said honestly.  

She spun on him, poking him right in the belly with the brush’s paddle. “You thought that we’d have a few laughs and that’d be it.”

“Kind of!”

She screamed and threw the brush across the room. Jack hopped out of the way—and hoped that the girl next door hadn’t heard.

He looked at where the brush landed on the floor before turning back to her. “What? You can’t blame me, Jen. I thought I was—”

Jenny shook her head exasperatedly. “You didn’t think. You never do.”

Jack started. “Oh, and you’re so smart.”

“Davey seems to think so,” she retorted.  

“For Christ’s sake—”

“No!” Jenny closed her eyes and turned her head away from him. Her voice was softer when she spoke again. “Maybe this is good for both of us, Davey and me.”

“I don’t—”

“And that should matter to you. I used to matter to you. Jackie, why can’t you understand?”

Jack felt like a fist was curling itself around his heart. It wasn’t that she didn’t matter—she did, and he wished he could find the words to tell her how much. But this whole thing was moving too far, too fast—or at least he’d convinced himself of that. Jenny had to do what she had to do, and he knew it. But how would Davey ever be able to bear up under all of that, especially now?

What the hell had they been thinking? Maybe she was right—maybe he didn’t think. And Race certainly never did.

“Jack. Please.”

He sighed. “What?”

“Why won’t you believe me? I care about him.”

“Jen, I don’t not believe you. It’s just that I got…concerns.”

“Oh, please,” she huffed.

He shook his head. “I ain’t gonna say it again, Jen. There are things he don’t know that would kill him.”

“And you knew these things when you came up with this stupid plan,” she pointed out.

“So, you gonna tell him then?” Jack said, turning his palm toward the air.

“Shut up.”

“Jenny—"

She looked back at herself in the mirror, and Jack saw a tear slide down her cheek, leaving a black streak on her fair skin. “It’s nice… being with Davey is nice. He doesn’t expect anything from me.”

Jack inhaled sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t think too hard,” she said, sniffing.  

“Me and Race—”

“You and Race have always been there for me. Until now.”

Jack frowned. “That ain’t fair.”

She turned to face him. “Neither are you!”

They stared at each other for a moment, both breathing heavily. When they were kids, this would have ended in a wrestling match. Instead, they held each other’s eyes until Jack couldn’t take it anymore.

“I just don’t want him to get hurt,” he sighed.

“I don’t want to hurt him either,” Jenny replied quietly.

“Well, I ain’t exactly sure how that’s gonna work.” And that’s what he meant. There was no sarcasm in his voice.

She shrugged. “I don’t know either. But I’ll figure it out.”

“Smell you,” he said before he could stop himself. Old habits died hard.

Jenny didn’t react. Instead, she bit her lip and looked at Jack, hard. “You can’t—please don’t take this away from me.”

Jack could feel himself caving. “I’m—I’m not sayin’ you can’t see him anymore—”

“As if that’s your decision,” she said.

“Well, whatever,” Jack said, trying not to let his frustration show. “I ain’t sayin’ that. I just want you to be careful.”

Jenny started to respond, but there was a knock at the door. “Jen? It’s you!”

“One second!” she called. “I need to work, and you need to leave. This is done for now.”

Jenny looked at herself in the mirror one more time, swiping away the evidence of her tears and pinching the blood back into her cheeks. When she stood, she adjusted her corset, and Jack looked away.

“Jenny,” he said. He didn’t know what he expected from her, but he knew what was going to happen when he left, and he was afraid to leave her.

She gestured toward the window. “You’d better go. Unless you want to watch.”

He closed his eyes. “Jen.”

“I swear to God, if you don’t leave right now—”

Jack nodded and moved toward the window. He pushed the frame up and braced himself against the cold. He looked back at her. “Will you at least think about—”

She smiled at him sadly. He thought he saw her shake her head, but he wasn’t sure. “Just go, Jack.”

He couldn’t know what she was thinking, and so he left. As he went down the fire escape, he saw her take a deep breath before she opened the door. He didn’t want to see what was on the other side.  

Chapter Text

David’s entire reputation was based on being the boy who knew things. He was used to being top of his class—though he had the scars to prove that it didn’t matter to anyone but his mother and father—and the other newsies treated him as though he were some kind of genius. He’d quietly accepted his own intelligence a long time ago; it would be wrong to boast. But he’d only recently learned just how little he actually understood.

He didn’t understand why God’s judgment fell so hard on innocent people, for one. If God were in the business of being fair, he would have taken David instead of Les. Mama and Papa had always taught them that to suffer was to draw closer to God, that one shouldn’t question God’s wisdom, but he couldn’t help it. He’d spent the last seven weeks chewing on that one, and he still was no closer to an answer; he doubted he ever would be.

But somehow more pressing at the moment was the fact that he also definitely didn’t understand women. He’d had a suspicion for a while—he’d lived with Sarah and Mama his entire life, after all—but now he knew for certain.  

He knew how quickly a person could change from someone you didn’t know into someone you didn’t know how to live without. He’d known the day he met Jack that this boy was somehow going to be a part of anything he did from now on. He felt that way about Katherine and Crutchie and, God help him, even Race. But he hadn’t been prepared for what it would be like when that person was more than just a friend.

He let Jenny occupy most of his waking thoughts and, if he were being completely honest, a fair number of his nocturnal ones as well. When they couldn’t be together, he spent the hours wondering what she was doing, even though it made him feel ridiculous. When they were with one another, he felt greedy, soaking in every word and every kiss as though he would never have enough of them. It was heady and a little embarrassing, but he couldn’t help himself. It was easier than sitting with the things he still couldn’t understand about Les, even though they never really left his mind. He didn’t necessarily think that she felt the same, but he was absolutely going to take what he could get.

Except for in moments like the present one.

Instead of grabbing lunch, Jenny had asked him to meet her after the factory let out, which was a little unusual. But she’d insisted. And despite that insistence, she seemed completely agitated and hellbent on saying nothing to him at all. She’d barely kissed him hello, and they’d been walking for nearly twenty minutes in what felt to David like uncomfortable silence. 

“Is everything all right?” he asked. He did his best not to sound nervous. David knew that annoyed people—when you sought reassurance, you were a nuisance. But sometimes, he couldn’t help asking. He needed something to keep his thoughts in order.

Jenny didn’t look at him. “Of course,” she said—which did absolutely nothing to quiet his mind.  

They walked on for a moment. “You’re just—you’re awfully quiet,” he tried again.

She shrugged. “I’m fine.”

David knew better. Whenever Sarah said she was “fine,” it was usually the first warning to run for cover. “Fine” was never fine.

He bumped her gently with his hip, throwing her out of step for a moment. “Jenny.”

“Davey,” she said, a hint of warning in her voice.

So, he had upset her then. Of course.  “I’m sorry,” he said, hanging his head.  

Jenny stopped. She looked at him carefully, and her face softened. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything. I just—” she bit her lip “—things have been a little rough. At work.”

He knew that Jenny didn’t like to talk about work. She always waved him off when he asked about her days and turned the conversation to him. He understood; Sarah was the same way. The factories were crowded and loud and full of people whose only concern was their next meal. It wasn’t like selling papers. There was no freedom, no air. And Jenny had mentioned a few times that the men—the foremen, he assumed; there weren’t many other men who worked in the garment factories—could be a bit forward. It worried him sometimes, that one of them might bother her, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Instead of asking another question, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

She sighed, but he didn’t think she looked angry. “You don’t have to apologize all the time.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said truthfully. David didn’t mean to apologize half as often as he did; it was self-preservation. If he apologized first, it might be easier to keep people from being disappointed in him.

“That’s almost an apology,” she replied. They stopped walking.

“I’m sorry.” Damn. It had slipped out before he could stop it. He smiled sheepishly.

Jenny rolled her eyes, but she laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand to let him know all was well. It was one of the other things he’d learned in the past several weeks: that you could communicate through touch just as surely as through words—or at least, Jenny could.

They had stopped in front of the Washington Mews. It was like a tiny slice of Europe right in Greenwich Village—the whimsical, Dickensian version of Europe that David had read about in school, at least; it was certainly not like the shtetl he’d left behind. The Mews was supposed to be private, but the wrought iron gate sat firmly between two entirely open sidewalks on either side of the cobblestone avenue. The street was lined with neat and cheerful stables for the horses belonging to the wealthy families who lived off of Washington Square. Most people didn’t think to veer away from Fifth, so it was a quiet break from the rest of the foot traffic.

It was also, as David had recently learned, a place where two people could be almost entirely alone—as long as you didn’t mind the horses. Jenny cocked her head in a silent question, and David nodded. She pulled him into the Mews.

The light was leeching out of the late afternoon sky, and there were a few grooms around, tending the horses that had just delivered their well-heeled owners back downtown after a day’s work. No one paid any attention to them. David watched Jenny out of the corner of his eye, her cheeks flushed in the cold. He still couldn’t believe that this beautiful girl wanted him—that she had wanted him first, before he even understood that he wanted her. And he did want her. More than he could explain.

“What about you? Are you all right?” she asked.

He shook himself out of his thoughts.

“I’m…okay,” he said.

“Just okay?”

“Well, I mean, now that I’m with you…” he pulled her into his arms, snuggling her close to his chest and absolutely avoiding her question. He let himself press his lips to the crown of her head. Jenny leaned back, a wicked grin on her face, and pushed herself up on her toes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him warmly, lips parted and tongue gently exploring the recess of his mouth. As he leaned into her—she pulled away, and he nearly fell over.

She laughed. “Flatterer.”

“Guilty,” David said. He held up his hands in contrition.

She pressed one more kiss to his cheek and then took both his hands. “But really? How are you?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“That’s all right,” she said, and even though he knew she meant it, he felt the disappointment rise in his chest. They had some version of this conversation every time they were together, and David was starting to get frustrated with himself. He couldn’t lie to her, but he wondered when he’d be able to give her some good news. He knew that other people had moved on, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Les. Even when he was with Jenny—sometimes, especially when he was with Jenny. He wanted her to think that he was strong, that she could trust him to take care of her. That would never happen if all he ever did was dissolve into tears over something, someone he would never be able to save.

“I…there are times when—when I’m with you—I, I feel so happy,” David said. He couldn’t quite look at her, so he settled instead for staring at his hands, still wrapped in hers. “Almost at peace. But then…”

“You remember,” Jenny said softly.

“Yes,” David said. “And then I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

“I know. But you’re not.”

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Positive. You deserve to feel happy, Davey.”

“Well, you make me happy,” he said simply.

“You make me happy too,” she said. But then her breath hitched, and David was immediately afraid he’d said something wrong. There was something about her voice that sounded so sad. But when he looked up, Jenny was smiling—sort of.

He pushed a curl behind her ears. “Jenny?” She looked so far away, and he wasn’t sure how to bring her back. The corners of her lips stretched further, harder. He  felt queasy. What had he said?

David didn’t have time to consider his errors any further, because Jenny was suddenly pushing him backward against one of the stable doors. His shoulder blades bucked up against a wrought iron knocker, and he sucked in a wincing breath. If he’d had his wits about him, he would have been astonished that someone so small could manhandle a boy of his size—but his wits abandoned him the moment Jenny crushed her mouth against his.

“Does this make you happy?” she whispered huskily. Her hands were still pinning his shoulders against the door.

David gulped. “Yes.”

And then she let her hand slide down his front—all the way down his front. She gently cupped him in her hand, and even though there were two layers of fabric between his skin and hers, David had never felt anything like it. His eyes shot open, and he saw that she was looking back at him. She tilted her head ever so slightly, as though asking permission.

“And that?” Her fingers kneaded and tugged.  

He couldn’t respond. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his jaw went slack.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He nodded mutely, groaning a little. He knew that if he opened his eyes, he’d see her grinning at him. The pressure of her hand disappeared, and he felt her grab his hips, as though she were bracing herself against them. Then, he felt her fingers fiddling at his fly.

This time, David fought to open his eyes. She was on her knees in front of him, and while, intellectually, he knew that he should be celebrating his own good fortune—he could practically hear Jack and Race cheering from blocks away—he couldn’t do it. Not in the Washington Mews, and not that way. Jenny deserved better.

“Jenny, I—” he stammered. He wasn’t sure how to stop her, and from her vantage point, there was no sign that he wanted her to stop. Quite the contrary.

She looked up at him, eyes wide and lips pink and wet, and oh God, did that make it harder to tell her no. “What’s the matter?”

David tried to shake his head, but he felt as though he were melting into the door. “I—”

“Davey?” He had the vague thought that she sounded amused.

“I don’t—” he attempted. Why couldn’t he complete a sentence? He let his head loll back against the door.

“You don’t what?” Jenny said. The laughter had gone from her voice. She grabbed his hands and pulled on them. “Davey?” 

He blinked, starting to come out of his stupor. “I’m not sure that—”

“We shouldn’t then. Not if you’re not sure,” she replied. She stood up, careful not to touch him. “I just—I wanted to show you what you mean to m—I mean, that I’m—I didn’t mean—”   

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” he said thickly. Because he did. And it wasn’t something he could muster up the strength to feel ashamed of right now.

Jenny looked at him, confused. “But—”

“Just…I need a minute. To think.” It might take him more than a minute to approach any kind of activity that resembled thinking. David pushed off of the door and started to pace—well, he attempted to pace. Blood was still thrumming through him where her hands had been. He wiggled a little, and he pretended not to notice when he saw Jenny bite her lip in amusement.

He smoothed his coat in a last ditch effort at regaining his dignity and turned back to her. “Where would we go?”

“What?” Jenny seemed surprised.

He smiled at her, secretly pleased that he could shock her. “Where could we go? You—I want it to be nice. For you. You deserve some place nice.” He took her hand and kissed it.

She looked around. “Here?”

David shook his head. “Not here. I’m not—we’re not…not where horses…do their business.”

“I’m not particular,” Jenny said. She approached him tentatively, using his forearm as leverage to push up and press a kiss to his cheek. “But you’re very sweet.”

“Well, we can’t go to your boardinghouse,” he said practically. He smiled at the thought of the two of them slipping into the bottom bunk of a dormitory bed, the other girls scandalized and running out the door.   

She pulled away. “No.” Her voice was flat.   

David reached for her hand again. “And we can’t go to my apartment.” He could just imagine what Mama and Papa would say. His stomach churned at the thought.

“No,” she agreed. Her eyes were fixed on their hands.  

He suddenly had an idea. “Or…”

“Or?” she asked.

“There’s Jack’s penthouse,” he said with what he desperately hoped passed for a sly cock of the head. He figured Jack wouldn’t mind. He’d probably be proud of him.

“Not there,” Jenny said immediately. Her hand tightened around his.

He nodded, squeezing back. “Right. It’s too cold.”

She shook her head, but he still couldn’t catch her eye. “It’s not that. Just…isn’t it a little far away?”

“Right,” he sighed. There weren’t too many other options short of taking her up on the idea of losing their respective virginities in a pile of hay and manure. Unless—"I guess…”

“What do you guess, acushla?” Jenny asked softly. He smiled at the endearment and screwed his courage to its sticking-place.

“If it’s really not too cold for you—”

“Go on.”

“The roof. At my building. There’s some stuff up there from when Jack and I used to sleep out—an eiderdown and a couple blankets. No one will be up there now. We could just go up the fire escape.” It wasn’t the Waldorf-Astoria, but there was a clear sky and the stars would be out and it could be theirs just for tonight.

Jenny didn’t say anything for a moment, and David was sure that he was sunk. He should have just assented to the stables; at least it would have been warm and she wouldn’t have time to reconsider. She was chewing furtively on her lip, clearly weighing her options. He understood. This was something that neither of them could ever take back, and it would have been a lie to say he wasn’t terrified. But he still hoped. He had to. All of his hopes were somehow tangled up in Jenny now.

“Yes.”

His breath caught in his chest. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Jenny said again. She didn’t smile. Instead, she looked like she’d just made a very serious decision. David supposed she had. And she had made it for him.  

“Yes,” he echoed, suddenly aware of the gravity of what they were about to do. “Oh.”  

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes. I—oh.”

She gripped his forearms and looked him right in the eye. “Davey, we really don’t have to—”

“No, I want to. Let’s go.” And he took her hand and marched her out of the Mews.  

***

The wisdom of David’s decision had nearly worn off by the time they settled on the roof. He and Jack had stashed the bedroll and blankets under an oilcloth in a nook behind the rain barrels and Mrs. Dominica’s tomato plants. The tomatoes had been pulled and the rain barrels were slick and icy, and nothing looked quite as inviting as he thought it would. The sky was a sheet of mottled steel, only the barest hint of light left on the edge of the horizon. It occurred to him that Jenny normally couldn’t stay out so late; the boardinghouse rules were strict. He hoped that she wouldn’t get in trouble, but he knew better than to ask. He’d already learned that she liked to take care of herself.

He unrolled the canvas mat and spread the eiderdown over it for more cushion, trying to ignore the musty smell and the damp that had seeped into them. He thought of his apartment just a few floors below them, of the pleasant heat that would be radiating from the potbellied stove and the feather tick on his warm, dry bed. He thought of Jenny in his bed, hair sprawled in all directions, milky skin lit by the gas lamp, reaching for him—he cleared his throat and dug under the oilcloth for the blankets.

Jenny didn’t seem to share his apprehension.  She coolly knelt on the eiderdown, and she watched David closely as he fumbled for supplies.

“Here they are,” he said stupidly. He threw one blanket aside and wrapped the other around her shoulders. He let his arms encircle her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and softly kissing her temple. She leaned back against him, and he hoped that meant he helped her feel safe. He thought again of the foremen in her factory and held her tighter. They stayed that way for a few moments, Jenny nestled against his chest and David absently wrapping and unwrapping one of her curls around his finger.

“Well?” she said finally. He felt her head shift sideways, as though she were trying to look up at him.

He froze, every joint in his body turning to jelly. “What?” Was he ready? Was this it?

Jenny wriggled out of David’s arms and twisted around to cradle his head in her small hands, her thumbs gently circling the hinge of his jaw. She hovered her lips close to his, teasing, but before he could respond, she pressed a kiss just to the corner of his mouth; he felt her smile against his skin. He jerked his head to meet her, but she was too quick, already letting her lips skip a gentle patter down to his chin and along the line of his jaw. They stopped in the crease just behind his ear, and he shivered involuntarily.

“That,” she whispered. He felt the easy pressure of her teeth skidding across his earlobe.

“Oh.”

“Oh.” She giggled, and the vibration tickled his ear. Her fingertips traced patterns of lacework against his scalp, and every hair that shifted was alive with sensation. He moaned—softly, thank God, because he wasn’t sure where the sound came from or who could hear it.

Jenny withdrew and gently pushed his hair back from his forehead. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he lurched gracelessly forward, taking her face in his hands and kissing her hungrily. She raised up on her knees and suddenly, her hands were running the length of his body. Everywhere she touched felt like it was crackling with electric current. His lips parted, and Jenny was quick to respond. She let her tongue find his and deepened the kiss. He pressed his body against hers and wrapped his hands around her waist, losing them in the dark tumble of her hair and then—then, he accidentally knocked his teeth against hers. David pulled away like a shot, his cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. Of course. Of course he had ruined it.

But Jenny shook her head. A smile still played at her now-swollen lips. “I already told you—you should stop apologizing,” she said, her voice soft. She kissed the tip of his nose, and David couldn’t help but smile back. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

He wanted so badly to believe her.

“Do you want to try again?” she asked.

David nodded shyly. This time, he let her lead. She cupped his cheek with her cold hand and gently drew his face toward hers, and when she kissed him, she nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth. She held it there for a moment and then pulled back, letting her teeth skate across the chapped flesh of his lip. He exhaled shakily.

“Not so scary, huh?” Jenny whispered.

He impulsively reached to brush her cheek with his fingers. She closed her eyes, and her hand moved up to cover his. Her brow furrowed for a moment, and David wondered what she could possibly be thinking of. He let his other hand find her face and then, slowly, a little uncertainly, pressed his lips to her forehead.

Jenny looked up at him, her eyes impossibly large and somehow shining even in the fading light. Was she crying? He couldn’t seem to take his hands away from her face. Should he let go? Oh, God, what had he done now?

“Davey,” she said, but nothing else followed. Instead, she turned her head and gently kissed the curve of his palm.

And then, Jenny unspooled her scarf from around her neck. She gently pulled its long red tail until it slid down the breast of her sailor’s coat and fell softly between them. He stared at the scarf. He let his fingers move gently over the grooves in the yarn and resisted the urge to take it and fold it, to rescue it from its haphazard end. It was so cold outside. Wasn’t she cold?

“Davey?”

Evidently, she wasn’t cold.

When he finally looked up from the scarf, Jenny was no longer wearing her coat. Or her shirtwaist. The only thing between the night air and her skin—the only thing between him and her skin—was a flimsy cotton lace chemise.

David didn’t move; he could barely breathe.

David’s awareness of the feminine body was academic. He had a mother; he had a sister; he could—but certainly never would—name the physical differences between his body and theirs and had always absolutely, positively attempted to ignore them. It wasn’t that he hadn’t looked at a girl and wondered about the things he could not see; it was just that he found himself completely paralyzed when he did. Like now.

He was entirely unprepared.

“Davey?” Jenny said again. Her voice sounded far away. “Davey?”

He almost flinched. “What?”  

She laughed, softly, raising her chin the slightest bit. The exposed hollow of her throat was so delicate. David found himself wanting to touch it, to rest his fingertips in the ivory divot of skin and find out if it was as soft as it looked.

There was too much to take in. Even in the dim light, he could see every inch of her shoulders and long, slender arms, slight and peppered with tiny constellations of freckles; he wondered what it might feel like to kiss each one, how long it could possibly take. The skin on her bare chest—he knew he shouldn’t look, but yes, completely bare, down to the swell of the cleft between her breasts peeking out of her camisole—reminded him of vellum, smooth and improbably thin, like he might be able to see straight through it in the daylight, right to her web of lavender-blue veins. Her hair curled around her in the wind, and it looked somehow darker now that it fell against soft, white skin instead of her heavy wool coat. And she was looking at him, waiting for him, seemed to want him, even though she knew the things he could never tell anyone else.

“You’re beautiful,” David said. It felt insufficient, but it was true. She was beautiful. He was still kneeling in front of her, knees dug into the worn-out eiderdown, and he had no idea what to do next.

Jenny looked at him for a long moment. It made him want to hide, and he felt a hot blush creep up his neck. Her eyes moved appraisingly across his face until they met his. She nodded slightly, almost to herself. “So are you.”

David snorted. “I don’t think anyone’s ever thought that. I’m not—”

“Well, I do,” she said simply. “Davey?”

“Yes?”

“Could I—would you—” she fumbled.  

“What?” David asked, trying not to sound too panicked. “Are you—are you too cold?” She was half-naked in the evening air, after all. He leaned forward, hesitating for an agonizing second before he let his hands rest on her arms, rubbing them awkwardly up and down in an attempt to get her warm.

And then he froze, because Jenny’s fingers were working at the buttons of his coat. She gently shook his hands off her arms so that she could slide his out of their sleeves; he let her. She pulled off his cap and tossed it aside. Then she went to work on his vest; he leaned forward to help her ease it away from his shoulders without entirely realizing what he was doing. She slid his suspenders down and out of the way. The delicate buttons of his shirt were last. Jenny paused, her fingers drumming gently on his collar button. 

“Is it all right?” she asked.

David nodded. Yes. Whatever she wanted was all right.

Immediately, her mouth was on his, as if she were trying to distract him before he could change his mind. He didn’t understand how she could do so many things at once, but he closed his eyes and kissed her back. Her fingers tickled deftly down his torso, each button popping open as she went. David’s breath started to come faster. The shirt was discarded, and then Jenny’s hands tugged at his undershirt, pulling it from the waistband of his pants. Her hands slid up and underneath the white cotton, soft and somehow cold and white hot at the same time, and David didn’t fight when she started to pull it up; he lifted his arms and let her ease it over his head. And then she reached out to touch him, pressing her hand right over the frenetic beating of his heart.

“Okay?” Jenny asked. David understood, even though he doubted if he’d be able remember his own name just then. He didn’t have the capacity to remember why this was a thing people whispered about, why it was something that he’d made silent promises to avoid. All that mattered was her hand on the bare skin of his chest. All that mattered was her eyes on his face. All that mattered was that just then, he couldn’t remember anything that had brought him to this moment. Just then, he existed with her only.

“Okay,” he said. And he let himself go.

***

David’s entire body felt raw and exposed and wonderful and warm. He was floating in the ether, and he wanted to stay there forever. Jenny’s head rested on his chest, curls splayed across his bicep, and both their bodies were covered in a fine patina of sweat. He would have pulled the blanket up around them, but he wasn’t sure he could move and he didn’t feel the cold anyway.

With Jenny tucked in beside him, his hand naturally fell on her breast. He cupped it and gently ran his thumb over the hard point of her nipple. It made him want to laugh. The David of an hour before couldn’t have done this, would barely have allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to hold and touch a girl’s body the way he just had, the way he was now. And the body touching his now was not hidden or hypothetical. It was real. It was sinews and curves and delicate tapers and pink flesh and—Jenny. And she was his.

He hadn’t expected it to be so good the first time. He’d heard the boys say that it wasn’t. But they had fit together so naturally. It had more to do with Jenny than with him, he knew. She was unexpectedly confident where David had been fumbling and nervous.

Jenny rolled further onto his chest, so that her breasts pressed against his ribs. The flat of her hand rested on his breast bone, and she settled her chin on her knuckles, staring at him. David was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice that she didn’t smile or to see the concerned search she was making of his face.  

She let her free arm move to push the damp hair off his brow. “David,” she whispered.

He managed to lift his head, drawing his chin forward. “You’ve never called me that before.”

This time, she did smile, just a little. “Well.”

He laid his head back, and Jenny slid up so that she could kiss him. “Is Jenny short for anything?”

“Jack’s ma told me once that the Irish was Seannafair. It means white wave. But no one’s ever called me anything but Jenny.”

“That’s beautiful,” he said softly.

She moved off of his chest and onto her back. “I’m afraid I’m not much like a wave.”

David chuckled softly as he rolled onto his side. “I disagree.” He could see the gooseflesh rising across Jenny’s skin, and he pulled the blanket over them, snuggling closer to her. This time, his head was on her chest. He turned to press his lips to where he assumed her heart would be.

“Do you know what ‘David’ means?” she asked, raking her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Hopeless mess?” he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

She pulled gently at his hair. “Hmm?”

He shrugged, a little embarrassed. “It means ‘beloved.’”

Jenny took a deep breath; David’s head rose with her chest. “Yes, it does.”

Chapter Text

Jack’s ma had loved the snow, and the first snow, before the dust and grime of the city could sully its white drifts, was her very favorite. He could remember a few times that she’d woken him in the middle of the night with a press of her lips to his forehead. “Jack, darlin’, it’s here.” She’d light the oil lamp, make them mugs of coffee—Jack’s heavy with condensed milk—and they’d sit together by the dingy window, snuggled under the same quilt, and watch as the soft flakes transformed the street below. He secretly looked forward to that first snow every year, even though it meant weeks of damp socks and runny noses. It felt like his ma was with him, just for a moment.

He and Davey had been walking back to the Jacobs’ place when the snow started. Jenny hadn’t been able to get away that afternoon—there was extra rush at the factory for the holiday orders, Davey had told him—and it almost felt like old times. They’d stopped at Jacobi’s with Crutchie, Race, and a few of the other boys for coffee and thick slices of rye bread with butter. It hadn’t escaped any of them that Davey had been wandering around like an idiot for weeks, and they’d teased him mercilessly. Davey had blushed and smiled and hemmed and hawed. Race had kicked Jack under the table and shot him an absolutely obvious thumbs-up. Jack had wanted to roll his eyes, but when he looked at Davey, rosier and more robust than he’d been in a long while, he reconsidered. And when Davey had invited him home for dinner, just like he used to, Jack was almost excited. Maybe everything would be all right. Maybe he’d been too hard on Jenny. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

As they left Jacobi’s, big, fat flakes started to dot the sidewalk, melting as soon as they hit the asphalt, but by the time they’d hit the Jacobs’ block, it was starting to stick. Jack’s pleasure swelled in his chest. See, mama? It’s here again. He’d leaned his head back, trying to catch the flakes on his tongue. Davey laughed, and then elbowed him out of the way, throwing his head back and insisting he was aiming for the same snowflake as Jack. It was good to hear Davey laugh again.

“I’m home, Mama!” Davey called as they entered the apartment. Both boys slipped off their wet boots and shucked their caps and heavy coats in the doorway.

Esther bustled up to meet them, hanging their coats on the rack by the door. She brushed a few snowflakes out of Davey’s hair and heartily kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you made it before it got worse, tateleh! Good to see you, Jack dear.”

“Likewise, Mrs. Jacobs,” Jack said with a smile.

“You’re staying for dinner, I hope?” Esther asked. Jack nodded. “And we’ll see about this snow—maybe you should just stay here tonight.”

“It’s not exactly a blizzard,” Mayer called from across the room.

“I didn’t say it was,” Esther said with a facetious sniff. “Come in, boys, come in! Supper is almost ready.”

The apartment was pleasant and warm, heat puffing out from the tiny potbellied stove in the corner. The lamps tossed cheery light around the room, illuminating Mayer’s newspaper and Sarah’s face as she stirred the soup that was simmering on the stove. Mayer nodded to the boys as they came further into the room, not bothering to look up from the article he was reading. Davey went to the sink to wash, bumping Sarah’s hip congenially, and Jack made a beeline for the window. He peered out and could see that there was a fine dusting coating the rails of the fire escape.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Esther said, coming up behind Jack and resting her hand on his shoulder. “Nothing like the first snow of the year, is there?”

Jack smiled to himself, enjoying the feeling of Esther’s touch more than he cared to admit; it was almost like the real thing.

“Les always loved the snow,” Esther said, her eyes shining, but Jack could see that she was smiling.

“Yeah, he did,” Jack agreed. “I remember last year, he riled up all the other guys somethin’ fierce—started a snowball fight in the distribution yard.”

Esther nodded. “And if I recall, it was David who ended up ripping his trousers sliding on the ice to—how do you say? Make a block?”

“That’s right!” Jack laughed. He definitely couldn’t forget the blown-out seat of Davey’s drawers. Les had faithfully walked behind Davey all the way home so no one could see his brother’s underpants.

“We have many good memories,” Esther said, her eyes on the dancing snow. She squeezed Jack’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” In the kitchen, Sarah squealed as Davey hit her with the wet dish towel, and Esther rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“Jack, dear. Thank you for watching over David,” Esther said, looking back at her children. “He is doing so much better, and I know it has to do with you.”

Jack didn’t say anything, but he watched Davey and Sarah for a moment. Sarah had successfully wrestled the towel out of her brother’s hands and was chasing him around the kitchen table, whipping furiously at his rear-end. Davey kept trying to reach back and catch the towel as she snapped it, nearly tripping over his feet each time. Mayer had put down his newspaper and was laughing at his children, and Jack could hear Esther smothering her own giggles beside him. It was a far cry from the scene after Davey’s first day back; it almost felt normal.

“All right, you two,” Esther called, giving Jack’s cheek a tender pat before she went back to the kitchen. “I do not think the Feldmans should like it so much if you march straight through the ceiling. Let’s see about getting supper on the table.”

Sarah sank into an exaggerated curtsy and surrendered the towel to Davey, who whipped it at her one more time for good measure. She stuck her tongue out at him. Esther shot her a warning glance, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, and moved to find the silverware. With a smile, Davey turned to retrieve the soup bowls from the cupboard. He started to lay the table, Esther a step behind, setting the spoons precisely next to the bowls.

Jack went to help, but Sarah intercepted him on his way, suddenly wrapping her arms around him.

“What was that for?” Jack asked, hugging her back. He let his chin rest on her head for a moment. He thought he could hear Davey humming.

Sarah leaned back so that she could see Jack’s face, shooting a sideways glance toward the kitchen. “I just—the plan you told me about? It must be working.”

He froze. “You think?” Jack had forgotten he’d said anything to Sarah.

“I do,” she said with a squeeze. “Just look at him.”

Davey was definitely humming, with gusto, and he’d taken his mother by the waist and was spinning her around the cramped kitchen. Esther’s head tipped backward as she laughed. Mayer’s eyes followed their dance, and Jack saw the older man’s lips twitch beneath his mustache.  

“I guess you’re right,” he said softly.

Sarah let her arms slide away from his waist, grabbing both his hands. “And… it’s helped. Mama has been better too,” she whispered.

“I’m glad, Sarah.”

“Me too.” And Sarah’s smile made him believe that maybe this plan hadn’t been so stupid after all.

***

Despite Esther’s protests, the boys had ended up on the fire escape after dinner. It was tradition, Davey had argued, and besides, they wanted to see the snow. Esther had pointed out that they could just as easily see the snow without sitting in it, but they would not be deterred. She’d insisted that they both wrap up warm, though; Jack tugged at the scratchy wool scarf Esther had knotted around his neck. He was better off than Davey, though; Davey was lost beneath at least three afghans.

“You warm enough there, Dave?” Jack asked with a snort.

Davey squirmed. “At least she didn’t make me put on long underwear.”

They were packed in next to each other on the iron stair, which Jack had hastily brushed off before they sat down. The snow was still falling, like bits of lace. The city felt impossibly still and quiet.

“Hey, uh, Jack?” Davey asked.  

Jack grunted. A snowflake caught on his scarf, and he watched as it melted away.

“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

Jack raised his eyebrow. “For what?”

Davey shrugged and stared at his hands. “Just—I know I haven’t been the easiest to deal with lately.”

Jack wanted to nod, but he kept still. It had been a good day, and he didn’t want to do anything to ruin it.  “Davey, you don’t—”

“I do,” Davey broke in, still avoiding Jack’s eye. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to do when Les—”

Jack knocked Davey’s knee with his own. “No one knows what to do with that, Davey. It’s okay.”

“Thanks,“ Davey said. He sounded relieved. This had clearly been stuck in his craw for a while. He sighed. “But even before everything else, Jack—I’ve been jealous.”

Jack snorted. “Jealous? A’ me?” He leaned forward, letting his hands fall between his knees. He looked back at Davey.

Davey nodded solemnly. “Yes. I mean, you and Katherine.”

“Me and Kath?”

Davey rolled his eyes. “Are you just going to keep repeating what I’m saying? Yes. Because I didn’t think it was something I would ever have. I’m not—I didn’t think anyone would—” he fumbled for his next words.  

“C’mon, Davey,” Jack said with a shake of his head.  

“No, I mean it. I just thought that I was more likely to be on my own than not. And I wanted what you had,” Davey said. He didn’t sound upset, just very matter-of-fact, which Jack thought was somehow worse.  

“Well.”

But Davey smiled to himself. “And… I think I’ve got it now. I don’t know why. I don’t—I don’t think I deserve it, but—”

Jack tried to ignore the way his gut was clenching. “You do. You deserve the best, Davey.”

“Thank you,” Davey said softly. They were quiet for a moment.

“So, you’re feelin’ okay now, then?” Jack asked. He knew Davey hadn’t said whatever it was that he wanted to.

“Better than okay.” Davey smiled again, that stupid private smile that Jack wasn’t meant to be a part of. Jack could feel the calm of the day starting to slip away.

“Glad to hear it,” he replied, hoping Davey couldn’t hear the edge in his voice.  

But Davey didn’t seem to hear him at all. Jack could see on Davey’s face that his mind was hurtling forward much faster than Jack’s grasp of the conversation. “I—can I tell you something stupid?”

Jack snorted in spite of himself. “Anytime.”

This time, Davey looked directly at him. “I think… I want… I want to marry her. Jenny.”

Jesus.

Davey was absolutely right; that was stupid. “Marry?” Jack thought he might be sick. Marry? The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d spent the last several weeks preoccupied with entirely the wrong thing. He wanted to shake Davey or slap him or jump clean off the fire escape so that this was no longer his problem.

Davey held up his hands, and his words fell out at a rapid clip. “I mean, obviously, not immediately. I can’t offer her anything right now. I’ve got to figure out what to do. But I think it’s what I want, Jack. I just…I don’t want to be away from her.” He fidgeted with the brim of his cap, and Jack wanted to slap his hands down.

“Jesus, Dave, slow down!” Jack blustered.

“No, I’ve thought about this, Jackie.” Davey’s voice was measured and sure, as though creating a permanent tie between yourself and a complete stranger after a handful of weeks was entirely natural.

Jack clenched and unclenched his fists in his lap. “I don’t think—”

Davey shook his head. “No, I mean, Mama & Papa were married when they were eighteen.”

“You’re seventeen,” Jack said, as though it would make a difference.  

Davey waved him off. “Semantics.”

Jack inhaled sharply. “I don’t know what that means—”

“Well, it’s—” Davey began to explain. Jack gripped his upper arm, hard. 

“—but I do know you oughta relax.”

Davey pulled his arm away, rubbing his bicep. “Why? If I know what I want?”

Time to try a different tack. Jack sighed. “Jenny—she’s been through a lot.”

“She told me about Danny,” Davey said. The way he said it, the way he nodded, like it explained everything, was ridiculous. He didn’t know the half of it—which was, Jack knew, a problem he could solve. It would be so easy to grab Davey by the hand, drag him to Bowery and Broome, and show him exactly what he didn’t know about Jenny.  

But he couldn’t. Davey looked so confident in his own faulty knowledge of this girl that he wanted to marry that Jack somehow couldn’t bring himself to destroy it—and that made him furious. “It’s… there’s more to it,” Jack said stupidly.

“What do you mean?” Davey asked, his brow furrowed. Because, of course, that was the natural follow-up question. And, of course, Davey couldn’t be sated with vague answers.

“I—” Jack started, but he couldn’t find any more words.

“It doesn’t matter,” Davey said with a decisive shake of his head.  

“Davey—”

“Jack… can I tell you something else?”

“You’re gonna do it anyway,” Jack mumbled. He looked away from Davey’s wide eyes.

“I love her.” Of course. Of course he did.

Jack did his best to keep his voice calm. “Well, I mean, you said you was gonna marry her.”

“I am,” Davey said quickly. Then, “I want to.”

“Then lovin’ her is only natural,” Jack replied softly. Because it was. Davey loved Jenny because he didn’t know that he shouldn’t. Or maybe he should. Maybe this was right even though it couldn’t possibly be. Jack’s head swam. He took a shaky breath.

“I… I just want more time with her,” Davey said.  

“You see her every day,” Jack said flatly.

“You know what I mean,” Davey said. He shifted his weight and pushed off the iron stair, sending the afghans akimbo and pulling off his cap to run a hand through his hair. When he looked back at Jack, his eyes were pleading. “I know you do. Don’t you always feel like you want more of Kath?”

He had Jack there. “I—”

But Davey plowed on. He started to pace back and forth on the narrow walk, talking more to himself now than to Jack. Jack could see the snowflakes starting to collect in Davey’s dark hair. “And with her boardinghouse rules being what they are, we can’t be together except in the afternoon. And I just—”

“Davey—”

“I—I have to have more time,” Davey said. He gripped the rail of the fire escape, snow squeezing out from beneath his hands, eyes downcast on the alley below.  

Jack stood, but he was careful not to move too close. “So you said.”

“What if something happens?” Davey asked helplessly. He looked back at Jack.

Jack took a tentative step forward. “What do you think is gonna happen?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, but—it could,” Davey said, and Jack could hear the fear in his voice. “I didn’t—with Les? I’d give anything if I could—” he faltered and braced himself hard against the railing.

Jack finally closed the gap between them and wrapped his arm around Davey’s shoulders. “I know. But Jenny ain’t Les.”

Davey shook his head. “But she could be. I—what if what happened with Les— shouldn’t we just fight for every moment we can get?”

Jack sighed. “Davey. You can’t—”

“Can’t what?

“This is a big thing. Gettin’ married is a big thing. I mean, me and Kath ain’t even really talked about it yet,” Jack said slowly.

“Well,” Davey said. He shrugged Jack’s arm off his shoulders and smiled sheepishly.

Jack wrapped his hands around the slushy rail; he wanted very badly to wrap his hands around Davey’s throat and throttle him. “You’ve known her for a few weeks!” He spat into the street.

“I know,” Davey insisted, that stupid smile still plastered on his face. He grabbed Jack’s shoulder. “But I know this is right, Jackie. I can feel it.”

Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Have you even thought about what your folks will say?”  

The smile suddenly disappeared, and all the blood rushed out of Davey’s face. Jack had finally landed on something Davey hadn’t puzzled through; maybe he could get through to him after all.

Davey blinked. “What?”

Jack leaned in closer. His words were quiet, but precise. “Your ma and pa? What’re they gonna think of you runnin’ off to marry some girl—”

“’Some girl?’” Davey snapped. He moved forward, like he was going to shove Jack, but when he heard the volume of his own voice, he drew back. He looked nervously toward the apartment window and pitched his voice to a whisper, stabbing the air in front of Jack with a vicious finger. “And I’m not gonna run off—”

Jack chested up to him. “You really think they’re gonna be okay with this?”

Davey just stared at him, and the look in his eyes pushed Jack backward all on its own. “Why aren’t you?”

“I’m not not okay with it,” Jack lied. He looked away from his friend.  

Davey exhaled with a snap. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Neither of them moved for a moment. Then, Davey turned his back to Jack, hands back on the railing and eyes fixed on the street. Jack fell back beside him, facing the apartment windows. He sighed.

“Davey—I—you gotta be careful. Jenny don’t move that fast.” He felt stupid even as he said it.

Davey didn’t respond, just laughed softly—ironically—to himself. Jack’s stomach jolted.

“You didn’t…”

Davey looked over his shoulder at Jack. He smirked—Davey never smirked. “What if we did?”

No. No, they couldn’t have. Davey wouldn’t. Jenny knew she shouldn’t. They couldn’t have slept together. Jack hadn’t even slept with Katherine, and he at least knew the basic mechanics of the operation. This couldn’t have happened; this couldn’t be happening. That Jenny would use Davey just to prove him wrong—that Davey would let himself be used—that Davey could look at him that way. None of this was what he’d had in mind.

“You can’t actually be that stupid,” Jack hissed through his teeth.  

Davey didn’t say anything; he just looked back toward the street. Jack heard the clatter of dishes through the thin pane of the apartment window. Esther and Mayer would be cleaning up dinner, just like it was a normal evening. He thought of Esther’s thanks, of Mayer’s quiet laughter. They didn’t know how close they were to losing another son.

“I—Dave…” Jack raised his hand, but it couldn’t seem to find an anchor.

“Never mind. I shouldn’t have told you,” Davey said to the snowy street.

“Well, you didn’t really tell me. I guessed,” Jack said flippantly.

Davey shook his head, still avoiding Jack’s eye. “I don’t think that’s really the point.”

Jack sniffed. “You ain’t thinkin’ clear. Your folks—”

“Why do you care so much about what they’re going to think?” Davey asked. He leaned down, resting his elbows on the railing.

“You should care a little more,” Jack said.

“Why? They—they’ll just want me to be happy.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Jack snorted. “C’mon, Davey.”

Davey finally looked at him, just long enough to shoot him a glare. “You’re not—”

“What do you want me to say? I know how this ends.”

“You do?” Davey said incredulously.

Jack nodded. “I do.”

“And how do you know that?” Davey said. His hair had started to curl where the snowflakes had melted.

“My ma,” Jack said softly.

Davey stood up, wiping his hand across his face. “I’m not following.”

“Because it happened to my ma,” Jack said again. He opened his body toward Davey’s.

“What did?” David asked, begrudgingly shifting himself to face Jack.

Jack shrugged. “What’ll happen to you if you keep this up.”

“Don’t talk about it like that,” Davey said, but his voice wasn’t cold or angry; he was making a request.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s not real. Like we’re play acting. We’re not,” Davey said.  And Jack knew then that they were not.

He thought about Davey as he was weeks ago, right after they’d lost Les, weak and bedridden and committed to shutting out every last bit of his own life and the love that remained in it—and it was because to love was to invite in the possibility of immeasurable pain, the potential for irrevocable loss. But the Davey standing in front of him just then seemed resolved to plunge right back into the risk. His usual hesitance was gone.  

Jack had only wanted to bring Davey back; he hadn’t counted on the change. 

But Jack still wasn’t prepared to let him. He didn’t want Davey to have to go through it all again, and he would; he would have to if he stayed with Jenny. The lie couldn’t last forever, and then what?

“I ain’t sayin’ that you’re actin’,” Jack said.

“Then what are you saying?” Davey asked.

“That there are---whatcha call ‘em—consequences for your actions.” Jack tried to choose his words with care. He took a deep breath. “Other people ain’t necessarily gonna feel the way you want them to.”

“Clearly, you don’t,” Davey said, but he didn’t wilt or look away.

“That ain’t it!” Jack said quickly. He put a tentative hand on Davey’s shoulder, and the other boy flinched the slightest bit. Jack left his hand where it fell and let his words fall out in a quick torrent. “Dave, when my ma and da started steppin’ out with one another, it was—my ma, she came from this big Catholic family. Like a big happy crew—did all right for themselves too. But my da was a Protestant. And when Ma’s family found out about them, they put her out. Just decided she wasn’t part of the family anymore.”

Davey’s jaw slid forward. He licked his lips nervously. “I—”

Jack gripped his shoulder harder. “When she died, no one was there. It was just me. There were people that could’ve helped, but they didn’t.” He didn’t mention that Jenny and Danny had been there too. They had helped. But that was beside the point.

“Jack—”

“You want that to happen to you?” Jack asked softly. “I know you ain’t told your family yet, Dave. You think your folks is gonna be okay with Jenny? She’s a—”

“Stop it,” Davey whispered furiously, his eyes darting again to the apartment window. It was quiet inside now, and the only light was the glow of the oil lamp Esther had left on the table.

“Dave--”

Davey slid his shoulder out from under Jack’s hand and drew his arms around himself. “You’re supposed to be happy for me! You know what it’s been like for me. You saw. And now I’m telling you I’m in love with a girl, that I want to marry her, and all you can do is—”

“I’m tellin’ you to slow down!” Jack said miserably. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Davey just stared at him. “Too late.”  

“Davey.” Jack reached for him again.

Davey shook his head, disgusted. He took a step backward and made for the window, wadding up the fallen afghans under his arm. “I’m going inside. Go home, Jack.” He pushed up the sash and climbed in.

“Davey!”

The window shut. The lamp inside went out. The snow kept falling.

Jack pulled again at the scarf Esther had given him. Shit. It might be time to tell Katherine.

Chapter Text

“Heya, Jack. Where’s Davey?”

Jack didn’t look up from the paper he was pretending to read. “I don’t know.”

What he did know was that Davey didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

Jack had sat on Davey’s fire escape for nearly two hours. Somehow, he couldn’t make himself move. He kept seeing Davey’s face as it was when he’d slammed the window—hurt, disappointed, and so angry—rushing through his mind’s eye the same way papers looped through the printing presses. The snow had started to come down heavier, thicker, soaking Jack’s hair and through his coat, and he didn’t care. He knew Davey was on the other side of that window, that Davey was definitely not asleep, that they would both be better served if Davey would just come back. But he also knew Davey wasn’t going to come back; the other boy had made that perfectly clear.

And when Jack hadn’t been able to sleep, walking back to and circling Davey’s block until the sun came up had seemed like an excellent plan.

Davey hadn’t come out. Jack had waited a half-hour, and Davey hadn’t come out. He wasn’t going to come out. And now Jack was cold and tired and surrounded by the other boys, and he was simply not in the mood.

“He didn’t say nothin’ to you ‘bout not comin’ this mornin’?” Crutchie asked. He sounded concerned.

Race snickered. “I’ll bet I know where he is.” He moved his cigar in and out of his mouth, popping the clipped end hard against the inside of his cheek. Jack clenched his fists around the paper, newsprint leeching into the flaking skin on his fingertips.

“This early? C’mon. Davey ain’t that type,” Albert said incredulously.

“Who knows what type he is now, huh?” Race replied with a wink. Crutchie gave him a warning look before turning his eyes to Jack.

Albert rolled his eyes. “He prob’ly had to help his ma with somethin’.”

“Is that what we’re callin’ it these days?” Race laughed. Jack dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, rubbing mercilessly.  

Crutchie put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You okay, Jack?”

It was too much. “I said I don’t know where he is!” The words felt like they were ripped out from somewhere deep inside his gut, and they sounded far louder than he intended. He’d accidentally torn the paper in two.

Crutchie immediately pulled away. “Ya ain’t gotta bite a guy’s head off,” he said softly. At least Race had stopped smiling; Albert had a hand braced against his chest, and the curly-mopped blonde looked almost contrite.

Jack sighed, crumpling what was left of the newspaper in his hands; he let it fall into the slush at his feet.  “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s all right. We’s all entitled to a good holler now and then,” Crutchie said. He eased himself down next to Jack on the stair, tucking his crutch against the railing. “Everythin’ okay?” He didn’t move to touch Jack again, but he cocked his head at Albert and Race, who wandered toward the gate, making their best effort not to look back at Jack.

“I don’t know, Crutch,” Jack said. He sniffed, trying to ignore the ache in his throat.

Crutchie tilted his knee toward Jack’s without actually making contact. “You want we should talk about it?” he asked evenly.

 “I—no, not yet.”  

“Awright,” Crutchie nodded, unruffled. “You need some comp’ny today, though? I’m sure Race’ll be just fine on his own.” They looked over at Racetrack, who still looked a little shellshocked by Jack’s outburst. Crutchie bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Nah, I’m all right.” Jack stared straight ahead.

“Gonna go see Kath, huh?”

Jack chuckled softly. “Does your leg tell you everythin’?”

“No, but your face sure do,” Crutchie replied. There was that note of worry again.

“Fair enough,” Jack said, nodding to himself. “Yeah, I need to go see Kath.”

“S’okay. But whatever’s goin’ on, Jackie, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just give Davey some time.”

Jack wanted to explain that he couldn’t give Davey time. Davey was blowing through time like he didn’t have enough of it, and if Jack waited, if he relented for even a moment, Davey might not be there anymore. And Jack would only have himself to blame. Well, and Race, of course.

But he didn’t know how to tell Crutchie. He didn’t want to disappoint him too. 

Instead, he shrugged. “From your mouth to God’s ear.”

“Must be serious if we’s bringin’ God into it,” Crutchie said with a wry smile.  

“You know Saint Jude?”

“Nah. What’s he do?”

“Patron saint of the impossible,” Jack said with a sigh. “Maybe shoot a prayer in his direction, if you’re in a prayin’ mood.” He felt sick at the thought of invoking that kind of intercession for himself and Davey. Nothing had ever come between them before—well, not really. Not like this. Although, if Jack really thought about it, it did seem like every time he tried to do something for Davey’s own good, he accidentally made a complete mess of things.

Crutchie nodded, but he didn’t ask any questions. He knew better. “I’ll do my best.” He worked himself up from the stair as Jack stood to leave.  

“Thanks,” Jack said, fumbling with his cap. His eyes held Crutchie’s for just a moment too long.  

“Jackie?” Crutchie held out his hand, and Jack took it. “Good luck.”

***

Jack’s papes were heavy on his hip. The falling snow had managed to find its way into his canvas bag; the creases of a few papers were starting to disintegrate into dirty pulp where the flakes had melted. Absently, he pushed them further into the bag, drawing its sides up as high as he could. He couldn’t sell back damaged merchandise, and customers were pretty set on actually being able to read the papers they bought. He knew he’d missed a few potential sales on his way to Katherine’s office, but he was too focused on rehearsing his potential words to even attempt to hawk a headline. He’d always done that on his way to confession, too; he’d wanted the words to come out as quickly and clearly as possible so he could know what his penance would be.

He was suddenly glad Katherine wasn’t Catholic.

Jack wasn’t in the mood to loiter pointlessly in the snow for a second time that day, so he steeled himself and marched into the lobby of Katherine’s office building. He knew he must have looked a fright after sacrificing a night’s sleep to spend hours wandering around in the damp, and the woman behind the polished reception desk did little to hide her distaste. She didn’t take her eyes off of him as she rang up to Katherine’s office, as though she expected him to nick something off the desk.

“If you’d wait in the vestibule, Miss Plumber will be down directly,” she said coldly, and Jack knew he’d rather freeze his ass off than spend one more minute within three feet of this woman. He wanted to rip the lorgnette off her pinched nose and break it in two.

Instead, he took a deep breath and dumped one of the wet papers onto her spotless desk. “Thanks, ma’am. Compliment’ry paper for your trouble.” He turned briskly to move into the vestibule, but he took smug comfort in the certainty that Pinch Nose was shooting daggers at his retreating back.

Katherine bustled into the lobby a few minutes later, and Jack was glad to see she was wearing her overcoat. This was not going to be a conversation for the office, and this certainly wasn’t a conversation he was going to have for Pinch Nose’s entertainment.

“Well, hello!” Katherine said, bracing herself on Jack’s shoulders and leaning up to kiss his cheek. Jack was sure Pinch Nose loved that. “This is a surprise.”

Jack wrapped his arms around her waist and did his best to serve up a nonchalant smile. “Can’t a guy just pop in to see his girl at work?”

“Not generally, no,” Katherine said immediately. “What’s going on?”

“So businesslike,” Jack mumbled. Katherine looked at him dubiously. “Awright, awright. You got me.”

“Should we—” she gestured toward the revolving door. He nodded.

Once they were outside, Katherine settled her hand in the crook of his arm and steered them toward City Hall Park. She didn’t say anything, but her grip on his elbow was bracing.

“I—I gotta tell you somethin’,” Jack said.  

“Clearly. It must be twenty degrees out here,” she said, wrinkling her nose. She tilted her head forward and gave him a sidelong glance. “Should I be worried?”

“Kath.”

She bit her lip. “I should be worried.”

Jack felt sick to his stomach. “Let’s just keep movin’, huh?”

“It’s going to be that kind of a talk, is it?”

“It ain’t you, darlin’. But I—I done somethin’ I shouldn’t have.”

Katherine’s eyes widened and her mouth straightened into a grim line. “Jack Kelly, if you’re telling me that you’ve been unfaithf—”

“No!” Jack said immediately, realizing where she was headed. “No, Kath. I wouldn’t never!”

She looked mildly relieved. “Well, I suppose that would be a strange reason to interrupt a girl at work.”

“And how,” Jack said. “It ain’t that.”

“What is that you did, then?”

“It’s about Davey,” he said lamely. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

“What about Davey?” she asked. The edge in her voice was unmistakable. “Did that girl—”

“It ain’t her neither. Or it is, but it ain’t what you think. Or maybe it is, and I don’t—”

Katherine stopped walking and yanked him out of the footpath by his elbow, nearly causing a collision with another passerby. “You need to tell me exactly what you did this instant,” she hissed.

Jack looked around—there weren’t too many other folks stupid enough to be out in this weather.

“Well, me and Race thought we’d help Davey out—”

“—Race? Oh, dear God.”

Jack faltered, but he knew that he had to tell her. And so he did. That they’d just wanted to help Davey, and Race had insisted that introducing him to someone new would be the best distraction; how they’d landed on Jenny because she was an old friend; that it was never intended to get so serious, but apparently, the two of them were in love, and now Davey was talking about marriage, which was just ridiculous, and—

“Jack, I don’t understand. That’s—I mean, yes, it’s all very fast, and we’ll sort that out later—but doesn’t this just mean that your plan worked better than intended?” Katherine asked earnestly. Her cheeks were pink with the cold, and the confusion in her brown eyes made Jack want to run straight away and out of the park.

He gulped. “Well, there’s still part of it I ain’t told ya,” he said to his feet.

“Jack?”

“Jenny’s a—she’s… she ain’t exactly what we let Davey think she is.”

“What on earth does that mean?” Katherine said. Her words were clipped, and Jack knew that he’d exhausted any patience she had.

“She… um…” Jack fumbled. He did not know how to put this delicately. He knew Katherine was a reporter, that she knew and had seen all kinds of things that girls of her upbringing had not, but still. Jenny’s was not a world that he wanted Katherine to have any part of. “She don’t work in a factory or live in a boardinghouse.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She works in a flophouse. She’s a—”

Katherine shook her head furiously, squeezing her eyes shut. “Don’t.”

“Kath, you gotta understand.”

“Oh, no. No, I don’t. You’re telling me that Davey…Davey’s in love with a…that he wants to marry a—” she lowered her voice, and the next words came out in a frenzied whisper. “—a prostitute? And he doesn’t even know it?”

Jack opened his mouth, but he had no words to come to his rescue.

“And that you and Racetrack knew about this? And still somehow thought it was a good plan?”

“She ain’t—people from where we come from gotta make money where they can find it,” Jack said, not even sure what he hoped to accomplish.

“I know that!” she snapped. “But—why—”

“Because I was scared! I ain’t—I couldn’t see Davey that way. You wasn’t so fond of seein’ ‘im like that either.”

She sighed.

“I’m so sorry, Kath,” he said, and he knew it sounded as weak as he felt.

Katherine didn’t look at him. “Well, at least there’s that,” she said, her voice quiet but sharp. “Let’s just set aside the fact that you’ve been lying not just to Davey, but to me, for weeks”—Jack winced—"and instead, I’d like for you to tell me what on God’s green earth you and Race were thinking.”

“It was more Race’s idea than mine!”

“Oh, definitely not the point,” Katherine replied, and he could practically see her coiling, ready to strike at any moment. She pursed her lips. “When you said I should let you try things your way, this is not what I was anticipating.”

“Me either!” Jack said miserably.

She flicked her eyes in his direction. “Have either of you met Davey?”

“Yes?” He was confused.

“Are you sure?”

“Kath, what—”

She stabbed her finger brutally into his chest, and he faltered backward. “Because if either of you had given this more than half a second of thought, you’d have realized that this is exactly what would happen.”

Jack blinked at her. “I don’t understand.”

“Clearly,” Katherine said. She rolled her eyes skyward, and Jack wondered if she were praying to St. Jude herself. She sighed, and when her voice came, it was much softer. “Neither of you gave any thought to what Davey would be like with a girl?”

“I never seen him with one before.”

“That’s beside the point. Jack, you’d known Davey for, what, two days when he decided he’d gladly risk life, limb, and the safety of his family to help organize a strike? For you?”

“I guess,” Jack mumbled. He didn’t need a reminder of how much Davey had trusted him. Not just then.  

“And that seemed normal to you?” Katherine pressed.

“I didn’t really think about it.”

Katherine laughed viciously. “I’m shocked.” He guessed he deserved that.

“Kath—” he reached for her, but Katherine shot him a look that made him reconsider. He let his arms fall to his sides.  

“People don’t do that, Jack. They don’t just abandon their own self-interest for a complete stranger.”

That’s not true, Jack thought. He knew better. Jack had spent most his life deliberately subverting the things that would be best for him so he could provide for those around him—and some of them had been complete strangers. He thought of the way he’d tried to make his mama laugh when his own stomach rumbled with hunger, the way that he bent over backward to make sure all his boys had a safe place to bed down, the way he had abandoned Santa Fe just because Katherine—and Davey—had asked him to. Self-interest was for people who could afford to be selfish.

“Well, it seems they do,” he said quietly.

Katherine softened, just the slightest bit. “All right, fair. So, there’s a trend here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember everything Davey’s told us about school?”

Jack shook his head, puzzled. “I don’t—”

“He didn’t have any friends, Jack,” she said slowly.

Of course he knew that. He didn’t need the reminder. Every time he thought about what Davey had told him about those boys from school, it lit a fire in his chest. He’d beat every last one of them if he could. What did that matter now? “So?”

“And then he found you. And he basically gave himself up to you, body and soul.”

Jack started, knowing that she was right even as he opened his mouth to protest. “That’s a little dramatic, Kath.” He braced himself, knowing he shouldn’t have said anything.

“You’re not in any position to criticize me right now.”

There it was. “Yes, ma’am.”

“My point is that of course Davey wants to marry the first girl he’s ever…been with?” Katherine squirmed, looking at Jack for confirmation, and he nodded, wordlessly. “He doesn’t know how not to commit. He’s too afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be left alone.”

Jack didn’t like the sound of that. “I ain’t sure, but I’m pretty sure I should be offended right now.”

“Why’s that?” Katherine said cheerlessly.  

“I think you’re sayin’ that Davey’s my friend because he’s scared he won’t have any others.”

“No! Well, yes. Kind of. Which is lucky for you, quite frankly,” Katherine said, half to herself. She looked back at him, her eyes hard. “But redirect, please. This conversation is not, in fact, about you.”

He held up his hands. “Right.”

“What I’m saying is that Davey loves with his whole heart, and he’ll do anything he can to prove it. And you and Race should have known that.”

“We didn’t plan on them fallin’ in love,” Jack said stupidly.  

Katherine fixed her eyes on his face. “No one plans on falling in love, and you should know that better than anyone, Mr. Kelly.”

And even though her expression was still tight as a bow string, Katherine let Jack pull her close to him.

“I ain’t so sure she loves him back,” Jack said to the crown of Katherine’s head. He kissed the part of her auburn hair.

“Really?” she asked. Her face was resting against his chest, but he knew without being able to see that it was skeptical. Katherine was never one to take his first word for anything. Rightly so, he supposed.

“No, not really,” he admitted. He felt like a selfish heel for holding Katherine so tightly when he was practically erecting a stone wall between Jenny and Davey. Why shouldn’t Davey have what Jack had? Why shouldn’t Jenny? It would be so easy to just let them have one another—except that it wouldn’t be easy at all. He knew exactly how Jenny felt about Davey, and he was trying very hard not to care.

He felt Katherine nod. “Exactly. Because the other thing about Davey is that you can’t help loving him back.”

“I guess,” he said, but she was absolutely right. Davey was awkward and infuriating and wound too tight—and still, he couldn’t think of any of the newsies who wouldn’t walk through fire for him.

“You know,” Katherine said pointedly. “And I think you’re only this bothered by the whole thing because you’re jealous.”

Jack froze. “Excuse me?”

Katherine scoffed at him, disentangling herself from his arms. “Again, this is not your moment to be offended.” She smoothed her hair without looking at him.

“No, I think it is! I’m bothered by this ‘whole thing’ because Davey don’t know that Jenny is—what she does for a living.”

“And whose fault is that?” she asked archly.

“Katherine.”

“No, Jack. You’re the one who lied to him in the first place—and to me, by the way. I’m not thrilled that you’ve orchestrated this whole romance either, but since you’re the one who dragged the poor girl into this in the first place—”

Poor girl? Jack looked at the ground. “I don’t know about ‘dragged’—”

“Dragged,” Katherine said, raising her eyebrows in defiance.

“We asked nicely.” It was all that he could think of to say. And they had! No one had forced Jenny into anything. He would never. It was really more Davey that had been forced into the whole scheme, and despite Jack’s best efforts, he didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Well, that certainly makes all the difference,” she said icily.  

Jack shoved his hands in his coat pockets, hoping Katherine wouldn’t see that he’d clenched them into tight fists. He felt his fingernails dig into the flesh of his palm. “Look, you got every right to be angry. And you’re right about Davey. But that’s why I told ya.”

“What is?”

“Because you know ‘im so well—and you’re smart. Smarter’n me and Race.”

Katherine snorted. “That’s hardly a compliment.”

He squeezed his fingernails further into his palm. “Kath, please.”

“Fine. I’m listening.”

“We gotta figure out how to get ‘im outta this before it’s too late,” Jack said.  

Katherine tried hard to glower, but Jack could see the furrow working its way between her brows. She sighed and set her gloved hand carefully on his forearm—his balled hands were still stuffed firmly in his pockets. “Oh, love. I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“What?” He wasn’t sure that he’d heard her right.

“You can’t get him out of this,” she said gently.

“Why can’t I?” His voice was small, like a child’s.

“Davey’s going to have to make that choice on his own. You and Race may have gotten him into this, but he may not want out. Not if it’s like you say. God knows I don’t want to be left without you, though it’s hard to remember why at the moment.”

He ignored her. “But he don’t know about Jenny’s work,” he said again, although the point seemed grow more and more futile every time he articulated it.

“No, he doesn’t,” Katherine said, but the acid was gone from her voice. “I…I think your problem is whether to tell him yourself or let him find out on his own.”

“Our problem, darlin’,” Jack said hopefully.  

She shook her head quickly. “Oh-ho, no. This is your mess, Jack Kelly.”

“But—”

“I’m not going to lie to Davey,” Katherine said at once. Then, she bit her lip. “At least not directly.”

It was finally Jack’s turn to roll his eyes. “How noble of ya.”

“I’d tread carefully if I were you. You are remarkably lucky that I’m even speaking to you right now,” Katherine said, but the fight had gone out of her words.  

Jack smiled and took his hands from his pockets so that he could pull Katherine to him. “I’m lucky you ever spoke to me, Ace,” he said softly. He leaned down to kiss her, but he was thwarted a demure turn of her cheek.

“Yes, you are—but don’t try to sweet talk me,” she said—but Jack noticed that her arms were still circled around his waist. “Are you going to tell him?”

Jack tried to focus on her warm brown eyes as he spoke. “He—he believes everything she says to cover where she is and what she’s doing. He thinks she’s a garment worker and lives in a factory boardin’house. And Davey’s one of a’ the smartest guys I know.”

“I know he is,” Katherine said, and she reached up to touch Jack’s face. “But that’s not what I asked.”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t know how to tell ‘im, Kath.” He could feel the ache in his throat again. 

“Oh, Jackie.” Katherine’s arms slid around him again, one around his waist and the other carefully shepherding his forehead to her shoulder. He felt the fur trim of her glove whisper across the back of his neck.

He would not cry. He would not think about losing anyone else, especially Davey. It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it—but Jack knew it wasn’t really his choice. “He was so mad last night. An’ now he ain’t here. What’s gonna happen if I tell ‘im?”

Katherine stroked his hair. “I can’t tell you that. But you told me, and I’m still here.”

“But you ain’t the one who’s in love with a lie.”

“I don’t think that part’s a lie. And that may be in your favor.”

“Hmm?” Jack lifted his head, and Katherine wrapped her hands in the lapels of his coat, tugging him toward her.

“Whether you tell him or she tells him or he finds out on his own, there’s more to it than just the lie now. Davey loves her, and you said you think that she loves him too. They’re both going to get hurt when this comes out, Jack, but… if they really care for one another, there’s a chance it might work out. Eventually. In spite of how stupid you are.”

Jack let his breath escape in a huff. “That don’t make me feel any better right now.”

Katherine shook her head. “I don’t think anything is going to make you feel better right now, love.”

“It’s gonna get worse before I do, huh?” he asked, already knowing the answer.  

“Yes, it is,” Katherine said softly. “But I’ll be here, whatever you need. You can’t scare me off that easy. Just—next time you think you have a great idea, run it past me first.”

He let his face sink down to meet hers and was relieved when her lips crushed tenderly against his. He wrapped a length of her auburn hair around his fist and held her close. “I love you, you know.”

Katherine was breathless when she pulled away. “I love you too. Even when you’re completely ridiculous.”

“Let’s hope you’re not the only one.”  He offered her his arm again, and they stepped back onto the footpath. “Now, Miss Plumber, you’ve got some work to do, ain’t ya?”

“So do you, Jack,” she said softly. “So do you.”

Chapter Text

David found that he sometimes worried when he forgot what it was that he should be worried about. He would freeze, frantically searching the library stacks in his mind for the thing that he knew he had been stuck on just a moment before—which he realized was counterintuitive. If his mind couldn’t hold onto something, maybe he ought to just let it go? But there was always the lingering concern that whatever it was may have been important, that letting it slip between the cracks would cause him more trouble later. Sometimes, he could pull it back from the hazy edge of his brain; he would almost sigh with relief, because at least knowing what was wrong was a start. It was always more productive to nurse a specific concern. But there were times when he couldn’t put a name to the tightness in his chest or the panicked bursts beneath his skull.

Or.

Or sometimes there were simply too many things demanding his concern to understand their natural order. Like now.

“David?”

His mother butterflied her cool hands on the back of his neck, and David started. The room came into focus, and he realized he was sitting at the kitchen table. It was morning; the light coming in through the window was a soft winter pink, and someone—Sarah?—had put a mug of coffee in front of him. The snow had stopped. Jack wasn’t on the fire escape anymore. David couldn’t remember having slept, and he certainly couldn’t remember how he got to the table.

“You’re so far away, ahuv,” Esther said. He heard the familiar worry pricking at the seams of her voice as she moved her hands to his face, checking for fever. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mama,” he said quickly. He squirmed out from under her hands under the guise of taking a sip of coffee; it was cold. Oh God. How long had he been sitting there? 

Esther sat down next to him, gently patting his arm. “Of course you are. I just worry, you know.”

Oh, yes. He knew. “I know, Mama.”

“Well,” she said with a sigh. “Are you ready for today?”

David blinked, cold coffee halfway to his lips. “I—uh—”

“Of course we are, Mama.” Sarah came into the room, finishing the buttons at the top of her shirtwaist. “I’ve got the list in my market basket.”

Esther smiled at her. “I know we don’t normally make a big to-do of it, but I thought that for this year—”

Sarah nodded. “We need to do something.”

“Even if it’s just having a nice meal and making to kindle the lights,” Esther said softly. “Everything was in such a mess during the high holidays this year we couldn’t—I know it isn’t the same, but I’d like it if tonight should be special, huh?”

Chanukah. Tonight was the first night of Chanukah. Their first Chanukah without Les. David had forgotten. And he’d forgotten that he and Sarah had promised to run the holiday errands for their mother; it was something they could easily have done that afternoon, but Esther had baited them with a welcome respite from work. Mayer had returned to his factory job, so things were not as tight as they had been, and even if they were, David knew that Esther wanted her children close that day. He had forgotten to tell Jack that he wouldn’t be there this morning, and he’d forgotten to tell Jenny that he wouldn’t be able to get away this afternoon.

And until he looked at his mother, wringing her hands and trying to smile and wanting so badly for a night that had never been particularly special to suddenly become something it could not, he’d forgotten what Jack had said to him last night.

But he could remember now. He set his coffee cup down, maybe just a bit too hard, before Mama or Sarah could notice the way that his hand had just barely started to shake.

Sarah’s eyebrows flew up at the sound of the cup connecting with the tabletop. “David?”

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Esther asked immediately. His heart sank at the tone in her voice. He wanted it to be last night again, Mama in his arms as he spun them around the kitchen, the promise of the first snow whispering against the windows, when it had almost felt like what was damaged had been mended.

He cleared his throat and did his best to smile as he slipped his hands under his legs. “Mm. Still waking up,” he said, throwing in a yawn for good measure. His mother tutted at him, but seemed to accept the explanation; Sarah glared at him. So, that was a conversation they’d be having later.

“Well, wake up, tateleh. You and your sister have a lot to do today,” Esther said. She leaned over to kiss David on the cheek before she stood up. “We all do. Your father certainly picked a fine week to start back to work.”

“Candles. Chicken. Potatoes. Root vegetables,” Sarah pretended to read off her list, but her eyes were subtly fixed on David. He suddenly felt warm.

“Mm—and don’t forget the schmaltz. I’m not sure I have enough,” Esther said, moving toward the money tin on the kitchen counter. “And I’ll give you a little something to pick up a babka we won’t have to make ourselves. Why not?”

“Why not?” David echoed. He tried to smile. “It’s a holiday, after all.”

“We’ll make it feel like one,” Esther said, almost to herself. “Like it should be.”

“We will, Mama,” Sarah said, looping her arm around Esther’s waist.

“Thank you, zeesinkeh.” Esther pressed her lips absently to Sarah’s temple. David watched them, his sister’s fawn-colored head leaning against the soft dishwater curls of his mother’s backcombed updo. Esther’s fingers pulled gently at the long fall of Sarah’s hair. Then, she sniffed and seemed to come back to herself. She pressed a few coins into Sarah’s hand. “Now, you two had better get going,” Esther said. She glanced quickly at the window. “And make sure you—”

“Bundle up,” Sarah interrupted. “We know.”

Esther smiled. “I know you do. I just want you should be careful.”

Sarah squeezed her mother just a little harder. “We will, Mama,” she said again. David wilted a little when he saw the expectant look on her face. “David?”

“I’m ready,” he said, forcing himself up and out of his chair. He left the cold coffee where it was.

***

The snow was already ruined. Footprints had broken its smooth surface and coal dust stained its crystalline edges an ugly gray. Even though it couldn’t be above freezing—David could feel the skin at the tip of his nose burning in the cold—rivulets of grimy slush pooled in the sidewalk cracks. The winter sky had lost the cheery pink hue of early morning. Instead, the sunlight slammed onto the street in harsh, colorless shafts. David felt a little woozy, but he tripped along, Sarah’s mittened-hand leading him not-entirely-gently by the crook of his elbow.

“So, what was that about before?” Sarah asked, pulling him out of the way of a deliveryman’s dolly. “And don’t say ‘what,’ because you know exactly what I mean.”

“Nothing. I just have a lot—”

“On your mind?” Sarah scoffed. “You always do. Hold on, we need onions.” She pulled him toward a cart manned by a large Haredi gentleman. David waited like a child while Sarah haggled, her Yiddish sharper than his; but thanks to study, his Hebrew was better than hers. Once the onions were in her market basket, she grabbed his arm again. He wouldn’t be let off so easily. “Say. Now.”

 “We have a lot to do.”

Her fingers dug through her mitten tips and into the tendon on the underside of his elbow. “And plenty of time to do it. So, you tell me what’s wrong.”

David sighed. “I’m not sure how to say it.”

“Usually, it’s best to just use your words.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

“You know what I mean. You don’t have to be careful with me,” Sarah said. He knew that she was thinking of their mother—they both had to be careful with Mama now. And that was the trouble, wasn’t it? What if Sarah felt about Jenny the way Jack said Mama and Papa would?

“I might,” he said lamely.  

“What, did you kill someone?” she said with a snort. David rolled his eyes, and Sarah loosened her grip on his arm. She smiled, gently brushing his ribs with her elbow. “See? I doubt you’ve done anything that can shock me.”

If only she knew. They weaved around another cart.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” he said softly. He almost hoped she hadn’t heard.

“Someone?”

He steeled himself, the vice in his chest beginning to tighten again. “A girl. I’ve been seeing a girl.”

“With your own two eyes?” she said sharply.

“Sarah.” He tried to still his breath.

“Sorry,” she said. He knew that she could feel how tense he was. She nudged his shoulder with her forehead. “You’ve been seeing a girl. When?”

It was a fair question. He’d gone to work and been home for dinner nearly every night. Well, except for the few nights when he and Jenny—his nostrils flared as he tried to fill his lungs. “Between editions, mostly. I—she’s a friend of Jack and Race’s, from when they were kids.”

“What?” she asked suddenly. Her feet stopped, and David nearly tripped over his own. The crush of pedestrians oozed around them, more than a few passersby giving them dirty looks for creating a roadblock.

“Sarah?”

Sarah blinked, and he could see that her mind was at work. “Nothing, I just—Jack’s friend?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“No reason.” She was trying hard to sound casual, but there was an undercurrent of disappointment in her voice—he knew it. What he didn’t know was whether he was in trouble or not.  She pulled him forward again. “Is that why you’ve been so happy lately?” It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

His hip brushed past a salesman’s leather case. “I—well, yes. It is.”

“I thought you were getting better,” she said. The words were soft and sad.

“I am!” He reached with his free hand to cover hers.

She shook her head. “Distracting yourself and healing are two different things, David,” Sarah said. She did not look at him, and his stomach hardened.

“She’s not a distraction,” he said desperately. He could feel the underside of his chest beating frantically, and he tried again to take a deep breath.

“Wait,” Sarah said simply, and she ducked inside of the crowded butcher’s.

David leaned his weight against the painted glass of the storefront, bending at the waist and bracing his hands against his thighs so that he could lower his head toward his knees. A gust of wind flew down the street, and his scarf swung like a pendulum. He looked at his boots, surrounded by the dirty slush, and he tried to think. He was absolutely aware of everything he had forgotten to worry about last night. Last night, everything had felt so certain. He knew that he wanted Jenny, and he was sure that Jack would be excited for him, that somehow Jack’s excitement would carry him through each and every explanation he had to make. But Jack wasn’t excited. Jack was angry, and now, so was Sarah. And Mama and Papa—David gulped at the frigid air.

He wished Jenny were there. No. He wished Les were there.

“Isn’t she?” he heard behind him. Sarah was at his side, a grab bag of parted chicken pieces wrapped in butcher paper sitting atop her basket. He could see the tin can of rendered drippings nestled next to it, and his stomach turned.

“What?” he managed to choke out. He could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, and his scalp seemed to prickle all over with fresh sweat.

“Isn’t she a distraction?” Sarah said, flipping her hair over her shoulder as though David should have known to pick up their conversation precisely where she had left it.

He let his head fall again. “Sarah.” He gasped before he could stop himself.

“Oh. Oh, David.” Her hand was on his shoulder. “Can you—”

He stood up, letting his head fall backward against the glass.

“Good,” Sarah murmured. She shifted so that she was facing him directly. “Just…will you—can you—just breathe.” He knew that people were staring at them, but Sarah didn’t seem to care. Maybe she wasn’t as angry as he thought. He took a shuddery breath.

“That’s it,” she said soothingly. “Again.”

David complied. They went back and forth that way for a few minutes. Sarah kept her eyes on his the entire time. “Good, neshama. Good.”

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably.

“No, I’m sorry,” Sarah said. She looked at her feet. “I was—it’s just that you’ve never not told me something like this before. And I—”

“I’m telling you now,” he said softly. “I just didn’t know what to say.”

“You don’t always have to know what to say. And a good sister would know better than to—”

“You’re a good sister. The best,” David said. He opened his arms, and Sarah wrapped hers around his waist. He felt a little less adrift. “I’m sorry. I—part of me felt like it was disrespectful? To Les. Like I shouldn’t be so happy when—but I should have told you a long time ago.”

“How long?” she said, pressing her face into the breast of his coat.

David bit his lip. “A couple months?”

Sarah withdrew. “Oh my.”

He grinned sheepishly.

She tapped both palms on his chest. “Well, then. Go on. Tell me about her.” And suddenly they were walking again, Sarah’s market basket wedged between them.

It took David a moment to find the words. “Her name is Jenny. And she’s—I don’t know. She’s beautiful—”

Sarah wrinkled her nose. “And she still wants to be seen with you?” she joked.

David ignored her, but he felt comforted by her levity. “And I—she makes me feel like—like when I’m with her? I—you know how I am. I mean, I just—you know that I can’t—that I worry—”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sarah said. She gently kissed his shoulder, and he heard the basket creak as their bodies drew a little closer together.

“And when I’m with her, I still worry—but it doesn’t feel so much like I am. If that makes sense. I feel… quieter? Like things are still, for just a second.”

“Why, do you think?” she asked. “Go that way—we still need tapers.”

They turned the corner. “I don’t know—I don’t know. I can’t explain any of it. But I—well, I—”

“You what?” Sarah prodded.

He took a breath in preparation. “I love her.”

Sarah looked up at him. “That’s—”

“I know.”

“You’ve never—”

“I know.”

They walked in silence for a few moments. Sarah leaned her head against his shoulder, and the basket groaned. “Are you happy?”

“Yes?” he said. Because they were—weren’t they?—but it felt like no one else was. Or would be.

“That sounds like a question,” Sarah chided.

He nodded furiously. “I am. We are. But I—last night? I tried to talk to Jack about it.”

“You mean he didn’t know?” she said, and there was a bitterness to her tone that David didn’t quite understand.

“He knew. He just—I told him that I—that I—” David looked away and braced himself. “I think I want to marry her.”

“Oh,” Sarah breathed.

He didn’t know what to say. “Yeah.”

She nodded as though she understood, and oh God, he hoped she did. “That’s—”

“I know. And he asked me what Mama and Papa would think.”

“Oh,” she said again.

“Because she’s not Jewish,” David said. He looked down at his sister out of the corner of his eye, but her face betrayed nothing.  

“Right,” Sarah replied woodenly.

They swerved to avoid a tiny bootblack, and David willed himself to keep walking. “And I—well, what do you think? Am I crazy?”

“You’re not,” Sarah said tiredly. She pulled away from him and shifted the basket into her other hand.  “But I—I don’t know, Davey.”

“You don’t have to know,” he insisted, desperate for her answer. “I just—what do you think? Is this ridiculous?”

“Yes.”  

His hopes plummeted. “You didn’t think very hard about that.”

“You asked what I think, and that’s what I think,” she said, her tone practical. She hesitated. “But—”

There was a jolt beneath his ribs. “But?”

“Just because something is ridiculous doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong.” Sarah half-smiled at him.

David pulled her to a stop. “So, you think—”

She looked up at him, and he could see that there were tears in her eyes. “I think we’ve all been through a lot this year.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. He took her hands, the soft wool of her mittens rubbing against his chapped skin.

“You especially,” she said softly. “And if you’ve found something that’s helped bring you back to life, even a little—if you’re happy, Daveleh, then I want you should grab it and take it. You’re the only who can know your own heart.”

His knew his heart was leaping just then. “Then you don’t think it’s too fast?”

“I didn’t say that,” Sarah cautioned.  

“Oh.”

“But I’ve known you my whole life, right?”

“Right.”

“And you always do everything when you’re ready to do it. Sometimes, that means waiting years for the courage to do something that other people don’t think twice about. And other times, you surprise me. You just—do it. Because it feels right. Maybe this is one of those times?”

She was right. But—“What about what Jack said?”

“About Mama and Papa?”

“He said that—he made it sound like—do you think they’ll be angry?”

“You know the answer to that already,” she said simply. And he did. He couldn’t hope for them to be proud of his choice, not after the sacrifices that they had made for their faith. They had crossed an ocean to protect it, to protect him. Jack hadn’t been entirely wrong. No matter how wonderful Jenny was, she wasn’t like them. But David couldn’t help loving her all the same. She was in each and every one of the secret visions of his future that he’d begun to nurture—the visions that, after Les, he thought might never come again. No, when he pictured their days yet to come, Jenny’s hands were not waving gracefully over Sabbath candles, but David found he didn’t mind the way he once would have. Her hands were holding him, guiding him—and that was what mattered.

 Or so he wanted to believe. But Jack’s warning clung to him like a sharp burr.

“But do you think they would—would I ruin everything?” he asked, knowing exactly how desperate he sounded.

“Oh, Davey,” Sarah said, a hitch in her voice. “I don’t know.” She moved to start walking again, but David caught her hand.

“Do you think they might just be happy that I’m happy?”

She sighed. “I hope so.”

“Hoping isn’t the same as knowing,” he said, almost to himself.

“No,” Sarah agreed. “The tapers,” she reminded him gently, and they fell back into the swell of the sidewalk.

 “I think that you should wait a little while,” Sarah said softly. “To tell them, I mean. Everything is still so fragile.”

David nodded miserably.   

“They were a love match, you know,” she continued. His head snapped in her direction. “They didn’t have a matchmaker. They might—if you wait, and you let them know that you’ve found your match, your person…”

David took a cautious breath. “It sounds awfully—”

“American?” they said at the same time. David almost laughed.

Sarah nodded, and a careful smile spread slowly across her face. “It does, neshama. But they want we should be good Americans, yes?”                                                                                                                                       

“That’s what Papa always says,” David said, and he couldn’t contain the lilt in his voice. He almost believed her.

They walked on in silence, David throwing himself headlong into the hope that maybe Mama and Papa would be able to understand, and Sarah lost to thoughts that were grounded more decidedly in reality. When they reached the shop, Sarah handed him the basket.  

“Davey?”

“Hmm?”

Her eyes searched his face. “Even if—well, if it doesn’t—if something goes wrong, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll always be here.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. “Me too.”

“I know,” she replied. She stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

***

David and Sarah had spent most of the rest of their day helping Esther with her piecework, their heads bent over the tiny stitches and their hearts set on quiet memories of Les. Every so often, someone would say, “Do you remember—” and they’d spend the next few minutes lost to a happier time until they lapsed into a not-uncomfortable silence and their own thoughts. David kept his needle moving steadily, trying to remember what Sarah had told him to do. Wait. Wait. Wait. “Everything is still so fragile,” she’d said, and when the gas light hit his mother’s careworn face, he knew that she was right.

But his mind wouldn’t quite behave. As he’d grated the onions and potatoes, he pictured Jenny standing next to him, wrapped in an apron and mixing ingredients together in their cracked stoneware bowl. She would lean over to kiss his cheek, making fun of his onion tears. Mama would stand behind Jenny, he thought, helping her to spoon precise amounts of batter into the rolling oil; she would nod as Jenny pressed the latkes flat with the back of her spatula, impressed that David had found such a girl. Papa would savor every bite and compliment Jenny’s cooking. They would all sit together at the table, and Papa would pour everyone a glass of wine, and—David tried to push away Jack’s words, to forget the way Sarah had looked at him when she said she’d always be there. It could happen. They could be a family. Couldn’t they?

Esther was finishing frying the last batch of latkes when Mayer bustled in, just after sunset. The apartment smelled of hot oil and cold air. Mayer kissed Esther a warm hello, his arms holding her just a bit longer than usual.

“Smells wonderful,” he murmured, nuzzling gently into Esther’s neck.

His wife beamed, but playfully slapped at his arm. “You’ll just have to wait. The sun is already down.”

“Children, are we ready?”

Sarah dimmed the lamps and David slipped on his kippah. Esther placed their simple menorah and two of the tapers they’d bought in the center of the table, next to a box of long matches.

Mayer put on his own kippah and looked at his family. They all knew he was thinking of the one that was missing. Les had always helped to light the candles; like any boy of his age, the possibility of playing with fire was always an enticement. Now, Mayer looked to David.  

“David, will you?”

“Yes, Papa.”

David reached across the table and pressed the shamash into the center holder; then, he reached for another, slipping it into the rightmost opening.

“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Chanukah,” they intoned together. “Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim la’avoteinu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh.”

David heard his father’s voice break as they chanted the final blessing. “Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha'olam, shehekheyanu, v’kiyamanu vehegianu lazman hazeh.” Praised are You, Our God, Ruler of the universe, Who has given us life and sustained us and enabled us to reach this season. The prayer did not curdle, but David knew that thanksgiving was hard won.

“David?” Esther prompted, her voice wavering. Mayer took her in his arms. David imagined Jenny at his side, reminding him to be strong, that everything would be all right, but it was Sarah’s hand that squeezed his arm.

David carefully struck one of the matches against the scuffed wood of the table and touched the flame to the shamash. As it kindled, he carefully slipped it from its perch and brought it to the wick of the first candle. Both lights glowed brightly in the dim apartment.

“Chag urim sameach,” Mayer said. The family watched, unmoving, as the flames danced, and David said his own silent prayer.

Guide my way. Please help them understand.

Chapter Text

Jack looked nervously—and pointlessly—over his shoulder for the fourth time. No one would be here for at least another half-hour.

Katherine’s kid-gloved hand closed around his forearm. “I’m sure he’ll be here today. He probably just needed a little time to calm down.”

Jack had to admit that she was patient. And that she knew exactly how to handle him. Rather than waiting for Jack to show up at her office again, Katherine had proposed that she meet him, early, at the distribution center. She knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay in the lodging house a second longer than necessary; if the boys saw him pacing around like a caged tiger, there would be questions, and it was clear that he wasn’t in any mood to answer them. What he needed was Davey, and while Katherine couldn’t necessarily deliver that, she could talk Jack off a ledge before his day started. Why she’d do that for him at the ass-crack of dawn, he wasn’t entirely sure, but it didn’t so much matter just then.

“If he ain’t here, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Jack muttered. He snuck another glance up the block.

“You could stand under his fire escape and yell,” Katherine said.

“Helpful.”

“I try,” she replied, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. She lifted his arm so that she could nestle herself underneath it, and her arms snaked around Jack’s waist. “Look, just have some faith. It’s Davey. He would never just write you off.”

“He was pretty upset, Kath,” Jack said to the top of her head.

Katherine didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, because unlike you, he has feelings.”

“Well, that’s unfair.”

“Okay. Fine, you have a few. But yours don’t seem to get hurt so easily.”

“I wouldn’t be with you if they did.”

She snickered. “I’m flattered.”

Jack took a breath, ready to deliver a crushing reply that he hadn’t yet thought of, and that’s when he saw her. He’d turned his head to look up the block again, to pointlessly check for an approaching Davey, and, instead, there was Jenny. Headed toward the distribution center. At this hour. And she looked—she was—

Jack pushed Katherine gently behind him, as though to shield her, and he heard her gasp as Jenny came closer. “Oh my god,” she whispered.

Jack was no stranger to what someone looked like after a sound beating; he’d spent his childhood watching his mother try to hide the evidence left by his father, and he’d been through enough of his own to recognize when marks had been left in anger, like some kind of deranged calling card.

Someone had hurt Jenny, and badly.

She wasn’t wearing a hat or scarf, and her coat was hanging open. Her hair hung loose and tangled in front of her face, but Jack could still see that the left side of her face was swollen and purple, from her cheekbone to her eye socket. Dried blood clung to the skin beneath her nose, and her bottom lip was split at the corner. Her throat was wreathed in angry red impressions that could only have been made by someone’s fingers. She was bracing her ribs with her right arm, her shoulders caved forward, and there was something about the way she walked, wide-legged and on tenderfoot, that made Jack’s stomach turn.  

“Jack!” Jenny called out hoarsely, but when she saw Katherine peeking from behind him, she slowed. “Oh. I’m sorry—I didn’t know you were—” she tried to smile, but the motion pulled at the cut on her lip, and she winced.

“What happened? Are you all right?” Jack moved to reach for her, but Jenny stepped suddenly back, her eyes wide.

“Jack, I—”

“Who did this to you?” He tried to move forward again, but Katherine wrapped her fingers around his biceps, holding him in place.

Jenny shook her head. “I can’t—”

“Jenny.”

Her eyes darted toward Katherine. “I was—uh, walking through the park and I—there was a man and I—”

“You don’t have to lie,” Katherine said suddenly. She moved so that she and Jack were standing side by side. “Tell her she doesn’t have to lie.”

Jenny started to protest. “I’m not—”

Katherine took a careful step forward. She reached her hands toward the other girl, slowly, carefully. Jack watched as Jenny let Katherine touch her, gripping her softly by her elbows and looking into her battered face. “No, you don’t have to. I—I understand. Jack told me.”

Jenny looked down at her feet.  

“I had to,” Jack said softly.   

“I—” Jenny tried to reply, but she crumpled against Katherine, sobbing into the other girl’s expensive coat. Katherine’s arms circled easily around Jenny; Jack had never felt more useless in his entire life.

“My house. We’ll take her to my house,” Katherine said firmly.

Jack’s eyes practically bugged out of his skull. “Kath, we can’t. Your folks—”

“Are on a European tour for the holidays,” she said smugly. Well, that was certainly news to Jack. He looked at her sharply. She shrugged. “I couldn’t miss work. I’ve got the place to myself.”

“Huh,” was all Jack could say. Normally, he’d make a crack about getting Katherine alone in that big house. But nothing felt normal now. His worlds were colliding in a way he was not prepared for. To see Katherine and Jenny together this way made his head want to explode; and how on earth were they going to keep this from Davey? He couldn’t see Jenny like this. It would be too much.

It was certainly too much for Jack.

“Now, you come with me. We’ll get a cab—you shouldn’t be on your feet,” Katherine said to Jenny. She looped her arm around Jenny’s waist, careful not to jostle her ribs. “Jack…”

She wanted to make sure Davey didn’t see Jenny this way. Not until they figured out what to do.   

He nodded vacantly. “Yeah. I’ll find Race and have him sell with—him. If he shows.” He didn’t think Jenny could handle Davey’s name just then. Katherine nodded.

He watched for a moment as Katherine shepherded Jenny away from the paved yard and toward the street. It was still too early for many people to be around, thank God. They were so lucky that Jenny had found him before Davey had arrived—if he arrived. But Jack didn’t have time to think about that. Everything that had seemed so important ten minutes before was suddenly shunted to the back of his mind. He took off toward the lodging house.

***

“Um—is—I’d like to see Miss Pulitzer and her…guest? If ya please?”

Jack shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been to the Pulitzer mansion before; it was that their domestic staff changed with startling frequency. He would just manage to win over the previous butler or housekeeper, to convince them that his shabby clothes and broad vowels were all part of his charm, and that it was definitely acceptable for him to be calling on Miss Pulitzer—and then they’d disappear, and he’d have to start over again. The fact that Miss Pulitzer had just toted home a girl of questionable virtue on his behalf probably wasn’t going to endear him to the new maid.

The dour-faced matron who had opened the door peered at him through her wire-rimmed spectacles. “Miss Pulitzer is indisposed. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Um, it’s Jack Kelly,” Jack said uncertainly. The woman blinked at him. He cleared his throat, lengthened his spine, and tried again. “Mr. Jack Kelly.”

She looked unimpressed. “Mr. Kelly, if you’d wait in the parlor—” and a clatter sounded down the hall, where Jack knew the kitchens were located. “Oh good gracious, what is it now?” The woman took off toward the offending noise, and Jack seized the moment to dart up the grand staircase. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. Besides, the new housekeeper would probably be gone before the next time he visited.

He took a deep breath as he approached Katherine’s room. Jack had spent the last year imagining what it would be like to be with Katherine in this room, behind this door; but he knew that what waited for him on the other side was not at all like he’d imagined. He knocked softly, hoping that the housekeeper was still busy in the kitchen.

He tried to smile when Katherine opened the door. “Never thought I’d make it to your bedroom, Ace.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, but she pulled him into the room and wrapped her arms around him.   

“How is she?” he murmured into Katherine’s hair.

Katherine had clearly taken charge of the situation. Jenny was installed in Kath’s bed, which was maybe the most ridiculous piece of furniture Jack had ever seen. It had four posts of polished brass, connected by a canopy of ornate twists and curlicues draped in floor-length lace curtains. The lace-trimmed pillows were practically as big as Jack’s penthouse bedroll, and the overstuffed satin bedclothes were shiny under the electric lights; Jenny was completely dwarfed by all the bedroom fauna. She was wearing one of Katherine’s nightgowns, a pristine white shift trimmed out with lace and pink ribbon. Her wild hair had been carefully brushed and plaited in two dark braids that hung over each shoulder, and the dried blood and smeared make-up had been washed from her face. The ugly cuts and bruises were still there—Jack knew they would be for a while—but, all tucked in and rosy, she looked almost like the little girl he’d known years ago.  

Especially when she glared at him.

“She is fine, and she has ears, thank you very much,” Jenny huffed. Her voice was weak, but Jack was glad to hear it.  

“Sorry, Jen,” Jack said with a soft chuckle. He gave Katherine a quick kiss on the cheek and then moved to sit at the edge of the bed. He carefully took Jenny’s hand, trying to ignore the mottled purple bruises that banded her wrist. “Look, can you tell me what happened?”

Jenny didn’t look at him. Instead, she pulled her hand away and started to fidget with the tail end of one of her braids.

“I just want to make sure you’re all right,” he pressed. He pulled up his cap for a moment, tucking his hair back under the brim.  

“Well, it’s happened before,” she said, worrying her braid a little more. “And it’s been all right every other time.”

Jack dropped his head. “Oh, Jenny.” How many times had it happened? Why hadn’t he been there? How could they have let her down like that—how could they have let Danny down like that?

She shrugged. “Look, occupational hazard, right? It wasn’t one of my regulars. He was drunk, and I—I didn’t do exactly what he asked me to. So, he did what he wanted, and I didn’t have much choice but to let him.” She let the braid drop and painstakingly laid her hands flat on the satin comforter.  

“It don’t look like you let him.” Jack turned his face away from the raw skin at her throat and the blossoming yellow and violet landscape across her face.

“Well, he got what he wanted either way,” Jenny said simply.

Jack couldn’t speak. He didn’t know how to process what she was telling him. He wasn’t stupid; he understood the risks that came with a job like Jenny’s, and he had a vague awareness of the risks that came with simply being a woman. A year with Katherine had at least taught him that. But for a man to just take what he wanted without consideration of the woman—of his girl, his Jenny? Of Danny’s Jenny, of Davey’s Jenny? He didn’t want to believe what she was saying. But the proof was irrefutable, and it made his stomach turn.

Jenny reached out, as though to lay her hand on his, and but the hand stuttered in midair and she set it back down. She drew her knees up toward her chest, hugging them to her. “I just didn’t know who else to turn to, Jackie. I—the guy only left part of my fee, which means I owe the house. I can’t work until…well, until I heal. No one wants to look at this. Which means no cash. And until I’m paid up, I can’t stay there. I gave them what I had, but I’m still in the hole, and looking like this, it’s not like I’ve got a lot of options. I don’t know—”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Katherine broke in. Jack had almost forgotten she was there. “You can stay as long as you need to, and I can take care of any…outstanding debts.”

Jenny looked at him. “Is she for real?”

Katherine nodded. “I am. And I mean it. It’s no trouble at all—any of it.”

Jenny stared at Katherine in disbelief. “I—I don’t know what to—” she faltered, and then she buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders started to shake. Jack looked back at Katherine for some kind of help, but she shook her head. Instead, she went to the wash basin, grabbed the ewer, and went out under the pretense of refilling it. Talk to her, she mouthed as she left the room. As if that hadn’t been what had led to Jenny’s tears in the first place.

Jack did not understand girls.

He was too afraid to touch her—she hadn’t seemed to like that before—but his arms itched to wrap around her. When they were kids, Jenny had been hard as nails. She had no choice. But there had been a few times when he’d seen her cry. When Danny died for one. Then, Jack and Race had flanked her, sandwiching her so tightly between their bodies that it felt as though the three of them were breathing a single breath. And they had stayed that way until she fell asleep, maybe even after. But Jack knew he couldn’t do that now. A man had hurt her, and Jack’s touch was no longer a little boy’s. He tucked his hands under his thighs so he wouldn’t accidentally reach for her, and sat there miserably, watching her cry.

After seconds that felt like hours, Jenny finally looked up. “Oh, Jackie. What am I gonna do?”

Jack took a shaky breath. “I think Ace just said you’re gonna stay here and get better. It’ll be okay.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jenny said, and her voice was still thick with tears. “Davey. I was thinking about Davey, and I got distracted. That’s why the guy—I wasn’t paying attention, and I didn’t do what he wanted. And I couldn’t—Jackie, you know when something bad is happening and you just sort of…break off?”

He did. There were entire weeks of Jack’s life that he couldn’t remember clearly, that he wasn’t sure had even happened because his mind had cut him off from the moment. There were snatches of his father’s rage, his mother’s illness, Snyder’s enameled cane—and then nothing.

“While he was…all I could think about was Davey. Because I feel safe with him. And—and I shouldn’t be doing this to him. It isn’t right. Look at me.” Jenny drew her hands to her mouth, her fingers curving gently against her lips. Her green eyes seemed somehow larger; the rest of her, impossibly small.

“I see you,” Jack said. He settled his weight backward, keeping his hands firmly beneath his legs.  

“And Davey can’t,” she insisted, and he saw her swallow a sob. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse. “Not like this. When he finds out, he’ll never forgive me. But I don’t know what else—” she broke off, and her face disappeared behind her hands. Jack watched her nails dig into the skin at her hairline.

“Shh. Hey now.” No matter how badly he wanted to, Jack did not touch her, and he did not tell her that everything was all right, because he knew that it wasn’t, and so did she. There was no point in lying.

“I miss Danny,” she whispered.  

“I know, sweetheart.”

“If he were here, I wouldn’t—”

She wouldn’t be in a stranger’s bed because someone had decided she was theirs to use. She wouldn’t be bruised and bloodied and crying. She wouldn’t be relying on Jack and Race, who hadn’t done a thing to protect her.

But she wouldn’t have Davey either.

But all Jack could say was, “I know.” He missed Danny too.

“He—he wouldn’t love me now.”

Jack’s heart dropped into his shoes. “Jenny. Don’t—”

“And Davey,” she gasped, nearly hysterical. “He won’t either. Not once he finds out. And I—I love him so much, Jack. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I know it wasn’t part of the plan, and I—”

Jack gripped at the underside of his thighs. “Hey. Just—”

“I don’t deserve him. I’m…dirty and used up. And he’s—"

Finally, he couldn’t help it. Jack reached up, gently circling her wrists with his hands. He guided her hands away from her face and then held them fast. “Stop that. You ain’t neither.”

“I—” she pulled against him, but he didn’t let her go.

Jack lowered his voice. “Look, Jen. I ain’t—I don’t know what you’re goin’ through right now exactly, but I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t deserve the one you’re with. To feel trapped because you think you ain’t good enough.” He looked behind him to make sure Katherine hadn’t come in.

“Jackie—"

“Nah, just trust me on this one. That part of it is on you—ain’t nobody gonna be able to change your mind about that ‘cept you. Not even Davey. Who loves the shit outta you, by the way.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, and she didn’t pull away.

“He does?”

“Ain’t he told you?”

“Yes. But…” Jenny bit her lip, and Jack had the distinct impression that she didn’t realize Davey had already started to picture her in bridal lace. She looked absolutely terrified.

He leaned in just a bit closer. “Words ain’t always enough to make it stick, huh?” He knew that for a fact.

Jenny shook her head. “No.”

Then, he knew he couldn’t stay angry at Jenny anymore. Being with Katherine was like a constant game of pretend; he would try to convince himself that what they felt was enough to overcome who they were. And he thought that no one could possibly know how that felt. But Jenny knew. He could see it in her eyes. She was so afraid. And so was he. Every day. Even if he pretended not to be. It was easy to swagger when the bruises were invisible.

“I know what that’s like,” Jack said. He brought her hand carefully to his lips. “But he does. Love you. And you deserve that, Jen. I—I ain’t gonna lie to you. Ain’t never been able to, have I? I been havin’ a hard time with knowin’ what you do and watchin’ you with Davey. But…you two’ve got somethin’. An’ it ain’t fair for you to keep yourself from doin’ all you can to see it through.”

“I’m sorry,” Jenny said, but Jack wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for. He wasn’t sure that she knew.

But he knew what he was sorry for. “Me too. But we’re on the same team, right? We both love Davey.”

She nodded miserably. “I wish it wasn’t so complicated,” she said, and she squeezed Jack’s hand before she let it go. She raked the lace-trimmed sleeve of Katherine’s nightgown across her face. “I bet you know about complicated, yeah?”

“I do.”

Jack heard the door open behind him. Katherine was back. Her careful steps moved toward the wash basin, and he heard the porcelain jug clink against its bowl. She was humming, softly. East side, west side, all around the town…

Jenny’s eyes flicked toward Katherine. “Jackie—I don’t know what to do next.”

“Me neither. So, we’re in the same boat.”

“It’s nice to have some company,” Jenny said, and Jack could have kicked himself for the weeks he’d spent fighting against her. Her and Davey.

Oh, God. Davey. They weren’t going to be able to hide this for long.

“Yeah,” Jack said absently. He sniffed and stood up, leaning over to press a feather soft kiss to Jenny’s forehead.  “Look, you be good. Stay here and rest up; Kath’ll take care of everything. And you’d better let her. It don’t pay to argue with a Pulitzer.”

Jenny gave him a playful salute before wriggling further down into the covers, turning her bruised face  toward Katherine’s damask curtained windows. She looked small and scared and far away, but at least she wasn’t alone. This time, he would make sure of it.  

Now, there was the matter of getting out of the house without any of the staff knowing he’d been in Miss Pulitzer’s bedroom. With a last look at Jenny, he let Katherine lead him out of her room and toward the back stairs. They stood for a moment, Katherine on the step above him.

He leaned up to kiss her. “Thanks, Kath. I don’t—I don’t rightly understand ya, but I appreciate you steppin’ in.”

Katherine looked nervously behind her, but nodded. “She’s not in that position because she wants to be, and no girl deserves what she went through last night.”

“I wish I could kill the guy,” Jack whispered.  

“I do too.”

He laughed softly. “Well, ain’t you the unexpected murderess?”

Jack started to pull away, but Katherine grabbed for his hand. “What are you going to tell Davey?”

He shrugged. “I need some time to figure that one out.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have time. From what you’ve said, they see each other practically every day. He’s going to wonder if she doesn’t show.”

“Shit. You’re right,” Jack sighed. He played absently with her fingers. “I ain’t thought that far.”

“Color me shocked.”

“Thanks for your support.”  

Katherine rolled her eyes, but she held tightly to his hand. “When you find him, you’re going to have to tell him something. Maybe you should stick with her original story? About the man in the park?”

Jack scoffed. “An’ here I thought you didn’t like the idea of lyin’ to him.”

“I don’t,” she insisted. She raised her eyes to meet his. “But I—now that I’ve seen her, I also don’t think it would be right for anyone but Jenny to tell him.”

“Charmed ya, did she?” he said with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Oh, shut up,” Katherine replied. But she softened a little and wrapped her arms around him. “You do deserve me, just so you know. You deserve so much more than I could ever give. And you’ll have to believe me on that one. I’ve heard it doesn’t pay to argue with a Pulitzer. Now go.”

And he ran down the stairs and out into the still early morning. He had to go find Davey.

Chapter Text

Jack had tens of city blocks, almost four miles, and more than an hour to consider what he could possibly say when he found Davey; but, having the time to consider the words didn’t make them come easily. For a while, he’d tried to imagine how he would want someone to tell him if Katherine had been hurt, but the thought of Katherine going through any of what Jenny had just suffered made him feel physically ill. Again.

And Davey had been so scared of something happening to her. And Jack had stupidly told him that it wouldn’t, that Jenny wasn’t Les. But now—

And what if Davey still hadn’t come back? Would Jack have to sit on the Jacobs’ fire escape and bang on his window until he relented?

By the time he made it to Canal Street, Jack had no idea what he wanted or what he was going to say. So, of course, that’s when he saw them.

Race and Davey were on the southwest corner of Canal and Mott. Davey had shown up. He was really there. Race was shaking hands with a customer, his million-dollar smile on full display; Davey hung back, staring at the sidewalk.

Swell. Jack swallowed, hard, and crossed the street.

When Race saw him, he ran to throw his arms around Jack’s neck. “Oh my God, I ain’t never been so glad to see you in my whole life,” he whispered furiously.

“Uh—”

Race grabbed Jack’s chin, turning it toward Davey. “He’s drivin’ me crazy, Jackie boy. Crazy. He’s been walkin’ around like he's deaf and mute all mornin’, and I’m about done.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Jack asked. He waved stupidly at Davey. Davey did not wave back.

Race snorted. “I thought you could tell me. You’re the one who dumped him on me.”

“I’m literally standing right here,” grumbled Davey.

“Shit! He speaks! Who knew?” Race clapped a hand to his chest in mock surprise.

Davey glared at him and then let his eyes sink back to the sidewalk. He didn’t bother to look at Jack. “What are you doing here?”

Jack shrugged. “Last time I checked, the street was public property.”

Right. Because sarcasm was definitely going to help. In all the morning’s excitement, Jack had nearly forgotten that he was most definitely not off the hook. And why should he be? Your best friend was supposed to be happy when you told them you’d found the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. They weren’t supposed to shit all over it. Davey had told Jack the thing he’d been too afraid to tell anyone else—Jenny included—and Jack had thrown it back in his face. Hard.

For what he thought was a good reason, but still.

“You’d know, I guess. You know everything,” Davey muttered. He kicked absently at a pile of grimy slush; the snow was just as soiled as everything else.

Jack sighed. “Davey.” He reminded himself that this was his own fault. He was the one who just had to open his mouth the other night. He deserved this.

“No, Jack. I mean it,” Davey said. He pasted on a half-assed expression of sincerity and reached over to grip Race by the shoulder. He leaned in confidentially. “Jack absolutely knows how I should feel and what I should be doing. Isn’t that something?”

Race shifted away uncomfortably. What the hell? he mouthed to Jack.

Jack shook his head. “Davey,” he said again.   

“What the hell is going on?” Race asked, out loud this time.

“Well, Race, I’ll tell you,” said Davey, his voice still dripping with the same condescending false cheer.

“Jesus,” Jack mumbled. He knew that he should let Davey say his piece, that Davey was still licking his wounds from the night before last, that Davey had a perfectly valid reason to be angry at him, that Davey didn’t even know the worst of it yet—but the theatrics were still a bit much. Especially because Jack had just been trying to protect him. And Jenny. Yes, he’d failed miserably, but damn it, he’d tried. Why couldn’t Davey see it?  

Davey continued. “I tell Jack that I’m in love with Jenny—”

Race’s face lit up. “Hey!”

Davey nodded, his brow furrowed and his seething eyes locked on Jack’s. “Right. Right! It’s a good thing, right?”

Race looked over at Jack and caught sight of his scowl. “Right?” Race asked uncertainly. Good. Let Race be uncomfortable for a minute. Jack was tired of doing this all on his own.

Jack wanted to grab Davey, to tell him that, yes, it was a good thing. But that it was also terrifying. That loving someone meant putting your heart in their hands and trusting that they wouldn’t break it—and that sometimes, they did, even without meaning to. Even if you still loved them. Even if they still loved you. That sometimes things were bigger than what you felt for each other. But the words didn’t come.

Not the words he wanted, anyway.

“That ain’t all he told me.” Jack spoke to Race, but his gaze was still trained on Davey. He hadn’t meant to say it. Davey looked stung.

“What else did he tell you?” Race asked. When Jack didn’t answer, he turned and grabbed Davey by the shoulders. “What else did you tell him?” he asked again, this time with more urgency.

“Never mind,” Davey said grimly. “I guess it was stupid.”   

Race’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. “You two are a barrel of laughs, y’know?”

No one said anything. Jack watched Davey, and he knew that he was about to lose the other boy to the rip tide of his own thoughts. Race still had a hand on Davey’s shoulder, but it didn’t seem to matter; Davey’s eyes were fixed vacantly on the space in front of him, and his fingers twitched absently. Davey was being pulled out to sea. Which never ended well. Not for anyone, least of all Davey.

Race looked at Jack, as though to ask for help. Jack nodded, and Race stepped back, letting Jack move closer to Davey.

“Hey,” Jack said softly. He let his hands rest in the curves where Davey’s neck and shoulders met. “It ain’t stupid.”

Davey shook himself. “What?”

“It ain’t stupid,” Jack repeated. “I’m sorry if I made ya feel like it was.”

Davey stared uncertainly back at him. He licked his lips.

Jack took a deep breath. His hands squeezed the taut band of Davey’s muscles. “Look, Davey, I got somethin’ to tell you.”

“What? That you were trying to help? That you said all of those things for my own good?” Davey asked, but the fight had mostly gone out of his words.

“What the hell did you say?” Race hissed. “Either of ya?”

“Not now, Race,” Jack mumbled.  

Davey sighed. “He told me that—”

“Jesus, Dave. Shut up for a second,” Jack said desperately. His voice was soft, but he held Davey firmly. If he didn’t get the words out—

“I don’t understand. You said—I thought that you—why would you change your mind?”

“Something happened to her, David,” Jack said slowly. “Something happened to Jenny.”

Race’s face went white. “What? What?”

Davey didn’t say anything, and Jack saw that he was starting to slip away again. He dug his fingers into Davey’s shoulders and his grey eyes blinked back into focus.

“Seriously, what happened?” Race asked. The panic in his voice was unmistakable.

Jack kept his eyes trained on Davey’s face. “I was out early with Kath this morning, and we, uh, we ran into Jenny. She was pretty beat up.” He heard Racetrack gasp; Davey tensed under his hands, but Jack didn’t let him go. "She had to run an errand or somethin’ before work, and she, uh—there was a man, in the park? He treated her pretty rough.”

Davey seemed to be coming back into himself in stages. Jack saw the base of his jaw slot forward, as if he were bracing himself. “Is she—”

Jack’s hands slid down to Davey’s biceps. He gripped them softly. “She’s hurt pretty bad.”

And suddenly, Davey roared back to life. He pulled away from Jack and started pace furiously, his hands grasping desperately at his cap. He looked up, head darting in every direction, as though he were trying to decide which way to go. “Where is she? Oh, God. I don’t even know where her boarding house is, I—oh God,” he moaned. His hands knotted into white-knuckled fists.

Jack grabbed him by the wrists, a little afraid that Davey might turn his fists on himself. “Davey. Davey, calm down.”

Davey pulled in vain. “Don’t tell me what to do! I—oh, God. Oh, God.” He threw his head backward, breathing heavily. Race moved in, his face still ashen; he carefully laid his hand on Davey’s back.  

“Hey. Hey,” Race murmured as Davey bridled against Jack’s grip. “Dave.” He looked desperately at Jack.

 Jack held Davey fast. “You gotta calm down, Davey. Hey. Just listen. She’s at Katherine’s.”

“What?” Davey and Race said together. Davey stopped struggling; Race’s mouth fell open. Everything was still.

Jack let go of Davey’s wrists. “Katherine offered—she thought maybe it’d be…more comfortable. You know, because those, um, boardinghouses are always so busy.” Race’s mouth snapped shut. Jack shot him a look. Don’t. Not yet.

“She’s safe?” Davey asked, his voice small.

“She’s safe.”

“I—can I see her?”

“Well, Kath’s folks ain’t there, so…” Jack tried his best to grin.

It didn’t matter. Davey wasn’t looking at him. He was staring hard at the space in front of him. “I have to see her.” Race’s hand had started to circle gently, absently, across the woolen surface of Davey’s back.

Jack nodded. “Okay, Davey.”

“Do you want one of us should take you?” Race asked, letting his hand stop on Davey’s shoulder.

Davey shook his head. “No. I—I’ll be all right. I know where it is. I just—I have to go.” He took a step forward, and then realized he was still wearing his canvas shoulder bag—and that there were still a few papes in it. “Shit. Race?”

“I got it, Dave,” Race said. Davey slipped off the bag and handed it to him.  

“Thanks. I—” Davey looked helplessly at the other two boys.

Jack cocked his head up the block. “Just go, huh?” Davey nodded, and took off.

Race watched as Davey sped gracelessly away from them. “She all right?” he asked. He shifted Davey’s bag over his shoulder; it stacked neatly over his own.

Jack sighed. “She ain’t great.”

Race nodded, his eyes vacant.

“Hey, Racer,” Jack said softly. He pulled the other boy into a tight embrace. Jack knew what Race was thinking. They’d been here before, too many times. Jack felt Race’s shoulders chatter beneath his arms, and he held him closer.

When they pulled away, Race sniffed and swiped his forearm self-consciously under his nose. He took a deep breath and looked down at Jack. “What really happened? Because I don’t buy that shit you told Davey.”

Jack’s stomach roiled at the thought. He wasn’t sure he could explain. “Don’t think too hard about it,” he said.  

Race nodded. “It was a john?”

“Yeah.”

“Bastard.”

“Yeah.”

Both boys were quiet for a moment. Jack knew they were both thinking about Danny.

Finally, Race cleared his throat. “So, he loves her, huh?”

“Seems like it, yeah.”

Race gave a quick nod of approval. “And Jenny?”

“Dead gone on him too,” Jack sighed. Race might as well know. “She don’t know it, but Dave wants to marry her.”

Race blinked. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah. That’s what the other night was about. I told him—well, that it ain’t a good idea.”

“Did ya tell him why?” Race asked softly.

Jack shook his head. “No. I told Kath, though.”

“Oh.” Race’s voice cracked, and Jack smiled in spite of himself and everything else.

“Yeah.”

Race shifted his weight onto the balls of feet and back. “How’d she take it?”

Jack shrugged. “Honestly? She’s dealin’ with it better than me.”

“Eh, no surprise there,” Race said with a half-hearted laugh.  

Jack jabbed aimlessly at Race’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

Race’s eyes flicked back toward the direction Davey had taken. “Is Kath gonna tell him?”

“Nah. She said that Jen’s the only one who can tell ‘im that,” Jack replied.

“I—I didn’t see things goin’ this way,” Race said. All of his usual swagger and verve had fallen away.

“Thought you was brilliant,” Jack said, but his voice was cheerless.

“Jesus, Jackie. Is Jen gonna tell him? Now?”

Would she tell him now? God, what would Davey do? Jenny’s words—that if Davey knew, he wouldn’t love her, that she was used up—spun around in his brain like a warped phonograph record. What if she was right? What if Davey couldn’t forgive her?

What if Davey couldn’t forgive them?

Jack shivered and pulled the collar of his coat up against a cold that he did not exactly feel.  

“All I know is we’se in trouble either way. And we still gotta be here for ‘im. For both of ‘em. Whatever happens.”

Chapter Text

David could barely feel his legs pumping beneath him as he stumbled uptown.

He treated her pretty rough. That’s what Jack had said. David knew that Jack had just been trying to protect him, that the other boy thought David was too fragile to know exactly what had happened. But Jack should have known better.

David needed specifics. It wasn’t that he wanted to imagine everything that might have happened in stark detail—it was that he would, and that his imagination was never so vivid as it was when he was picturing the worst possible outcome. Which he was now. Because Jack hadn’t given him any other option. She’s hurt pretty bad. What the hell did that even mean?

Pretty rough. Pretty bad. Jack’s limited vocabulary had never bothered David quite so much before. Why did people assume that vague descriptions of something painful made them any easier to handle?

Like Mama.

She hadn’t told him about Les.

To be fair, he wouldn’t have understood. David had been in and out of consciousness for several days after the doctor had come with the antitoxin. The injection had stopped the spread of the patchy grey film in his mouth and throat, but the infection had run unchecked for days before that, and his body was weak. The fever had wrapped itself around him and refused to let go. What little David could remember felt more like delirium than anything concrete: a flash of Mama draping the bedroom mirror in black, snatches of rhythmic Hebrew in the main room, the torn breast of Mama’s shirtwaist when she’d come to lay a cool cloth on David’s forehead. But everything around him was swirled and bloated, like someone had locked him in a Coney Island funhouse. Then, David had the vague notion that he, himself, had died, that he was watching his own end from somewhere else.  

But David was not dead. And Les was. He was buried before David even knew he was gone; his family sat shiva while David keened in fever dreams.

And Mama did not tell him.

His fever had finally broken. Mama had come in to change his sweat-drenched pajamas—David was too weak then to even pull his shirt over his head—and he’d tried to ask when Les and Sarah would move back into their room. Her careful hands had stilled, and she let them rest on either side of his face. She had simply told him that Les was “gone”—as though he’d gone out to play or gone to work or gone to the greengrocer’s.

And that was that. Because no one wanted to David to know about what had really happened.

So, his mind had filled in the details: the misspent medicine, the suffering, the blame. And that became the truth.

David needed specifics because the truths that he created for himself were always worse.

Pretty rough. Pretty bad. The treatment had been rough; the hurt was bad; Jenny was the object; and David felt like he was back in a fever dream. Everything was distorted, and he was gasping for breath.

Running the length of the island probably had something to do with that, but it wouldn’t have occurred to him just then.

Pretty rough. Pretty bad. His feet slapped against the pavement; the words slapped against his skull.

Rough. David had lived through a pogrom. He knew what rough meant. He had seen it when he was too young to understand, but he remembered. You didn’t forget. Hands tearing at fabric, wrapping around her throat, forcing her to the ground. Her knees splayed open, her eyes squeezed shut, her lips torn apart in a scream. Who had heard? Who had stopped him? It wasn’t David. David could never stop things from happening.

Bad. Bruises. Tender skin. Cracked bones. And the kind of hurt that David might not be able to see or fix.

David hadn’t seen Les when he was sick; he couldn’t. But he would see Jenny through this. He had to.

Pretty rough. Pretty bad. He turned a corner. Pretty rough. Pretty bad. He sprinted across the street. Pretty rough. Pretty bad. He was at Katherine’s door, which loomed stupidly large and ornate over the slush-covered street. And Jenny was somewhere behind it.

David wasn’t sure how long he stood panting on the stoop before he finally knocked.

The wire-haired woman who opened the door took one look at him and rolled her eyes. “Oh, good lord, another one.”

“Um.” David blinked at her. He wasn’t sure what to say. Jack. He supposed she meant Jack. Jack had been here this morning.

The woman flared her nostrils in disgust. “I suppose you’re here to see Miss Pulitzer’s guest as well. Well, I—”

“Davey!” Katherine’s face appeared over the maid’s bony shoulder. She pushed past the woman and threw her arms around David; she didn’t care that he was red-faced and runny-nosed and sweating. David let himself relax—just a little—against her, grateful for the grounding weight of her arms.

There was a sniff. “You know this boy, Miss Pulitzer?”

“I do,” Katherine turned, looping her arm around David’s waist. She smiled sweetly—dangerously—at the maid. “That will be all, Martha. Thank you.”

Martha’s eyes widened. “But Miss Pulitzer—”

“That will be all,” Katherine repeated, this time punctuating her words with a curt nod. Martha gave David a cold look but retreated without further incident.

“Well, welcome!” Katherine said, pulling him into the house and shutting the massive door.

David had never been inside Katherine’s house before. If he’d been in his right mind, he would have stopped to admire the tapestries, the polished floor, the mahogany trim, all of it. David loved beautiful things. He’d seen so much ugliness; he loved to admire beauty wherever he could find it. He liked to imagine having a home like this someday, no matter how improbable it might be. But he couldn’t do that just now.

“Where is she?” he asked. His eyes darted toward the grand staircase. “Upstairs, right?” That’s where it made sense to put someone who’d been hurt. Pretty bad.  

Katherine’s eyes were moving carefully across his face. She bit her lip. “Davey—"

“I need to see her.”

Katherine sighed. “Come with me.” She took his hand, but she didn’t lead him up the stairs. Instead, she pulled him down the hallway. Part of David’s brain knew that his dirty boots shouldn’t be on Katherine’s beautiful carpets, and the other part knew that they were going the wrong way. They should be going upstairs; he had to get upstairs.

“I was just working,” Katherine was saying. She pulled him into a dark, mahogany-paneled room. The library. “And I was about to have some tea. Do you want some tea?”

She gestured at a sterling silver tea service that had been laid out on the forest green blotter of a massive desk. David stared at the delicate china cups, and he thought about how easily they might break if somebody hit them just so. Pretty rough.

He did not want tea.

“Katherine—"

Katherine ignored him and started to pour out the tea. “Sit down for a minute,” she said. Her tone was light, but David could not have realized the effort that went into her performance.

David shook his head. “But I—Kath, please.”

“Sit down,” she said again, this time with more force. She set a cup and saucer in front of him, and the cup rattled against its china plate.

David sat down. Katherine did not.

She moved primly across the room toward a large varnished cabinet, from which she produced a cut crystal decanter; it was full of amber liquor.

“Kath—”

“You need to relax,” she said. She pulled the gem-cut stopper from the decanter and moved to pour a healthy glug into David’s teacup.

He stared at her, mouth agape. “I can’t—”

“You really can,” Katherine said decisively. She dropped a ladylike pour into her own cup and left the decanter sitting next to the teapot. She sat. “She’s asleep. And you need to calm down.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know you can’t see your face, but I assure you: you’re not.”

David did not look at her; he ran the tip of his index finger around the wafer-thin rim of the china cup. He could feel Katherine’s eyes moving over his face, the taut line of his shoulders, the way that his free hand picked mechanically at the felted top of the desk blotter.

Katherine reached over and covered his hand with hers. “She’s really all right, Davey.”

“Jack said that she was—hurt. Badly,” David said to the desk. Saying the words made his chest feel heavy.  

Katherine made a sound low in her throat. It was almost a laugh. “I’m sure he didn’t say ‘badly.’”

No. He’d said pretty bad. And none of this was a joke.

David closed his eyes. “Katherine.”

“Davey. Trust me. She’ll be just fine.” Her voice was gentle and sure. If David had looked up, he would have seen that Katherine’s face was not half so confident as her words; he would have seen the way that she looked at him, as though she wanted to keep him in the library with her forever. She knew things that he did not.

But David didn’t look up.

“Will be,” he murmured. If she would be fine, she was not fine just then. And he was sitting in a library with a teacup full of brandy.

“Yes, will be,” Katherine said carefully. “But she’s not in any danger. Not anymore. I promise.”

David knew well that those kinds of promises were easy to break.

“I have to see her,” David bleated. He hadn’t expected the words to come out in a sob; he hadn’t even known he was crying.

Katherine hustled out of her chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind. “You will,” she soothed. “But drink this first. It’ll help you calm down.”

He rubbed miserably at his eyes. “Kath, you don’t understand.”

“I do,” she said decisively. “And you should understand that you’re not going to be any help if you run in there and throw yourself at her head.”

“What?”

“Davey. First: she’s resting right now. Let her rest. She had a rough night.” David’s stomach lurched at rough. "Second: If you go up there looking like that, she’ll want to take care of you.”

That was the last thing he wanted. He was tired of being taken care of. He wanted to do something.

He shrugged Katherine’s hands off his shoulders. “I want—”

“—to take care of her. You want to help,” she said. “So, here’s what you can do: drink the damn tea and calm down.”

David reluctantly picked up the teacup and put it to his lips. It was more brandy than tea, and the spicy medicinal tang of the alcohol prickled at the back of his tongue. David coughed as it slipped down his throat. It reminded him of some of the tonics Mama had given him when he was sick. The memory didn’t help settle him at all. He looked back at Katherine.

“Good,” Katherine said with a satisfied nod. She took a demure sip from her own cup and raised an eyebrow. “Again.”

David did as he was told; he always did. He didn’t cough this time, and he had to admit, the warm feeling spreading through his chest wasn’t exactly awful. He looked down at his lap and tried to figure out how to prove he was calm.

“Thank you,” Katherine said. She sank back into the chair across from him, and David was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice the way she was looking at him. “It’ll be better if you’re calm,” she said. Her voice was soft.

“I don’t want to upset her,” David said simply.

“I know you don’t,” Katherine replied. “Do you—”

“Kath, I—” he said at the same time.

They stopped and traded awkward smiles. David sniffed and took another sip.

Katherine sighed. “We don’t have to talk, Davey. I know—I know that you want to see her. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay too. Before you go up there.”

David laughed hollowly into his teacup. “I’m fine.”

“Davey—”

“It’s okay, Kath. Thank you, I guess,” he said. “Thank you for—for taking care of her? I didn’t know that you knew about us.”

“Oh, I know more than you think,” Katherine said darkly. She shook herself, as though she’d realized something, but then took a breath and hastily brought her cup to her lips.

“I’m sure Jack told you,” David conceded.

“Yes, he did.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t. I should’ve.”

“It sounds like you were a little busy,” Katherine said sincerely. “Jack said—” she bit her lip.

“What?”

“He said that you love her.”

David nodded.

“I’m glad, Davey. I know the last few months have been—”

“Yeah.”

Katherine looked at him, and David couldn’t quite read her expression. “I got to talk to her a little bit today. I like her for you. She really cares about you too.”

He suddenly felt warm. He hadn’t realized he was still wearing his coat; brandy, wool, and feelings were not the world’s finest combination. His stomach started to churn.

“You talked to her?” he asked. “She can—”

Katherine smiled a little sadly, flicking her eyes away from David. “I told you, Davey. She’s all right. You—she’s a bit the worse for wear. Just be ready for that.”

“You don’t have to protect me,” David said. He was tired of that too. His mother had spent weeks treating him like a little boy; Jack didn’t trust him to make his own decisions; Sarah kept looking at him with an ache in her eyes. And now Katherine. He could take care of himself. He could take care of Jenny. He could protect her.

“I might,” Katherine said, almost to herself.

David shifted uncomfortably. “I think I’m calm now,” he said. He wasn’t, of course, but he took a deep breath, as if to demonstrate his stability.

Katherine cocked her head at him. “Are you sure?” David didn’t like the look on her face.

“Yes,” he said definitively. He drained his teacup and stood. “Where—?”

“Go up the stairs and turn right. Then it’ll be the second door on your left,” she said softly. “Be careful, all right?”

 “I won’t hurt her,” David said, already halfway to the door.

“That’s not—” Katherine started to say, but she stopped herself. “I’ll be right here if you need anything. Okay?”

“Okay, Kath.”

David knew that she was watching him go with the same sorry eyes everyone had started to reserve specifically for him. Jenny was the only exception. She never looked at him that way. And as he trooped up the stairs—silently, carefully, trying to avoid the sour-faced Martha—he made a silent promise that he wouldn’t look at her that way either; he wouldn’t be afraid of Jenny the way that everyone seemed to be afraid of him.

His hand hovered for a moment on the glass doorknob, cut and colored like an enormous garnet. He took a deep breath and turned the knob. The door clicked open, and he was in.

David didn’t see her at first. Logically, he knew she would be in the bed—it wasn’t as if Katherine would’ve put her on the floor—but he’d never been in a bedroom that had very much more than a mattress. Katherine’s room had to be the size of his entire flat, and it was packed to the gills with more frills and furniture than David could possibly have imagined. It took his eyes a few passes to take everything in, and finally, he saw a dark head peeking out above a cloud of pink satin. She was still asleep.

“Jenny,” he breathed. He felt suddenly warm and heady—the brandy, probably.

David tiptoed closer to the bed. Jenny was curled in on herself, her face away from him and her body pressed clear the razor’s edge of the mattress. He smiled, seeing her little girl’s braids and the way her lips parted into a tiny ‘O’ her sleep. They never got to sleep next to one another, and he almost felt like he was intruding.

But then he took a closer look. And he froze.

Pretty rough.

The bruises on her face. The way that her forehead was creased in worry. The fitful way she was breathing.

David didn’t know whether he was angry or sad or sick. He needed to touch her, as though it could erase what had been done. He needed to find whoever did this and mark them the same way.

He needed to sit down.

But somehow, despite the room’s bounty of furnishings, there was no chair next to the bed, and Jenny was so close to the edge that there was no real route for him to climb in with her.

So, he sat stupidly on the floor. He shifted so that he could reach up and grab a piece of the satin coverlet. It was as close as he would permit himself to get; he didn’t want to wake her. Not after what she’d been through. He curled toward the bed, letting his head fall toward the base of the mattress, coaxing shallow breaths in his mouth, out his nose.

This was not the moment to forget how to breathe. He would control himself. He wouldn’t see what that bastard had done to her instead of seeing her. David knew what it was when people only saw the thing that had happened to you; it was the loneliest thing in the world, and he wouldn’t let her be alone. He owed it to her.

David wasn’t sure how long he sat that way, but it felt like hours had passed before he felt the mattress shift. He didn’t scramble away from the bed in time; when Jenny rolled over, he was still holding onto the pink bedspread.

Jenny gasped—and immediately winced. “D-Davey?” Her green eyes were still bleary with sleep, one of them swollen and painted in violent swaths of yellow-purple-black.

Look at her, David reminded himself.  “Hi.” He let the bedspread go and blinked back at her, shifting onto his knees.

“Hi,” Jenny replied softly.  

He wasn’t sure what to do. His hand instinctively reached for her, but he caught himself. He could see her better now. There were bruises on her face, yes, and scrapes on her hands, marks at her throat, and he thought maybe binding on her ribs—any of the places he’d learned to touch her, that had become his, suddenly felt dangerous. He settled for touching the plaited tail of her braid, letting his fingers run gingerly over its dark ridges.

“Are you all right?” His voice was almost a whisper.

Jenny gently pulled her braid away from him, holding it in both her hands. She flipped the bottom of the braid so her curls stood up like paintbrush bristles, pinching the ribbon between her thumb and forefinger. She stared at it instead of looking at David.

“Jenny?”

“I’m fine,” she said. He saw her grimace as she tried to pull her lips into an unconvincing smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

David didn’t understand. She had to have known that Jack told him. “You—”

“I’m glad to see you,” she said, forcing herself to look at him. “But you didn’t have to come. You shouldn’t have, I mean. I wish you hadn’t.”

“Of course I did!” David said. “I was so worried.”

And then he forgot himself and took Jenny’s hand. David was too worried to notice the effort she was making not to pull away.

“Where were you?” He pressed his lips softly to her hand; she closed her eyes.

“Why were you alone?” He let his thumb whisper across her knuckles; she turned her head.

“I should’ve been there.” He leaned up to kiss her, letting his hand just graze the unblemished side of her face.

She winced away from him. “Davey, please.”

David’s eyes shifted nervously back and forth. What had he done wrong? “Am I hurting you?”

“No, I just—” Jenny squeezed her eyes shut. She burrowed fitfully into the pile of pillows behind her and sighed. When she opened her eyes again, they were laced in red. “Davey. What they told you. That’s not—that’s not how it happened.”

His mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”

She took a ragged breath. “I didn’t get mugged. I wasn’t walking alone. I got hurt at work.”

There was a sharp twist in his stomach. Of course. The shop foreman that she’d always talked about. David’s eyes crested over the throng of bruises at her throat, and his mind’s eye couldn’t avoid the image of a greasy hand fastened around the expanse of milk-white skin—skin that he had kissed with tenderness somehow more times than he could count. He wished he could do that now, but there was something about the way Jenny shrank back against her pillows that made it clear he shouldn’t.

He settled for grabbing white-knuckled fistfuls of the bedspread. “Your foreman—”

She shook her head. “I don’t have a shop foreman.” Her voice was wet and shaky.

“I don’t understand,” he said. The brandy whirled in his gut, hot and acrid. “Jenny?” She hid her face in her hands. “Jenny. What do you mean?” He thought to take her hands, to pull them away from her face so that he could see her, but he didn’t think he could bear it if she pulled away from him again.

“I’m sorry, Davey,” she whispered.  

David’s heart thudded in his chest. “For what? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. He knew she was crying now, even though he couldn’t see her face.

“Jenny? You’re scaring me.”

“I—” she tried to speak but clamped her jaw shut. She shook her head frantically.

David couldn’t help himself; he couldn’t watch whatever this was and do nothing about it. He pulled himself up on to the bed and pulled her into his chest. She was too agitated to resist. He chanced a careful kiss to the crown of her head and rocked her gently back and forth. “What happened, sweetheart? You can tell me.”

He was relieved to feel Jenny’s arms circle his waist. He was less relieved to feel the way her shoulders were shaking under his arms. She pressed the unbruised side of her face desperately into his chest. “I didn’t mean to. You have to know that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But it did. And I love you, Davey. David. I love you so much.”

He smoothed her hair, just the way Mama had always smoothed his after a fever—or a nightmare. “I love you too, but what—”

“Jack and Race were really worried about you. After Les.”

David’s hand stilled. “What does that—”

“That’s why I knew.”

He nodded uncertainly. “Because they told you, I know. You told me that. But what does that have to do with what happened?” 

“They asked me to meet you. So, that you wouldn’t feel so alone. So that you’d feel better,” she whispered.

David felt an electric flare inside his head. He carefully pulled her back so that he could look at her face. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

Jenny didn’t turn her battered face away, but she couldn’t quite meet his eye. David suddenly knew that they were about to cross some irrevocable threshold; it was like they were hurtling toward a cliff, and David couldn’t reach to grip the ledge. He didn’t know what waited below, but he knew the fall was going to hurt. Badly. Pretty bad.

“We didn’t meet on accident. I didn’t ask you to meet me just because. I did it because Jack and Race asked me to,” Jenny said miserably. David’s arms fell away from her. “They knew I’d make you feel safe. They asked me because—well, because I’m good at convincing men that I care for them.” Her head pitched slightly backward, and she stared at the ceiling, almost like she was praying.

David heard the words, but he didn’t understand. “What?” He dug his fingernails into his palms.

“I love you,” Jenny said, and there was something desperate about her tone.

David loved her too. But the rushing in his ears was so loud. “What are you talking about?” His voice was so much smaller than he meant it to be. Jenny’s whole body seemed to tense and sway, but he couldn’t reach for her; his arms felt like lead at his sides.

“I don’t work in a factory. I—I work—I sell—I get paid. To be with men.”

David no longer wanted specifics. He wanted the protection of the lie. He knew then that he was every bit as fragile as everyone thought he was, because he was fractured. Pieces of him were littering the floor.

He closed his eyes, but it didn’t help. All he could see was Jenny’s face, as it had been when they were together. Her head was thrown back, mouth parted in a moan—but the hands on her body weren’t his, and there were too many, grasping, probing, twisting. She writhed underneath them, and David didn’t know—he didn’t know if it was because she was hurt or because—

 “David.” Jenny’s hand was on his cheek.

David flinched away as though she’d burned him. “Don’t—don’t touch me.” He was on his feet, but his knees felt like they were crumbling beneath him. He buckled forward, and he could feel the tears damming at the back of his eyes. Oh, God. Oh, God. He squeezed them shut, and he could see her again, every inch of skin marked by someone else’s touch. But she was crying. She was hurt. And David was hurt. He couldn’t breathe. He opened his mouth to gulp hungrily at the air, and a feral sob ripped out of it.

“Oh, please. Please don’t.” Jenny managed to pull herself out of bed, and she limped toward him, an arm bracing her ribs. And he hated himself because he knew he should go to her and help her back to bed but he didn’t know why he should and he couldn’t move and why didn’t the room stop spinning? “Look at me. David. Davey, please,” she said gently. She took his hand, and he didn’t have the strength to take it back, but it didn’t feel the same. She wasn’t the same. Nothing was the same. “I was with a customer last night and—”

Customer. Was he a customer too?

David looked past her; his vision had started to tunnel at the edges, and everything was going dark. “That’s why. Why you can’t go out at night. Why I can’t walk you home. Because—”

He was vaguely aware of Jenny’s hand squeezing his, that her free hand was traveling again to his face, but he was stone. Her words flew out at breakneck speed, garbled with tears. “Yes. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for—it doesn’t matter how it started. It doesn’t. I love you, I know that I do. But that’s why I couldn’t—I—I can’t lie to you anymore. I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. Please, don’t—"

David barely heard her; the rush in his ears was a full-blown gale now. And then he realized again that she was touching him—and he wanted to close his eyes and to let her comfort him and to hold her and tell her everything would be all right, except it never could be. It never would be again.

And he didn’t know why, but he suddenly thought of Les. That Les was gone. And David had let him go so that he could make room for Jenny. And Jenny was standing in front of him, beaten and sobbing, and David didn’t know how much room he had left for anyone at all.

David scrambled across the room to the wash basin and wretched into the dainty ceramic bowl; the brandy burned more on its way back up.  He wrapped his arms around the oaken stand, and the pitcher wobbled out of the ewer and fell to the ground. It broke into pieces. Like he had.

“Careful,” Jenny managed to choke out. She tried to take a step, and David realized her feet were bare, that she might cut herself and that he cared but he shouldn’t.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. “Don’t come near me.”

Jenny wrapped her arms around herself, wincing as she touched her tender ribs. He tried not to notice. “David. I’m sorry. I love you.”

And David loved her too. But he didn’t understand what should come next.

So, he ran.

Chapter Text

David tore down Katherine’s stairs without really understanding where he was going. His boots thudded against the expensive carpets, his hand gripped the polished bannister—a part of him knew where he was, what he was doing, but nothing felt completely real. All he could feel was the world spinning around him, and no matter how hard he pushed against its bands, he couldn’t seem to fight his way out of the cyclone.

“Davey?” Katherine was a blur at the base of the stairs. She might have tried to reach and out grab him, to halt his forward trajectory, but David didn’t stop. He pushed past her and threw himself against the door. It didn’t open. His shoulder must have cracked hard against the coffered panels, but he didn’t feel it. He tried again, opening his palm and slapping it against the wood. Nothing. He used his fist. Again. Again. Again.

“Davey!” Katherine’s voice was far away. “Stop. Stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself.”

She was sad, but so was David, and he had to get out.

There were hands on his shoulders now; he threw his body forward again, and they let him go. Thud. Why couldn’t he feel it? Why wouldn’t the door open? Thud.

Katherine didn’t touch him again. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Everyone was suddenly so sorry. No one was ever sorry until they got caught.

Except David. David was always sorry. And it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. He knew that now.

“Let me go,” he said, maybe to Katherine. But she wasn’t holding him.

“Please don’t go out there like this,” said Katherine’s voice. “Just come sit down. Let’s talk.”

David’s head was shaking; the door danced in front of him. “No.” He braced himself against it, and his red hands vibrated against the glossy wood. Open. Please open. Maybe he said the words. He didn’t know.

“Davey—”

“No!” The word was wrapped in a snarl. He clawed at the door like an animal. Out. He had to get out.

There was another voice. “Miss Pulitzer, are you all right?”

“It’s fine, Martha. Everything is fine.” Another lie. There were so many. And David had believed them all.

“Miss Pulitzer, I ask you—”

“I have it in hand, thank you.”

David’s hands slid down the door, his sweat leaving a slug’s trail behind them—and then, one connected with hard metal. The handle.

“Davey, please—”

But David wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere.

***

David didn’t know how long it was before the howl around him started to die down. There was nothing, and then suddenly, his foot slipped against a pile of slush, and the world came into harsh focus:

The sun was dipping into its western bed. It had started to snow again, grimy heaps of icy mush consuming the soft white flakes as soon as they dared touch down. He wasn’t in Katherine’s neighborhood anymore; he recognized the kosher butcher’s on the corner. Home was on the next block. It was almost time to light the second candle. There was vomit on the breast of his coat. The skin on his face was cold and stiff under its pall of dry tears. His chest heaved. Everything hurt.

Les was dead, and it was his fault.

Jenny wasn’t his; she had never been.

They had all lied to him. Jenny, yes. But Katherine. Race. Jack. Sarah. Mama. Papa. Everyone had lied.

But mostly, David knew now that he had lied to himself. He’d told himself that he belonged with Jack and the other boys, that he really had friends for the first time in his life, that they liked him. He’d told himself that Jenny was right, that people got sick, they died, and it didn’t have to be anyone’s fault. He’d told himself that Mama and Papa would forgive him, that Sarah would understand. He’d told himself that Jenny was in love with him, and that he might mean as much to her as she did to him.

That couldn’t be true.

Jenny had told him. I’m good at convincing men that I care for them, that was what she said. She had certainly convinced David. He was such a fool. He had given her pieces of himself to hold, to keep safe, because he loved her, he trusted her, and now, he would never get them back.

A shoulder jostled his own and there was a disgusted sniff; he hadn’t realized he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. “Excuse me,” David said to the space where the person had been. He didn’t move. He knew he should go home, that there was really no other place to go, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Mama would see his face and ask too many questions; Papa would look away and pretend not to notice David’s weakness. And he would have to tell Sarah—she wouldn’t accept any of the lies he knew he would have to tell.

No. Home was not an option. And he couldn’t go to the roof. Wouldn’t. Not anymore. It had been their place, his and Jenny’s. And now it was not. Because they were not.

The thought made the world start to blur again.

David stepped backward, relieved when he felt the impact of hard brick on his shoulder blades. He blinked, willing the tears to stay away, and he threw his eyes around, looking for anything to keep himself from slipping away. They landed on a shop across the street. Laufman Shoe Repair.

They had gone to shul with the Laufmans. Rachel Laufman was just about David’s age. He could remember playing ball with her brothers in the street—the neighborhood boys had always let David play; they weren’t like the boys at school. But it wasn’t the ball game that David was thinking of just then.

He had forgotten. He had forgotten because he hadn’t understood then. But he did now.

It was a Sunday. Papa had taken David to the Central Park Zoo, and nothing felt more important. Sarah had stayed home to help Mama with the baby, with Les, and it was just David and Papa. Papa had held David’s hand the whole day. Papa held his hand on the streetcar, when they went to see the monkeys, while they watched the lions. David had felt so safe. The lion could have pressed its jaw against the iron bars of its cage, teeth bared and jaw slick, and David wouldn’t have been scared, because Papa was holding his hand.

They were almost home when Papa let go. Because of Mr. Laufman.

Half the neighborhood was crowding around the cobbler’s storefront, and David heard a sound like one of the wild animals at the zoo—a low-throated keening. Mr. Laufman was screaming in Polish, and Mayer loosed David’s hand to cover his son’s ears.

There was another sound. A hollow thud and a gasp. Mrs. Laufman was on her hands and knees on the pavement. Mr. Laufman had thrown her into the street—literally thrown her like she was a sack of meal or potatoes. Mayer turned David’s face toward his hip, but not before David saw Mr. Laufman wrap his wife’s long hair around his fist and yank her head up so that everyone on the street could see her bloody, tear-stained face. Mrs. Laufman cried out in pain, but he didn’t let her go. Kurwa! he’d yelled. And then he spat on her, thick and glassy on her cheek.  He left her, alone, in the gutter. Kurwa. David hadn’t understood then. It wasn’t a child’s word. But he knew now.

Whore.

No one stayed to help her; it was as if she was invisible. But Mayer didn’t lead them away.

“Wait here, huh?” he’d asked, gently sitting David down on the curbstone. David did as he was told, and Mayer went to Mrs. Laufman.

“Wszystko w porządku?” Are you all right? He reached to help her up.

Mrs. Laufman looked at Mayer with the same eyes David had seen on the lion at the Central Park Zoo. Caged. Desperate. “Dlaczego miałbyś mi pomóc? Jestem dziwką, nie słyszałes?” Why would you help me? I’m a slut, didn’t you hear?

Mayer helped her to her feet, and he did not look away from her mangled face. He smiled at her, and it was the first time David understood that a smile could be sad.

“We all must feed our families,” Mayer had said. “And sometimes there is no easy way.”

“No,” agreed the woman. “Is not.” They exchanged more words that David could not hear, but he saw Papa reach into his coat pocket and slip something into Mrs. Laufman’s hand—coins, David thought now. And then he’d taken David’s hand again, and they walked away.

Mayer told him that Rachel’s papa had lost many jobs, and so her mama had done what she had to do so that Rachel and her brothers and sisters were fed and safe. And he told David that he would have done the same.

“It is not our place to make judgments, Daveleh. We know too well what it is to be judged for things beyond our control. Show Rachel and the others kindness. Their way will be hard.”

David hadn’t seen Mrs. Laufman since. Rachel said her mama was dead, and no one had it in them to fight her.

David’s hands flattened against the brick, the scratchy stone rasping against his palms. He looked away from Laufman’s sign, but the afterimage of Mrs. Laufman’s face seemed to hang in the air in front of him—until it wasn’t Mrs. Laufman’s face, but Jenny’s.

It is not our place to make judgments, Daveleh.

His father’s words had been righteous ones, but David wasn’t sure that righteousness itself wasn’t some kind of judgment. That reaching out because you are no better still somehow let the other person know that you were. You had something to give, and they did not. Mrs. Laufman must have been humiliated by Mayer’s offer to help. But she took it, because what else did she have? Mayer had seen her when no one else would even look.

Jenny had seen David when no one else would even look—or if they were looking, it was with eyes that couldn’t really see him. And when she laid herself bare in front of him, asked for him to see her, he’d said nothing. He’d run away; he’d left her alone. He was as bad as Mr. Laufman.

He tried to imagine wrapping his fist in Jenny’s hair and throwing her down, but he couldn’t. He wanted to lose his hands in her hair and hold her to his chest. He wanted to feel her small, soft hands running up and down his bare back; her teeth on the flesh bead of his nipple; her wetness around him as they rocked together, skin to skin, closer than David had ever realized two people could be.

Except that it couldn’t have meant as much to her as it did to him. Because she did it all the time. With men who were not David. And she’d never said a word.

She had probably laughed at the way he fumbled through their rooftop encounters, had probably pretended her ecstasy. David was an inexperienced boy, and she had a queue of men to love her. Except men who loved did not leave bruises. Men who loved did not pay for what was priceless. Men who loved would try to understand and to forgive.

And God help him, David loved her still.

But he didn’t know how to forgive her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

And she wasn’t the only one who had lied; she wasn’t the only choice he had to make.

Jack. Jack had lied too.

It was much easier for David to imagine throwing Jack into the street and using his fists to let the other boy know exactly what he was feeling. If David could even identify what he felt. There were too many things to feel at once.

He folded at the waist and let out a groan. There was a woman passing, her hand wrapped safely around the mittened paw of a little girl; she pulled the little girl closer and hustled past him.

David suddenly longed for the safety of that long ago Sunday. He wanted Papa to hold his hand, to turn his face away from the things that were scary. For the bleeding woman in the street to be Mrs. Laufman and not Jenny. For there to be words whose meanings stayed hidden. For Les to be snuggled in Mama’s arms when he walked through the door of the apartment. For everything to be the way it was Before.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. David wasn’t even sure that he felt it; his head still bobbed between his knees. But then:

“Dave?” The voice was soft and kind, and that somehow made everything worse.

Jack.

David flew upright, and before he even realized what he was doing, his hands were on Jack’s chest; he shoved the other boy clear across the sidewalk. Jack’s heels skidded on the curbstone and he fell backward into the street. David heard Jack hiss as his palms grated across the uneven Belgian blocks, but he didn’t care, he wouldn’t care.  

He hoped Jack couldn’t see the tears that were collecting in his eyes.

Jack didn’t seem surprised that David had pushed him. He brushed his palms off and pushed himself off of the pavement, taking a careful step toward David. “David—”

David shook his head and took a step backward; the brick wall was at his back again. He was cornered, caged. “What the hell are you doing here?” Unconsciously, he raised his hands; they’d knotted themselves into fists. He let them hover in front of his face. Maybe. Maybe he would do it. He could hit Jack. Jack deserved it.   

“I wanted to—check on you,” Jack said, his eyes on David’s trembling hands. David couldn’t quite read his face—the world was starting to tilt and blur again—but Jack took another step toward David, fists notwithstanding. He licked his lips. “I went to your place, but you wasn’t home yet. And I figured that you might be…upset.”

David heard himself laugh, but the sound was hollow and cold. It fell on the snow-spotted sidewalk between them. “Did you?”

Jack nodded. “Your folks was worried. I said I’d look for you.”

His folks. Shit. Oh, shit. David’s chest felt as though it were caving in.

 “What did you tell them?”

Jack shrugged, his eyes on the sidewalk. “I didn’t say anything. Just said you had a rough day and maybe you needed a minute.” His voice was nearly a whisper. David should have been amazed at Jack’s deference, his shame, but the cyclone had swallowed him up again and he barely heard Jack’s words.

“Right, because you wouldn’t want them to know that you set their son up with a,”—he sucked in a ragged breath, almost afraid to say it—"a whore.” Kurwa.

Jack’s head snapped up. “Don’t call her that.” He lurched thoughtlessly toward David, hands balling into fists of his own.

David stabbed at the space below Jack’s collar bone with his fingers, pushing him away, challenging him. “Why? Isn’t that what she is?”          

But she wasn’t. David knew she wasn’t, and he felt sick to hear the words slip out of his mouth so easily.  His throat ached, and the sting of his tears was suddenly sharper.

He shoved Jack again, harder this time.

And Jack let him. “Davey—” He wobbled backward, but he didn’t raise a hand to defend himself.

And even though he couldn’t explain why, David found himself desperately wishing that Jack would fight back. He wanted Jack to be upset, to know that the other boy still thought they were the same. That David didn’t need to be handled with kid gloves. That David might be wrong about everything that had happened, and maybe Jack had nothing to be sorry for. Which was impossible.

Mostly, he just wanted to feel the crack of Jack’s fist across his face; it might stop the world from spinning. David could trade one kind of pain for another, and at least he knew how to deal with the hurt that went along with punches and harsh words.

So, David kept pushing.

“No, Jack. Isn’t she? What? Did you and Race pay her?”

Jack flinched. “Watch yourself,” he hissed, but his hands were locked firmly at his sides.

Shove. “Really? I need to watch myself?

Jack gripped David sharply by the elbows, but his touch almost immediately softened. “Look, I know. I know that you—”

“You don’t.” David wrestled his arms out of Jack’s hands. He spat on the pavement between them.

Jack closed his eyes. “Davey—”

David’s voice was wild now. “Did you think you were being funny? Did the two of you—”

“It wasn’t a joke—” Jack tried miserably.

David wouldn’t let him finish. He shook his head desperately. “Then what was it? Because—”

“Jesus, David! We were trying to help!” Jack’s voice was hard and sharp, and it cut ties somewhere deep inside of David.

He wanted to tell Jack that he was tired of everyone trying to help; that none of it was actually helpful, that all any of it did was make David feel more useless, more responsible for the things that had happened. That David was humiliated—that he knew exactly how Mrs. Laufman felt when Papa reached out his righteous hand help her up. That he was so damn tired of people looking at him like he was a helpless child and making decisions for him. That all he wanted was to feel like his own man, to be able to take control of all that was coming After.

That he wanted the pain to stop, but he didn’t want them to do it for him. Because they couldn’t, and every time they tried, it made it that much harder.

Because when they tried to help, all they did was make things worse. All they did was remind David of the things he couldn’t do.

Jenny had been his port in the storm, the first glimmer of hope that wasn’t wrapped in pity and good intentions. But she hadn’t been that at all, because they were just trying to help. Her light had failed, and David felt like he was about to capsize again, that he was being torn apart on grief’s sharp rocks.

But the words wouldn’t come; he couldn’t find them above the roar. So, David’s fists said what he could not.  

David threw his punches blindly, not even sure where they were landing. He was still praying that Jack would hit him back. They both knew Jack was stronger than David, and that Jack knew how to fight; he could have had David flat on his back with one well-placed punch. But Jack didn’t move. He let David’s knuckles swipe across his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, and he barely flinched. And David couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. His fists just kept thudding into whatever piece of Jack they could find, and Jack didn’t say a word. The street disappeared, and David couldn’t feel where his fists met Jack’s body anymore. So, David hit him again. And again. And again.

Until, suddenly, he wasn’t hitting Jack at all. Jack was blurry behind the curtain of David’s tears and David could hear his own sobs, raw and rasping, and Jack’s arms were around him, tight and fast.

“David. Davey, please,” Jack said, and his voice was so gentle that it made David want to scream. David struggled against Jack’s well-muscled arms, but Jack wouldn’t let him go. “Hey. Hey. I gotcha. It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay. None of it. David tried to pitch himself backward, to escape, to get Jack to do anything except hold him, but to no avail. Jack steered him out of the sidewalk—and away from the prying eyes of the evening commuters that David hadn’t even noticed—and into an alleyway.

Jack’s arms fell away. “You wanna hit me again?” Jack asked, and somehow David knew he wasn’t kidding. “You can, you know.”

David wouldn’t look at the other boy. I don’t want you to let me, he thought. He leaned his head back against the brick, ran his hands vacantly over the wall. The sound of his own ragged breath swam in his ears.

“Davey?” Jack asked again.

David sniffed and reached up to wipe his face. When he finally looked back at Jack, he noticed without satisfaction that the other boy’s nose was bleeding and a bruise was starting to bloom under his left eye.

Jack could feel David’s eyes on his face and swiped his own sleeve across the trail of blood. But he wasn’t angry. “I’m sorry. I swear, if I thought the two of you would—I never would have—”  

David stayed silent.

“You didn’t see yourself,” Jack said, this time a little desperately. “After Les. You were—I thought you might—you scared me. An’ I told Race—and he thought maybe if you had something, someone to distract you—make you happy? I don’t know, Davey—someone to be with you, to remind you of the good stuff. Because you didn’t look like you was plannin’ on stayin’ with us. And that ain’t okay with me. Because I need you, Davey. I need you to stay.”  His voice broke. David didn’t care. Not much.

“I’m going home,” David mumbled. Because there was nowhere else to go. At least no one there knew. Not yet. Mama and Papa might never know now.

But he couldn’t make himself move. He let his head fall back against the brick again, hard.

He heard Jack sigh. “She really loves you, Dave. And this ain’t her fault. It’s mine. And Race’s.”

“Fuck you.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words felt good nonetheless.

“Yeah, I guess I deserve that,” Jack replied. He put his hand on David’s shoulder, but David flinched away. “I’m sorry, Dave. I’m so sorry. But please, don’t do this to her. Don’t do it to yourself. The two of you—”

David felt the falling snow on his upturned face, and he closed his eyes. His breathing was starting to slow, and the cold wrapped around him again. “Don’t pretend like you care,” David said to the sky.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Jack took him by the shoulders and shook him. “I do. Jesus, are you hearin’ yourself? Yeah, I fucked up. But the important stuff ain’t a lie. An’ you need to give Jen a chance. You don’t know what she’s been through.”

This time, David didn’t have the option to look away. “I—I don’t care.” But he did. No matter how he wished he didn’t. He suddenly wondered what she might be doing just then, if she’d made it back to bed, if Katherine had found her and was helping her. Did she wonder where he was?

“You do care. I know you do,” Jack said, squeezing his arms. David just stared at him, unblinking. Jack looked crestfallen. “I said I was sorry,” he whispered.

David pulled against him. “I said I was going home.”

Jack hesitantly released him. He sighed. “Dave—”

“I can’t, Jack,” David said. He looked down at his feet. “I can’t do this with you right now.”

Jack’s mouth hung open as though he were about to protest; for a second, David thought Jack might fight him. Then he shook his head. “Yeah. I can see that,” Jack said softly. “For what it’s worth, Davey, I’m sorry. I really am.”

And David knew that he was. But it didn’t matter just then. “Yeah.” He turned to leave, to go home and strip off the day with his dirty clothes, to climb into his bed, alone. To pretend that none of this was happening. If he could.

“Davey?” Jack’s voice wobbled behind him.

He waited.

“Will you just—" Jack began, and David heard him sniff. “I—I know you ain’t… that you might not… Look, don’t—don’t stay away too long, alright?”

It wasn’t a promise David could make. He walked away, leaving Jack alone in the alley behind him.

Chapter Text

“So, Davey ain’t comin’ back?”

Jack hadn’t wanted to tell Race about what happened with Davey. He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone. He wanted to pretend like the whole evening had never happened—that the past several months had never happened.

But Race knew something was up as soon as he saw Jack’s face in the distribution yard. Race knew that Jack had been to see Davey, so Race had waited for him, even though Jack had put off grabbing his papes until he was sure everyone else would be already be out and selling. Davey’s aim wasn’t great, but Jack’s eye had still managed to come out of the incident swollen and purplish, and he could feel the sticky pull of dried blood under his nose despite a hasty pass with a towel in the lodging house washroom—which meant Race could see it too.  

So, of course, Race had a thousand questions. None of which Jack wanted to answer, and very few of which Jack had answers for. What Jack did have was a hundred papes and splitting headache.

“I don’t know.”

Race bounced frenetically on the balls of his feet. “Did he say—”

Jack shook his head. “He didn’t say much.”

“Do you know—”

“Racer, I don’t know nothin’,” Jack said, trying not to let Race see just how annoyed he was. He tried to tamp down the groan that was bubbling up in his chest. “He didn’t say nothin’. He gave me a couple shiners—”

“I didn’t think he had it in him,” Race murmured, almost amused.

Jack ignored him. “Yeah. But I told you. We had a fight, and he just left.”

“Didn’t say nothin’?”

“Jesus! No.”

“So, he’s pissed.”

“Yeah, Race. He’s pissed.” Jack spat on the sidewalk.

Race stopped bouncing. He cocked his head. “What’re you gonna do?”

“I don’t think that there’s much I can do. Just gotta wait it out.”

“You tried goin’ by his place?” Race asked.

Jack almost laughed. “I don’t think—”

“Because—”

“Race, please.”

Race threw an arm around Jack’s shoulder, and Jack didn’t have the strength to pull himself away. He was so tired. “Please yourself, Jackie. You’re gonna drive yourself crazy if you wait around.”

“He don’t want to see me. He made that pretty clear,” Jack said. His voice was hoarse, and he could feel an ache settling in his throat. He blinked furiously. The last thing he needed was for any of the boys to see him crying. And he knew—he knew that if he cried, everything would feel real. He wouldn’t be able to escape the shadow of Davey’s back as he had walked away.

“And you’re gonna listen?” Race asked. His cigar drooped in astonishment.

Jack looked away. “This time. Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, wow.”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut and shrugged Race’s arm away. “Can you not?”

“I’m sorry,” Race said, and Jack knew that if he looked at him, Race’s head would have dipped between his shoulders.  

But Jack couldn’t open his eyes to look. “Me too.”

Race didn’t say anything for a moment, and Jack was grateful for the reprieve.

Then: “You been to see Jen?”

Jack’s stomach twisted itself into an immediate knot. “No. Not since before I saw Davey.”

He didn’t know that he could face Jenny just then. If Davey had been like that with him—if Davey could call her a whore, could lose himself so entirely that wailing on Jack was his only option, could walk away without a word—he could only imagine what Davey had done in front of Jenny. To Jenny. He knew Davey wouldn’t have hit her, but it wasn’t always body blows that hurt the most.

Race started to bounce again. “Should we maybe go see her? Check on her?”

Jack shrugged. “I ain’t so sure she’s gonna feel that different from Davey.”

“She knew what she was gettin’ into,” Race said, but he didn’t sound like he believed it.

“Did she?” Jack asked sharply. “I mean, tell me, Racer. Is this where you saw it goin’?”

Race pulled his cigar out of his mouth and stared at it. “No, it ain’t.”

“We hurt ‘em. Both of ‘em,” Jack said. He swallowed, hard.  

“It was an accident. We was tryin’ to help,” Race insisted. The words were hollow.  

“Yeah. S’what I told Davey,” Jack said. He laughed darkly. “He didn’t think we was so helpful.”

Jack reached up to touch his bruised eye. He pushed his fingers into the purple flesh, setting his jaw against the dull ache. “What if we go see her an’ she tells us to go away?”

Race shook his head. “She wouldn’t, Jackie.”

“Racer?” Jack asked desperately. “What if Davey don’t come back?” Because Jack knew. He knew that some people left and never came back again. More than he cared to admit. And the thought of Davey being one of those people was—he couldn’t—what if—

Race’s hand was on his shoulder. “He will.”

“How do you know?”

“’Bout which one?”

Oh, God. He hadn’t even thought that they might lose Jenny too. “Both of ‘em.”

“I don’t. But it ain’t no good to borrow trouble. You should know that by now,” Race said.  

“Yeah, I guess,” Jack muttered.

“Hey. Hey,” Race pulled at Jack’s shoulder and forced Jack to look at him. “Davey won’t never give up on you, Jackie.”

“It kinda feels like he already has.” Jack blinked, once, twice, again, again. God damnit. He couldn’t stop it.

Race shook his head again. “Well, he ain’t gonna. And Jen’s like you and me.”

“How do you figure?” Jack asked, and his voice cracked open.

Race pretended not to notice. “It don’t matter what she gets hit with; you ain’t gonna knock her down.”

Jack scoffed. “We don’t get knocked down?”

“Not for long, Jackie,” Race said reassuringly.  

“Yeah.” Jack sniffed. “I hope you’re right.”

Race ducked his chin. “I’d say, ‘when ain’t I,’ but…”

Jack would have laughed if he could. “Best laid plans, huh?”

“They always get fucked up.”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“So…” Race kicked at the pavement.

Jack sighed. “You wanna go see her?”

“I do. Think she’d be up for it?”

“If I said ‘no,’ would it stop you?”

Race grinned at him. “Nah. But God love you for tryin’.”

“All right. We’ll try. After the evenin’ edition,” Jack said, more to himself than to Race.

Race gave him a crisp salute. “Right. Let’s see how many papes you can sell with that eye. I’m thinking you saved a baby from a runaway horse.”

***

Jack knocked cautiously on Katherine’s door. It wasn’t lost on him how many of the finely dressed people on the street were staring at him and Racetrack like they were oversized gutter rats. Race didn’t seem to notice; he was too busy staring at the carved stone newel posts flanking the stairs and the shiny brass handles on the front door. Jack was sure that Martha would just love Race. He shifted his weight in apprehension, trying to think of what he would say to the sour-faced maid.

But it wasn’t Martha who opened the door.

“Kath? What’re you—”

Katherine shook her head. “Martha’s on the warpath. No more strange boys.”

“Strange? Well, if that ain’t rude,” Race exclaimed in mock offense. He put a dramatic hand to his chest.  

Jack rolled his eyes. “She set the rules around here?”

Katherine ushered them inside, waving politely at a well-heeled neighbor gaping from across the street. “Let’s just say I don’t need my father getting the full report when he gets back.”

Race’s jaw nearly dropped onto the plush carpet. He moved in an awed circle, slower than Jack had ever seen him move before, taking in every inch of the pristine entryway. Jack almost wanted to laugh—almost. There weren’t so many reasons to laugh just then.

Jack slipped off his coat and stuffed it in the crook of his arm. He sighed. “Ah. So, uh, speakin’ of strange boys—”

“It wasn’t good. He—he was pretty upset.” Katherine’s eyes stayed on Race, whose head seemed barely attached to his neck; that’s how far back he’d let it go so that he could gaze at the chandelier.

Jack made a noise low in his throat. “Yeah, I know.”

Race finally looked down again. “You could eat off’a this carpet, you know?”

“I suppose you could,” Katherine said lightly, and she looked back at Jack with a tepid smile. Then, she saw his face—and the bruises Davey had left behind. She moved to him, pressing her fingertips gently to his skin. “Did Davey do that?”

Jack winced at her touch. “He did.”

“You deserved it,” she said simply, but she still balanced on her tiptoes to kiss his face.  

He closed his eyes. “I did.”

Race started to wander down the hall. “Shit, Kath. It’s like a museum!”

Katherine started to follow, but Jack grabbed for her hand. “She okay?” he asked, jerking his head upward. He wondered if Jenny was up there, feral and pacing, like Davey.

Katherine raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“No,” Jack admitted.

“So, there you are,” Katherine replied, squeezing his hand. She pulled him down the hall after Racetrack; Jack figured they probably should keep him from running into Martha at all costs.

“Think we can see her?” Jack asked.

“You can try,” Katherine said, following Race into the library. “She didn’t say much when I was with her last night.”

Jack couldn’t quite imagine the two of them together, but he knew someone had gotten Jenny cleaned up after they found her; someone had wrapped her ribs and braided her hair—and it certainly wasn’t Martha. He was glad that Jenny had Katherine. All Davey had was Jack, and that wasn’t nearly enough.

“She eatin’?” Jack asked absently.

“Not much, no,” Katherine replied, and her cheeks reddened. “Sleeping, mostly. I—well, I might have given her something to help her calm down.”

“Doctor Pulitzer,” Race scoffed. He was casing the library shelves, running his finger across the mahogany in wonder.

Katherine shrugged, keeping a weather eye on the wandering Race. “She was pretty hysterical. Like I said, Davey didn’t take it well.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jack mumbled.

“I tried to stop him from running out, but—it was like he wasn’t even inside his body,” Katherine said. She looked back at Jack. “He really hit you?”

Race snickered from across the room. “I know, it’s wild, right? Davey pullin’ fisticuffs?”

“I deserved it, remember?” Jack said edgily. He wanted Race to stop wandering. He wanted to stop talking about Davey. He wanted to see Jenny.

“Right,” Katherine agreed, maybe a little too readily.

Jack sighed. “So—”

Katherine nodded. “If she’s alright with it, you can stay. Come on, Racer. Let’s go upstairs.”

Race flinched away from the shelves, as if he suddenly remembered why they were there in the first place. Katherine led them up the stairs, and the closer they got to her room, the less astonished by everything Race seemed to be. He was positively subdued by the time they stopped outside Katherine’s bedroom door.

“Wait here, alright?” Katherine asked. The boys nodded, and she disappeared inside.

Race glanced nervously at the door. “This is weird, right?”

“What?”

“Kath and Jenny?”

Jack shrugged. Maybe he couldn’t picture them sitting down to tea, but the girls weren’t so different—not in the ways that really mattered. “Kath don’t get knocked down either.”

Race scoffed. “An’ if she did, she’d land on a feather cushion.”

“That ain’t fair,” Jack said. He didn’t look at Race. He stared at the door, wishing that he could see through it, that he could know what the two girls were talking about.

“I ain’t sayin’ it’s a bad thing,” Race replied. “I’m glad she’s helpin’ our girl. Jen could use a feather cushion every now and again.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, eyes still fixed on the door. Jenny could use all the help she could get; he and Racetrack hadn’t given her nearly enough. And Davey—well, maybe that hadn’t been the kind of help she needed.

He looked back at Race, taking the other boy by the shoulders. “Look, Race. Before we go in. She looks real rough.”

Race’s face was pale. “Yeah. Okay. Okay.”

Jack bit at his bottom lip. “And maybe—maybe don’t touch her? It makes her—”

“No, I know,” Race said shortly, and Jack felt stupid. He forgot that Race had spent enough of his own time flinching away from other people’s touch. It was why he was never still; no one could catch you if you were always moving. “I won’t.”

“Awright,” Jack sniffed. They lapsed into silence, waiting for Katherine’s—for Jenny’s—verdict.  

And then it came.

Katherine’s head poked out of the doorjamb. “Guys? You can come in.”

“Ready?” Race looked at Jack.

Jack sighed. “As I’ll ever be.”

Katherine lowered her voice. “She’s still waking up. Just—”

“It’ll be fine, love,” Jack said. “Race, go ‘head.”

Racetrack nodded, and Jack could almost see the younger boy force himself to take the few steps into the room.

Katherine wrapped her arms around Jack, letting her face rest against his chest. “Is Davey—will he be alright, do you think?”

“Depends on what you’re askin’.”

“Will he come back? To her?”

“It don’t seem like he thinks that’s my business right now,” Jack said bitterly. He tried to blink away the stinging in his eyes. “I don’t know if he’s gonna come back to us. To me.”

“Oh,” Katherine said softly. Her arms cinched tighter around his waist.

“Yeah,” Jack said, and the word hung in the air for a moment. “I mean, maybe it’ll be fine, but—”

“It’ll be fine,” Katherine said, and this time, her voice was firm.

“Yeah,” he said again.

Katherine leaned back and reached up to cup the cheek that had somehow been spared from the hail of Davey’s fists. It wasn’t like Davey knew how to fight, he guessed. Katherine’s fingers moved gently across his cheekbone. “Jack, I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t we all?”

“Yes,” she said, even though Jack had no idea why Katherine would be sorry. She hadn’t done anything. It was his fault. All of it. She sighed, nodding toward the door. “We should go check on them. Make sure Race isn’t terrorizing her.”

Jack tried to smile, but nothing happened. “Katherine?” he asked, his voice thick. He couldn’t seem to get any words out.

Her fingers swept down from his face so that she could grip his hand. “I love you too.”

Jack sniffed. “Thank you.”

“You’re always welcome. I mean it.” She squeezed his hand. “Davey will come around. For both of you. We’ll just take care of her in the meantime.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’ll take care of you,” Katherine whispered.  

He leaned down to kiss her. “I know you will.”

“Good,” she said with a pert nod. “Let’s go in.”

But Jack wasn’t expecting what they found on the other side of the door.

Jenny was still tucked up in Katherine’s stupidly ostentatious bed, buried beneath a cloud of pink satin—but Race had somehow found his way into the bed as well. He was propped against the brass headboard, and he looked ridiculous, his dirty face and dingy clothes framed by gauzy lace. Race was a stain on the bed’s otherwise spotless reputation, and Jack felt the slightest twinge of resentment that Race had made it into Katherine’s bed before he had. Race’s spindly legs hung off the side of the mattress, and Jenny’s dark head was settled firmly in his lap. His smudged hand gently stroked her hair. Her curls weren’t bound up in braids anymore; they hung loose in dark ripples, and Race’s fingers moved over every ridge and swirl like a whisper. He didn’t look up when Jack and Katherine came in, just kept his face titled toward Jenny’s bruised cheek, lips dropping soft words into her ear. Jenny didn’t stir.

Jack was almost angry—the one the one thing he’d told Race was not to touch her, to be careful—until he heard what Race was saying.

“And you remember, Jen? You remember that Tremblin’ didn’t get the prince on her first try.”

He was telling Jenny a story. One of the stories Jack’s ma had told them when they were small. Jack’s feet stopped where they were, and he let his eyes drift closed. He could feel Katherine’s arms slide around his waist, her cheek against his arm.

But, for a moment, Jack was many blocks away, back in the falling down rowhouse.

Mama told stories on the days that escape was most necessary. Maybe they’d been eating off the same gristly meat for five days or a customer hadn’t paid her for the washing because there was a scorch mark on one of the sheets. Maybe she was thinking of Da. Or it might have been that Race had shown up at the apartment door, pretending that his mama hadn’t just backhanded him for breathing too loud, for being, or that Jenny had asked Danny too many questions about where their folks might be. Whatever it was, when Jack saw Mama’s rickety chair next to the stove, set up like she was preparing to hold court, he knew to round up the others.

Danny would perch on the table, slightly removed from the rest of them; he was too old for fairy stories, or so he wanted Jack and Race to believe. Race would squirrel under the table, drawing his knobby knees under his chin and rocking himself back and forth in time with Mama’s voice. Jack would usually lean his head against Mama’s hip, soft under the heavy fabric of her skirt. And Jenny—Jenny  would always be on the floor, sheltered in the gentle vee of Mama’s spread knees. Mama would comb out Jenny’s hair and carefully plait it—no one else ever thought to make sure that Jenny understood the business of being a girl, that she look presentable. And as Mama’s fingers worked through Jenny’s curls, her voice would spin silver yarns of selkies and changelings and the wee folk until they had all lost track of the cracked floorboards, the fresh bruises, the hunger pangs.

It took a moment for Jack to remember how to breathe. He opened his eyes and watched Racetrack’s fingers—or were they Mama’s?—move through Jenny’s hair.

Race kept on, his voice soft and meditative. “Remember, Fair pushed Tremblin’ in the sea, and the whale swallowed her. And the whale’d toss her up on the beach every day, but she couldn’t leave, and all the while Fair was at home pretendin’ to be Tremblin’ so that she could trick the prince. Princes are easy to trick, you know? They don’t always know what’s good for ‘em.”

Ain’t that the truth? Jack thought. His eyes were still on Jenny and Race, but somehow, he could just see Davey tucked into his own shabby bed, a nervous coil of exhausted limbs and angry tears, oblivious that Jenny had been swallowed whole. Too. Maybe they both had been.   

“What is it?” Katherine murmured, and Jack realized she didn’t know the story. Not the way that he and Race and Jenny knew it. Not at all. Girls like Katherine got their fairy tales from books with pages tipped in gold leaf, not from lilting voices laced with Gaelic.

“It’s like Cinderella, but Irish. ‘Fair, Brown, and Trembling.’ My ma used to tell it to us when we was little,” Jack replied. The story had always been Jenny’s favorite.

“And then there was the little cowboy that walked by,” Race was saying. “He could hear her when nobody else could. Said he’d go talk to the prince, tell him that Tremblin’ was in trouble, that she needed the prince to come an’ kill the whale. To save her. Because if she got swallowed up by the whale one more time, she’d never come back. She’d be lost forever.”

“It sounds sad,” Katherine whispered.

Jack nodded. “It is. For a while.”

“And Fair tricked the cowboy into drinkin’ the potion so’s he’d forget to tell the prince where Tremblin’ was.”

Katherine poked Jack in the side. “A cowboy? Really?” she whispered, and he could hear a hint of laughter in her voice.

Jack snorted and shifted so that that they were side by side. He wrapped his arm around her. “Hand to God, there’s an Irish cowboy in this story.”

Katherine rolled her eyes at him and burrowed into his touch.

Race continued: “But Tremblin’ reminded the cowboy of what he ought’a do, and he told the prince to go to the beach. That he had to take a gun with a silver bullet and kill the whale, so’s he could get Tremblin’ back. So’s he could save her.

“And Tremblin’ couldn’t speak. Not ‘til the prince killed the whale; it was part of the magic. And she was there on the beach, watchin’ the prince fight and struggle and she couldn’t say nothin’. He couldn’t hear what she wanted to say. But it wasn’t ‘cause he didn’t want to. It’s just he had to wait for his chance, so’s he had a clear shot, so’s he could see what to do. Princes is slow sometimes.

“But he saw it—the—the  prince saw how to take care a’ the whale. So’s he shoots it and the whale makes the sea all red with blood and it’s thrashin’—”

“This is quite the story,” Katherine interrupted, this time in a voice that Race could definitely hear.

Racetrack blinked uncertainly at Katherine, the spell momentarily broken. He hadn’t been watching Jenny. He hadn’t noticed when her eyes squeezed shut at the blood and the thrashing, or heard the quick breath that Jack had sucked in at the way Jenny’s head jerked suddenly away from something only she could see.

“Racer,” Jack said quietly, nodding his head at Jenny.  

Race looked down, and his face screwed up in concern. He hesitantly laid his palm across Jenny’s eyes, stroking a feather soft path backward toward her hairline. Her shoulders relaxed a little, and she let out a shuddery breath.

Race nodded. “Right. But the whale was gone. So’s Tremblin’ could talk again. And the prince understood her. Every word. And they went back to the castle, and lived happily ever after.”

“You forgot.”

Race looked down suddenly, surprised to hear Jenny speak. Her voice was small and crackly from sleep.

“What’d I forget?” he asked softly, smoothing an errant curl away from her face.

“About the cowboy,” she whispered. Jack’s stomach flipped.

“What, darlin’?” Race asked again. He leaned down so that his face was closer to hers.

Jenny reached for his hand. “The cowboy. The prince knew—he knew that—” but she couldn’t seem to find the words.

Race nodded and gently kissed her knuckles. “Right. That he couldn’t have done it without him. He needed the cowboy to help him understand what Tremblin’ couldn’t say.” And even though he knew Race would deny it later, Jack could hear the tears tangled in the younger boy’s words.

Jack watched as Race took off his boots and then slid down to curl himself around Jenny. His long arms wrapped around her waist, slowly, carefully, as though she were made of glass—but she let Race pull her back against his chest. Race’s hand moved again to brush her hair away from her face, and he started to hum, tunelessly. Jenny’s eyes fluttered closed again.

The prince in the story had listened to the cowboy, and that was what saved poor Trembling. The prince would have failed on his own, because he didn’t understand. Trembling would have been lost forever without the cowboy. He knew what the prince needed to hear.

The trick was getting the prince to listen.

“Is that really how it ends?” Katherine’s voice brought Jack back into the present.

He shrugged. “Well, in the story, Tremblin’ and the prince have a daughter, and they won’t let anyone but the cowboy marry ‘er, and then they have, like, fourteen kids.”

“Huh. I can see why he left that part out.” Katherine’s eyes widened, and Jack smothered a laugh.

He kissed the crown of her head. “But yeah. That’s how it ends. The guy needed someone else to tell him when to fight for his girl.”

“To be fair, it sounded like there was some kind of spell involved,” Katherine considered. “I’m sure he would have handled it if magic hadn’t intervened.”

A snort. “Yeah, that was definitely what I meant.”

Katherine smiled sadly up at him. “I know what you meant.”

“I know you do,” Jack said. He stared at the carpet.

“What do you think? Will the cowboy try again?”

Jack shrugged. “I ain’t sure the prince is ready to hear it yet.”

“Maybe not,” Katherine said. She laced her fingers through his and leaned up to kiss the hinge of his jaw. “But he will be. I really think he will be.”

Jack sighed. “God, I hope so.”

Chapter Text

It was a blessing, David thought, to nearly have died.

Not the actual near-death experience. That he could have done without. But it did grant a person certain grace when it came to taking to his bed like a dime-novel heroine took to her fainting couch.

No one had asked him any questions when he came in after the fight with Jack. David knew that he must have looked vaguely unhinged, his face stained with the salty sweat and tears, hair wild, coat lousy with vomit—but no one said a thing.

Mayer had kept his eyes on the menorah, watching the twin flames flicker side by side. He had not looked over when David slunk into the bedroom. The absence of his father’s eyes had been its own indictment: David had fallen again. Of course.

Esther hadn’t stopped him, but he knew that she’d wanted to. She’d grasped his wrist for a moment as he stumbled past, pressed her hand quickly to his face, watched for the steady rise and fall of his chest. If there had been a fever, she might have known what to do. She did not. But she took Jack at his word; David needed a minute, and he would have it.

Even Sarah had let him go. But where Papa’s eyes had looked everywhere but at him, David could feel Sarah’s eyes on his back when she came to bed. He knew that she wouldn’t leave him alone for long.

He’d managed to stand upright to light the candle on the third night. His lips had moved with the blessing, but there was no sound. Mayer had shaken his head; Mama’s eyes had filled with tears; Sarah had gripped the duck tail of shirt—but still, no one knew what to say. He’d crawled back into bed and pretended not to hear the whispers around the kitchen table. It wasn’t as if he could tell them what was wrong anyway.

After that, David hadn’t bothered to come out of his room.

On the fourth night, Papa had stood at the bedroom door. “David,” Mayer had said, and his voice was neither warm nor angry. “We’re waiting.” And David had not said anything in return. He’d turned his face to the wall and pretended not to hear. Papa had not waited for him to reconsider, and he did not come again.

On the fifth and sixth nights, Mama had done her best. Esther came in with broth, with tea, with soft hands and red eyes. David had told her that everything was fine, that he was just tired, probably a cold, and it didn’t matter that they both knew it was a lie. She’d tucked the quilt around him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

On the seventh night, no one tried to rouse him. Sarah had come in and tucked herself into bed; he hadn’t felt her eyes. He’d waited for them—it wasn’t like he slept anymore—but she hadn’t looked.

David assumed they’d given up. They didn’t need him to sell, not like they had; Mayer’s new work paid him well enough, and Mama and Sarah were still working steadily. They didn’t need him to come out and light the candles. If Les wasn’t there, David didn’t have to be. They would think it was an echo of his illness, and he would have time.

Not that David was doing anything with the time. Mostly, he just stared at the cracked plaster of the ceiling and tried to ignore the dull ache that had settled in his chest. He wasn’t sure if the aching was because he couldn’t see Jenny or if it was because he did see her, every time he closed his eyes. Sometimes, she was as she’d been in Katherine’s room: bruised and bloodied and crying, the way that David found himself wishing he could cry. Then, he’d see her as his mind had decided she was with all those other men, bare-skinned and batting her eyelashes. But the ache was the worst when he closed his eyes and saw hers, green and crinkled at the edges, peeking out from above her red scarf, her hand tangled in his and her head tilted to hear his words.

He remembered the way he’d asked to kiss her that first time in the park. She must have thought he was so stupid. But she’d smiled at him and said “yes.”

That had all been a lie. Hadn’t it?

It was better if he didn’t close his eyes. So, he kept them open and saw nothing.  

It was the day before the eighth night when Esther must have decided she’d had enough.

“Tateleh?” Esther’s words were soft, as though she were trying not to wake him, but she knew that he hadn’t been asleep. Sarah would have told her. Sarah knew without looking. “David?”

“Mama?” David blinked his eyes and feigned the dazedness of slow waking anyway.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Esther asked. She sat down on the edge of his bed, and David felt her hand brush his hair away from his forehead. The hair didn’t move easily; it was matted and greasy, but Esther pretended not to notice. “Please?”

David was silent. He didn’t know how to tell her.

“You don’t have a fever.”

“No.”

“But you’re not hungry? I can’t get you anything?”

“No, Mama. Thank you.”

Esther sighed. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“David, you’re not fine,” Esther said, and the words sunk down into his chest. “I—I’ve been trying, you know? To let you have your space. A minute, as Jack said. But this is more than a minute. You need to tell me.”

“I’m just tired, Mama,” David replied, his voice creaky from disuse. It was almost the truth.  

“You want I should call the doctor again?”

David shook his head. What could the doctor do?

“Help me,” Esther whispered, and David wasn’t sure that she was talking to him anymore.

“Mama—”

“Did something happen with Jack?” Esther asked. “Is that why he was here, why you don’t want to sell? Are you two in a fight?”

“No,” David said. The fight was over. David had walked away. They couldn’t be in a fight.

“What’s going on then?” Esther asked again. She touched his cheek. “Are you afraid we’re going to send you back to school because Papa is working again?”

David blinked. He hadn’t thought of school. “I—"

“Because we won’t,” Esther said quickly. “Not if you don’t want to go. We—I just want you should be happy, Daveleh.”

“It isn’t that,” David mumbled. “Really.”

And he knew that Mama swallowed what would have been her next words: Then, what is it? She looked at him sadly, and David was glad that he couldn’t know what she was thinking. Probably that it would have been better if Les were there and David were not—David didn’t disagree.

“I suppose I can’t make you tell me,” Esther murmured softly. She let her hand fall to his collar, and she tugged at the wilted triangle of fabric, as though someone might care that he was wrinkled and sloppy.

David looked away. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Don’t be sorry. Sometimes, there are words written on our hearts that we cannot say out loud, yes?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Then, I understand. For now,” Esther said. “I have to go deliver some piecework. Papa will be home in time to light the candles, and Sarah will check on you when she gets in, alright? They’re putting in new looms on her floor, so she’ll be early. You won’t be alone for long, ahuv.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead, and then she was gone.

David’s mind latched onto Mama’s parting words. You won’t be alone for long. You won’t be alone for long. How could she know? David had never felt more certain about how alone he was, would always be. The part of him that had a thin grip on logic knew that he was being melodramatic, but the larger part—the part of him cocooned in the assurance that he’d been misused, betrayed—didn’t care. He would lie here forever. What else was there to do, and who would expect him to do it?

As if in answer to his silent questions, he heard the apartment door creak open; Sarah was home.

For the first time in days, David shut his eyes. Let her think he was asleep.

Footsteps.

“David?”

He laid still, concentrating on his breath. Even, slow. He didn’t open his eyes, but he could somehow feel Sarah’s gaze. It was almost a relief to feel that she could see him again, that she wanted to look. Almost.

“I know you’re not asleep.”

Suddenly, fingers pinched his nose shut. On instinct, David’s mouth popped open, and he reached up to bat his sister’s hand away.

“See, you’re not asleep,” Sarah said. Normally, she would have laughed, but when David looked at her face, it was all grim lines and concerned furrows.  

 “Well, not now,” he confirmed. He let his eyes find the cracks in the ceiling again.

Sarah loomed over him, hands on her hips. “Are you talking now?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said quietly.

She nodded and shoved into the bed beside him. “Good. No one’s here but us. You have absolutely no excuse not to tell me what happened.”

Somehow, Sarah had a particular talent for simultaneously loving David, protecting him, and encouraging—sometimes forcing—him to do all kinds of things that he’d rather not. She knew that he didn’t want to talk about any of what had happened, but apparently, she’d decided that she had given him enough time to wallow; David would tell her, and that would be that.

But it didn’t mean that he had to make it easy for her, because what he had to tell was not easy.

“Nothing happened,” said David to the ceiling.  

Sarah could have scoffed, but she didn’t. Instead, her hand fell to stroke David’s hair. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Really, Sarah. I guess I’m just not—I’m not feeling well.”

Her hand stilled on his forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

“No. But I—”

“You’re not sick.”

“How would you know?”

“I would know,” Sarah said softly. David supposed she would. He didn’t have to remember his illness to know that Sarah had seen it unfold.

“Okay.”

She moved to push his greasy hair away from his forehead—and quickly withdrew, rubbing her fingertips together with barely masked distaste. “Right. So, tell me what happened.”

David groaned and rolled his face toward the wall. “Nothing.”

He felt Sarah’s hand curve around his shoulder. “What did Jack do?”

“Jack?” David’s breath caught in his chest. “Why would you think—”

Sarah hesitated. “He—he told me he had a plan.”

David bit at his lip. “Yeah. He did.” He kept silent for a moment, and Sarah squeezed his shoulder again.  

“So, you figured it out?” she pressed. “The plan?”

“Something like that,” he murmured. He hadn’t figured anything out. He was an idiot.

“Was it a good plan?”

“I don’t know.” David was surprised by his own words. He should have known. He must have known: it wasn’t a good plan—but somehow, it could have been. If it hadn’t been Jenny. But if it hadn’t been Jenny—he wanted desperately to close his eyes, to piece together his fragmented thoughts, but he couldn’t. If he did, all he would see was her. Because Jack’s plan had worked, whether or not it was good. Or had it? The ache in David’s chest was suddenly sharper.

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked, her voice gentle.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I mean. I don’t know if it was a good plan.”

Sarah’s hands rubbed absent circles across his back. “Did it have something to do with the girl you’re seeing? With Jenny?”

There was a jolt in his breastbone at the name. “Sarah—” Don’t close your eyes, don’t close your eyes.

“So, it does have to do with her.”

“I don’t want—"

“—please, David?” Sarah reached across to turn his face back toward her. “Do you know how worried Mama and Papa are?”

“They’re fine,” David said, even though he knew they were not. Sarah didn’t understand. It wouldn’t help Mama and Papa to know what had happened; it would only make things worse.

Sarah gripped his chin. She wasn’t going to let him turn away. “They’re not fine. You’ve been in here for days. You barely come out, even to go to the toilet.”

“Sarah, please. Leave me alone,” David pleaded. He jerked his chin out of her grasp and pulled desperately at his quilt—if he couldn’t shut his eyes, he could at least hide from Sarah’s—but it wouldn’t budge from under her weight.

“I won’t.”

“Please.”  

She shook her head. “Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll consider it.”

David turned back to the wall. “I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

He wasn’t sure what to say. Any reason he could give her would take them too close to the truth. “Because—”

Sarah sighed. “Well?”

“Because I can’t! It’s too much.” He tugged at the quilt again, and this time, Sarah shifted away; he pulled the blanket up over his head. The patchwork was too close around him, and his hot, acrid breath bounced off the fabric and back into his face, but it didn’t matter. He could pretend that he was safe, just for a moment.

Sarah didn’t say anything, but he felt her hands start to move over his back again. It was an odd thing, to be wrapped up tight, to hide, and still feel the whisper of someone else’s touch. His little cocoon was dark and warm, and his breath slowed in time with Sarah’s caresses.

He didn’t know how long they stayed that way, but David almost felt like he was floating away. He thought he might even let his eyes close; they felt heavy in their sockets. Sarah wouldn’t ask any more questions. Maybe he could—

But then Sarah sighed. She gently peeled back the quilt, just past his chin. “David. It isn’t too much. Not for me. I told you. I’m always here, no matter what. But you have to tell me.”  

David blinked unsteadily. “It’s bad,” he whispered.  

Her hand was cool on his cheek. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

He laughed, but the sound was raspy and cheerless. “You say that—”

“And I mean it. So, please, just tell me what’s going on.”

David rolled onto his back, and his hands fell onto his chest. He could feel his heart hammering underneath his palms. He looked hard at Sarah, to remember the way she was looking at him just then, before she knew. Her eyes were serious and there was a little furrow between the soft arches of her brows, but her lips were almost smiling. David knew that face, could almost feel the expression creeping into his own features. He’d looked at Jenny that way just before she told him. It was the way you looked at someone when you loved them, when you had to brace yourself because you knew they were hurt, that what they had to say might very well hurt you too—and this was going to hurt. Sarah probably wouldn’t look at David that way again.

“It’s bad,” he said again.

“Okay. But I’m here, alright?” Sarah said. She grabbed for one of his hands, and David’s clammy skin slid against Sarah’s palm.  

He took a deep breath, and then he told her. That the night he came home “out of sorts,” it wasn’t because he’d had a fight with Jack. Or rather, it was—but the fight wasn’t the main event. He explained that Jenny had been hurt, attacked, and that she’d “happened” to run into Jack and Katherine. That Katherine was taking care of her.

“Oh, Davey,” Sarah breathed. “Is she alright? Why haven’t you been to see her? Is that why you’re—”

“Just—don’t say anything yet,” David said. And then, he finally let his eyes close, and he saw the whole thing, sharper, harsher. He told Sarah about running through the streets like a madman, because he had to get to Jenny, had needed to make sure that she was safe. He told her about Jenny’s braids and bruises, how he’d sat on the floor until she woke up, and that she’d pulled away from him. Because she loved him too much to keep lying.

He told Sarah why Jenny had lied. What Jenny was. How she figured into Jack’s plan, and how Jack had tried to explain. But David’s eyes were closed, and he couldn’t see Sarah’s face; he couldn’t know what she was thinking. Instead, he saw Jenny, and while there were no sobs, no gasps for breath, he could feel hot tears fighting out from under his buttoned eyelids. He hid his face in Sarah’s hip, looped his arms around her. Her fingers carded gently through his hair, and she did not pull them away, even though he was disgusting and dirty; Sarah understood why, now.

“That isn’t what I thought you were going to say,” she murmured. Pointlessly. Because who ever expected to hear something like that? David certainly hadn’t.

“I know,” David said, his voice soggy and tense. He pulled himself away from her and sat upright, shifting so that he and Sarah could sit side by side on the bed, their backs against the plaster wall.

Sarah reached for his hand again. “David, I—” she began, and he forced himself to look at her face. Her lips had disappeared into a grim line, and she kept her eyes trained on their interlaced fingers. “That’s—”

“Yeah.”

There were a few minutes of silence, and David was grateful. There weren’t any more words he could think of to say.

But Sarah still had words.

Sarah squeezed his hand, and David knew—he could practically feel her thoughts rearranging, finding their footing. She took a shaky breath. “She told you.”

“What?”

Sarah finally looked at him. “She told you. The truth.”

“I guess?”

She shook her head. “No, she told you the truth.”

David squinted at her. “Are you—Sarah, I’m confused.”

“About?”

“Are you…defending her?”

Sarah shrugged. “Why aren’t you?” she asked softly.

David pulled his hand away. “What the hell?” If he hadn’t spent the last week in bed, he might have jumped up, might have thrown himself across the room. He looked at his sister, stung.

“David. I—I understand that—” Sarah tried to reach for him, but David slid further away from her.

“You don’t understand any of it!” he snarled. The sound echoed in his chest.  

She nodded, and the gesture was so measured, so condescending that David wanted to scream. “You’re upset. I understand that you’re upset.”

He dragged his hands across his face. “Of course I’m—"

“—and you should be upset. She kept something from you.”

He couldn’t believe Sarah. She made it sound like Jenny had been hiding an overdue bill. “Something? She—”

Sarah held up her hand. “—but she told you. And think of how hard that must have been.”

“Hard for who?” David asked bitterly.

“For her, David.” Sarah’s voice was the slightest bit hesitant.

“I don’t understand. Are you on her side?”

She shook her head. “There aren’t sides. If there were, I’m always on yours. You know that.”

David stared at her in disbelief. “Then why—”

Sarah nudged him with her knee, but her eyes were on her own hands, knotted together in her lap. “She can’t be proud of that, neshama. Of what she is. What she’s had to do.”

“I—”

“You should know better than anyone that sometimes, we have to do what we can to survive,” Sarah said softly.

David felt sick. He looked at his sister, at her beautiful face, her work-roughened hands, and he thought of her in Jenny’s place, of Sarah on her hands and knees in the street like Mrs. Laufman. If Sarah hadn’t had David and Les, hadn’t had Mama and Papa—who’s to say? Jenny had been alone for a very long time. She had to fend for herself.

But still. There were other ways, other jobs. Other choices. There had to be. Didn’t there?

“It isn’t the same,” he muttered.

Sarah’s face hardened. “No. It isn’t. And that’s not her fault. We don’t all have the options you do.”

“What are you—”

“Never mind,” Sarah said with a shake of her head. She sighed. “She was willing to tell you. She had to tell you. She must care for you a lot.”

“How do you figure?” David asked.

“Because she was brave enough to show you something ugly,” Sarah said plainly. She looked at David, and something about her expression made him want to crawl under the quilt again. “I don’t think it went quite the way she was hoping.”

“Why do you care about what she was hoping?”

Sarah sighed. “Because it didn’t go the way you were hoping either.”

“What?” David’s voice cracked.  

“You’re angry. But being angry doesn’t mean you don’t care. In fact, I think it’s the opposite.”

David stared at her.

“David.” Sarah grabbed his hand, and this time, David did not pull away. “You wouldn’t be this worked up if you didn’t still love her. Why can’t you listen to that part of yourself?”

“She lied to me,” he murmured.  

“I know. But then she tried to fix it. And you won’t let her. Why?”

“Sarah. You know why.”

“I know why you think you’re in the right. And you’re not entirely wrong—”

David snorted. “How big of you.”

“Just stop for a second,” Sarah snapped, and she squeezed David’s hand so hard that he felt his bones shift. She took a deep breath. “Why won’t you at least talk to her?”

“I don’t know what to say,” David said. Which was true. David was excellent at finding the words for other people, but when they had to come from him, when he was the only responsible party, he was less sure. And he hadn’t said anything when he left her. Nothing. There was no conversation left to salvage. “I’m—I couldn’t—I didn’t know what to do. When she told me.”

“How could you?” Sarah asked, and this time, her tone was soft. Her thumb trailed along the flesh at the cleft where David’s thumb met his palm.

“So I ran away.” David’s head dropped. “I ran away, and I left her there. I—oh, God—I should’ve been able to take care of her. It’s my responsibility to take care of her. I want to take care of her. I want—”

“You don’t have to take care of everyone, David.”

David looked up to meet Sarah’s eyes. “Neither do you.”

“Fair enough,” she replied with the smallest hint of a smile.  

David sighed. “Look, I know how I felt when we were together. I—I don’t know how to explain it. But I thought it was mine. And then I find out that she does that with other men, for other men, that I’m not the only—"

“That’s—well, don’t you think that’s kind of selfish?” Sarah asked cautiously.

“What?”

“She wasn’t—isn’t—doing any of that because she wants to,” she reminded him. “Except with you. She wants you.”

David shook his head. “You don’t know that. You don’t know her.”

Sarah shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. I can just—tell.”

“I just—I needed something that was mine,” David muttered, and Sarah scoffed. “What?”

“People aren’t things, David. You can’t keep them hidden away like something precious. That isn’t life. That isn’t what they need. What you’ve decided here? I don’t think it’s what she needs.”

“But I—”

“You still love her.” It wasn’t a question, but David nodded miserably in response. “Then stop thinking about yourself. We’ve made that too easy for you ever since Les died.”

David winced. “Sarah—”

“No. I’m sorry, David. I’m sorry for how hard everything has been. I’m not—it’s been hard for me too.” Sarah’s voice wavered, and David’s heart sank. He should have paid more attention, should have been less worried about himself. “But you are so lucky,” Sarah continued. “There’s someone out there who loves you. And not because she has to. Because you’re her choice. And if you really do love her, this is your moment to prove it.”

David knew she was right, but what he didn’t know was what to do about any of it.  

“When you love someone, you put them first. You think about what they need.” What Sarah did not say was that she had always put David first, that she had always thought about what he needed—but David didn’t need to hear the words to understand that they were true. She reached up and let her hand rest on his cheek. “You running away is not what she needs.”

David closed his eyes, and for the first time, saw only darkness. “I’m not—”

Sarah shook her head. “She gave you honesty, neshama; you owe her honesty in return. And if you think making her feel badly about any of this is honesty, then I’m not sure you should call that love.”

Sarah’s face was serious, and she was looking directly at him; she trusted him to hear what she had to say. She didn’t think he would break. David had forgotten what it was like to be treated like a living, breathing person rather than a ghost.

It was much harder than he remembered.

“No one ever asks me what I want,” Sarah said softly. “And I doubt if anyone has ever asked Jenny either. People don’t, you know.”

David knew what she meant. He’d seen the way that Mama had expected Sarah to stay upright, to fill in the gaps, while David was allowed to fall apart. It was true for Jenny too. Her job was to do whatever anyone asked of her, and he’d seen firsthand what happened when she did not. David had not asked her what she wanted. David had run away, because he was thinking about what he wanted, about what he thought he had already lost.

He had been thinking about himself. For months.

Oh, God. “Sarah—"

“Don’t. Please don’t.” Sarah sniffed and leaned in to wrap her arms around him—David knew she didn’t want him to see her cry. “I love you, David. And I know you’re hurting, and this will all probably get worse before it gets better. I don’t know how but—”

“Sarah—”

Her laughter puffed into his ear. “Right. Not helpful. But—but if you love that girl at all, if you really mean what you’re saying, then you owe it to her to see what she wants.” She pushed away and held him by the shoulders. “Because I guarantee you that she hasn’t stopped thinking about what you want. Not once.”

“I—I don’t know what I want,” David said, but he wasn’t sure that was true anymore. He might—he just might know.  

“That’s not really what I was saying.”

“I know. But still.”

Sarah kissed his cheek. “Well, you can’t stay in bed until you figure out, tateleh.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, David. Because I said so?”

He smiled at her. “Are you alright? All that stuff you said—”

“I’m fine. I’m just—never mind.” Sarah stood up and turned back to face him. “Have you talked to Jack about this?”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’re not talking right now. Not since the fight that night.”

“I guess I can see why,” Sarah said. “But don’t you think—”

“You’re going to defend him too?” He found that he didn’t mind—almost.

“I don’t know, David. I just think that if I had all these people going out of their way to make me feel better—even if they’re spectacularly bad at it—I might listen.”

He looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I should have done more to make you feel better. After Les.”

“Oh, Davey. You couldn’t. I’m not mad at you. I just want you to realize what you have. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all of that.”

David rolled his eyes. “How romantic.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do. I’m just—” Scared. Confused. Sorry.

Sarah nodded, smoothing her skirt; she’d heard him even though he hadn’t said the words. “I know. But I’m behind you. Even if you decide that it’s better to walk away. I just want you to…try.”

“Are you going to tell Mama and Papa?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Sarah said. She smiled at him. “You can tell Mama and Papa after you make up.”

David was afraid to let himself imagine what that might look like, how it might feel. “What if we don’t?”

Sarah shrugged. “Then you don’t—and that’s okay too.”

“How?”

“Because it has to be. There’s only one thing that really keeps us from moving forward—and you’re not allowed to do that for a good long time, little brother. I mean it.”

He nodded again. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” The ache in his chest was still there, but as he took a breath, it seemed there was space where there hadn’t been—not in months.

“Thank you,” Sarah said, dropping into a prim curtsey. David laughed, and he knew that he would put his feet on the floor, that he would start thinking about what came next. Jack. He’d have to talk to Jack.  And he would have to face Jenny—if she would have him. If he could have her. If they could sort it all out. If.

David let himself unspool into the bed, stretching his body from toe to tip. Sarah had slipped an apron on over her shirtwaist and skirt, and she was tying her hair back with a frayed ribbon. She watched him as she rolled up her sleeves, and David was relieved to see her smile. She knew what he thought he couldn’t tell, and she was still on his side. She always would be.

Sarah moved toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To fill up the basin. You need a bath before we light the candles.”

David touched his greasy hair and laughed.

Chapter Text

It had been nine days. Not that Jack was counting. But if he were—which, of course, he was—Jack knew that nine days had gone by without any word from Davey. The first few days, he hadn’t expected to hear anything, not really. At least, that’s what he’d told Race, and Katherine. And Jenny. Everything would be fine. Davey just needed more time.

Race believed him, Katherine wanted to. Jenny could not. She was like Jack. They had spent too many years looking for people they knew they wouldn’t find. Jenny’s bruises started to heal, and she didn’t ask about Davey. She didn’t say much of anything. Race told her more stories. Katherine brushed and braided her hair and tried to bait her into casual conversation. Jack held her hand, and Jenny stared straight ahead. He knew that she didn’t believe Davey would come back.

But Jack couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t stop waiting, looking, listening, for anything. He looked for Davey the same way he had looked for his ma. He thought he saw Davey’s cap turn the street corner; the laugh at the back of the distribution line had to be Davey; the steps Jack heard behind him were Davey, shuffling up to make peace—but they weren’t; it wasn’t; he didn’t.

Davey wasn’t there. Mama never was either. Jack knew that. Still. Hope, for all that it was stupid and fragile, wasn’t something a guy could give up so easily.

But by the time the seventh, eighth, ninth days rolled around, giving up seemed almost reasonable. Jenny had sent them away because—well, she had her reasons, and Jack preferred not to think of them. And the other guys had finally figured out what was going on.

Race had told them, of course. There had been a few too many nips at the bottle during the ‘welcome back’ game of cards—or a few too many theories about where Davey might be—and he’d cracked like a cheap piece of porcelain.

Which is how Jack found himself shivering in the alley behind the lodging house, chewing a cigarette to pulp and avoiding the goggled shock of three pairs of eyes. Four, if you counted Specs’ extra set.

“So, lemme get this straight: you thought this was a good plan?”

“Nah. Race thought it was a good plan,” Jack said. He took the flask from Specs and let the whiskey, if that’s what it was, pour down the back of his throat. Reedy tobacco went down with the liquor, and Jack coughed. Specs slapped him on the back.

Albert reached for the flask with a shake of his head. “Seems like you’s the one in trouble for it.” His eyes fell on the fading remnants of Jack’s bruises. They were mostly yellow blotches now, but these boys knew a bruise when they saw one.  

“Yeah. Funny how that works, ain’t it?” Jack replied. He jabbed at Race’s shoulder, and the contact he made wasn’t exactly playful.

Race hopped backward and bumped up against the wall. “I plead the fourth.”

Specs snorted. “The fifth.”

“How do you know?” Race fired back.

“The fifth of what?” asked Albert.

“December,” Specs deadpanned.

“Shaddup,” Albert said.

“This is why we need Davey,” said Crutchie from his seat on top of the ashcan. Albert passed him the flask.  

“Yeah,” Jack said softly. “Yeah.” He fell back against the wall.

Crutchie took a contemplative sip. “Aw, look, Jackie—I’m sure Davey’ll come around.”

“I ain’t.”

“I know. S’why you should listen to me. I got a little more hope to go around just now.” Crutchie nudged the flask back in Jack’s direction.  

“Uh, ain’t I gonna get some?” Race whined.

Jack glared at him and knocked back a generous glug. “Thanks, Crutch.” He begrudgingly waved the whiskey at Race, who made a greedy snatch for it.  

Crutchie shook his head. “I get what you and Race was goin’ for.”

“You do?” Race asked. Liquor spilled over his bottom lip and ran down his chin.

“You’re an animal,” Albert said, swiping the bottle back from Race. “It ain’t water.” 

“It ain’t good neither,” Race groused. “Just give it back!”

Jack laughed to himself and turned back to Crutchie. “How do you figure? That Dave’ll come around?”

“It’s been a while for most of us, or maybe we just seen too much, but everybody knows that you need a little somethin’ to keep your spirits up after the likes of what Davey’s been through. That’s all you were tryin’ to do. He’ll understand. Eventually.”

“A little somethin’, yeah,” Jack snorted. “But I think we went too big.”

“Don’t take all the credit, huh? Sounds to me like it was Race’s idea,” Crutchie said, nodding his head toward the lanky blonde boy, who was engaged in a spastic tug of war with Albert for the flask; Specs had ducked sensibly out of the way to watch.

Jack ignored them. “But I went along with it. And like they said, Davey ain’t mad at Race.”

Crutchie smiled. “I doubt that.”

“Did he try to kick the shit outta Race?” Jack asked.

“Was I there to get the shit kicked outta me?” Race’s head hissed from the crook of Albert’s arm.  

“Fair enough,” Jack laughed. “I might’a been on Davey’s side if you was.”

“Trust you for that,” Crutchie agreed.  

“Awright, uncle!” Race croaked. Albert let him go and promptly drained the rest of the bottle. Race rolled his eyes. “Who’s an animal?”

“You wanna go for round two?” Albert asked.

“Nah. We’re havin’ an important discussion here,” Race replied, brushing himself off.

“Is he serious?” Albert muttered to Specs, who was having a hell of a time not laughing.

Race turned back to Crutchie and Jack. “All I’m sayin’ is at least it’s all out in the open now, yeah?”

“Sure. Yeah. Great,” Jack said woodenly. He realized he was still holding his mushy cigarette and flicked it away.

“What?” Race asked, softer this time. “At least no one’s lyin’.”

Jack shrugged. “And ain’t no one talkin’ to each other neither.”

“I—” but Race couldn’t think of anything to say. His back met the wall next to Jack’s. Even Albert and Specs seemed subdued.

Jack sighed. “We ain’t seen Davey in a week—and the last time I saw him, he tried to take my damn head off with his fists—”

“—ain’t like he knows how to fight—" Race mumbled, and Jack shot him a look.

“—and he ain’t seen Jenny in a week, neither.”

Race sniffed and squared his shoulders. “Yeah, well, we got her.”

“We ain’t what she wants, Racer,” Jack reminded him.

“Can’t blame her there,” Albert mumbled, but Specs shushed him.  

“We used to be enough,” Race said softly.

“Well, we ain’t no more. And I guess we only got ourselves to thank,” Jack said. He tried his best to give Race a joking smile. “Mostly you, though.”

“Awright, point taken,” Race nodded. “I just don’t think that—”

Specs sighed. “I’d maybe stop thinkin’ so much if I was you.” Even Crutchie snorted at that.

“No, listen. I don’t think Davey’d stay away if he wasn’t upset,” Race said. He looked expectantly at the other boys.

Albert’s face screwed itself into a scowl. “Well, ain’t that a crackerjack thought? A’course he would. What the hell?”

Race shook his head. “No, I mean—like, he’s gotta care about her a whole lot, right? To be that mad. For it to hurt so bad.”

“Well, he did care about her,” Jack said, and his voice was hard. “I’d say we blew that up.”

“And it maybe ain’t right to be glad someone’s hurtin’ so bad,” Crutchie said. He put a hand on Jack’s arm but kept his eyes on Race.

“I ain’t glad, and we didn’t hurt him!” Race burst out. He looked down at his feet. “Not on purpose anyway.”

“I ain’t so sure that matters, are you?” Jack asked.

Race kicked at the wall behind him. “Maybe not. I just figure that he’s gotta love her. He said he did. So, he’s gotta come back. Right?”

“Love ain’t more important than bein’ able to trust someone,” Jack said. He bit his lip.

Crutchie looked up at him. “Ain’t they the same thing?”

Jack closed his eyes. “Well, if they is, then we fucked up pretty bad. Because he ain’t never gonna trust us again. Or her.”

Race took a shaky breath. “Maybe—”

Jack fought the urge to punch the wall. “Race. Stop. Just stop. He ain’t comin’ back. Jenny’s in exactly the same spot she was before. It didn’t work.”

No one said anything.

“I guess it ain’t like we thought it would stick anyway, huh?” Race said softly.

“Nah,” Jack agreed. He sighed. “I just—"

Crutchie’s hand wrapped suddenly around Jack’s forearm. “Davey!”

Jack’s stomach plummeted. Sure enough, Davey was there. He stood awkwardly at the mouth of the alley, hands jammed in his pockets and his pilled navy collar turned up against the December cold. The streetlight just caught his face, and Jack could see that Davey’s eyes were hard and clear, his face pale. That was good, Jack thought. At least he seemed calm. But Davey’s hands squirmed inside the woolen trap of his pockets. He didn’t seem in a hurry to move any closer.

“Aw, man, thank God!” Race exclaimed under his breath. He started down the alley, but Specs grabbed him by the elbow, and he stopped short.

“Uh, heya, Dave!” Specs called half-heartedly. He kept hold of Race, who was making a careful study of his own scuffed boots.

Davey’s head snapped back toward the street, just for a moment, and Jack wondered if the other boy was going to make a break for it. But he didn’t. Davey’s shoulders seemed to draw closer together and his elbows were tucked in tight to his waist, as though he were bracing himself—and Jack supposed he was. Crutchie’s fingers tightened around Jack’s arm as Davey started toward them. Specs pulled Race out of the way, and Jack couldn’t help but notice that Davey didn’t greet them, that he didn’t even look at Race.

But he was looking at Jack.

Albert’s jaw was practically scraping the street. He looked at Jack, then back to Davey, then back to Jack again. “Davey,” he murmured as the other boy went by. Davey nodded at him.

Giving Jack’s arm a final squeeze, Crutchie hoisted himself off of the ashcan. “How ya doin’, Dave?” he asked, reaching up to put a hand on Davey’s shoulder.

Davey took a breath, sharp and quick, like he’d just come up from under water. “I’m alright.” He tried to smile, but the effort was so feeble that Jack made himself look away.

“Right,” Crutchie said, sneaking a look back at Jack. He cleared his throat and gestured at Specs and Albert. “Uh, hey, fellas—how ‘bout another hand?”

Specs nodded. “Yeah, uh—yeah. S’a good idea. Yeah, Al?”

Albert was still standing open-mouthed. Specs elbowed him. “What? Oh, yeah, sure. ‘Nother hand.”

Specs practically dragged Albert back into the lodging house by his ear. Race—the coward—started to follow, but Crutchie stopped him with the pommel of his crutch. Race stumbled backward and landed, hard, on the ashcan; his bony ass hit the metal lid with a clang so ridiculous that Jack could feel laughter rising in his chest. But when he looked over at Davey, expecting to see a smile tugging at his lips, the other boy’s face was still disconcertingly blank.

Crutchie noticed too. “Maybe you guys can join in a bit?” he asked Davey.

Davey shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Shit,” Race whispered to himself, rubbing his behind as he shifted off of the can.

Crutchie swallowed a snort and looked back at Davey. “We’ll save you a spot. We been missin’ you, Dave.”

“Yeah,” Davey said. “I—yeah. I’m—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Crutchie said softly. “Like I said, you got a spot. When you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Davey murmured.

“Hey, no problem,” Crutchie replied. And then he was gone. Crutchie disappeared inside, and it was only Jack, Race, and Davey. Race lowered himself back onto the ashcan, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. Jack leaned back against the wall and tried to keep his face neutral. Davey stood, suspended, in the middle of the alley.

Whether he had wanted to or not, Jack had seen every possible version of Davey. Jack had seen Davey vibrating with excitement as they mounted their strike, his smile wide and easy. Though he’d rather forget, Jack had seen Davey caved in by his own betrayal at the rally, shoulders sagging, eyes hollow. In the last several months, he’d seen Davey half-dead, slack-jawed and faded as an old shirt; blushing and stupid; vicious as a caged animal.

But the Davey in front of him just then looked almost like he had the day they’d met: uncertain, vigilant, wound tighter than a spool of thread. His muscles were knit together in a tightrope of knots and prickles, jaw pressed forward against the pressure of Jack’s prying eyes. I’m no charity case, he’d said that first day, bristling under Jack’s gaze. That Davey had his pride. And Les. He’d had Les.

This Davey stood alone, and Jack didn’t know what the other boy had left, how much they might have accidentally taken from him under the guise of good intentions. What he’d let Jenny take with her when he’d left her behind. 

But he was still there. He’d come back.

“Do they know?” Davey asked. His licked his lips, and Jack saw his hands twitch nervously in their pockets. “Does everyone know?”

Race scratched at the back of his neck. “Well, I, uh—”

Davey laughed cheerlessly. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“I told ‘em, Davey,” Race said. “Just now. They wanted to know where you was. I swear, they didn’t know before.”

“I don’t know. Seems like you’re only good at keeping secrets from me,” Davey said, and Jack winced. But Davey’s voice wasn’t angry. It was tired. Resigned.

Jack sighed. “Davey—”

“I—I’m still angry. At you. Both of you,” Davey interrupted. The words were quiet, measured, like he’d rehearsed them carefully. Jack supposed he might have; it seemed like the kind of thing Davey would do. “I can’t believe that—what were you even thinking?”

Jack took a step closer. “I know I told ya already—but you didn’t see yourself, Dave. It was—”

Davey nodded, cutting him off. “I know. I mean, I don’t. I don’t remember much of it. But—I’ve heard.”

“We—I didn’t want to lose ya,” Jack said simply. He wanted Davey to understand how scared he had been. Davey should. He knew now what it was to lose someone.

“Hey! I didn’t either,” Race put in, still cowering on the ashcan.  

Davey snorted, and for a moment, the air felt lighter. Jack chanced a smile. Race laughed nervously.

“I know—I know that you were just trying to help,” Davey said. The words fell out slowly, light and fragile as snow caught in the wind.

Race nearly choked. He seesawed forward, hands on his knees. “You do?”

“I’m trying to,” Davey said softly.

“We were, I swear,” Race said. He sounded like a little boy trying to escape certain punishment, which, Jack thought, Race had always been.

“It’s okay,” Davey said. He shook his head. “I mean, it isn’t. But I think I can understand.”

“We’re sorry, Dave,” Race replied immediately. He looked over at Jack. “Ain’t we?”

Jack let himself touch Davey’s shoulder. “We are.”

Davey didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said.  

And Jack knew that it wasn’t okay, not just then, but that it might be. Davey wasn’t completely lost. Jack hadn’t lost Davey. And if Jack hadn’t lost him, maybe Jenny hadn’t either.

“We didn’t mean for it to go so far, but you—well, you seemed to—” Jack faltered and pulled his hand away, embarrassed.

“Love her?” Davey asked softly; he flicked his eyes to Jack’s. Race shifted on the ashcan.  

“Yeah,” Jack replied. He felt like someone was wringing out his gut, twisting it between their hands, but he couldn’t make himself say any more. They were on the razor’s edge. Jack almost didn’t want to know what came next.

He didn’t want to be angry with Davey. And he would be. If Davey could let Jenny go, if he could say the things that he said about her and mean them—

“Do you still? Love her?” Race asked suddenly. Jack kicked at the ashcan. “What?!”

Davey shook his head. “No, it’s alright. I do. Still.”

Jack let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  

Race lit up and pulled himself off of the ashcan. He slapped Davey on the back. “Hey, that’s great, Davey! Maybe we didn’t fuck up so bad after all, huh?” Both Davey and Jack stared at him. “Awright, maybe we did.”

Davey nodded. “You did.”

“Yeah. We did,” Jack echoed. Because they had. But at least Davey wouldn’t fuck up. He would make it right. Jack could hope. Because Davey still loved her.

Thank God.

Davey let himself sink into Race’s place on the ashcan, as though he couldn’t bear the weight of his own confession. He mopped his face with his hands. “Is she—how is she?”

“You ain’t been—” Jack caught himself. “Tried to see her yet?” Davey didn’t notice the correction.

“No. I’m not sure—would she want to see me?” Davey asked. He turned his hands over, resting them on his knees and examining his palms with absent eyes. “I mean, I wasn’t—I didn’t—”

“I think she would, Dave.”

“I want to see her.”

“I’m glad,” Jack said.

Davey looked up, and his eyes went first to Jack and then over to Race. “What do I say?”

“You’re askin’ us? Seriously?” Race asked, shocked. Which he had reason to be. 

“Yeah,” Davey said, and he sounded as if he knew how stupid the request was. He blinked helplessly back at them. “But…yeah.”

None of them said what they knew was true: that there might be nothing he could say. That Jenny might not be able to hear him now. Jack thought of her vacant face, the way she seemed to be walling herself up inside.

But still.

They deserved a chance. Davey had to see her.

Jack sighed and leaned back against the brick. “I think you tell her that you was dumb and you didn’t know what you was doin’. Because you didn’t.”

“Simple as that, huh?”

Jack shrugged. “It’s a start.”

“Yeah,” Davey breathed. He dug his fingernails into the meat of his palm and watched as half-moons of white cropped up under their edges. Jack knew that Davey was about to fall into his own thoughts, that he would be imagining what he would say to Jenny when he saw her—but he still didn’t know what they knew.

Race had the same realization. He cleared his throat. “Jackie?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. I know. Look, Dave—when were you thinkin’ you’d go see her?”

“What?” Davey shook himself. “Huh? Now? I guess?”

“Ah—" Race choked out.

Jack held up his hand. “I don’t think—well,” Jack began. He bit at his chapped lip. “Um, then you should know. Jen ain’t at Kath’s no more.”

Davey cocked his head. “What? Did Kath’s parents come home early?”

“No,” Jack said stupidly.

“Well, where is she?”

“She, uh—she went back.”

“I don’t understand,” Davey said. He looked at his hands as though they had the answer, and then his head swiveled back to Jack. He blinked. “Back where?”

“Davey,” Jack warned. There was only one place she could go back to, and they all knew it. Even Davey knew it now.

She had told them the day before. She was tired of the broth that Katherine kept ladling down her throat—I got beat up, I don’t have a cold.—so, Jack and Race had snuck her some knockwurst and fried potatoes from Jacobi’s. It was meant to be a surprise.

But when they got there, they’d found her packing a few of Katherine’s hand-me-downs into a canvas sack.

I can’t stay here anymore. This isn’t where I belong. I should’ve known better. It was the most she’d said in days.

What she meant was: He isn’t coming.

Katherine couldn’t stop her; Jack and Race knew better than to try. So, Katherine had given her enough money to settle her debts and made her promise to check in, to visit for tea. Jenny had nodded, had managed a smile just long enough to let Katherine pretend to believe her.

If Davey wanted to see her, he wouldn’t have to go all the way uptown. But he didn’t realize how far Bowery and Broome really was.

“Why would she do that?” he whispered.

Jack stayed silent. Race’s toes scraped at the pavement.

“She didn’t think I would come back,” Davey said.

“I knew you would, Davey!” Race tried.

Jack shook his head. “No, I guess she didn’t.” His voice was harder than he meant it to be. He was fairly certain that Davey hadn’t known he would come back himself; he might not have. Jenny couldn’t make her choices based on what might be. She had never been able to do that. Would never. Unless—

“But why? Couldn’t she have stayed with Kath?” Davey asked. He was talking more to the air than to Jack or Race.

“Yeah,” Jack sniffed against the cold. “But she didn’t want to put her out. She was feelin’ a little better, so she thought she might—”

Davey’s head snapped up. “And you let her? You let her go back there?”

“We didn’t let her do anything,” Jack challenged. He pushed off of the wall and loomed over Davey. “She makes her own choices.”

“Oh, God.” Davey’s face disappeared behind his hands. But then, there was a catch in his breath, almost like a laugh. He raked his hands backward and straightened his hat, and when he looked back at Jack, there was the smallest of smiles on his face. “She does, doesn’t she? She’s—she’s something else.”

“Yeah, she is,” Race agreed. His eyes darted back and forth between the other two boys.

Jack watched Davey carefully. “I could go see her. Tell her you wanna talk. You guys could meet here.”

Davey’s eyes widened. “I—no.”

Jack shoved his hands into his coat pockets before they could clench into fists.

“Davey?” Race asked carefully. His eyes were on Jack. And Jack’s hands, flexing open and shut inside his pockets.  

“No,” Davey said again. He stood up. “I should go to her. I’ll go to her—there.”

Jack sighed with what felt almost like relief.

“Shit,” Race mumbled, impressed.  

“You sure?” Jack asked. But he didn’t care if Davey was sure; he just wanted Davey to see her, to talk to her. To reassure her that she was better than the place she bedded down every night—because she couldn’t accept the words from anyone else.

“I—no. But it’s what I should do. I—I want to,” Davey said. He pulled down the hem of his coat. “I think.”

“That’s good, Dave,” Jack said softly.

“Real good,” Race echoed. Jack could tell by the wide-eyed look on his face that he was picturing Davey inside a whorehouse. It wasn’t an easy thing to imagine. Jack thought again of Davey on his first day as a newsie; buttons done up all the way to his neck, a tight knot in his tie. The image of him at Jenny’s place was a little ridiculous.

Davey evidently thought so too. He looked like he might throw up. “How do I—”

Jack shook his head. “We’ll talk to Kath. You’ll need some cash.”

To his credit, Davey’s eyes widened. “I’m not going to—I wouldn’t insult her like that.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “You ain’t gonna. But if you wanna make sure you ain’t interrupted—” he stared hard at Davey, to make sure he understood; Davey practically shuddered. “—you’ll have to go in through the front door. Make sure you get the time you need.”

Davey’s cheeks went pink. “Oh. I guess—”

“Trust me,” Jack said. Then he realized that Davey might not be able to. He backpedaled. “Or, you know—”

“No, it’s okay,” Davey said. He nodded. “You’re—you’re right. I’ll do it.”

“You alright?” Race asked meekly.

Davey stared straight ahead. “I think so?”

“Well, that’s somethin’,” Race said, clapping him on the back.

“Yeah, something,” Davey said absently. He rattled his head back and forth, as though willing himself back into the moment.  He took a deep breath. “So…tomorrow, I guess?”

“Tomorrow!” Race said with a nod. Neither Jack nor Davey reacted. Race’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. “Heya, Jackie—I’m gonna check on the boys, yeah?”

“Yeah, Race,” Jack said, eyes on Davey.  

“Okay then,” Race mumbled. He gave Davey’s shoulder a playful clip. “See ya, Davey. Glad you’re back.”

“I—yeah. Yeah. See you, Race,” Davey replied half-heartedly as Race ducked inside. He looked rattled, but there was no trace of the panic Jack had seen the last night they’d been together. Davey clearly knew what he had to do.

Jack pulled his hands out carefully of his pockets and rubbed them together. “Kath’ll be by in a little bit. I’ll ask her about the money—we’ll get it taken care of.”

“Okay. Yeah,” Davey agreed mechanically. He shook himself again. “Thanks. I—thanks.”

Jack nudged the other boy with his shoulder. “You could stay? ‘Til she gets here?”

“I don’t think—” Davey began. He looked back at Jack, embarrassed. “Maybe next time?”

“I get it.”

“I’ll get there.”

“I think Jen will too,” Jack said, his voice soft.  

“I hope so,” Davey replied. They stood for a moment without saying anything. Davey sucked in a loud breath. “So, I’ll just—meet you here? Before the evening edition?”

“Yeah. For sure,” Jack agreed. Then, “You ain’t sellin’?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Davey said. He sounded pained. “I’m just—I’m still gonna need some time.”

“Yeah,” Jack said again. “Makes sense.”

“Thanks. It’ll—it’ll get better.” Davey set his hand on Jack’s shoulder, just for a second. He turned to head back out of the alley, to leave Jack alone.

“Hey, Dave?” Jack called after him.

This time, Davey turned around. Not like the night Jack had gone to look for him. “Yeah?”

“I was dumb, and I didn’t know what I was doin’. I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Jackie,” Davey said. His head fell down between his shoulders. “I’m sorry too.”

Just then, Jack realized that Davey wasn’t quite as naïve as he seemed, that he might have some idea of what was waiting for him at Bowery and Broome, of the damage he’d done. “Hey, she’ll forgive you,” Jack said.

“I wasn’t just talking about her.” Davey took a step back toward him. “I’m sorry for the other night.”

Jack snorted. “Yeah, well, lucky for me, you ain’t exactly a boxer.”

“Yeah. Lucky for you,” Davey said. He was trying, and that was all Jack could ask.

“It’ll get better?” Jack asked, waving his hand between the two of them.

Davey nodded. “It will. I hope so. But I’ve got to fix things with her first.”

Which, Jack supposed, was what he wanted to hear. Davey turned and walked away, but this time, Jack knew he would be back.

Chapter Text

The building looked like a building. That was all that David could think. The door was a normal painted slab. The brass handle was scuffed and starting to turn green, the same as the handle on the front door of David’s building. There was nothing about its outsides that betrayed the dirty workings of its interior. Dirty. David didn’t, couldn’t think about that.

“It’s a Tammany place,” Jack had told them when they’d met to hand off the cash. “You gotta pay the man at the front to get upstairs. Kath—she brought enough that you can stay the night, if you need to.” David had gulped at that. “If you’re flush, ain’t no one’ll bother you,” Jack said.

David’s hand rested on top of the pocket where he’d stashed Katherine’s money. All he had to do was go up the stairs, push the door, ask for Jenny. And pay. His stomach roiled.

“Hey, pal—you’re in the way,” a gruff voice sounded off behind him. A man shouldered up next to him, pushing past. His face was all mustache, his arms swelling out of his jacket seams. But it was his hands that made David uneasy. They were grimy and dirty, meaty fingers protruding out of forearms that had no wrists, solid branches of flesh. The man turned the handle and went in, without hesitation. Like he’d been there a hundred times before.

Which made David wonder where those hands had been. Who they’d touched. How they’d touched. What if—

David swallowed, hard, and marched up the stairs. He turned the handle and went in.

The front hall looked just as normal as the outside of the building. Probably as protection from the police, David realized. But there was another man, just as thick and solid as the one on the sidewalk, propped on a four-legged stool. He looked at David—his wide eyes and wind-bitten cheeks, the teenaged spindle of his body, his stupid newsboy’s cap—and almost laughed.

“And what do you want, kiddo?” he growled.

David dug the wad of cash out of his pocket. His hands were shaking. “I’m—I’m here to see Jenny.”

“Are ya now?”

“Yes, sir,” David said softly. “I can pay.”

“I can see that,” the man replied flatly. He snapped the money out of David’s hands. He licked a finger and flipped through the bills, his bullfrog eyes bulging as he counted. “Bet your ass I can see that. What’d you do, rob a bank?”

“No, sir. Is she—is Jenny free? May I see her?”

“Sir, he calls me. Sir!” the man laughed. “’May I see her,’ he asks. Awright, kid. It’s your lucky day. Jenny’s still free, and with this down payment? You got her for as long as you like. You go on upstairs. They’ll help you up on the third floor. Don’t go wanderin’ around, y’hear?”

“Yes. Yes, sir,” David managed. “Th-thank you.”

“Have fun, kid.”

David knew that he would not.

He tripped up the shabbily carpeted stairs. On the second floor, he started to see the girls. Their heads stuck out of doors, teased clouds of hair bobbing as they hollered to each other; some girls reclined against the dented plaster of the walls, smoking cigarettes. They were in various states of undress, and David tried not to look at their bare shoulders, their peeping breasts. But he noticed that they didn’t seem scared. They didn’t seem unhappy. Like Sarah and her friends when he used to walk her home from the factory. They were just girls. Chatting, primping, even laughing. They were just there. Waiting, David thought.

When he got to the third floor, he stopped on the landing. A woman his mother’s age, draped in an ostentatious red dressing gown, met him there.

“You lost, sugar?” she asked. Her voice was deep, husky. It didn’t sound like Mama’s voice. David had never heard a voice like that.

“No, ma’am,” he said. The woman smiled, and there were black holes where several of her teeth should have been. David looked at his feet. “Jenny? I—I paid. The man downstairs, he told me—”

“You wouldn’t have made it this far if you hadn’t,” the woman rasped. It sounded like she had something stuck in her throat; the words were sticky and gruff. She snapped her fingers. “Gertie?”

A girl’s head poked out of the door nearest the landing. “Yeah?”

“You wanna take Prince Charming here to Jenny’s room?”

Gertie stepped into the hall. She looked David up and down, and her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Prince Charming, huh? Right this way, baby.”

Gertie grabbed David’s elbow and steered him down the hall. More of the doors were closed on this floor and, as they passed, David could hear furniture creaking, giggles, muffled sounds that he didn’t quite recognize.

“You have a good time,” Gertie said. She pressed a kiss to David’s cheek with a giggle and rapped on the door. “Be good to her. Jenny’s a special one.”

“She is,” David agreed. Gertie didn’t seem to hear him, and if she said anything else, David didn’t hear Gertie. His ears were starting to rush again, and he took a deep breath, filling his belly with as much air as he could. He couldn’t afford to lose himself. Not here, not now.

The door creaked open, and there was Jenny. David’s breath caught in his chest anyway.

He’d never seen her quite this way. Jenny’s face was painted: her cheeks blushed under sticky splotches of cherry-hued rouge, her eyes blinked back at him from between precise black lines, her lips were red and waxy, and everything looked vaguely smudged under a hasty dusting of powder that made her look too pale, that hid her freckles and what was left of her bruises. Her hair had been plumped and teased, and David could tell that she’d purposefully let a few ringlets fall to scrape the white skin of her exposed shoulders. She wasn’t wearing a shirtwaist. She wasn’t wearing much, really. Her ribs were gusseted by a ragged lace corset over a cheap chemise. Some of the boning broke through the corset’s seams, but David noticed that it wasn’t cinched tightly, that it slumped down toward her hips.

Her ribs hadn’t healed then, he thought. And he could still see the faintest hint of purple around her eye, the suggestion of a fingerprint garotte at her throat.

Her green eyes were wide. David willed his feet to stay put.

“Special delivery,” Gertie said. She checked David’s hip and pushed him forward.

“You’re here,” Jenny said. She didn’t reach for David.

“I’m here.”

“Why?” Jenny asked. She blinked, and her voice hardened. “Why are you here?”

David’s heart hammered in his chest. He nodded sharply toward her room. “Can I—”

“Just give me a second,” Jenny snapped. David nodded again and reminded himself to breathe.

“You alright, Jen?” Gertie asked. David kept his eyes on the carpet, but he could feel Gertie’s stare moving across his shoulders. Did she think that he was the one that had hurt Jenny? That he’d come back to finish the job?

David supposed he was the one who’d hurt her. Oh, God.

Jenny stared at the crown of David’s head, at the button on his cap. David felt the weight of her stare, and he couldn’t lift his head. “I’m fine,” she said.

“Just holler, okay?” Gertie said uncertainly. Jenny nodded, and Gertie eased down the hall, still keeping half an eye on David.  

“I will,” Jenny said, but her voice was so small that Gertie couldn’t have heard.

David still didn’t look up. “Jenny, I—”

“Come in, I guess,” Jenny sighed. She pivoted, opening her body to let him into the room. She extended her arm in an elaborate show of hospitality, and David let himself look at her, at the whispered suggestions of fingernail scratches and bruises on her white flesh.

He moved into the room without touching her.

There wasn’t much to it. A neatly made brass bed was stuffed up against one wall; it bowed in the center, and David tried not to wonder why that might be. A foggy gas lamp burned low on Jenny’s bedside table.  There was a dirty rug on the floor, something designed to look exotic, all brocaded patterns and fringe. Crammed next to the door was a shabby vanity with a stool, its top covered with various bottles and tubes—all the things splashed across Jenny’s face, David thought. But the room wasn’t sinister, wasn’t scary. It was just a room. Like the girls were just girls. And Jenny was just Jenny. Right?

David stood frozen on the rug. “Thank you,” he said. For letting him in, he supposed.  

Jenny closed the door. “You paid?” she asked. There was a note in her voice that David didn’t recognize.   

“I—”

Jenny’s fingers brushed softly against his hip as she crossed to the bed; his stomach jolted. “What do you like?” she asked, and there it was again. Her voice didn’t sound like her own. It was throaty and low. She leaned back against the brass bed frame and spread her legs.

“W-what?” David stammered. He hated that he could feel himself responding to her performance, and he was grateful for the length of his coat.

“Tell me what you like. What you want,” she purred. Her eyelashes fluttered at him.

 “Jenny—”

“No. We’ve got to keep the customer satisfied,” Jenny murmured. She put her fingertips to her forehead, as though she’d just been reminded of something. She closed her legs, stood up, moved behind him. Her fingertips tickled softly down the back of his neck, and then she reached in front of him to work open the buttons of his coat. “Let me take your coat.”

“Please don’t do this,” David begged, even as he closed his eyes, even though he knew what she would find when she stripped the coat off his shoulders.  

“I’ll do whatever you like.” His coat hit the floor. Jenny faced him, hands on his hips. She could see him now. He couldn’t hide it.

“Jenny,” David warned.  He couldn’t open his eyes.

She knelt down in front of him. “Sir.”

“Stop it. Please stop.”

“I could suck you off,” she said simply. She palmed the fly of his pants, and David felt himself stir beneath her touch, just as he had every time before. But this wasn’t like those times. He didn’t want this. She couldn’t either.

“Jenny.”

She reached up so that she was pulling at his waist band, pulling it down. The fabric rasped against him, and he groaned. “Or you could take me from behind. Like a dog,” she cooed.

“Please.” David’s voice broke.

Jenny let him go. She stood up and smoothed her skirt, as though nothing had happened. “What do you want then?” she asked, moving back to the bed. She sat down and crossed her legs, purposefully demure. Her face was hard.

“I just want to talk to you!” David knew how desperate he sounded, that he was losing control. He could still feel the throbbing where her hand had been, the phantom twitch low in his belly. He thought he might be sick.

“Men don’t usually pay me to talk,” she said softly.  

David swallowed, shook his head so furiously that the room kept moving even when he’d stopped. “I wanted to make sure—Jack said—”

“Oh, so you two are talking again,” Jenny replied viciously. “Good. Good for Jack. He cares so much about you. I’m so glad you could forgive him after what he did.”

David couldn’t work out how to respond, so he just muscled through what he had been trying to say. “Katherine gave me the money. So that I could see you without being—interrupted?”

“You could have seen me before this. You wouldn’t have needed her money then.”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry,” he said, and he knew it wasn’t enough. He took a step closer to the bed, kicking his coat out of the way. “But I’m here now.” And this time, it was David who knelt—but he did not reach for her. His hands fidgeted in his lap.

“I can see that. Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you here?”

“I told you. I want to talk.”

“Then talk,” Jenny said. She leaned over her knees, looking at David below her, waiting. He stared back at her, mute. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I shouldn’t have run away,” David said. He heard the tears in his voice before he knew they were there.

“But you did,” Jenny said, and finally, the voice was her own. Small and wounded, but hers.  

“I can’t—I can’t undo that. I wish I could—”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you want to undo it? Maybe you were right.”

David blinked at her. “I don’t understand.”

“Look at where you are, Davey,” she said softly. “Look at me.”

“I am.” And he was. Jenny had her arms wrapped around herself, elbows resting on her knees, and her green eyes blinked back at him. It didn’t matter that they were smudged with kohl. They were hers. He knew them. And he was ashamed of the pain he saw behind them now.

“No, you’re not. Not really.”

“Jenny—”

“You were right to run. Because this is my life. What I do. Who I am.”  She turned her face away, and David caught sight of the yellow corona of another bruise. “You deserve better.”

“No,” he insisted. He pushed himself up on his knees and put a careful hand over hers. “You do. Better than me.”

Jenny closed her eyes and pulled her hand way. She folded her arms so that David couldn’t reach her again. “You can’t win this argument.”

“I don’t want to win. I just—” David gripped the edge of the bed. “I don’t care. About this,” he said, gesturing around Jenny’s room.  

She laughed, and the sound was cold. She flinched a little and braced her ribs. “Jesus, Davey. You know that isn’t true.”

“I don’t,” he insisted, and because he couldn’t take her hand, he clutched at the fold of her skirt. “I care about you.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you do.”

“Please don’t say that.”

Jenny shrugged, but the movement was stilted, forced. “What do you want me to say? I—I love you—”

“—I love you too—”

“—but it’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to think about what other men have—”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, Davey. You do. You know you do.” Jenny’s smile was sad. “Look at your face. Right now. You’re thinking about it.”

David didn’t know what his face was doing, but he knew that she was right. He hadn’t stopped thinking about all those other men since he’d found out. And being in her room—where all of it had happened, still happened, might happen—didn’t help.  

But he couldn’t tell her that. He heard Sarah’s words in his head. And if you think making her feel badly about any of this is honesty, then I’m not sure you should call that love. There were more important truths than just the things he was afraid of. “I won’t think about it,” he said firmly.  

“Won’t? What exactly do you think is going to happen?”

“I don’t know. But I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have run. I should have stayed there with you. Taken care of you, I don’t know.”

“You can’t take care of me, David. You can’t rescue me.”

His knuckles were white around her skirt. “I’m not trying—”

“You are. And you can’t.”

“Why?” he asked. He chanced to kiss the gentle curve of her knee, and he felt her shiver. “Why can’t I?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be rescued,” Jenny said, but now, her voice was thick and wet. She cleared her throat.   

“I don’t understand.”

“I can take care of myself. I have for a long time.”

“Okay?”

“Working here, I—I have money. A place to stay.” She sniffed. “And it isn’t so bad.”

David pressed his face into her knee, gripping the fabric even tighter. “But you were—someone hurt—”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I don’t. Understand.”

“I know. And you shouldn’t have to. I—being with you, I almost let myself believe that—”

David looked up at her. “What?”

“That I could let up. That I could depend on you.”

“You can.”

Jenny shook her head, and the line of her jaw was taut and shaky. “I can’t. You left.”

“But I’m here,” David said. He pulled himself off of his knees and sat next to her on the bed. He knew that she would worry what he was thinking of as he eased himself onto the cheap chenille coverlet, of what had happened in that bed, but he tried to push the concern away. He angled himself so that their knees were touching; he was still too afraid to reach for her hand. “I don’t—what do you—I’m here. I came back. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jenny slipped her hands under her legs. She looked over at him with her giant green eyes, and David had never felt so small. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied,” she said softly.  

David was silent. Her green eyes blinked back at him, waiting for him to say something, to challenge her, and he could see the wet tangled in her dark lashes.  

He sighed. “Well, no, but—”

“We can’t fix this, Davey. You shouldn’t want to fix it.”

“I do,” David said. He nudged her knee again.

“I—" Jenny stopped herself, as though she’d just realized what he had said. She nudged him back. “Why?”

David’s knee felt warm where Jenny’s had been. “Because I love you.”

“Enough?”

“What?”

“Do you think you love me enough? To handle all of this?”

“I don’t know,” he said without thinking. Jenny squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away. David panicked. “Yes. I mean, yes.”

“See?” she whispered. She rocked over her hands.

David pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just meant—if we—I don’t want you to do this anymore. Not if we’re together.”

“I know. And that’s what I mean.”

“But don’t you—you don’t want to do this, do you?” David asked miserably.  

“I have to. I have to live, Davey,” Jenny replied.

He shook his head. “But I’ll take care of you.”

“How?”

“What?”

“How are you going to take care of me?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out.”

A sound tore out of Jenny’s throat that wasn’t quite a scream. She flew off of the bed, her hands tearing at her hair, pulling it out of its pompadour, raking the curls across her face. “It does. I’ve been on the streets. I didn’t always—have a room like this.” She whirled around to face him, and the mask she’d taken such care to apply was streaked, running across her cheeks, sliding off her chin. She grit her teeth.  “I won’t go back.”

David couldn’t help himself. He moved to her, took her in his arms—although he wasn’t sure if it was to comfort her or so that he wouldn’t have to look at the animal caste of her face. It didn’t matter. “I would never let you—”

Her body was stiff against his. “Let me?”

David leaned back. “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant—”

“Davey. You know that I’m right.”

“I don’t care,” he said, and he held her tighter. He didn’t want to let go, didn’t care that her arms did not hold him back. “You—I won’t let—”

“—ah—”

“I don’t want you to have to do this. I want to take care of you,” David said. He reached to smooth the hair out of Jenny’s face, to touch her cheek, to see if she’d come back to herself.  

This time, she didn’t pull away. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his. A shaky breath. “I know you do. But wanting doesn’t make it come true.”

“Why can’t you believe that it might?” he whispered.

“Because things don’t. They don’t work like that.”

“They could.”

“They won’t,” Jenny said, and the absolute certainty in her voice made David’s knees feel weak. “They won’t.”

But David couldn’t collapse. He couldn’t fall apart, because, just then, Jenny couldn’t stand on her own. Her arms grasped desperately for his shoulders, and before he even realized what he was doing, David had swept her into his arms. Her face was against his chest, her cheek pressed hard against one of his vest buttons, and his collar was lost in her fist.

He didn’t know he had the strength. David had never thought he was strong. David was skinny, David was too interested in books, David was the slowest kid on the street. He thought of all the days since they’d lost Les that he’d had to sit in alleys, in front of greengrocers, because he was too weak to sell the last few papes, to make it to the next block, to stand. But he barely felt Jenny’s weight in his arms.

Careful of her ribs, he carried her over to the bed and sat. He held her in his lap like his mother used to hold him. He wondered if anyone had ever held Jenny this way.

“Danny.”

David kissed her dark curls. “What?”

“When I lost Danny,” she murmured. “Jack and Race—they tried. To help.”

He knew this. She’d told him. He remembered sitting in the cold with her, the way she’d held him and let him cry on that stupid bench. David held her closer to his chest.

“Jack was the one who figured out that the factory was hiring, that they needed girls. Little girls. Because our fingers were small. We could unpick the snags if a loom got caught. One of the other newsies had a little sister that was working there too. And I could keep paying the McCormicks. That’s the family Danny and I used to live with.”

Her breath hitched. “But it—I don’t—your sister works in a factory?”

“Yes.”

“Has she ever told you what it’s like?” Jenny asked. Her voice was suddenly careful.  

David hesitated, letting his fingers trail across her upper arm. “She doesn’t say much. She doesn’t want Mama and Papa to think about it.”

He felt Jenny nod against his chest. “Then you know. That it’s bad. That it’s not safe.”

David shut his eyes and held her tighter. He didn’t want to think about it. Not for Jenny, not for Sarah.

“I worked in a couple different shops. Shirtwaists. Silk flowers. That one wasn’t so bad. But the last one was textiles. I worked there for a couple years. You couldn’t even hear yourself think, the machines were so loud. There was a girl working next to me, and her—her fingers got caught and—”

David’s stomach turned. “I—you don’t have to.”

“I couldn’t, Davey. I couldn’t stay there after that. They made me clean the machine.”

There was nothing he could say.

Jenny slid off of David’s lap and notched herself against his side.  “And there just aren’t that many things for a girl like me to do.”

David finally understood what she was trying to say. And he didn’t like it, didn’t want to accept it.

“But you’re—” he attempted, but Jenny shook her head.  

“I never went to school, Davey.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to David. “Can you—” he stopped himself. It wasn’t important. It shouldn’t be important. She couldn’t help it.

But Jenny knew what he had been about to ask. “Yes. I can read and write.” David was ashamed of his own relief. “Danny taught me. But I didn’t have a mother to teach me all of the things girls are supposed to know—sewing, cooking, cleaning. That doesn’t leave much.”

“But—”

She reached for his hand, staring at their twined fingers. And while David was glad that she was touching him, that they were sitting so close, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what came next.

“I—I started on the piers. There used to be a man who would wait in front of the factory, offer the girls a chance at more money. I took it.”

David had seen the girls she was talking about. He and Jack sold by the piers every so often. They didn’t look like Jenny or Gertie or any of the faces he’d seen here. They looked like worn-out scarecrows in dresses, hungry and desperate. More often than not, they looked like Jenny had the last time he’d seen her. His breath quickened at the memory, but he knew he couldn’t run. Instead, he squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I want you to understand.”

“What? Understand what?”

“I—just, please. Let me.” She shifted their hands so that she held his between both of hers. “I worked on the piers and on some of the corners on the Bowery before I came here. The man—he wasn’t the easiest guy to work for. But it was work.”

“Did you—did Jack and Race know? Then?”

“No. I didn’t tell them. And they didn’t notice.”

David’s cheeks were hot, his chest tight. How could they not have noticed? “How—”

“Jack came to the McCormicks’ looking for me. To check in. Mrs. McCormick told him to check the piers with all the other—well, I’m sure you can guess what she said.”

“What did he do?” David sighed. 

“He did what you just tried to do. He grabbed Race, they came and found me, tried to talk me out of it. Joe—the man who, uh, took care of us girls—ran them off.” Jenny looked away.  

“But you stayed.” And he still couldn’t understand why. He heard what she was saying, but still, the thought hung in the back of his mind: there had to have been something else she could have done.

“Joe didn’t make it easy to leave. I was lucky to get on here. I let Jack and Race know that I was someplace safe. And they didn’t really come to see me until—well, until you. So, I guess I should have known. That you would react the way you did. If Jack and Race didn’t want to see me once they knew, why would someone like you?”

David’s gut jumped. “Someone like me?”

Jenny shrugged and let go of his hand. “Just—good. You have a home, a family. You’re so smart. And I’m sure you’ve never told a lie. Never hurt someone.”

“I hurt you,” David said softly.

“Because I hurt you first.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Because, really, it was Jack and Race who had done the hurting. And even they hadn’t meant to. David knew that now. David tried to draw her back into his arms. “Jenny, I—"

Jenny put her hand to his chest. “This is how things work out, Davey. This is the ‘happy ending’ God saved for me. People like Katherine, girls like Katherine—they can have whatever they want. They’re beautiful and pure, because people care enough to keep them that way.”

Her words broke him, cracked something deep inside. Because they were true. It was why Jack, whom even David knew had slept with more girls than he had fingers to count, did not broach the subject with Katherine. She was special, she was to be preserved, she was the golden goddess. And it wasn’t her fault. She just had the luck that girls like Jenny—like Mama, like Sarah—would never have. Mama had never learned to read and slaved over her piecework without any escape while Katherine had an entire library, a fleet of deep sofas and distractions. Sarah’s fingertips bled all winter long while Katherine’s were wrapped safely in kid gloves. Jenny’s body had been given up to whoever was willing to grease the palm of the men who owned her while Katherine had the ear of the governor.

It wasn’t Katherine’s fault, but it wasn’t fair.

But Jenny was wrong. Still, there were things that even Katherine could not have, could not do. Because she was a woman. And David couldn’t change it. Not alone. No strike, no high ideals could save the women he loved—not even from him.

And he realized: no one ever asked them what they wanted because they knew they would never get it.

Unless.

David shook his head. “You’re beautiful. You’re—”

“You can’t say it, can you? Because it wouldn’t be true. I’m not pure. And you, David Jacobs, are not a liar. You’re a good boy. I’m sure you’ve always been.”

She was patronizing him. David’s brows knit together, and his tongue slid out, nervously licking his lips. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he insisted. And he wasn’t sure what he meant, because it was not exactly the truth. It did matter that she gave herself to other men, but it mattered because he loved her, because he wanted her to be safe and happy, not for all the reasons he’d thought it mattered before. He wanted her to have same choice and protection that Katherine had, even if they were limited. “It doesn’t.”  

“Oh, Davey. It does.”

“It doesn’t! I—I know you don’t want to do this. I know you weren’t trying to hurt me. I didn’t run just because—it wasn’t—” For once, David did not stare at his knees, did not get carried away on the frenetic current of his own breath. He looked directly into Jenny’s green eyes and told the truth. “I was scared.”

She blinked back at him. “What?”

David reached out and let his fingers brush her smudged cheekbone. “When I saw you—the last time I saw you. I’ve been so scared of anything happening to you. I can’t—because of Les, you know? And I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t protect you from that. I didn’t know.”

“David.” Jenny held fast to his hand, turned her head to kiss his palm. The intimacy of the gesture made David want to cry. But he wouldn’t. Not now.

“I can’t keep you safe,” he said. “I didn’t keep him safe. It just makes me feel so—useless.”

“I’m safe.”

He let the fingers of his free hand trail over the fading necklace of black and blue at her throat. “You’re—Jenny, you were—”

Her lips twisted into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “This is safe. Trust me. I know the difference.”

David knew that kind of safety. It was that kind of safety that drove them away from home and into a fetid tenement. It was that kind of safety that kept Sarah hunched over a machine, that had killed Les. It was the safety of compromise. “I—”

Jenny curled her body back around his side and slipped her hands on either side of his face. “You’re not useless. This is not your fault. Les was not your fault.” She kissed his cheek, gently.

But she shouldn’t be comforting him. That wasn’t the point. “Danny wasn’t yours,” he murmured.

“I’ve never thought that it was,” Jenny replied. She looked up at him. “I—Davey, sometimes I—I’m angry at Danny. Because I think he would be ashamed of me, of the choices I’ve made, but he’s the reason I had to make them in the first place. If he hadn’t been messing around that day, if he didn’t—”

David pulled her into his chest. He waited for the tremor of her shoulders, to feel the wet against his shirtfront, but it didn’t come.

She leaned back in his arms so that she could see his face. Her green eyes were dry. “He left me alone. And I’ve done what I had to do to keep living. I’m used to it now. I know how it works. But you. You made me—I just—I’m scared too, alright?”

“Of what?”

Jenny kept her eyes trained deliberately on his. “You. I’m scared of you. Because this wasn’t supposed to be real. But now it is. And when you left—"

He kissed her forehead. “I came back.”

She shook her head. “Do you know how much harder it is to do what I have to do when all I’m thinking about is you? How badly it will hurt you, how—”

“I came back. I’m here.”

“For now.”

“No. For good.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Neither can you,” David insisted. Neither of them looked away from the other. He slid his hand behind her head, cradling it gently. “What do you want?”

“What?” Jenny’s nose wrinkled. Sarah was right. No one had ever asked.

“It’s something Sarah said.”

“Your sister?” Her eyes widened, and she sat up, out of David’s arms. “You told your sister about me?”

“It’s okay. She—she understood,” David replied. Sarah understood more about Jenny than David ever would. “She told me I was being selfish. That I wasn’t thinking about you. And she was right.”

“Oh.”  

David took both her hands in his. “What do you want?” he asked again.

“What?” Jenny didn’t seem to understand. She looked down at her hands wrapped in David’s as if she couldn’t believe they were real.

“What do you want? We keep talking about what I want—what you think I want— and if you really want me to go, I will. But—”

“I want you to stay,” she said suddenly.

“Okay,” David nodded. “What else?”

“Davey.” Jenny’s voice wavered, and her green eyes were wide and overwhelmed. She didn’t know how to give voice to the things that she wanted.

David’s hands pulsed around hers. “I—you should forget about what you think will happen.”

“Says you,” she murmured softly.

David ducked his head. He knew he was giving advice that would usually be impossible for him to follow. “Yes. Says me.”

Jenny stared at him, appraising him and what he had to offer. David’s cheeks were hot under her gaze. He wasn’t at all sure what his next move would be. He wasn’t in school; he had a job that, when he bothered to go, paid him little more than a dime a day; his mother and father knew nothing about the shiksa girl who sold herself, who had no home, no family. David cared too much, thought too much, worried too much. Sometimes, it took him years to carve out certainty, to feel safe. But he was certain about her. Even without knowing why. And he wanted her to choose him. Even if it meant upsetting the order of his world—because, David was finding, there was no such thing.

“I want you.”

David’s whole body seemed to crumple in relief; he bowed at the waist and wrapped his arms carefully around Jenny’s. “I want you too.”

Jenny pulled the cap off of his head, and her fingers ran through his hair. “Even though…”

“Even though.” He pulled himself upright again. “You—I feel like you see me. And now, I can see you too.”

Jenny bit at her lip. “I just don’t understand how—”

“What if we didn’t worry about how right now?” David said, and his breath was mounting, but it wasn’t out of fear. Not this time.

“Davey—” Jenny let herself smile. “Are you actually telling me not to worry? You?”

“I worry all the time. I’m scared all the time. I’m—I’m terrified right now. But part of what I worry about is that there are just—there’s too many possibilities.”

“Alright?”

“And usually, it’s the bad ones that I think about.”

She nodded slowly. “I—I understand that.”

“I know.” Because he did now. “But what I’m trying to say is that there are good ones. Too. It’s possible to get what you want.” Even as he said the words, he heard how ridiculous they sounded, especially in the dingy cave of Jenny’s room. But he said them anyway.

Jenny raised her chin. “That’s—that’s what people tell themselves. People like us. That’s how they keep us in line. Because we keep hoping things will get better. They never do, but you keep hoping anyway—and—and—”

“But what if they do? What if things get better?” David said, and his voice quivered in time with the gas flame. He felt gooseflesh on his arms. “What if we can make them better?”

“Oh, Davey.”

“I love you. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt it.”

“I love you too,” Jenny said. She pushed his hair away from his forehead and looked around the room. “But it doesn’t change anything, Davey. I’m still me. This is still my life.”

“If we’re together, it’s ours. Our life.”

“This can’t be ours, Davey. I can’t—you can’t be a part of this.”

“Too late,” David said, and it was. He thought of the first time they made love, Jenny’s body unfolding for him in the cold. The moment they came together, it was too late. David’s entire world had shifted balance. And maybe that wasn’t how things should be, but it’s how they were. Things didn’t seem to turn out how they should be anyway. “I’m just asking you to try. To let me try.”

Jenny sighed. “But what about—”

David interrupted. “Do you remember the night we walked in the park? Our first night?”

“What?”

“When I told you about Les. And you told me about Danny.”

“Of course I do.”

“You told me that what helped you was letting Jack and Race help.”

“I might have been wrong about that,” Jenny said, and a wry smile cracked through the grim set of her lips.

“You weren’t. I—just let me help. Please,” David whispered. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed each of her knuckles, softly. “We will figure this out together.”

“How?” Jenny asked, and this time, her green eyes were not dry.

“I don’t know,” David said honestly, but his breath was steady. The cyclone hadn’t come back. “But we’ll never know if we don’t try.”

Jenny’s lip quivered. “Can you—did Katherine—”

“I can stay,” he said. He leaned forward. “Jenny? Could I—?”

“Yes,” she said.

And then, David kissed her.

Chapter Text

Jack and Katherine stood in the cold after they’d handed off the money, watching Davey’s back until it was just a speck down the block. Then, they started the walk back to Katherine's. 

Katherine threaded her fingers through Jack’s, and he was grateful to feel the kid leather against his own cracked knuckles. “What do you think will happen?” she asked.

Jack shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“Well, obviously. No one knows,” Katherine said evenly. She kissed his shoulder. “But you know them both so well.”

“I know Davey well,” Jack replied. His voice was low, almost a whisper. The last two weeks had proven how very little he knew about Jenny. He was struck again with the feeling that he might have known who she had been, but there was very little knew about who she was now.  

“Start with Davey then,” Katherine said, squeezing his hand.   

“I wouldn’t’ve thought he’d do what he’s doin’ in the first place,” Jack said. He thought of Davey in Jenny’s threadbare room, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

What if Jenny turned him away? It wasn’t out of the question.

What if Davey didn’t make it, if he chickened out before he got there? That wasn’t out of the question either.

What if they both decided that Jack wasn’t worth the hassle, that they could love each other again, but they couldn’t forgive Jack for his hand in the thing that had almost driven them apart?

Katherine cleared her throat. “Illuminating.”

Jack shook his head, willing himself back into reality. “What? I’m sorry, Kath. I just—I’m a little nervous.”

“Understandable. Since this is all your fault,” Katherine said.

Jack didn’t laugh. His shoulders sagged forward, as though his body was recoiling from a punch. He carefully steered Katherine around a pile of slush, but he didn’t say anything.

She squeezed his hand again. “Jack?”

Jack barely felt the buttery leather of her grasp against his skin. He sniffed and watched their feet slap against the pavement, the pointed toes of Katherine’s patent leather boots clip-clopping softly along next to the heavy tread of his scuffed working boots.

He wondered if Davey had made it to Jenny’s yet. It wasn’t that far.  

“I didn’t mean that, you know,” Katherine said softly. “It was a joke. Not a very good one, apparently.”

“What?”

Katherine’s brow furrowed. “About it being your fault. It isn’t. Davey knows that too.”

Jack’s laugh was empty. “You sure about that?”

“Aren’t you? You told me what happened last night. He understands what you were trying to do.”

“That ain’t what I mean.”

“What do you mean then?” Katherine asked. Jack didn’t answer. She pulled her hand away and made a show of straightening her glove. “By all means, continue doing the whole tight-lipped male routine. You know how it thrills me. And how productive I think it is.”

Jack shook his head. “Katherine.”

“What is it?”

“It ain’t Davey I’m worried about.”

“Okay?”

“I mean, I am. Me and him ain’t done with—whatever’s been goin’ on. It’s gonna take a while for him to trust me again. And like you said, that’s my fault.”

She sighed. “Jack, you know that I—”

“It’s at least kinda my fault,” Jack insisted, and he tried to smile at her. The expression felt heavy on his face, like there were weights pulling at the corners of his lips.

Katherine watched him for a moment, her pert little nose brushing the air. She nodded crisply. “I’ll accept that. But—what do you mean? You’re worried about Jenny?”

She reached for his hand again, and Jack took hers, pulling it up to his lips. “’Course I am,” he murmured.

Katherine’s nose wrinkled. “But why? Davey’s with her.”

“And I’m not,” Jack said softly.

“Alright?” Katherine said, her voice uncertain. “Should you be?”

“I don’t know.”

And he didn’t. It felt strange that it might be Davey’s place to be with Jenny, and that, suddenly, it wasn’t Jack’s place to be with either of them.

“You clearly have some thoughts,” Katherine replied, and he could hear the reporter’s curiosity in her words. She nudged him gently. “Why don’t you share them?”

Jack’s chest tightened. He looked back at their feet, and he tried not to think about the fact that he probably only had another month or so before his boots started to come apart. He was tired of how often seams ripped open, how things fell to pieces. He’d never figured out how to make them last. 

If he’d looked over, he would have seen Katherine’s face soften, but he kept his eyes on the sidewalk.  

“Love, it’s me. You can tell me anything,” she murmured.

It was something Katherine said every now and again, that he could tell her anything. Jack had told her more than he’d ever meant to, but she still didn’t know much.

She knew that his mother was dead, but she didn’t know that Jack had watched her go. That he’d been alone in the apartment for two days after it had happened, holding her hand even after it had gone rigid and cold, begging her to wake up.

She knew that he’d spent time in the Refuge, and she knew that he’d trafficked food and clothes, that he’d managed to escape. She didn’t know that the successful escape attempt had come after tens of missed opportunities, all of which had ended with Snyder’s cane coming down on his backside until it drew blood—or worse. She’d never seen the scars, and she didn’t know about the nightmares. Not yet.

And Katherine knew about Jenny, but she couldn’t know what it was to be touched in anger, to have the only things you thought were really yours soiled and stripped away by people who didn’t know or care about you. But Jenny knew, and Jack hadn’t been there when she found out. He hadn’t stopped any of it from happening.

Not that anyone had stopped it from happening to him. To Race. To any of them.

Katherine could hold his hand, but there was still a glove between his skin and hers.

They stopped at the curbstone, and the pointed tip of Katherine’s boot toed Jack’s ankle. “We’ve got, like, thirty blocks to go, so…”

Jack shook himself. “It ain’t that I should be there now.” He pulled Katherine into the street, carefully leading her across the slick cobblestones.

“Okay?” Katherine looked up at him.

“It’s that I wasn’t there when I shoulda been. A long time ago,” Jack said, almost to himself.  

Katherine tucked her hand inside the crook of his arm, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. She was careful not to look directly at him. “Jack. I know—I know I don’t know everything about that part of your life. I hardly know anything about Jenny. But I—”

“Davey’s there right now,” Jack said. He wished he could bring himself to sound less miserable. “And I love Davey, but you know he ain’t exactly brave.”

Katherine scoffed. “We can dispute the point later, but I’m still not sure—”

Jack’s boots sloshed through a puddle. “I didn’t go an’ see her.”

“She’s been back there for two days. Of course you didn’t.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “No. You’re not hearin’ me.”

“I’m sorry, I—” Katherine began, and Jack could hear that she was about to launch into a speech. He pulled away from her.

“Ace, I love you, but if you want me to talk, you gotta give a guy a chance.”

“Right,” Katherine said. “Shutting up.” She looked stung, the way she always did when she didn’t get what she expected. Sometimes, Jack thought it was adorable, the way her cheeks would suddenly color in frustration. But just now, he didn’t care—not the way that he usually would.

He could tell her anything. That’s what she’d said.

Jack reached for Katherine’s hand again and pulled her forward. “I ain’t really seen Jenny much since she took up with…that line of work. An’ I feel like I should’ve done more to stop her. I—when I seen her in the distribution yard that mornin’, it was like takin’ a punch to the gut. Because that’s what I been afraid of ever since I found out.”

“Can I—?” Katherine asked uncertainly. He nodded but did not look at her. “You were a child, Jack. It wasn’t your responsibility to stop her.” Katherine’s voice was soft, cloying.

Jack sighed, and a cloud of vapor flew out from his lips. “She was a kid, Kath. It ain’t right that anyone would even go near her for that.”

“It isn’t. But there are so many children in the city who’ve been treated the same way. And it isn’t the fault of their brothers and sisters or their friends. It’s the fault of, well, people like—like—”

“Your father?” Jack said, his mouth operating at a faster clip than his brain. He grimaced, but Katherine didn’t miss a beat.

 “Yes, in part. But what happened to Jenny—”

“I didn’t see it comin’.”

“How could you?”

“It ain’t like she’s the first girl I’ve known that’s gone that way.”

Katherine’s boots suddenly stopped clip-clopping. “Oh.” He knew that she was trying to keep her tone even, but he knew her face. He saw the way she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, how her eyes fell on his even though he couldn’t look back at her.

“Lots of girls from our neighborhood found their way into those places. No one I knew that well, but still. Ya never really see ‘em again after that. But I never thought for a second that Jen’d be one of ‘em. Even after Danny—that’s her brother—even after he died. Because she had me and Race. But it didn’t matter.”

He remembered going back to the rowhouse to find Jenny, after that girl at the factory had tangled with her machine. He knew that she’d need money until she found another job, so he and Race had pooled their earnings. It was only a quarter, but a quarter was something.  A quarter was food; a quarter might be enough to keep the McCormicks happy.

But when he’d knocked on the door, Mrs. McCormick’s sweaty, red face had twisted. She sneered at him.

“Maybe you should check the piers with all the other little whores,” she’d snarled. She slammed the door in his face. 

And Jack wished he could pretend that he’d been confused, that he hadn’t understood exactly what she meant. But he knew.

The quarter wasn’t enough. And even though he and Race had gone to find her, Jack was glad when her pimp ran them off. He could almost pretend that they weren’t responsible. He knew that she was already lost to them.

Until Race and his stupid idea. Until Davey.

He looked back at Katherine’s wide eyes and tried to smile. “And I know it’s good that Davey loves her. Because we all need that, and where we come from, after what we been through, ‘specially Jen, it ain’t so much a guarantee. So we’re both lucky there.”

Katherine didn’t say anything for a moment. Her lips slid away, then unfurled again. Then, carefully, slowly, she lifted her hand to his face; his skin prickled against the smooth leather. “But?”

Jack trained his eyes on the buffed point of her elegant toe. He sighed. “But I—why couldn’t I do it?”

“Do what?” she asked gently, brushing her thumb across his cheekbone. The bruise Davey had left was almost gone, but Jack still felt a dull tug of pain as Katherine grazed the spot. He winced, but did not pull away.

“What he’s doin’? That he just decided he could go there and talk to her like he is? Why couldn’t I do that?”

Katherine’s hand fell to his shoulder. “Jack. You told me you were going to offer to go.”

He shook his head. “But I didn’t have to. He wouldn’t let me.”

“You went to see her when this whole thing started.”

“And I crawled up the fire escape like a coward,” Jack countered.  

Katherine almost smiled. “I don’t think you would’ve gotten very far the other way.”

“Ain’t the point.”

“Right.”

Katherine let him go and started to move forward again, the heels of her boots clip-clopping, clip-clopping while his heavy soles dragged behind. Her hand hung in the air just behind her hip, and Jack recognized the invitation. He took her hand and pulled himself forward to match her stride.

“What’s the point, then?” Katherine asked.

“What?”

“Why are you beating yourself up?”

“I ain’t—” Jack began, but Katherine’s grip tightened so hastily that he abandoned his protest. He sighed. “When this started? We didn’t go because we was worried or wanted to help her. We went ‘cause we needed somethin’ from her. Just like all the other guys.”

“Jack.”

“What if Davey gets her to quit?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yeah. Of course it is,” he said firmly. But he hesitated, just for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, small. “But I shoulda been able to do get her to do it. Why’d I leave her alone so long?”

“Because you were busy taking care of yourself, Jack,” Katherine said carefully. She stepped gracefully over a patch of ice. “And I don’t mean it the way that you’re going to hear it. I’m so proud of you for what you were able to do during the strike—”

“—with your help—”

She smiled, “—with my help—but you can’t save everyone.”

“I’m not trying to—”

She squeezed his hand again. “You are. A little bit. Jenny’s back in your life because you were trying to save Davey. Now, you’re trying to save her. That’s a lot to shoulder.”

“Ain’t so much,” Jack demurred. He looked down at her glossy copper curls, bouncing against her shoulders as they walked. God, she was beautiful. “An’ who are you to judge anyway, Ace? What do you think people say about us, huh?”

“What?” her head flinched backward, ever so slightly.

“That you’re pullin’ a rat outta the gutter? Maybe you’re savin’ me.”

“Jack Kelly, you know that isn’t true.” The clip-clopping was interrupted by a staccato stamp. “I love you.”

Jack loosed his hand from hers and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I love you too, but it don’t change the fact that you’re always bailin’ me out. Who gave Davey the money so’s he could go see Jenny, huh?”

“Technically, that’s bailing Davey out,” Katherine said primly. She leaned closer to him, and their hips brushed together.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Outta my mistake. You wouldn’t have had to do that if you was with Bill or Darcy.”

“I’d still have to bail you out even if you had Bill or Darcy’s money because you’re incorrigible.”

“If the shoe fits,” Jack snorted. He dropped his head so that he could kiss the soft part of her hair.

“Don’t change the subject,” Katherine chided. “If you made a mistake—”

“—if?—”

She sighed. “Alright, you made a mistake. But you made it because you care. With your whole heart, Jack. Sometimes to your detriment.”

“My what?”

“I mean that sometimes you care a little too much for your own good,” she replied. Jack’s shoulders crawled together, shifting toward his ears. “And I love you for that. But let Davey and Jenny figure out Davey and Jenny. I know there are things you wish you could change—a lot of things—but you can’t. You can’t go back and undo anything. You can only move forward.”

“How come I feel like I ain’t movin’ at all?” Jack muttered, hoping his words would get lost inside the bite of the wind.

No such luck. Katherine’s head nudged his shoulder. “Because you’re not. Yet.”

“Yet.”

“It’s okay for things to change. It’s okay to keep going.”

“I have a hard time with that.” Because change never meant that things would be better. Only more complicated. At least for him. For Jenny.

“I know,” Katherine said. The tread of her steps was suddenly softer and, even through layers of boning, of silk and wool, Jack felt her ribs expand against his. Another speech. “But we can’t stop what’s going to happen. How Davey and Jenny feel about each other? You didn’t plan that—they did that all on their own. Because Davey decided to try moving forward. And I hope Jenny will too. But that doesn’t matter to me as much as you do, love.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked. The words felt slow and heavy, like they were blurring together as they fell from his lips.

Katherine looked up at him, her brown eyes fierce. “I mean that I want you to stop beating yourself up. They’re on their own now. You can’t do anything else for them, and it isn’t worth worrying about what you could have done—because you can’t do it now.”

“I guess,” Jack mumbled.

“I know.”

“I just—” Jack tried, but when he looked at Katherine, her fringe of dark lashes unblinking, he stopped himself. “Never mind, forget it.”

She sighed. “You can tell me,” she insisted. Her nose wrinkled, and Jack’s stomach fluttered.

She couldn’t know what he didn’t tell her. And there were so many things Jack hadn’t told anyone. Because who would care?

But Jenny had told Davey, and he still loved her. And Katherine said that she loved him. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could try moving forward with her.

“It hurts,” he said softly.

“What does?” Katherine asked, her arm tightening like a knot around his ribs.

That was harder to put into words. It hurt that he’d let Jenny down. It hurt that he’d broken Davey, just when he’d been trying to reassemble his pieces and parts. It hurt that Davey might be able to do what Jack had not—but it hurt even worse that Davey just might fail. That there were no guarantees. That it all might have been for nothing. Jenny would stay trapped, Davey would slide back under, and Jack—

“What if he can’t convince her to go?” he forced himself to ask.

“A minute ago you were concerned that he would,” Katherine said, and he could hear the effort she was making to avoid sounding completely exasperated. “Why—”

“What if it was you?” Jack asked, flailing for a way to help her understand.

“What?”

“I keep thinkin’ about you bein’… in that position,” he said, his voice hard. “I’d do anything to get you out of it. I’d kill anyone who touched you.”

“Yes, you’re very brave,” Katherine said. She kissed his shoulder. “But I’m not in that position. I would never be.”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” Jack murmured. “You’re a lucky girl.”

“I know,” Katherine replied, and there was no hint of irony in the words. “In more ways than one.”

Her head swiveled, and Jack could feel her eyes moving across his face. They were silent for a moment, but Katherine laced their fingers more tightly together as they moved across the street.  

“I think she’ll go with him,” she said finally.  

Jack exhaled. “You do?”

“I’d go with you,” Katherine said, and the thickness in her voice made Jack’s chest ache with longing.

But.

“You ain’t Jenny.”

She cocked her head. “I’m not sure—”

“I just mean you ain’t never had to make the kind of choices she has,” Jack said gently. “It might be hard for her to trust Davey.”

“Is it hard for you to trust me?” Katherine asked. Jack saw her eyelashes flutter. The clip-clop of her feet stuttered.  

“Not exactly,” he replied. Because it wasn’t that he couldn’t trust Katherine.   

“That inspires confidence,” she mumbled.

Jack grabbed her by the elbow, turning her to face him. “I ain’t tryin’ to hurt you. I’m just sayin’ that we ain’t all used to—well, to—”

“To what?”

“Thinkin’ we deserve the good things that come our way.” He let his eyes fall again on the scuffed tops of his boots.  

The tips of her patent leather toes moved closer to his. “I’ve already told you that you deserve me. More than.”

She angled to kiss him, and Jack found himself pressing his lips against hers. “I’ll—what’d you say?—‘dispute the point’ later,” he murmured against her lips.

“No, you won’t,” Katherine whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. Jack’s arms circled her waist and he leaned down, letting himself escape, just for a moment.

The moment was short-lived, of course. A well-heeled man in a beaver hat and fur-trimmed overcoat walked past them and cleared his throat so loudly, so pointedly, that Jack almost wondered if he was going to hock a spitball at them. He hadn’t realized they’d made it to Katherine’s neighborhood so quickly.

Jack sighed, eyeing the man’s broad back as he walked away. “I guess what I was sayin’ is…when you been through stuff like we been through—me, Jenny, Racer—even the good stuff can feel kinda scary. Jen…I’m not sure she’ll know what to do with it. Sometimes I don’t either.”

“Davey will help her figure it out,” Katherine said, and oh God, did Jack want to believe her. He could tell by the wide look in her whiskey brown eyes that she wanted him to believe too. She whipped off her glove and moved to wipe her lipstick from his mouth. Her thumb was soft against his lips. “Like I help you?”

“You do. You been helpin’ me a long time,” Jack replied. He kissed the pad of her thumb, and her bare hand moved to cradle the back of his head, her fingers playing gently with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“We’re here,” Katherine sighed. And just like that, the conversation was over.

“Yeah.” Jack readjusted his cap and nipped in to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. “I guess we’ll see what happens tomorrow. Good night, Ace.”

Katherine held fast to the breast of his coat. “My parents still aren’t home, you know.”

Jack froze. “Ace. Katherine. What are you sayin’?” Where was this coming from?

“I was just sharing some information,” she murmured coyly.  

Jack blinked. “You mean—”

“I mean that you have some familiarity with the back stairs, and there’s a lock on my bedroom door. Martha does not have a key.” She sighed again. “And I don’t want you to walk all that way home by yourself. Not right now. You’ve got too much on your mind.”

“Kath.” Jack took her by the velvet shoulders of her overcoat. He had to be sure that he understood. “Are you sayin’— are we going to—”

The lids of Katherine’s eyes practically burst open. “No! I mean, I don’t know. Probably not. But—”

Jack cupped her pinkening cheek in his hand. “That’s alright. Whatever you want is alright. You want I should stay?”

“I do. I really do,” Katherine whispered.

Jack hoped to God that Jenny and Davey were having a similar conversation, that she was taking Davey in her arms and fighting to believe every word that he had to say—just like Jack was fighting now.

“Why?” he asked. 

Katherine’s hands were on either side of his face, one bare, one still wrapped in buttery leather. “What you were saying. About the way the good things scare you?”

“Yeah?” Jack closed his eyes, letting himself really feel the weight of Katherine’s touch.

“I’ve never felt that way.”

He nodded. “I know. I’m glad you haven’t.”

“But you—I’ve been watching you with Jenny. Both you and Race. And I’ve never had anyone care about me the way you three care about each other.”

Jack’s eyes opened. He set his hands on Katherine’s hips. “Hey now.”

She kissed his cheek. “We love each other. I know that.”

“Good. ‘Cause if you ain’t sure, I could remind you,” he said softly. He knew that he could have said it with a wink and a smile, that he could have fallen on her with a wet kiss, but he didn’t. He wrapped his fingers around her bare hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles, and his heart pounded wildly. Somehow, it felt scarier than any of the hundreds of times he’d kissed her before.   

Katherine’s lips curled into a hesitant smile. “What I meant was that—well, growing up the way that you did, even with all the hard stuff, you learned how to show your love a little differently than I did. You’re not afraid of it.”

Jack didn’t quite understand. He was afraid all the time. But maybe the fear looked a little different from the outside. He clung to people because, if he didn’t, he was afraid they’d disappear. Or he would.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

She shook her head.  “Not afraid. Just—uncertain. I’ve been so fortunate, literally. But there are a lot of rules that come with all that good fortune. There are some rules I have no trouble breaking. And there are others that, well, I…”

“You ain’t gotta break any rules for me, Ace,” Jack said seriously. “Not unless you want to.”

“I know it seems like I do whatever I want, and ‘damn the torpedoes.’ But watching you, watching Davey—I think there are times to reconsider decorum.”

“Uh, sure. I ain’t sure what you mean, but—”

“—what I mean is that if everyone else can defy logic and all the plans everyone has for them—”

“—maybe you can too?”

“Yes,” Katherine breathed. “Maybe I can too. But—”

“What, darlin’?”

She looked up at him from under her dark lashes. “I don’t know if I’m ready for everything just yet. But I do know you shouldn’t have to walk home in the cold. Not tonight. Come with me?”

Jack hesitated. Katherine’s eyes were staring back at him, somehow frightened and hopeful all at once. He had been so careful with her; he knew how far she had to fall if they made one misstep, and Jack wasn’t the one who would be able to catch her. He hadn’t considered what she really wanted because he assumed that she wouldn’t want what he did. How could she?

But he wasn’t so sure that he understood what anyone wanted anymore. Not even himself.

Except for this.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Jack whispered and, with a fleeting thought for what might be happening in a shabby room downtown, he let her pull him toward the house.

Chapter Text

David was disoriented.

Yes, waking up in a strange place was bound to throw anyone. He didn’t immediately recognize the bedclothes, the carpet, the wallpaper; the light felt different than it did at home. But it was the weight in the bed next to him that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around. He hadn’t felt it since, well—

Les used to pretend that he wanted his own bed, that sleeping next to David was some kind of chore. But David knew better. When David had been at school, he would sit up late at the kitchen table to finish his homework. Sarah would usually sit with him, tatting or sewing, but Mama was adamant that Les go to bed. She would claim that David needed to focus, that Sarah deserved peace and quiet after the white noise of the factory floor—but really, it was that she wanted Les to soak up every ounce of rest before the world scavenged his free hours, his respite.

Esther knew too well how a day could disappear without there being a moment to breathe, and though she never told David and Sarah so, it pained her that they’d found out so early. It wasn’t what she had dreamed for them. But she would do what she could for Les. Maybe his way would be easier. He was a real American, after all. Touched by an extra light that David and Sarah were not and could never be. Even now.

What Mama did not know was that Les didn’t sleep, not really, until David crawled into bed beside him. He’d press his back against the wall and fight against his own drooping eyelids and heavy breath, waiting for Sarah to dim the oil lamp, for David to set his clothes neatly on top of their bureau. Sarah would kiss Les’ forehead before she dropped into her own bed, and then David would climb under the covers next to him. Les would pretend to be asleep, so that David could get settled, and then, his arms would slip sleepily around David’s waist.

David remembered thinking that it wouldn’t last forever, that there would be a time when he and Les wouldn’t touch so easily or so often, so he never pushed Les away.

He just hadn’t realized then that it would happen so soon. He didn’t realize how much he would miss it when it was gone.

David hadn’t been able to sleep in that bed again. Not after what happened. He’d tried. He’d laid there, knowing that Les wasn’t there, that Les wouldn’t reach for him—but he’d waited anyway. He knew that Sarah was lying awake, listening for his breath to slow, for his tears to stop. She’d climbed in with him one night, and David had clung to her the way Les used to cling to him. After that, Sarah stayed in his bed, and he moved to hers. He started to adjust to the space, the absence, next to him in the night.

And then. Weight. Pressure. Breath.

For a moment, his heart leapt. Maybe—

But it wasn’t Les. It was Jenny. Her head was pillowed on his chest, pressed against the wrinkled folds of his undershirt. He was in her room, not in his own. Les was gone; Jenny was half-asleep in his arms.

David wondered if there was a word for the way that grief and joy could wrap around each other in a single moment. Because whatever that was, he was feeling it then.

He could only stare at the ceiling as Jenny shifted against him. He felt the curve of her breasts pressing against his ribs, even though most of her was still wrapped in his flannel shirt. It was the only thing either of them had removed the night before, and he’d bundled it around her like a blanket before they went to sleep. At some point, she must have put it all the way on, because when her hand reached up to touch his face, his shirt sleeve slipped down, pooling around her forearm. Her wrist looked fragile, childlike. Something about it made David’s chest feel tight. Maybe it reminded him of Les. Maybe it reminded him of how easily Jenny could be broken. Maybe he was happy and sad and terrified all at once.

Jenny pressed a lazy kiss to the underside of his jaw. “You’re still here,” she whispered, and he felt her lips curve into a smile against his skin.  

“I told you I would be.”

***

Jack could not understand how Katherine could sleep in the firetrap she called a bed.

He was not, as a rule, familiar with satin. He knew that it was shiny, that it looked pretty under electric lights. Well, pretty might be an overstatement. It looked like lacquered cotton candy. A little fake, a little too sweet. But he could see whoever bought the things that decorated Katherine’s bedroom—because Katherine would never have chosen it herself—definitely thought satin was pretty. But sleeping in satin, on it, under it? Bullshit.

They slept next to one another in the bed. But they had not slept together, and Jack was grateful, because if they had, he probably would have gone sliding out from under the covers and across the room. The stuff was lethal.  

What they had done was to touch and kiss the little places that propriety had long told them they shouldn’t. And they looked at each other, at the wealth of bare skin they’d been hiding from one another for so long. Their hands connected, crackling with static electricity, under the sheets, between their bodies. Jack had pressed his face into the soft cleft of her chest, kissing the skin above Katherine’s chemise; Katherine had let her hands wander further south than they ever had before, and Jack had wisely kept silent when her eyes widened.

Katherine was just as pink as the satin on her bed, and twice as pretty.

Jack knew that his rough, scar-mapped skin was not pretty. That it probably looked twice as ugly against the rosy sheets. But Katherine had gently traced her fingertips along every puckered seam of whitish tissue without comment. He’d never let someone touch him that way before. He had been glad that Katherine couldn’t see his face, that he could pretend she didn’t know about the tears in his eyes as the pads of her fingers traveled the road of his darkest moments. She’d held him afterward, the soft swell of her body pressed flush against his back. He’d never let a girl hold him like that.

He’d never woken up next to a girl before either. That wasn’t his style. And, besides, most of the girls he’d been with didn’t have a bed that it would have been acceptable for him to sleep in. Mill boardinghouses and ladies’ hotels generally did not permit gentleman callers. And no one but Crutchie was allowed in the penthouse, gentlemen’s agreement, full stop.

So, maybe he could handle the satin, if it meant that he could open his eyes—even after a completely inadequate amount of sleep—and see Katherine, undone and imperfect and somehow perfect all the same.

She’d let him slide the pins out of her hair when they crawled into bed, and he’d started trembling. It was embarrassing, really, Jack Kelly reduced to a quivering mass of jelly by a girl. But when her hair fell out of its usual coif, when the locks had brushed over her bare shoulders, Jack could barely contain himself. He’d buried his face in the curve of her neck, kissing her copper curls, her soft skin, and Katherine had trembled then. It wasn’t something he expected from her. She was always so strong, so confident and forward, that he’d never thought he could throw her for a loop.

But she was strong. Stronger than he was. She knew when they had to stop, that their moment shouldn’t be defined by what either of them was feeling about Davey and Jenny.

But, Jack noted wryly, that didn’t mean that clothing was required. If Martha could see them now. If Joe could see them now… Jack smiled to himself and kept his eyes on the still-sleeping Katherine.

Her body was a delicate curve under the pink sheet, and Jack did not stop his eyes from following every dip and swell. He let his hand rest on the satin covering her hip and immediately felt his breath quicken. It didn’t matter that he’d seen every inch of her last night; even the suggestion of her skin made him feel a shade weaker. Katherine was thrilling, plain and simple. 

“You’re beautiful, Ace,” he whispered, sliding his hand from her hip all the way to the warm roses in her cheeks.

Katherine stirred, and Jack almost pulled away, until he saw her smile.

“G’morning,” she murmured, and she unwound her body into a long stretch. The sheet moved with her. Jack gulped.

“M-mornin’,” he stammered, pulling the sheet up around her, just the slightest bit. He could feel the blood in his cheeks—and elsewhere.

Katherine’s droopy morning eyes blinked at him. She smirked. “Not a fan?”

“Oh, I’m a fan, Ace,” Jack said carefully, and he shifted under his own corner of the sheet so that it wouldn’t be completely obvious to her what a big fan he was.

Katherine smirked and Jack angled his top half forward to kiss her. It felt right in a way that Jack hadn’t expected, to wake up next to her, to reach for her, to feel her skin against his. Like it was something that he could rely on to ground himself. He hadn’t felt that in a long time.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Katherine said softly.

“Me too,” Jack replied. “I—just, thank you. For last night.”

“Thank you,” she said. “And…thank you. For understanding. Not pushing.”

“I’d never push you, darlin’. You’re worth the wait.”

“So are you,” Katherine said. “Maybe you—we—won’t have to wait too much longer.”

Jack shook his head. “I ain’t gonna hold you to that. We’ll do whatever you want, whenever you’re ready. This ain’t a thing that should be rushed.”

“Thank you,” she said again, softer this time. “You’re a gentleman, you know?”

“Ain’t too often I been accused of that,” Jack laughed.

“Well, you are.”

“Thanks, Ace.”

He kissed her again and let himself fall back against the sheets. Katherine immediately pressed herself against him, her face on his bare chest. Jack’s fingers fell to playing with her unkempt hair, even before he realized what he was doing.

“Do you think they’re waking up this way too?” Katherine asked.

“I hope so.”

***

“I told you I would be,” David said. He had promised her he would be there, no matter what.

“I know,” she said without conviction, but without letting him go; her fingertips were cold against the taut muscle of his neck. David tried to ignore the fact that she clearly hadn’t expected last night’s words to matter this morning. He was certain that, for her, men’s words never had before. Not in this room, anyway.

“I promised,” he reminded her, eyes still caught somewhere between the ceiling and the slender curve of her wrist. 

“You did,” Jenny agreed. “And you’re still here. So.”

“So,” David echoed.

Jenny’s hand slid down to the curve where his neck met his shoulder, and David finally gave up on the ceiling and rolled onto his side so that he could see her face. The smile that had been on her lips a minute before was gone. The fading squares of blue in his shirt made her eyes look somehow different. All of a sudden, they were the kind of otherworldly green David had only seen in the sky before a lightning storm. They blinked expectantly back at him.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi,” he replied. He closed the gap between them, pressing his lips gently, carefully to hers.

It had almost surprised him last night, how quickly they fell back into kissing and touching one another—but each point of contact seemed to come with a moment’s hesitation, an unanswered question. They were both suddenly careful and, David thought, a little afraid.

There had been a moment when David had nearly let himself go, letting his mouth move down her throat, hands at her waist, but—

“Davey. David,” Jenny had breathed, eyes closed, her hands tangled in his hair. “Not here,” she’d said; it was almost a plea. And he realized that, just for a moment, he’d forgotten where they were, what Jenny had done there—and why they could not.

He knew he couldn’t let himself forget again. He would be careful, a little afraid.

Jenny’s kiss was just as tentative, and she pulled back with a sigh. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll figure it out. I told you. It’ll be okay.” He grabbed her collar, his own collar, and held it fast. He hadn’t realized just how threadbare the fabric had become.

Jenny smiled again, but David knew that it wasn’t because she was happy. “I know you did. But I mean—now, today. What are we going to do?”

I don’t know was what he should say, because that was the truth. But he didn’t. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he rubbed the shirt collar between his thumb and forefinger, absently watching the pearls of his fingernails move back and forth, back and forth. 

“Davey?”

He cleared his throat. “We’re going to leave.” Back and forth, back and forth.

“Okay?” Jenny’s lightning storm eyes crinkled at their corners. “To go where?”

“I’m taking you out of here,” David said. Back and forth, back and forth.

Jenny covered his hand, prying it away from the fabric and holding it to her chest. “That’s not what I asked you,” she said softly.

“Are you allowed—can you leave?” David asked.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a hotel, Davey. There’s no ledger or anything we have to sign.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“I know. I know it isn’t,” Jenny interrupted. She let go of his hand. “Yes. I can go. But I can’t come back. Not if I really leave.”

“You won’t have to come back,” he insisted. “Not ever.”

“You have to tell me where we’re going.”

“I don’t know for sure. Remember, what we talked about last night?” David said slowly. He knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was the only answer he could give. It would have to do.

But Jenny shook her head and her eyes disappeared behind their lids. She wrapped her arms around herself, and David was struck by how small she looked inside the arms of his shirt. “Davey. I can’t. You can’t ask me to—”

He slid down so that he could wrap his arms around her, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Jenny, I—look, I know. I know it doesn’t seem like I’d understand any of this, but I do. I know what it is to leave something—some place—that feels safe without having a real plan.”

“How?”

“When we came here. To America. We didn’t have a plan. We didn’t have time to think of one.”

David hadn’t told her much about his life before his family came to America. She was so patient when he spoke about Les, he had never wanted to press his luck—and he figured that Jenny knew enough about suffering without having to hear about his. And truthfully, there were only snatches that he could remember. Broken shop windows and sheared sidelocks; screaming in the streets and soldiers leering at cornered women; the crush of bodies on the long walk away from their village. They had nothing but what they could carry, and he and Sarah had been so little; they’d held each other’s hands the whole way.

But he knew now that Mama and Papa had been scared, that they hadn’t been able to make plans past digging up the fare for the train and the ship. They didn’t speak English, there was no family waiting for them, they knew very little of what was waiting at Castle Garden—but they still went. They couldn’t have waited for a plan; if they’d waited, none of them would have made it.

David swallowed, hard. In all the years he’d spent terrified of finding his footing, of what could possibly be lurking before him, he’d never realized that the single most frightening thing he’d ever been through had happened in the absence of fear. He had been sad, he had been excited, but he hadn’t been afraid. He had trusted that Mama and Papa would make things alright, and they did.

He wanted Jenny to trust him to make it alright, and he would. He would do the best that he could, because that was all anyone could do. He knew that now.

He waited for Jenny to fight him, to ask for more, but she just looked at him with round eyes and said, “Oh.” He felt her arms wrap around his waist.

“We didn’t know anyone when we got here,” David continued, resting his chin on top of her head. “There was no place to go. But… it was okay. We can make this okay. Even if I don’t know how right now.”

Jenny didn’t speak for a moment, but her arms cinched around him harder, closer. David could feel the warmth of her breath against his chest.

“So,” she said, her voice soft and far away. “We’re going to leave. And it will be okay.”

***

“I told him we could meet at Jacobi’s. For lunch,” Jack said.

He felt Katherine’s cheek slide against his chest as she nodded. “Yes. I could probably do that today.”

“You don’t gotta come. I can handle it.”

“I know you can. But I want to be there. For you. And Davey. And Jenny, believe it or not.”

“I believe it,” Jack said, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “I just…I still ain’t sure she’ll be there.”

“She’ll be there,” Katherine said. Jack knew what her face looked like without being able to see it: the tight set of the jaw, the way her brows would angle together, how her brown eyes would settle unblinking on their target.

“I love how sure you are.”

“I love you.”

“Well, obviously,” Jack laughed. “I love you too. But—just be prepared, huh?”

Katherine turned her cheek, and Jack shivered as he felt her lips connect with the skin over his breastbone. He curled onto his side, and Katherine draped her arm over him, her hand resting on his hip. “Maybe you should be prepared,” she said.

Jack’s eyes drifted closed. “For what?”

“For things going right,” Katherine said softly. “You never think about that, do you?”

Her fingers ran gently, carefully, purposefully over the raised scars on his lower back and the otherwise soft skin of his bottom. He didn’t flinch away. After all, she’d touched him that way the night before, and now, she was looking at his face; she couldn’t see the ugly ropes of raised skin beneath her fingertips. But she knew they were there. She’d seen them. And something about the morning light made Jack feel a little more self-conscious; his body stiffened, just barely.

“No, I don’t,” he admitted through his teeth.

Katherine’s hand did not leave his skin. “You should.”

“Katherine—”

“Look at me, Jack.” He opened his eyes. Katherine’s face was so close to his that Jack couldn’t look at it all at once. “Look at where you are.”

“I’m with you,” he whispered.

“You are. You’re with me. And that’s something that went right.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” Her pink lips met the ashy stubble on his jaw. “You’re so right for me, Jack Kelly.”

“I know some folks what would disagree,” he mumbled. Like Martha. And her father. And the man they’d passed in the street last night. And—

“And they’re wrong,” Katherine insisted. “They’re the same people who would have said a ragtag gang of—”

“—I swear to God, if you say ‘ragamuffins’—”

Katherine laughed, and Jack nearly forgot his worries at the way her head fell backward, ruddy curls framing her delicate white throat. “Fine. I won’t. But these ‘folks.’ They’re the same people who would have underestimated you a year ago. And they were wrong. You won then. Don’t underestimate Jenny; she can win now. You can win, Jack. You’ve done it before. Things can go right.”

Jack sighed. “Maybe.”

“Well, that’s something,” Katherine said. She lifted her hand away from his back and reached to smooth his morning hair away from his forehead. “’Maybe’ is better than ‘no.’”

“’Maybe’ ain’t always been kind to me,” Jack whispered. “Or to Jen.”

“Or to Davey,” Katherine said softly. “Or even to me. ‘Maybe’ is a gamble—but sometimes, gambles pay off, you know?”

“About once in every hundred times, if you play Race’s odds,” Jack said ruefully.

“But he wins every now and again.”

“He does.”

“Then—”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Awright, awright. I getcha, Ace. Maybe.”

“Thank you,” she said, leaning into snap a kiss to his cheek. “I need you to start believing in maybe.”

“I’ll try, Katherine. For you, I’ll try,” Jack said seriously. “I just hope—”

Katherine stopped him. “And she’ll try for Davey. I know it.”

***

David sat up, trying to smooth down the chaos of his morning hair. “Do you have—what do you need to take? Your things?”

“I don’t…there isn’t much,” Jenny said, pressing her forehead against his hip. “Some clothes, maybe.”

“Nothing else?” David asked.

She sighed. “Just little things. A rosary that belonged to Jack’s mama; he doesn’t know I have it. And something of Danny’s.”

“What do you have of Danny’s?” David asked gently. He smoothed her bed worn curls out of her face.

“A button.”

“What?”

“A button from his waistcoat,” she said, her voice even. “Race tore it off for me when—well, you know. It wasn’t like we had a funeral.”

David felt as though someone were pulling his chest from both sides. He thought of the way Mama kept Les’ cap on his cane-backed chair in the kitchen, of the box of Les’ school compositions and toys that Papa had squirreled away in the closet, of the mittens Sarah had bound off her knitting needles weeks after the funeral, of the way he still waited for Les’ weight in bed. Les was gone, but Les’ memory was still fresh, still present. He couldn’t imagine Les being reduced to something as small and insignificant as a button. He could never.

“I’m sorry.”

Jenny pulled herself upright and let her head rest against his shoulder. “Davey, you don’t have to be sorry. It was a long time ago.”

“I’m just—I wish you had more. I wish life didn’t have to be so hard. For you.”

“Or you,” Jenny agreed. “But I’ve heard a rumor that we can make things okay.”

“Okay isn’t the same as easy.”

“It isn’t. But it’s better than hard. It’s worth a shot.”

David leaned back to look at her. “Do you mean that?”

Jenny nodded soberly, pulling her long hair into a tail between her circled fingers. “I do. I’ll try. I trust you.”

The dam in his chest burst open. David took her face in his hands, grazing his thumbs over the high apples of her cheekbones before sliding his fingers backward and into her hair. The kiss that he gave her was not gentle. It was desperate, almost bruising, his lips hard against hers, pushing, wanting, thankful all at once. He felt her lips part for him, her fingernails scrabbling against his back, and he let his tongue find hers, the kiss joining them together in a way that David had been afraid they might not be again. He wanted so badly to be worthy of her trust, to believe in his own vague promise.

Their lips softened as they let go, and David’s last kiss was a whisper against her jaw. “I trust you too.”

“You—are you sure?” Jenny’s voice wavered. “You don’t—”

He nodded and swung himself out of the bed. He held his hand out to her. “I’m sure. Let’s get out of here. Let’s get you out of here.”

Jenny stared at his outstretched hand, and David saw her hesitate, just for a second. But then she put her hand, small, neat, warm cold, into his and let him pull her to her feet.

It couldn’t have taken more than five minutes. Jenny gently slipped out of David’s shirt and helped him into it, closing each button herself; he undid her corset and helped her ease it over her still-tender ribs. Then a carpet bag was produced, and she shoveled clothes into it from a worn trunk at the edge of her bed, reserving a simple shirtwaist and cotton skirt to put on. Stockinged feet were slid into winter boots, and David wrapped her red scarf around her neck and helped her into her worn black sailor’s coat, closing each button himself. He retrieved his own coat from the rug, where she’d dropped it the night before.

“Well?” he asked, glad that her eyes had settled into their natural shade of green, that the lightning storm had passed. “Shall we?”

“Just one more thing,” Jenny said. She moved to the vanity and picked up a scuffed nailfile. She took the sharp tip of the nailfile and jimmied open one of the vanity drawers, and David saw her pick out a small, white satin pouch, fastened like an envelope with a tiny mother-of-pearl button. She loosed the button as she crossed back to him, holding the pouch out for him to see. “Not much, I told you. But—”

Inside was what looked like a necklace with precisely molded jet beads, interrupted every so often by extra links of delicate silver. It was wrapped in on itself, but David could see a cross nestled in the curl of beads. The rosary. Jack’s mother’s rosary. Jenny fingered the chain away from the pouch’s side, and David saw a small tortoiseshell button resting against the satin. It was her entire childhood.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Jenny smiled to herself and moved to the put the pouch into her coat pocket, but David stopped her.

“Let me,” he said. She let him take the pouch and David reached under the lapel of his coat to put it safely in his breast pocket. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to it.”

Jenny set her hand over his heart. “Thank you.”

“Are you ready?” he asked. “Jack—well, last night, Jack asked if we might meet him for lunch. Would that be okay?”

“That was—optimistic of you,” she said with a wry grin.

“I’m trying it out,” David said sheepishly. “What do you say?”

“I say, let’s go.”

“Let’s go.”

David took her hand, and they left without looking back.

Chapter Text

There had been this day when they were kids. Jack hadn’t thought about it in years; he’d had other things to think about. But Danny had dared them all to see how long they could keep their heads under the river’s surface. It was hot enough that they all took the bait, Jenny included. Jack had opened his eyes, and even though the water was murky, he could see them: Danny, eyes buttoned shut just like he was sleeping, Race’s face, puffed and buggy like a frog’s, and Jenny’s, her braids floating up above the rest of her, eyes wide open, staring back at Jack. Race had come up first, sputtering and loud, then Danny, probably because he’d gotten bored. But Jenny and Jack had stayed under, each one waiting for the other to fold.

Jack remembered that he’d waited long enough that his chest felt like it was collapsing, so long that the pressure gave way into a feeling that was something like floating away. He hadn’t wanted to lose. He’d almost let things go black until he felt Jenny’s little hand grab his own.

They’d come up together, and as his head sloshed above the water’s brown froth, Jack could barely remember what he was supposed to do to get air into his lungs. And then, he’d gasped. The shock of his lungs filling was almost too much. Jenny had surfaced more gracefully, like holding her breath was second nature.

When they’d walked into Jacobi’s and seen Davey and Jenny together in the back booth, Jack felt the same kind of shock, like he was trying to make up for all the breaths he’d skipped in the last eighteen hours, in the last ten years.

Katherine’s hand tightened around his own. “Oh, thank God,” she murmured.

“She’s here,” Jack said. Pointlessly. Katherine could see just as well as he could. “They’s together?”

“It would appear so,” Katherine replied, waving toward the table.

Davey smiled, really smiled, and waved back. Jenny was wrapped against his side, and she was smiling too, but there was something about her face that reminded Jack of that day on the river, like she might be holding her breath.

Jack took another breath of his own, just to make sure that he could.

 “Jack?” Katherine nudged him.

Jack shook himself. “M’fine, love. Just glad she’s there. That they’re there, I guess.”

“And maybe a little surprised?” she asked.

“Maybe a little.”

“Because something went right?”

He smiled down at her. “You ain’t gotta rub it in, Ace.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, I know what you was sayin’,” Jack teased. He would have kissed the crown of her head had it not been hidden beneath some crushed velvet monstrosity masquerading as a hat. “Shall we?”

Jack almost felt badly when Davey and Jenny separated to greet them; he could tell that they were reluctant to let each other go. Jenny practically had to peel herself away from David, and God, he hoped it was because she was happy to be with him. Not because she was scared. Jack knew what it was to hold someone with all your might because you didn’t really believe that you’d have another chance. Katherine had never chided him for his rib-busting embraces—she certainly hadn’t that morning—but he was fairly certain that she didn’t understand where they came from either.

“Well, I’m certainly glad to see you two,” Katherine said warmly. She wrapped an unsuspecting Jenny into a quick hug, and Jack almost snorted at the way Jenny’s eyes widened.

Davey extended his hand to shake Jack’s. “Hey.”

“Hey, Dave,” Jack replied. He squeezed Davey’s hand. “Looks like things went okay?”

“Yeah,” Davey said, his cheeks pink and his eyes fixed on Jenny, who was returning Katherine’s hug with an awkward tenderness. He took his hand back and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I’m real glad, Dave.”

“Me too.”

They all settled into the booth, pretending to scour their menus and saying very little. As soon as they sat down, Davey’s arm slid back around Jenny. Jack wondered if she was planning on feeding him, because he couldn’t very well get his fork to his plate with his hand so firmly stationed on her waist.

Once Mr. Jacobi took their orders, they didn’t have any excuse to avoid conversation. So, they talked about everything except for what happened last night—and what was coming next. The weather. The headline. The trim on Katherine’s ridiculous hat. Whether a shoestring potato was superior to a regular French fry. Jenny’s knees bounced a nervous cadence the entire time, and Jack thought Davey’s touch was the only thing keeping her from bouncing clear out of her own skin.

But Katherine could only keep her reporter’s questions at bay for so long.

“Have you thought about where you’ll stay? What you’re going to do?” Katherine asked. Her voice was gentle and Jack knew the words were well-intentioned, that she wasn’t asking anything that they didn’t all want to know, but all the same, he wished she hadn’t asked. She leaned, just slightly, over the scuffed edge of the table, and Jack saw Jenny shift, less slightly, backward, away from Katherine and her question. Her eyes widened as her back stopped hard against the cheap upholstery.

“I—well…”

Davey’s hand moved to cover Jenny’s fingers, which were scrabbling skittishly at the tabletop. “We’re going to figure it out,” he said softly.

And there was something about the way he said it, and the way Jenny smiled back at him, the way that she pulled Davey’s hand into her lap with both of her own, that made Jack’s stomach twitch. Jack had never seen Davey so confident in the face of  uncertainty. And he’d never seen Jenny look that way at anyone but Danny. Like she could trust him.

Katherine didn’t seem to notice. “You can always stay with me until you do. Plenty of room,” she said, biting neatly into a tiny piece of shoestring potato she’d actually cut off with her knife.

Jenny’s smile stayed where it was, but Jack could see her mouth harden. He wondered if her nails were digging into Davey’s palm. “Thank you, but—”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’m happy to help,” Katherine replied, and Jack knew that she was. But that didn’t make it any easier for Jenny to accept it.

Jenny shook her head, her smile starting to twist into a grimace. “I know. I mean, thank you, but—”

“Jen!”

Jack didn’t think he’d ever been more relieved to see Race, and he was damn sure Jenny hadn’t either. Her lips righted themselves into a real smile, the kind she’d given Davey, and she practically threw herself into Race’s reedy arms.

“Racer, hi!”

Race hacked as though she had winded him. “Jesus, Jen. You’d think I hadn’t been spendin’ most every free moment with you the last couple’a weeks.”

Davey shifted uncomfortably. By the look on his face now, Jack supposed he was remembering that he hadn’t been there for Jenny himself. And for the first time since they’d sat down, Jack realized that Davey hadn’t done much talking. He’d kept his hands and eyes on Jenny, but he’d barely said a word—although he had ascertained that a regular French fry beat a shoestring potato every time. He watched the way that Race and Jenny embraced each other and tried to smile.

Jenny slapped at Race’s chest. “Well, it’s been almost three days. Guess I missed you.” Jack tried not to roll his eyes.

“I’m glad to see you here, I’ll tell you what,” Race said, giving her another squeeze. He looked over her shoulder at Davey. “So, you done good, huh?”

“I didn’t do anything, really,” Davey murmured. He was pink all the way to the tips of his ears.

“You know that’s not true, Davey,” Jenny said softly. She leaned down to kiss Davey as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and Jack felt that twist in his stomach again.

“Yeah, yeah—kiss kiss, blah blah,” Race said with a wink. “I’se just glad this is a celebratory lunch. I want you should meet the guys.”

“I’d like that,” Jenny said. She pulled away from Davey, who somehow resisted the urge to reach for her again, and Race whirled her around to face the nervous line of newsies in front of the booth.

“This here’s Albert—” Albert clicked his tongue as he pointed his fingers like a six-shooter,  “—that’s Specs—” who raised his glasses like the brim of a cap, “—and that’s Finch—” a wink,  “—Henry—” a scared nod, “—Smalls—” an awkward curtsy with the thighs of her breeches, and “—Blink and Mush,” who bowed stupidly.  

Jenny covered her mouth with her hand. “Um, hello.”

A sandy head appeared between Albert and Specs. “And I’m Crutchie, miss.” He muscled through the others with the tip of his crutch, and he made a show of taking Jenny’s hand and kissing it with airy precision.

To her credit, she did not giggle. Much. “I’m Jenny.”

“Oh, I know,” Crutchie said seriously.

Then, Jenny’s face fell—because she knew what else they likely knew. “You all know, don’t you?” she asked. Davey scooted toward the end of the booth, and he reached for her hand again. He kissed it, just like Crutchie, but it wasn’t really like Crutchie’s kiss at all. Jack saw her fingers wrap tightly around Davey’s, but she kept her eyes on the newsies.

“Yeah!” Smalls said brightly. “We knows all about ya!”

Her smile faltered again. “Well, it’s nice to meet you all.” And Jack could see that she wanted to slide back into the booth, to hide inside of Davey’s arms, but Crutchie leaned in closer to her.  

“I hear you know all kinds of things ‘bout Jack and Racer from when they was kids,” he said, pitching his voice low, brown eyes alight with conspiracy. Katherine laughed.

Jenny blinked. “Well, I—”

But she was swallowed up inside unfamiliar arms and ushered across the room before she could finish. Jack didn’t even care what they were going to ask her; seeing the way that her eyes lit up as Smalls fussed over her hair and Specs leaned in to hear what she had to say was enough for him. When he looked back at Davey, he could see that it was enough for him too. They both relaxed their elbows onto the tabletop.

“Racer’s right, y’know,” Jack said. “You done good.”

Davey shrugged. “I just told her the truth. She’s the one who decided.”

“You decided together,” Katherine said. She looked up from the remnants of her potatoes, the last piece of which hung in an elegant dice from the tine of her fork.

“I guess so.”

“It don’t matter either way,” Jack said. He wrapped his arm around Katherine’s waist.

 “I’m just glad it worked out how you wanted.”

“How we all wanted,” Katherine corrected. She popped the final bite of potato between her lips, and hand to God, she even made that look graceful and, well, correct. She lined the fork up precisely with the edge of the thick ceramic plate and looked up at Davey with a smile. Davey tried his best to smile back.

“Well, that’s true,” Jack admitted. “We all wanted this for you, Dave. For you both.”

“Not always,” Davey couldn’t help but say.  

“Nah, I guess not. But we can all learn, huh? Sometimes it just takes a minute,” Jack replied.

“Or several,” Katherine agreed. She tapped the corners of her lips with the linen napkin. “Davey, where is she going to stay? I know you said you’ll figure it out, but—”

Davey’s cheeks colored. “I was hoping I could take her home.”

“But you can’t,” Katherine said gently. “I know this is going to sound stupid, but—well, it just wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Jack snorted. What was appropriate when you were with a girl who’d already broken all the rules?

But Jack wasn’t with that kind of a girl.

He was with the kind of girl who didn’t wipe her mouth, but who dabbed at her lips with all the care of a gardener shoring up fragile blossoms—the kind of girl who cut her shoestring potatoes. The kind of girl whose bed you could share, but not quite the way you might want to. And she was right. Because Davey came from people who obeyed rules, even if they weren’t the same as Katherine’s. He couldn’t just take Jenny home. Not yet.

“I know,” Davey said to his plate. “I just wish that I could.”

“I know,” Katherine replied. She did, too, Jack thought. Because she certainly couldn’t just take Jack home, not the way she would Darcy or Bill. Jack was the kind of boy who took the back stairs, who knew all the things a gentleman shouldn’t. But Katherine still wanted him. And Davey still wanted Jenny.

“You’re sure she could stay at yours?” Davey asked.

Katherine nodded. “Of course. As long as she needs, really.”

“But your folks—”

“Won’t mind,” she said. “And also won’t be home until February.”

Davey smiled, just barely. “Thanks, Kath.”

Part of Jack wanted to be angry, that they were making Jenny’s choices without her. But when he heard Jenny’s laugh rise across the room, when he saw Crutchie swing his arm around her shoulders, saw the way that Smalls looked at her like she was some great lady— he knew they were right.

“She’ll be safe,” he said, kissing Katherine’s temple. “That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, it is,” Davey said. He almost looked convinced.

What had started as lunch extended carelessly into the late afternoon, with different newsies coming and going as they sold out their papes. Jenny held court for all of them, first—much to Mr. Jacobi’s silent dismay—on a tabletop at the rear of the restaurant, and finally, back in their booth.  

Almost everyone had gone but Race and Crutchie. They were crammed three to a side: Race’s bony hip jutting into Jack’s thigh, and Crutchie sitting shyly next to Jenny, who sat her with her back against Davey’s chest, his arms snuggled around her waist.  

Crutchie took a swig of his sarsaparilla. “I hope it ain’t rude for me to say so, but I’m awful glad you picked Davey. Over—well, you know.”  

Jenny’s cheeks went pink, but she smiled back at him. “I didn’t pick him. We picked each other.”

Davey’s arms cinched tighter around her, and his nose disappeared into the soft curls of her hair.

“T’sounds nice when you put it that way,” Crutchie replied. “Wouldn’t mind that myself.”

Jenny sighed. “Well, I’d offer to set you up with one of my friends, but—”

Crutchie’s face paled and his eyes shot to Davey’s. “I—”

Jenny laughed and softly touched her knee to Crutchie’s. “I was just joking. Besides, I don’t think you need any help. You’re pretty charming.”

“Ugh, don’t remind him,” Race muttered, shoveling the last of a sausage into his mouth.

“Shaddup,” Crutchie said, with distinctly less charm than Jenny had given him credit for. He grinned back at Race. “I’se charming.”

“You’s delusional is what you is.”

“Now, boys,” Katherine tutted, leaning her head against Jack’s shoulder with a smile. And damned if things didn’t feel just right, Jack thought. Jenny’s legs were still, and Davey’s smile was lazy as he leaned down to murmur something in her ear. Katherine had taken off her stupid hat and moved so close to him that Jack could smell the floral perfume of her shampoo. It felt good to be here with Race and with Crutchie. It felt good to pretend that they had nothing to worry about. Even if just for a moment.

Mr. Jacobi sauntered over to their table. “Kinderlach, I’m sorry to break up your fun, but we have to make ready for dinner. Time for the party to move somewhere else, yes?”

“Yeah, we better be headin’ to grab the evenin’ edition before they’s all out,” Crutchie said. “Huh, Racer?”

“Yeah,” Race nodded. “Jackie boy, you comin’?”

Jack shook his head and wrapped his arm around Katherine’s boned waist. “Nah. We gotta see these fine ladies off. Right, Davey?”

Davey looked up from where he’d been whispering in Jenny’s ear, his eyes blown wide, like he’d been caught at something. “Uh, right? Right.”

Crutchie snorted. “Right, then.” He angled himself out of the booth and up against his crutch and turned back to Jenny. “Miss Egan, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Jenny, please,” Jenny said with a giggle. She shifted forward to take Crutchie’s hand, but, of course, Davey still kept his arms around her. “I’ll see you around?”

“Count on it,” Crutchie replied, giving her fingers a squeeze.

“Awright, awright. Get a room,” Race said, but his smile was wide and sure as he slid out of the booth. He muscled in next to Crutchie so that he could lean down to kiss Jenny’s cheek. “Jen?”

“I know, Racer. Me too.”

“Good,” Race replied, straightening his cap as he stood. “Let’s go, Crutch. See ya, Davey. Jack. Kath.”

“Children?” Mr. Jacobi chided.

“Yes, sir,” Davey said politely, finally loosing his hold on Jenny’s waist. They slid out of the booth, and Jack and Davey helped the girls on with their coats before they walked into the purple light of the January evening.

***

David didn’t want to leave the restaurant.

He knew that as soon as they left Jacobi’s, they would actually have to figure out their next step. And even if that next step was small, he knew that it would mean separating. And even if that separation was only for the night, even if he would see her first thing tomorrow, David was loath to let Jenny out of his arms. He’d only just gotten her back, after all. And she was his. She was definitely his.

David wiped the sweaty palm of his hand against his pants leg and then wrapped his arm around her again. Her hand slipped inside the breast of his coat, and he felt Jenny’s fingers press gently against his shirt pocket and her satin pouch inside of it. It was a reminder of how much she trusted him.

David tried not to think of it as a reminder of how much they both had to lose if he didn’t sort things out pretty darn quickly.

Jack and Katherine were walking just the slightest bit ahead of them, heads bent together in quiet consultation. He knew that they were figuring out a tactful way to get Jenny to go back to Katherine’s—and so did Jenny.

“They’re all so wonderful,” Jenny sighed.

“Who? The boys?” Davey asked stupidly.

“Yeah. They just—it reminded me of Danny, you know? In a good way.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I know.” They reminded him of Les, too. How could they not?

Katherine and Jack stopped walking, and Katherine peeled away, muttering something about finding a cab. David’s stomach smarted, and he pulled Jenny as close to him as he could.

Jack turned to face them. His smile was tight. “What’re you two love bird talkin’ about, huh?”

“I was just telling Davey that the boys all seem so nice.”

“Yeah, they is,” Jack said warmly. “I wish some of the guys was still here from when Danny was around, but, y’know, can’t be a newsboy forever.”

“Can’t you?” Jenny asked with a smile.

Jack snorted and bent over like an old man with a cane. “Wouldn’t that be somethin’? Get me with a cane and an ear trumpet, hawkin’ headlines.”

“That would be something to see,” David replied. He felt Jenny’s laugh against his side.

Katherine had managed to secure a little black cab, and it idled at the curb. She stuck her head inside and asked the driver to wait before she turned back to the three of them.  

“Think you’ll still like me when I’m gray and trembly, Kath?” Jack asked, holding his hand behind his ear.

She rolled her eyes but leaned forward to kiss Jack’s lips anyway. “Absolutely. I’ll shout all my sweet nothings into that ear trumpet.”

The cabbie cleared his throat. Jenny’s laugh died away.

She looked up at him. “Davey?”

“What, sweetheart?” he asked, even though he knew.  

“Where—where should I go?”

“With me, of course!” Katherine chimed in, playfully extricating herself from ‘old man’ Jack. Jack swatted at her behind, and she laughed.

David whispered into Jenny’s ear. “I wish I could take you with me, but—”

“No, I know. I just—I wish I could go with you too.” She turned to face him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest. He felt the satin pouch press against his breast.

“Don’t be scared, huh?” he said.

“I’m not.”

“It’s okay if you are.”

She leaned back so that he could see her tentative smile. “You just told me not to be.”

“Well, I mean, I don’t want you to be,” David considered. “But if you are, you can’t help that. And it’s okay. But I promise, we’ll get this sorted out. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she said again. Her voice was so small.

He leaned down to kiss her. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too,” she whispered.  

Katherine took a step closer to them. “Jenny? The cab is waiting.”

“Yeah.” She squeezed David fiercely, and when she let go, he almost felt as though he would fall over. “Good night,” she said, kissing his cheek. She snapped her head toward Jack, and David understood. That if she kept looking at him, if he kept looking at her, she wouldn’t get in the cab. She cleared her throat. “Good night, Jack.”

It was Jack’s turn to wrap his arms around her, and David tried not to mind. “Good night, Jen. You just do what Kath says, an’ everything’ll be just fine. S’what I do.”

“Sure it is,” Katherine scoffed. Jack shifted so that he could kiss her. “Good night, Mr. Kelly.”

As he pulled away, Jack tipped the brim of his cap. “Miss Pulitzer.”

They watched as the girls climbed into the cab. David pressed his hand against the satin pouch, and Jenny peeked out the oval window in the cab’s leather-cased back.

“I’m glad that Kath can give her a place to stay,” David said, his eyes on the cab as it pulled away from the curb. “I wish I could.”

“I know,” Jack replied.

They watched until the cab turned the corner, and then, almost without realizing it, they started to hoof through the slush toward the lodging house.

“It just seems so stupid,” David sighed. “If she’s safe with me, if I love her, why can’t I just—well, you know—”

Jack sniffed. “’Cause there’s rules. Stupid rules. But they’re still there.”

“I feel like we’ve already broken them.”

“Sure. But your ma and pa don’t know that. Sarah don’t—”

“Sarah does,” David corrected.  

A slow smile spread across Jack’s face. “Well, smell you. What’d she say?”

David shrugged. “Not much. It didn’t seem to bother her.”

“Good for Sarah,” Jack said with a laugh.  

“That’s what I mean! It shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Nah, it shouldn’t be. But it is to some folks.”

David cocked his head. “You and Kath?” he asked carefully.  

Jack blushed. “Not yet. I swear to God, if anyone had told me Davey Jacobs would’a made it with Jenny Egan before Kath and I even—”

“There are rules, huh?” David’s mouth twisted into a wicked smile before he’d even realized it. The feeling was unfamiliar.

“Stupid rules,” Jack said sulkily, and David laughed.

They hadn’t been together this way in weeks. If David was being truthful, they hadn’t been together this way since before Les. And even though he wasn’t sure that he’d entirely forgiven Jack, David knew that he’d missed him.

Evidently, Jack felt the same.

“It was nice havin’ you around today, Dave. I—I been—”

“I know. It was…yeah. I know,” David said. They walked in silence for a moment, and then: “You think Les would’ve liked her?”

Jack chuckled. “Jenny? Les was always a sucker for a pretty girl.”

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” David replied, and he thought of her face, peeking out of the back of the cab. And he thought of Les’ wisdom, about how he’d know the right girl when his heart felt like it was going to fall out his rear-end. He thought of how Les should be walking in between them now. “I miss him, Jack.”

“I miss him too,” Jack said softly. “Feels like so many things’ve changed.”

David nodded. “They have. They will.” And somehow, the words were both a regret and a prayer.

“That’s for sure. Ain’t gonna be makin’ this walk too much longer, for one.” Can’t be a newsboy forever, he’d said.

David hadn’t realized. He knew, in the abstract, that the lodging house had a strict age limit, and he knew that Jack was inching toward it. But he hadn’t realized it would be so soon. There had been too many other things to think about.

“When?” he asked.

“End of March, maybe. We’ll see how long Kloppman’ll turn his head.”

“It’s hard to imagine the newsies without you.”

They turned the corner, and David could see the faded signboard of the lodging house in the distance.

Jack saw it too. He shrugged. “They ain’t never gonna be without me. Not really.”

“You know what I mean, though.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. He rolled his shoulder. “End of an era, I guess.”

“Yeah,” David agreed, looking back at the signboard. “Not yet, though.”

“Not yet.” 

David looked at his friend, but he didn’t quite know what to say. “I—”

“Yeah,” Jack said, and David knew that, somehow, things would be alright between them. Jack searched David’s face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though?”

David hesitated for just a second, but he found himself nodding. “You will. Time to get back to work, I think.” And even though he couldn’t have predicted his own words, they felt right.

Jack’s smile was just as surprised as David’s agreement. “I’m glad, Dave.”

“Me too,” David said. He reached out his hand.

Jack took it. “G’night, Davey. And—thanks.”

“For what?” David asked.

“Takin’ care of Jenny. I ain’t never been very good at it, and I—I’m glad she’s got you.”

“I don’t know if I’m very good at it either,” David admitted.

“Well, then I guess it’s good we got each other,” Jack said. “I’ll see ya.”

He turned and disappeared into the lodging house, and David was left alone.

He couldn’t believe all that had happened in the previous twenty-four hours. That he’d walked into a brothel alone and come out with the girl he loved. That she would be safe tonight, even if she wasn’t with him. That she would be with him eventually; he would see to it. That he and Jack could talk about the future again.

That there would be a future, even if David couldn’t imagine what it would be.

He found himself smiling as he walked home.

He smiled when Mama asked him if he’d had a nice time with the boys.

“I’m glad. You haven’t seen much of them lately.”

“No, I guess not.”

He smiled when Papa asked if he was sure that he felt strong enough to sell again.

“I am, Papa.”

“Good, David. That’s good.”

He smiled as he undressed for bed, Sarah’s voice coming from behind her rickety dress screen.

“Was it okay?”  

“I got her out.”

“Oh, Davey.”

“She’s at Katherine’s tonight. She’ll start looking for work tomorrow, and I—she’s safe, Sarah. And she isn’t—she’s going to stay. With me.”

“I’m glad, little brother.”

“I am too,” David said.

And he smiled as he absentmindedly hung his shirt on the bedknob, the weight of Jenny’s satin pouch still heavy in its breast pocket.

He may even have been smiling in his sleep when Mama came in to check on him, just glad that her boy was finding his footing again.  

But Mama never liked a messy room. She tutted and sighed and pretended to mind that David had been sloppy in his nighttime toilette, but she reached for his shirt with her own smile. Until she felt the way the shirt sagged in her hands.

And Esther pulled the pouch from David’s pocket and opened it.

She didn’t see the button, and she couldn’t have known what it meant if she had. But she did see the ebony coil of the rosary; she did see the crucifix staring back at her. And it reminded her of things she’d  never wanted to see again.

She was not smiling when she put her hand on David’s shoulder and shook him. “David.”

David blinked up at his mother, and he saw the cross swinging like a pendulum in her fist.  

“David, what is this?”

David was not smiling at all.

Chapter Text

The apartment looked almost entirely unfamiliar. The oil lamp Mama had placed in the center of the table was turned down low, casting strange shadows around their normally cheery, always bustling kitchen. It was where Mama and Sarah did their piecework, where Papa read his paper, where David and Les had done their lessons. But Mayer was snoring on the other side of the scuffed bedroom door, there was no kettle on the stove, and Mama’s hands were not busy with delicate work.

David could see Mama’s fist squeezing around the rosary’s crucifix, the black beads spilling out of her palm and between her fingers. He wanted to reach for it, to save this thing that was so precious to Jenny, but for the first time in his life, David was afraid to move closer to his mother. Esther’s face was hard, lips stretched thin. She did not look at David. Instead, she pointed at David’s chair without a word; he sat in it, head down and hands in his lap.

“I want to know where you got this.” Esther did not open her hand but thumped her fist against the table with a hollow thud; the rosary beads clacked together. Her knuckles were white, and David thought her hand might actually be trembling.

He kept his eyes on the beads shifting in his mother’s vicelike grip. “I—Mama, I swear—”

Pound. “David. Tell me.”

“It isn’t mine.”

“Well, I should hope not.”

“It isn’t. I swear it isn’t mine,” he said again, and this time his voice broke.

She closed her eyes. “Then why do you have it?”

“I don’t know.”

“That is not an answer,” Esther said, shaking her head. She finally met his eyes. “I’m waiting.”

He shrunk down in his chair. “It belongs to—to a friend. I’m keeping it safe for them.”

Esther’s fist unfurled, and she thrust her open palm across the table at David. The cross had bitten into her skin, leaving angry red impressions behind. “Why?” Esther asked. “Why is this a thing they would ask you to keep safe?”

David blinked at his mother’s hand, and he thought he felt the melancholy man on the cross staring back at him. “Mama, I—”

“It is not right for you, tateleh. To have this thing. You know what they believe. About us.” Esther dropped the rosary onto the table, and the man landed on his face. David clasped his hands tighter in his lap, trying desperately not to reach for the strand of beads; he knew Mama would not understand. “To walk around with that cross over your heart? David. It is their shame. It is how they make us what they believe we are.”

David did not need to be reminded. The boys in the schoolyard had made it perfectly clear what they thought he was. He had once made the mistake of pointing out that the savior they were so concerned about avenging by beating the shit out of him had actually been Jewish. He came home with a few teeth loosened, and his arm had stayed in a sling for a month. He hadn’t told Mama and Papa exactly what happened because he knew how important it was that they believed he fit in, that they had made the right choice, bringing them here.

But they had known. Of course they had.

Papa had quietly suggested he wear his cap over his kippah from now on. David did. And then he started wearing it only when he was at shul, on the sabbath, when he was at prayer. It had been the start of learning to hide what other people did not like, the start of many of his nameless fears. He wore his cap, he kept his head down and tried to stay out of their way. It still hadn’t made any difference. The other boys knew what he was, and they wanted to make him pay for something he had not done. And they did. Not every day, but often enough that Esther made sure they were never out of liniment or clean bandages. None of his teachers ever said anything about the blood or the bruises, and David ate lunch alone in the coatroom.  

When Les had started school, he did not wear a kippah at all.

David did not misunderstand Mama’s anger. She was worried that he was slipping too far away from the things that they had been taught. That she had failed him, that he was failing her. And David couldn’t fail. He was the only son now.

Things had never been as they were supposed to be.

“I know, Mama, but I—”

“Is it Jack’s?”

David froze. He supposed that, in a manner of speaking, it was Jack’s. But he didn’t like the way Mama had asked. As though she didn’t know Jack at all, as if he were someone to be suspicious of. “Uh—”

“It was thoughtless of him to ask you to keep it for him.”

 “He didn’t.”

“Then why do you have it?” Esther asked again. She sounded so tired. “I don’t understand. Did he—”

“It isn’t Jack’s, Mama,” he said softly.

“Then whose is it?”

David waited for his breath to mount, for his chest to tighten, for anything to stop him from having to say what he had to. But nothing happened. For once in his life, he could breathe. He looked up from his hands, and Mama looked back at him, her eyes laced in red, glassy in the dim glow of the oil lamp.

He couldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t fail her. Or Jenny. Jenny shouldn’t be hidden anymore.

David reached out to touch one of the beads. It was smooth against his fingertip. “It belongs to my friend Jenny,” he said.

Esther’s gaze suddenly sharpened. “Daveleh. This is a girl’s name. A goyishe name.”

“Mama, please.”

Her hand slapped at the table; David jumped. “Please what, David? What do you want to say?”

I’m sorry. That’s what he should say. Cushion the blow. But he couldn’t apologize for something he hadn’t told her—and he couldn’t apologize for Jenny. To apologize was to admit regret, to admit shame, and David felt neither. Not anymore. He took a deep breath.

“Jenny is a girl I know. This—the things in that pouch are hers. They’re important to her.”

“This is not what I am asking,” Esther said, her voice low.

“I know.”

“Davey, tell her.” Sarah’s head peeked out from the doorframe of their room; her nightgown was still smooth and her toffee-colored braid intact. David realized she must have been lying awake and listening the entire time.

Esther’s arm swung wide, wild. “Your sister knows about this thing?” she hissed.  

David blanched. Thing. The word was cold. Mama’s voice was cold. “Mama, I—”

“Then you have both been keeping things from your father and I.”

Sarah padded toward the table, sliding into the chair next to David’s. She reached for his hand, and David took it. Esther stared at them in disbelief. Neither of them said a word.

“Answer me,” Esther demanded.

“Yes, Mama,” said David to his lap.

“Yes, Mama,” said Sarah to the tabletop.  

David could see the hurt in his mother’s eyes as she let them move between him and Sarah.

“Tell me why.”  

“I—it’s hard to explain,” David tried.

“You are a smart boy, David. You can explain,” Esther said severely.

Sarah squeezed his hand under the table, and even though David could breathe, his heart hammered in his chest.  

“I’ve been…seeing Jenny?” David’s voice wavered.

Esther’s jaw slid forward. “What does this mean? This seeing?”

“I spend time with her. Because I care about her.”

Which was the truth. Almost. His palm felt slick against Sarah’s hand.

“What do you mean?”

David was careful to look up, to let Mama see his face. He took a breath. “I’m in love with her, Mama. I love her.”

The room was so still that all David could hear was the ticking of the clock above the bedroom door—and the faintest rush in his own ears. Esther looked at him, just for a moment, and then her head sank into her hands. Her face was hidden, just the way it was when she lit the candles on Shabbat, but David knew that this was not a blessing.

He couldn’t know that his mother’s visions of his future were just as precious to her as his own. That Esther had secretly looked forward to seeing each of her children married under a canopy to someone worthy of their gifts. For David, she had imagined a soft-spoken girl with gentle, capable hands who would know how to help him through the storms that had whipped up around him since he was a little boy. This girl would see that behind David’s timidity was strength, and she would kindle that strength with her own.

And if Esther had imagined the other little boys and girls that could possibly come from such a union, whose business was it but her own? David would study Torah with his boys; this faceless, gentle girl would use her capable hands to braid challah with their girls. Esther would never have to worry about whether David was happy, and their table would be full every sabbath. Like it was supposed to be.

To lose that dream, after having lost so many, was unbearable.

But David couldn’t know that, in the same breath, she was glad for him. That someone had managed to find their way through the walls he’d spent years quietly building around himself. That her sweet David, kind and eager to be loved—but too afraid to take the chances to secure it—may not have been so alone anymore.

And he couldn’t know what it cost his mother’s heart to feel both things at once. To sacrifice one dream for another. Again. As she always had.

“You’re—you can’t be.”  

David’s breath finally deserted him. “Mama—”

Esther looked up, and her face was flushed and streaked with tears. “You’re too young to love this way. No.”

David opened his mouth to speak, but he found he didn’t have any words. He couldn’t contradict Mama; he was young. But he couldn’t accept her refusal. He would not give Jenny up. He couldn’t, not after he’d promised to keep her safe. And so, he was left with nothing but futile gulps at the air.

They sat that way for a moment, David’s throat working to push out words that didn’t exist, and Esther trying to hide her tears, to prove to her children that she was every bit as strong as they had once believed her to be.

It was Sarah’s voice that broke the silence.

“Mama,” she said, rubbing her hand across David’s back. She smiled at her mother. “You always said that you and Papa were in love. That you didn’t even need the matchmaker, and you weren’t that much older than Davey. I think what he’s is trying to say is—”

Esther put up her hand. “This is not the same.”

“But Mama—”

“It is not the same,” Esther said definitively. She ran her hands over her face and looked at David, ramrod straight in his chair, eyes wide. He looked back, helpless. “Go to bed, Sarah.”

Sarah wrapped her arm around David, as though she were trying to shield him from the full weight of their mother’s stare. She had always been his protector. Just never from Mama. “Mama—”

“To bed,” Esther snapped, but her face softened almost immediately. Her eyes plead with Sarah. “I need to speak with your brother alone.”

Sarah’s face fell. “Yes, Mama.” She pulled herself away from David and padded silently to the bedroom. Esther did not move until she heard the door click shut.

Then, she stood and leaned forward, pulling the rosary from where she had dropped it on the table. David watched as she uncoiled the beads, smoothing them over her palm so that the circlet dropped off over the tips of her fingers. The crucifix stared up at her, and Mama stared back, running the tip of her finger over the tiny silver body in its center.

“She isn’t Jewish. This Jenny.”  

David swallowed, hard. “No,” he managed.

Esther sighed. She circled the table and stood behind David, holding the rosary out to him. He took it from her, piling the beads gently into his own palm, closing his fingers carefully around them.  

And then, Mama sat down next to him. She put her hand on the back of his neck, with care, as though she wasn’t sure that she was allowed to touch him. David closed his eyes, and Mama let her forehead rest against his shoulder.

“How long, David?” she asked softly.

“What?”

She sat up. “How long have you been…seeing her? That is what you said, yes?”

David shrugged. “A while.”

“What is a while?”

“What?” he asked again. Esther just looked back at him, and he looked down at the beads in his hand. “October.”

Esther’s eyes drifted closed. “David.”

David hadn’t known that a single word could make him feel so small.

“I’m sorry, Mama. For not telling you.”

“Is that all you are sorry for?”  

“Yes,” he said. And it was. He knew couldn’t be sorry for anything else. He opened his fingers and looked down at Jenny’s rosary.

Esther took a breath that was not quite deep. “Is this why you’ve been so sad?”

“What?”

“In the last few weeks,” Esther said. She let her hand find his cheek, brushing her thumb across its apple. “When you did not want to come out of your room. Because you were happy for a while, ahuv. And then—then you were not. Did this girl hurt you?”

David shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“What—”

“We hurt each other, Mama,” he said softly.

It was better to look at it that way, David thought. Jenny’s lie had been meant to protect him; it shattered him instead. David’s anger had not been misplaced, but it had frightened her. They had spent the last several weeks afraid of one another, because they had both been wounded. No one was more right than the other—and it didn’t matter now. What mattered was that they could heal together.

“That does happen sometimes,” Esther said knowingly, but her words were still thick and wet. She brushed his hair away from his forehead.  “Are you alright now? I—when you came in tonight, you seemed so different.”

David nodded, just slightly. He didn’t want Mama’s hand to leave his face. “I’m fine, Mama. We’re fine. She was in trouble, and I—”

“What kind of trouble?” Esther interrupted.

David’s breath caught in his chest. “I—I can’t tell you that, Mama. I’m sorry.”

Mama pulled away.

“David Jacobs, if you are telling me that you’ve gotten this—this shiksa—with—”

David felt sick. He hadn’t even thought that he might have gotten Jenny with child. Which, he had to admit, was possibly very stupid. Not possibly. Definitely. It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand the physical process. And they had done it so many times. But he hadn’t stopped to think, and—and— “—oh, no! No, Mama. I didn’t.”

Esther practically wilted in relief. “Then what?” she asked, once she had collected herself. “What is this trouble, huh?”

Somehow, David wasn’t sure that the truth would be any better. No, Mama. I didn’t knock this girl up, but I wasn’t the only who could have. He bit his lip.  

“I can’t. It isn’t mine to tell.”

“I do not think I like that,” Esther murmured. She reached to close his fingers around the rosary again.

David looked down at his curved knuckles. “I know. But I can’t.”

The clock above the door continued to tick away. The lamplight wavered. Mother and son sat without speaking, each one afraid of what their words might do to the other.  

“Is she alright?” Esther asked after a while.

His head snapped up, and he gave Mama a hesitant smile. “She will be.”

“Because you are helping her?”

“Yes. I hope so,” he said softly.  

“Oh, David.” Esther leaned back in her chair and wiped at her eyes. “It isn’t that I am not happy that you’ve found someone. I—well, mamas dream about these things. But I just don’t—”

“It isn’t what you dreamed?” David asked. He already knew her answer.

“No, it is not,” Esther admitted. She studied him carefully. “Do you remember, back home?”

It didn’t matter how long they’d been in America. Home was still home and would always be. But it wasn’t normally something they spoke of. Better to pretend that the decision to leave had been the right one, that their new life was an improvement over the old.

And maybe it was. David couldn’t remember as much as he wanted to. But he knew that it wasn’t what any of them had expected.

“I remember a little?”

“What do you remember?” Mama asked gently.  

“I remember our house,” David considered.  “And the fields. The space, mostly.”

Mama smiled. “You and Sarah were always outside. People used to smile when they saw you flying through the corn. You were less careful then, I think.”

“I remember,” he whispered. And there were flashes of running through fields, hand in hand with his sister, gasping for breath because he’d laughed it all away. Mama and Papa had laughed more then, too.   

But.

“Do you remember the other things?” Esther asked.

Those he could remember whether he wanted to or not.  

“Sometimes.”

“The things they did to the girls your age, David. The way the soldiers used them.”

And David tried not to react, but he could feel the prickle of tears behind his eyes. And they weren’t for the nameless girls that belonged to faded memories. They weren’t the only girls who had been used.

“Mama,” he rasped.  

Esther didn’t seem to notice. She stared at the space in front of her, and David knew that she was thousands of miles and many years away.

“It’s why we came here. So that you and Sarah would be safe. They would have killed you; a few more years, and they would have seen you as a threat, David, and they would have killed you. They would have…misused your sister.” David flinched. “Both of you, run through and thrown away. Because of who we are. Because of what they are.”

David knew that it was true. Because stitched into the seams of his memories of running through fields and his own laughter were shadows of makeshift torches and bloody bayonets, of screaming girls hauled into corners by snarling men in dirty grey uniforms. He could remember Mama and Papa bending their heads together, looking at him and Sarah with worried eyes. Don’t go anywhere without your brother, mameleh, they would say. David, take the long way home from school, yes? Cut through Avram’s field; he won’t mind.

David sometimes remembered more than he wanted to.

“I know,” he said.  

“And when I found out I was going to have Les—”

“I know, Mama.”

Esther looked back at David, and both their tears threatened to spill over. “We came here because we wanted you to be safe to be who you are. Who you were chosen to be. Because we could not be, not there.”

David set the rosary gingerly on the table and reached for his mother, burying his face against her shoulder. Esther wrapped her arms tightly around her son, and they cried together, David’s tears hot against the thin cloth of her shirtwaist and Esther’s, quiet, running slowly down her cheeks until they rested in David’s dark hair.

“This girl—”

“—Jenny—”

“Jenny. She is—she is not like us, David. What if you cannot be who you are with her?”

David tried to respond, to tell Mama that he could, but he made the mistake of trying to breathe at the same time, and his words were lost inside a choked sob. She smoothed his hair, running her hand down the back of his neck, rocking him, shushing him gently as though he were a little boy again.

“I’ve already lost one of my sons,” Esther said, pressing David’s face into her chest. “Your father was hurt. You wander like a ghost. Sarah works without end. America has not been what we were promised. And if it takes this part of you—”

David forced himself to sit up, to pull away. “It won’t,” he insisted, but the words trembled.   

Esther held his face in her hands, and her eyes twitched ever so slightly toward the pile of beads on the table. She looked back at him and smiled sadly. “Then you tell me why this thing was in your pocket. Because I don’t understand, tateleh.”

“Because it matters to her, Mama,” David said softly. He cleared his throat. “And she matters to me.”

“I don’t understand,” Esther said again. Her hands fell away from him, but David caught them before they reached her lap. He held them tightly.

“She was Jack’s friend when they were little,” he said. “And she and her brother, they didn’t really have a family. So, Jack’s mama took care of them, you know, until she couldn’t. The beads—they were Jack’s mama’s. They’re a—well, a kind of remembrance.”

Esther looked back at the rosary, and her eyes were softer, the set of her mouth less severe. “Oh.”

“Did you look in the pouch?” David asked.

“What?”

“There was something else there. A button.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t—”

“Jenny’s brother died not too long after Jack’s mama. The button was his. The button and those beads—that’s all she has, Mama. Of them, of anything. She’s alone.”

Esther’s wet breath crackled in her throat. She smiled at David, and this time, it wasn’t quite sad—but it was not happy either. “But she has you?”

“She does,” David said. He squeezed Esther’s hands, tight. “Mama, I would never turn my back on God. Or on our family.”

“I know, tateleh. But I worry—you children are my heart, you see? And it is already missing pieces. And to consider a girl outside the faith—”

“The Talmud says that ‘loving kindness is greater than laws.’”

“You would know that. My scholar,” Esther said. She loosed one of her hands and reached to press her fingertips to his forehead. “But smarts don’t save us from our mistakes, David. They can make them even more painful. Because you know what should have been, and you cannot help but think on it.”

As if David needed the reminder. 

He sighed. “I love her, Mama, and she loves me. She would never ask me to be less than I am. I know it.”

“I don’t know that,” Esther murmured. She pulled her hands away from David, wringing them together in her lap.

“You don’t know her,” David said gently.  

Esther sighed, and for a moment, David was afraid he had gone too far.

Another breath. “Maybe—maybe I ought to,” she said, the words halting and heavy.   

His stomach tumbled over itself. “What?”

Esther nodded. “Maybe I should not judge until I have met the girl. Until I have met your Jenny. If you are as serious as you say.”

“Do you mean it?” David asked in disbelief.

“I do. Bring her to dinner. I’ll talk to your father. I don’t suppose I need to prepare Sarah.”

David fell forward again, throwing his arms around his mother. “Oh, Mama, I—”

But Esther caught him and held him at an arm’s length. “This is not a guarantee, David. It is not a blessing. But I need to…see. Your father will want to see. If it is this important to you—”

“—it is—”

“—then we will see,” she said. She took the rosary from the table and pressed it back into David’s hand, careful of the cross’ sharp edges. He looked at her with wide eyes. “But please, tateleh. Please don’t hide things from me. I can’t—there are so many things I will never get to know about your brother. I don’t want you should hide away from me.”

“I’ll try, Mama,” he said, knowing still that there were things he couldn’t tell, that were better hidden.

“And that is how we begin.” Esther stood and leaned down to set a gentle kiss to David’s forehead. “Get some rest, yes?”  

“Good night, Mama,” he said.   

She turned down the lamp. “Good night, David.”

The room was almost dark, but David sat at the table a little while longer, running the rosary beads softly through his fingers.

Chapter Text

“Oh, holy Hannah, what happened to you?”

As soon as he said the words, Jack regretted them. But he was only human. He knew that Katherine meant well—Katherine always meant well—and that she was sure she was helping Jenny prepare herself for a day of job hunting; but it was possible she may have gone too far. No, it was certain she’d gone too far. Jenny’s murderous expression was enough to confirm that. He’d only seen that particular look on her face a few times before, and the last time he’d seen it, Siobhan O’Leary had ended up with mud in her nostrils. And Jenny was considerably stronger now than she had been when she was eight-years-old.

“You’re really asking me that question?”

“You look…nice?”

And she did. Jenny did look nice. And, maybe, just a little ridiculous.

He recognized the dress, a rust and brown plaid that nipped in at the waist and had some kind of sheer fabric up at the neck. Katherine had worn it in the fall, maybe the last time they’d been to Central Park. He remembered thinking that she had looked like a fallen leaf herself, all russet and red and gold. It wasn’t fancy, but he knew it had to have been the nicest dress Jenny had ever worn—she held herself awkwardly, stiff, like the ostrich he’d seen at the Central Park Zoo the last time Kath had worn the dress.  Over the dress was a long wool coat, a dark amber with glossy tortoiseshell buttons.

But the thing that sent it over the edge was the hat. Jenny’s dark hair had been teased into a comically large Gibson girl, and on top of it sat a hat whose dark straw brim flopped out a good six inches past either of Jenny’s shoulders, just so that it could hold an enormous bushel of red silk roses. The hat was secured with a gauzy lace sash, knotted under Jenny’s chin in a billowy bow.

She looked like a walking window box. A scowling walking window box.

Katherine had truly outdone herself.

Katherine was also nowhere to be found. The Pulitzer’s driver had deposited Jenny in front of the distribution center alone—and he’d looked none too happy about it either—so Kath must have had an early morning meeting. Or she had been laughing too hard to leave the house. Which meant Jack was the only target for Jenny’s ire. He didn’t mind, really. He was glad to see her getting back to her old self. But Jenny’s old self had never shied away from violence, and Jack would prefer to keep his face out of any frigid mud puddles.

“Gee, thanks,” Jenny grumbled. She pinched at the breast of the coat as though the thing were diseased. “She hid my coat from me. And now I look—I look—”

“Pretty?” Jack tried. Because she did. Even if she was glaring at him from under an entire fucking garden. He bit his lip.   

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Stupid was more what I was going for.”

Jack choked back a snort and offered her his arm. They turned and went into the yard together. There weren’t many of the boys around yet, but a few of them waved to Jenny. Clearly, she’d made an impression at Jacobi’s. Luckily, none of them looked like they were laughing.

Jenny settled on a box crate near the gate, flouncing her skirt over the wooden slats. Jack figured she wanted to wait for Davey, no matter what she looked like.

“Well, no joke. You look very, um, put together,” Jack said. He smiled at her, wide and cautious, and tried not to make any sudden movements.  

She slumped over her corset and winced. “Yeah. And when I go in asking for a factory job, they’re going to laugh at me.”

That was absolutely true. No shop foreman in his right mind would hire a girl who looked like she might care how she was treated, who might make demands. Nobody wanted an uppity girl on the line.

But Jenny wouldn’t be on the line anyway. Couldn’t. Jack knew what she’d seen. It was why she’d ended up working the piers in the first place.

Jack slid onto the crate next to her, giving her hat brim an appropriately wide berth. He chanced to grab her hand, which was hidden by one of Katherine’s kid gloves. “You ain’t gettin’ a factory job.” She didn’t pull away, and Jack squeezed her fingers.

“No,” Jenny agreed softly. She looked up at him, and Jack bit his lip as the roses rustled. “But—Jackie, I’m not so sure about this.”

“’Bout what?” he asked. But he knew.  

“I don’t know how to do anything.”

“Strictly speakin’, that ain’t true,” Jack said with a wink.  

And there was that Siobhan O’Leary look again. Jenny pulled her hand away. “Not what I meant.”

“Was tryin’ to make you laugh.”

“Ha.”  

“Awright, point taken,” Jack mumbled. He reached for one of her curls, like he had when they were kids, like he’d seen Davey do, but he stuffed his hand into his pocket when he realized there weren’t any curls to grab; everything was swept up under her highfalutin disguise. He sighed. “You’ll find somethin’, Jen. There’s plenty out there.”

Jack thought of when he’d gone to see her, months ago, to tell her to cool it with Davey. They’d had this same conversation, and they had both known how absolutely full of shit he was. Nothing had changed. Girls who had plenty of choices didn’t end up selling themselves to get by.

The roses shook. “That’s fine for you. Boys can do more.”

Jack snorted. Boys who had plenty of choices didn’t hawk papes in the cold so that they could keep a threadbare bunk at a lodging house.  “Yeah, I can work on the docks or dig tunnels when I’m too old to hawk papes. Swell.”

“But I can’t.”

“Do you want to?”

She shrugged. “No. But—people like Katherine, even Davey, they don’t know how hard it is to find something when you don’t have any skills.”

Jack smiled at her. “Uh, Jen. I know you’re dead gone on him and everythin’, but Davey ain’t got any skills neither. You ever seen him sell a pape?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Jack admitted. He scratched at the back of his neck. “But I’d at least give Davey a break. He’s had some luck, but he ain’t never had it easy. Easier’n you and me, sure. But what’s that take, huh?” And even though Jack’s voice was light, the words were heavy.

“He’s told me a little,” Jenny said. “But I—I don’t know. I don’t know what I mean. I just—”

“You afraid?” Jack asked.

Jenny nodded, but the movement was so slight the roses didn’t even tremble. She squared her jaw.

“You ain’t on your own no more,” Jack said gently.

But she had been.

Jack wanted to apologize for leaving her that way for so long, for letting her twist in the wind until he needed something from her—but he tried to remember what Katherine had told him. That they were children, and he’d had to take care of himself. Right?

It didn’t make him feel much better. Especially as he sat there, watching Jenny practically gnaw through her bottom lip.

“Everybody keeps saying that. That I’m not alone.”

“You ain’t,” Jack insisted. “You got Davey. And me.”

Jenny shook her head, and the roses pitched side to side. “I know. And Racer. And now Katherine. And—that’s great. It’s great, Jackie.” She didn’t sound as though she thought it were particularly great at all.

“But?”

“But I—I’m not used to trying to make so many people happy all at once,” she said, pulling awkwardly at her sash. Jack could still see the faintest bruises at the small of her throat. “Or having to listen to so many people tell me what they think I should do. Jackie, what if I do the wrong thing?”  

Jack sighed. “You know they’s—we’s  all just tryin’ to help, right?”

“Yeah, well,” Jenny scoffed. “It doesn’t all feel like help. Last night, Katherine said I should go to Children’s Aid, to see if they’d know anything about jobs. But I ain’t—I’m not about to let them ship me out west to slave away for some farmer and his fat wife. No, thank you.”

Jack winced. Kath wouldn’t have known. Jack knew the Pulitzers were the kind of family that donated to Children’s Aid, that probably had for years—and they probably thought the orphan trains and work assignments were charitable, that they built character; that seemed like Joe’s kind of line. They wouldn’t think about the kids separated from their brothers and sisters, of the ones that ended up breaking their backs to keep a roof over their heads. Katherine wouldn’t have suggested it if she’d known. He was sure of it.  

“I’m sure she just thought—”

“I know what she thought,” Jenny muttered.

Jack bumped her with his hip. “And I’m sure she only said it because you prob’ly turned down every other suggestion she made.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you’re stubborn, Jen.”

“I am not,” she protested, cheeks as pink as the roses on her hat.    

“Yeah, okay.” Jack rolled his eyes, and Jenny stuck out her tongue at him. He smiled back at her and softened, just a little. “You’re stubborn—and you ain’t used to people tryin’ to help you.”

She wouldn’t look at him. “No.”

“People like Kath, and Davey—that’s just how they let you know they care. They can’t help helpin’.”

“I’m not used to that either,” Jenny said softly.

Jack sniffed. “Yeah. Yeah. I know what you mean.”

He did, too. He could still feel Katherine’s fingertips on his scars, hear her asking him to believe in maybe. And as much as Jack knew that she was waiting for him to unlock some kind of door—as much as he wanted to—sometimes, he wasn’t sure that he had the key, or if he would ever.

“Does it get easier?” Jenny asked, and Jack started.

“What?”

“Letting them in?”

Jack realized that Jenny and Davey just might be on opposite sides of their own door.

“I’ll let you know if I figure it out.”

Jenny tried to lean her head against his shoulder, but the brim of her hat folded up against his cheek and she had to pull away. They both swallowed hesitant laughs.

She looked down at her feet, which were clad in the same boots that had toed Jack’s ankle when he and Katherine had walked home a few nights before. “I hope you don’t think I’m not grateful. To Katherine.”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t. But I know it ain’t exactly your scene.”

It wasn’t either of their scenes, not really. It didn’t matter that Jenny was dressed to the nines or that Jack had a fine society girl on his arm. They were still the little boy and girl who used to press their faces against the plate glass windows of third-rate storefronts, dreaming about the things people like Katherine wouldn’t even have deigned to buy; the children who clung to each other because there was no Mama and Papa to cushion life’s blows like Esther and Mayer had tried to do for Davey, for Les and Sarah. Jack and Jenny were the kids who’d never really gotten to be kids at all, but no one had ever shown them what it was to be grown up. And now, here they were.

“She’s great, though,” Jenny was saying. Jack blinked. “Jackie? Katherine. She’s really great.”  

Jack smiled to himself. If he could just understand what on earth he’d done to deserve her. He thought of the way Katherine looked against those stupid pink satin sheets, and his cheeks burned hot.  “She really is.”

“Ooooh, he’s in love,” Jenny teased.

“Yeah, well.” Jack straightened his cap. “So are you.”

Jenny stretched out her gloved hands to examine them. “Yeah. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“I think we know I’m not big on thinkin’.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jenny said with a smile.

“Whatever you say, Jen,” Jack replied. He set his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, turning his head to look back at Jenny. “Seems to me if we can land a couple’a folks like Davey and Kath then you should be able to land whatever job you want, huh?”

Her face fell, and the roses dipped. “I just—Jack, I know how to do one thing. And if I’m with Davey, I can’t do it.”

Jack turned away. “Shouldn’t be doin’ it anyway,” he mumbled to his knees.  

He heard Jenny scoff behind him. “Because you did so much to try and stop me.”

Jack closed his eyes. “You wouldn’t listen when I did.” A breath. “But you listened to Davey.”

He felt Jenny’s hand on his shoulder. “Does that—are you mad about that? Jack, I—”

“I ain’t mad, Jen. I ain’t never been mad at you,” Jack said, covering her hand with his. He turned to meet her eyes. “I just wish I could’a done it. Why couldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Jenny said simply, and Jack realized that she didn’t. She couldn’t explain, and he couldn’t understand; they’d certainly been there before. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And don’t give him too much credit. It hasn’t even been a day yet.”

“Everythin’ okay with you two?” Jack asked carefully.

“Yes. It really is,” Jenny said, and this time, her eyes danced. She bent her head forward, and Jack could tell she was thinking of her own private moments with Davey, the way he’d just thought of Katherine. When she looked at him again, her face was softer. “Everything okay with you and him?”

Jack leaned back toward the wall behind him, ducking under her brim. He sighed and tilted his own cap over his eyes. “On its way, I think.”

“Good,” Jenny said, and he knew she had nodded by rustle and shake of the roses. She cleared her throat. “So, which one of us is to blame for that face do you think?”

“What?”

But the space next to Jack was cold. He sat up and pulled his cap back, and Jenny was clear across the yard, her arms thrown around a decidedly pale and shaky looking Davey.

Fantastic. What on earth had they done now?

By the time Jack made it to them, Davey’s words were gushing out like water from a main, fast and thick. “I didn’t know it was in my pocket. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t think and—”

“Davey—Davey, hey. It’s alright,” Jenny soothed. She had something in one hand, a little white envelope or something, and she was rubbing Davey’s back with the other. “It’s okay.”

Davey shook his head. “It wasn’t okay. You trusted me with that. And I—I—but it ended up being okay, and now—now—”

Jack flanked Davey’s side. “Dave? You alright?”

“Slow down, huh? Just take a breath,” Jenny murmured. She somehow, hat notwithstanding, got close enough to kiss his cheek. She tucked the white pouch inside her coat pocket. “I don’t mind that she saw, Davey. It’s not like I have anything to hide.”

“Are you sure?” Davey asked, his voice small.

Jenny recoiled. “Are you really asking me that?”

Jack took a step back. If the look on Jenny’s face was any indication, Davey was in for worse than a face full of mud puddle, and Jack wasn’t about to get in her way. That was the thing about being on your own. You generally knew how to take care of yourself. Jenny was no exception.

Davey must have realized he was in trouble. He raised his hands and shook his head furiously. “No, I don’t mean—that’s not what I—I just meant that—”

Jenny squared her shoulders, and Jack was waiting for her to ditch her fancy coat, rake Katherine’s stupid hat forward, and raise her fists. “You’d better tell me what you mean. Real quick.” In Jack’s experience, loving someone was not an excuse to avoid beating their ass. Especially not if they deserved it. Which Davey just might—if Jack had any clue what was happening, he’d know for sure.

Davey sighed and reached for Jenny’s hands. A bold move, Jack thought. “I told Mama about you. After she found it.”

Found what? Jack wondered, thinking of the envelope in Jenny’s pocket, but he didn’t dare move.  

“What did you tell her?” Jenny asked, her voice low.

“That you’re Jack’s friend from way back. That you’ve had to take care of yourself.” Davey sighed. “That you’ve been in trouble.”

Jenny looked down at their hands. “But you didn’t tell her what kind.” It was not a question.

“I wasn’t sure if I should,” Davey said softly. He squeezed her hands. “But that’s not why—what I’m trying to say is—well—uh—”

“Uh, Davey. You might just wanna say it,” Jack said. He could see the way Jenny was drawing into herself, and somehow, he thought that might be even worse for Davey than the walloping Jack had been afraid he’d get a moment before.  

 “Mama was worried that you weren’t Jewish. That maybe you wouldn’t want me to be.”

Jack once again resisted the urge to ask what the hell was going on. 

Jenny’s brow furrowed. “What does that have to do with—Davey, you know that I wouldn’t—"

“—and I told her that if she thought something like that, she didn’t know you.”

“Okay?” Jenny asked. Jack saw her nostrils flare as she inhaled sharply.

Davey gulped. “So—”

“So?”

“So…”

Jack elbowed the other boy in the side. “Davey, just spit it out.”

“She wants to meet you. Now. Tonight,” Davey said. His eyes were glued to Jenny’s. “She wants you to come to dinner.”

Jack tried to laugh. “Is that what we’s all upset about? A little dinner?” But even as he said it, Jenny had dropped Davey’s hands and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Jen?” Jack heard himself ask.

“Dinner? Tonight?”

Davey stepped forward and put his hand on her cheek. “What do you think?” 

“You want me to meet your mama?” she asked him. “She really wants to meet me?”

“She does. And I want you to meet her too. Everyone. Papa and Sarah too.”

“Everyone?” Jenny whispered.

Jack understood. It wasn’t as if his first meeting with Joe had been all that auspicious. But he hadn’t known he was meeting Kath’s father until it was too late. He’d walked into Pulitzer’s office sure of himself and left convinced that betraying everyone he knew was his only course of action. And sure, he and Kath were still together, and sure, he’d seen Pulitzer plenty since, but there was still the tiniest part of him that wanted to take off running whenever he and Joe had to breathe the same air. He could almost pretend when it was just him and Kath, but family was something Jack didn’t know how to trust—especially when he knew he didn’t belong, that he’d never measure up.

He could see on Jenny’s face that she wanted to run too. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have reason. Davey had nearly left her over this thing that Esther and Mayer didn’t know, and she knew that all the fine clothes and good intentions in the world couldn’t change what she’d been through—or what other people would think of it, of her. Jack knew better than to think he could escape his past, and he was sure Jenny felt the same way about her own. After all, her past was barely a day old.

“I know,” Davey said. His thumb moved tenderly over her cheek. “It’s fast. That’s why I was—”

The roses rustled again. “But she doesn’t know.”

“Do you want her to?” Davey asked. “Should I have told her?”

Jenny eyes bounced over to Jack’s. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“If you do, we can tell her together. Or I’ll tell her. Whatever you want. Mama, she’s—”

“She’s a good lady, Jen,” Jack put in. “She’d understand.”

“Would she?” Jenny’s voice was so small.

“I told her I love you. She knows what you mean to me. That isn’t nothing,” David said. His hand cupped her chin. “What do you think?”

Jenny’s eyes were still fixed on Jack. He nodded at her. Esther Jacobs and Joseph Pulitzer were not the same, and Jenny couldn’t hide forever. Not if she really wanted to start over. Jack knew that for certain.

“I—I’ll go,” she managed.

“Really?” Davey somehow looked pleased and terrified at the same time; Jack was pretty sure it was an expression only Davey could make.

“Really,” Jenny said. “But can we—do I have to decide now? If we should tell her?”

“No. You don’t have to decide anything until you’re ready,” Davey said gently. He leaned under the brim of her hat and kissed her lips. Jenny wrapped her arms around his neck, but Jack saw the way her fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on Davey’s shoulder. She seemed to distract herself by leaning further into the kiss, Katherine’s gigantic hat threatening to unperch itself from her dark hair. A few of the other boys in the yard hooted and catcalled.

When they pulled apart, Davey looked dazed and Jenny seemed calmer.  

“That’s certainly one way to start the day,” Davey said with a hesitant smile. He grabbed Jenny’s hand and kissed it. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Jenny rolled her eyes and readjusted the hat. “I look like a greenhouse on legs.”

“I said what I said,” Davey laughed. “Anybody would be lucky to have such a lovely girl working for them.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear,” she muttered. “It would be nice to have something to celebrate at this dinner.”

“It’ll be a celebration no matter what,” Davey said, and even though his voice was warm, Jack could hear that the other boy was trying to convince himself. Davey sighed. “And I’m sorry. For springing that on you.”

“Well, I’d assume if you have a mama, it’s important to do what she tells you,” Jenny said evenly. Davey’s grip on her hand tightened. She smiled up at him. “Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble now, would I?”

She leaned toward Davey again, and this time, Jack couldn’t help himself. He cleared his throat theatrically. “’Scuse me, but ain’t we all better get to work? We ain’t got all day for the two a’ you to make eyes at each other. And there’s kids around. Save it.”

Jenny snorted. “Like you and Kath don’t neck in front of the newsies.”

“We would never,” Jack said, putting his hand to his chest in mock scandal. 

“Only because Katherine won’t let you,” Davey chimed in.

Jack jabbed at his shoulder. “Let’s get our papes, huh? And let’s let Miss Egan here start poundin’ the pavement.”

Davey reached forward to tighten the sash on Jenny’s ridiculous hat. “Good luck today. I’ll see you here before the evening edition?”

She eased the knot away from her chin. “Yes. I’ll be here. I promise.”

“You’ll be great, Jen,” Jack said, and he wasn’t sure whether he meant the job hunt or Davey’s dinner. “I promise.”

“Me too,” Davey said. He ducked under the hat to kiss her cheek again.

“Thanks. I—we’ll see, huh?” The roses were still, but Jack saw her hand slip into the pocket where she’d stuffed the white envelope. Her knuckles curled under the fabric, and she sighed. “I guess I’d better go. I—there were a few places Katherine helped me find in last night’s paper.”

“You got this,” Jack reminded her. Davey nodded. The roses shook in return.

Jenny made her way out of the gate, her steps tentative and, Jack thought, possibly without direction. But the roses disappeared around the corner, and he and Davey lined up with the others, just like they had hundreds of times before.

And if Jack’s stomach was a mess of knots for Jenny, nobody needed to know. He knew there were some doors that were hard to open.

Chapter Text

David waited at the distribution gate, crumpling his empty canvas bag and stuffing it into his pocket. Jenny was late. The other newsies were already lining up to buy the evening edition, and there was no sign of her. David wondered if she had gotten lost, or worse, if she had changed her mind. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure that he could blame her if she had; the churning in his gut made it clear that David had his own nerves to contend with.

But he couldn’t disappoint Mama. He wouldn’t disappoint Mama. Right?

He thought of Mama’s face in the lamplight, creased with worry as she’d toyed with the rosary. He had made her so sad. Again.

He hoped that seeing him with Jenny would help. That Mama would see his happiness and that it might make her feel happy too.

A flash of plaid flew up the street—a flash of plaid with dark hair streaming in all directions and noticeably lacking one very large rose-heavy hat belonging to one Katherine Pulitzer.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m late!”

“What happened to your hat?” he asked.

Jenny blinked at him. “What hat?”

David laughed and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You’d better hope that wasn’t one of Katherine’s favorites.”

“You’d think with all the money she has she could buy hats that don’t weigh as much as a sack of potatoes.”

“You’d think,” David agreed. He tugged on one of her curls. “But you still look wonderful.”

“That, apparently, doesn’t matter,” she replied sourly.

“Here, we’d better go,” David said. He offered her his arm and started to lead her down the street. He hoped that Mama had gotten home later than expected, that they weren’t holding anyone up. “Didn’t it go well today?”

Jenny wrinkled her nose. “No one told me I’d need a—a letter of reference? I think that’s what they called it. Every place Katherine found for me to try, they asked for a letter of reference. I—how am I supposed to get one of those, Davey? It isn’t like I ever asked my clients to—”

His stomach whirled. “—Jenny—”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just—what if I have to go back to the factories?”

“You won’t.” He squeezed her hand.

“How do you know?”

“Because I won’t let—”

She brandished her finger at him. “Ah!”

David rolled his eyes and steered her around the corner. “I won’t let that happen. Does that work?”

“I suppose,” she muttered. “It’s just hard.”

“I know, sweetheart,” David said. “Well, let’s think.”

“Oh, goodie.”

“We’ve got a little bit of a walk. It’ll help pass the time.”

Jenny sighed. “What are your thoughts, then?”

“Cash girl? In a shop?”

“Letter of reference required, sir,” Jenny said snootily. “And you have to be good at figuring. That’s not—let’s just say, that’s not something I’m very good at.”

“Fair enough.” David switched tacks. “Domestic? You know, like—”

“Like a maid. Gee, do you think Katherine would hire me?”

“Jen.”

“I’m sorry. It isn’t that I wouldn’t do it—but the wages are pretty low. And I have to be able to fix some place to live. I can’t stay with Katherine forever.”

They stopped at the curbstone, and David took the opportunity to steal another kiss. “I wish you could stay with me.”

“I do too. But—”

“Yeah, I’ve been told there are rules about that kind of thing,” David scoffed, stepping into the street.

Jenny hopped into a pile of slush with all the grace of the wild little girl David was sure she’d been. The icy water splashed up onto the hem of Katherine’s dress, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was beautiful. “There are rules. And it’s cold on the roof.”

“Not that cold,” David said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. He took her hand and tugged her along. “And that doesn’t seem to bother you anyway.”

“There are worse things than cold feet.”

Something about the way she said it made David feel distinctly uneasy. He didn’t want to think about what she meant. “I guess,” David said softly.

Jenny’s fingers tightened around his. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help. It was just a long day. And I wanted to have good news.”

“You’re coming home with me. That’s good news enough for me.”

“I am.”

“Don’t be nervous. Are you nervous? Don’t be nervous.”

“Are you?” Jenny laughed.

“Maybe a little,” David admitted. He avoided her eyes, pretending to look out for the pushcarts rambling in their direction.

Jenny’s smile faded. “I’m sorry.”

David shook his head. “It’s not because of you. I just—I can’t believe it’s finally happening. That you’re going to meet them all. That you’ll be at the table with us. I—does it sound silly if I say that I’ve kind of been dreaming about this?”

“No, it doesn’t sound silly. But— I just hope I don’t let you down.”

“You couldn’t possibly,” David said certainly. 

“I could,” she said. David heard the waver in her voice. “Your sister knows, right?”

“Sarah? Yes, I told her,” David said. “But she won’t say anything.”

“Alright. And you’re still fine if I don’t—”

He nodded. “I’m fine no matter what. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They walked for a while in silence, and as they got closer, as the Polish mixed with and then gave way to Yiddish, Jenny’s steps seemed to get slower, less sure. By the time Laufman’s shop came into view, when he’d told her that they were getting close, David felt like he was practically dragging her.

And just like that, they were in front of his building, on the stairs, at his door. David touched his fingers to the mezuzah on the doorframe and brought them to his lips. Jenny watched, eyes wide.

“It’ll be alright, you know?” he said. “Mama wants to meet you.”

“I’m maybe a little nervous too,” Jenny whispered. 

“We can do this,” David said. “Just hold on to me, okay?”

Jenny’s hand slid into his own, and David opened the door.

“Mama? Papa? We’re home!”

Mama and Sarah were in the kitchen, and they both turned at the sound of David’s voice. Papa rose from the table and moved toward the door. Jenny shrank against David as they came closer, and David swallowed, hard.

Theirs was not a house that had received many guests. Jack, of course, was always welcome, but before him, the family mostly kept to themselves.

At first, it had been out of necessity. Their first tenement house had not been safe. It was falling down, for one. The floors had been warped and shaky, plaster chunks regularly came down from the ceiling, doors did not fit inside their jambs. Mama and Sarah had scrubbed every surface until their hands were blistered red, but still, the mice and cockroaches seemed to think they were invited guests; they couldn’t make up for the carelessness of their neighbors, carelessness borne of endless working hours for little material gain. Why bother? That’s what everyone seemed to think. The people that lived around them were barely living at all.

David remembered the way screams and loud crashes would slip past their thin walls, how Mama would not let them into the dingy stairwell to play alone because of the sweating man who sat on the landing with a bottle. She kept Les anchored around her with a shawl, afraid to set him down in any of the filth. The door to their apartment was always locked; they could only rely on each other.

That feeling did not disappear when they moved. Mama and Papa were happy to nod at their neighbors in passing, to wish a hearty “Good Sabbath!,” but that was usually all. Sarah’s hours were long, and too many of the girls spoke languages she did not understand. David took a winding route home from school to make sure the other boys didn’t know where he lived, that they couldn’t follow him. Only Les had pushed against the walls they had erected around themselves. He would bring his pigtailed “dates” home for a mug of tea or haul in a few of the boys he played ball with for dinner. Esther and Mayer did not turn away their young guests, but they didn’t understand either. Les was sure of his place in a way that the others had not been.

They were all unsure now, Jenny included. Her grip on David’s hand was vicelike. Mama’s eyes were fixed on their entwined fingers as though she hadn’t quite believed that Jenny might be a fact. Papa stood with his hand on Sarah’s shoulder, both of them smiling awkwardly.

David cleared his throat and extricated his hand from Jenny’s; he rested it on the small of her back, almost pushing her forward. “Mama, Papa, this is Jenny. Jenny, this…well, this is Mama and Papa. And that’s my sister, Sarah.”

“Hello,” Jenny said. She looked at the floor. David thought of how bold she’d been the night he went to see her at the brothel, the way that she’d touched him and played the coquette. It wasn’t that he wanted her to put on an act for Mama and Papa—particularly not the act she’d done for him, the way that she knew how to perform—but he hadn’t expected her to be so afraid. David wrapped his arm more closely around her waist. Mama’s eyes followed his touch.   

Sarah was the first to move. She stepped forward and snapped up Jenny’s hands in both of her own. “It’s so good to meet you. David’s told me so much.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Jenny looked like she might be sick. Shit. Shit. He glared at Sarah who, to her credit, winced apologetically and went into the kitchen under the guise of checking on dinner.  

Papa smiled warmly, but he did not move from where he stood. “He hasn’t told us as much,” Mayer said, and David could hear a current of nervous amusement under his father’s words. “But this is a good surprise, yes? It is good to have you here.” David wondered what Mama had said to him, what he already knew.

Jenny did not look up from the floor. She was a statue, suspended in the moment. David’s fingers kneaded into her side, but she didn’t stir. No one said anything for a moment.  

“Shouldn’t you take her coat, Daveleh?” Esther said suddenly. She finally looked at Jenny’s face and smiled. “Please come in. What kind of hosts should keep you waiting at the door, huh?”

Jenny’s fingers mechanically unbuttoned Katherine’s overcoat. As David stepped behind her to take the coat, he gently brushed Jenny’s hair back over her shoulders, fingertips grazing the gauzy collar of her dress and whispering just past the soft skin of her neck. She shivered.

“It’s cold outside, isn’t it?” Esther said. She took Jenny’s coat from David and hung it up on the rack near the door. “It is a good night for soup, yes? It will warm us all.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Mayer said confidentially. “It’s more cabbage than soup. Good for the digestion.” He winked, and Jenny cracked a tiny smile. He sidled up next to her and offered her his arm, like they were about to take a Sunday stroll through the park. Jenny hesitated, just for a moment, and then slipped her hand into the crook of Mayer’s arm. He led her to the kitchen table and deposited her in David’s chair with a slight bow. “Now, what can we get you to drink?”

Esther wrapped her arm around David. “She is very pretty, Daveleh,” she murmured in his ear, watching as Jenny accepted a glass of water from Mayer.

“She is,” David agreed. “Mama, she—”

“She’s nervous. You told her about our talk last night?”

David nodded.

“Then I think she might feel like we are making her to try out, yes?”

“Aren’t you?”

Jenny took a demure sip of her water, both hands wrapped around her glass, and Mayer settled across the table from her, leaning forward to make conversation. Sarah hummed as she stirred the soup, taking not quite tactful peeks over her shoulder at her father and Jenny.

“No, we are not,” Esther replied. Mayer said something, and Jenny nodded, a little stiffly, but David thought he could see her starting to relax, see a little of the color return to her cheeks. “But you told me some very serious things last night, tateleh. I told you. I just need to see. To understand. But I don’t want she should feel scared.”

Neither did David. “Weren’t you? When you met Papa’s mama?”

Esther snorted. “Well, your father’s mother was a difficult woman. I was not her first choice.”

“Jenny isn’t yours.”

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to see the good in her,” Esther said. “Your grandmother never quite saw the good in me. I was always a disappointment to her.”

“But never to Papa.”

“No,” Esther said, her eyes on Mayer. “Which is what matters most, I suppose.”

“I think so,” David said quietly.

Esther looked up at him with a soft smile. “I can tell that you do. Now, what do you think? Should we get supper on the table?”

***

Dinner passed—mostly—without incident.

It wasn’t exactly what he had pictured when he thought of bringing a girl home to meet the family. Probably because he had pictured a girl that they already knew, like Rachel Laufman or Ruthie Shapiro, girls from shul that Mama had already appropriately vetted. Jenny was certainly not that, and while David wasn’t shocked that Jenny spent most of the meal in nervous silence, he was surprised that Mama and Papa had few questions. No one asked about her mother and father or—thank God—what she did for work. In fact, no one said much of anything.

It was awkward.

To be fair, Papa had done his best to make good natured conversation; he may have laughed at a few too many of his own jokes, but that wasn’t unusual. Or at least it hadn’t been, before Les. Sarah had watched as David pushed his cabbage around in its bowl while he watched Jenny, who pushed her cabbage around in its bowl while she watched Mama and tried to smile at Papa’s jokes. Mama had eaten her soup with a kind of delicate precision, and David had the distinct impression that she was trying entirely too hard to appear casual.

David caught Sarah’s eye. What the hell? She shrugged. He rolled his eyes and pulled Jenny’s hand into his lap. Her palm was a little clammy. She did not look at him.

They had been staring at their half-empty bowls for several minutes when Mayer shifted in his chair, stretching his leg out in front of him and feigning stiffness. David wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Mama nod, ever so slightly. Papa cleared his throat. “Sarah, I want to go for a walk.”

Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Papa, it’s freezing.”

“Cold air is good for the lungs,” said Mayer.  

“I don’t want to go for a walk,” Sarah replied. She stood and started to collect the soup bowls.  

Mayer rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “My leg is hurt. Someone should go with me.”

“Your leg was hurt,” Sarah corrected, snaking Jenny’s bowl away from the table. Jenny murmured her thanks, and David squeezed her hand.

“Yes, but if I go out by myself, I might fall down. I might fall down and not be able to get back up. Your papa would be left alone in the middle of the street. Freezing. What should happen if someone should maybe step on me?”

“Which is why we should stay here. Where it’s warm.” David snorted, and, as Sarah picked up his bowl, she made a point of dropping it into Jenny’s half-full bowl, splashing cabbage water onto her brother’s face.

Jenny muffled a giggle behind her hand.

“Sarah,” Mama said, and the word was not any kind of request.  

“Oh, fine. Fine.” She dropped the bowls into the deep basin of the sink with a thud. “I’ll go get my hat and scarf.”

“We’ll be back in a while,” Mayer said, standing up. He nodded at Jenny and leaned down to kiss Esther’s cheek.

Sarah came back, jamming a knit cap onto her head. “Let’s go walk.”

Mayer sighed heavily. “It’s good that you help your poor old Papa in his hour of need.”

“Sure. Yes. Whatever,” Sarah grumbled. She leaned close to David’s ear. “Good luck with whatever this is.”

Oh. Oh, shit. What was this?

The door clicked shut, and Sarah and Papa were gone. David and Jenny were left alone at the table with Mama. Esther looked at the two of them, wringing her napkin in her hands, and she tried her best to smile. They waited.

 “I thought to talk with you both alone,” Esther said finally.

Jenny slid her hand out of David’s and sat up a little straighter; David knit his fingers together in his lap, digging his nails into his knuckles and hoping that he looked calmer than he felt.

“You see, I was surprised to find out about you, dear,” Esther continued, looking to Jenny. “Did David tell you what happened?”

 Jenny nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I—I’m sorry that you found that, it was—”

“Esther.”

“What?”

“You can call me Esther. And you do not have to be sorry for what I found.”

“Oh,” Jenny breathed.

“But—there are some things I would like to know,” Esther said carefully. David gulped. “I hope you do not think that I am being, what do you say? Forward?”

“No,” Jenny said. “I—I don’t mind.”

David was pretty sure that she did mind; he certainly minded. He was also starting to think that this may have been a mistake. He undid the knot of his fingers and reached for Jenny’s hand again, this time leaving their hands on top of the table where Mama could see.

Esther did not react. “Good. Daveleh tells me that you have been in trouble.”

Oh, God.

Jenny raised her chin. “Yes.”

“And that he is helping you, yes?”

“Yes.” The word trembled. “Yes, he is. He’s trying.”  

“I am glad. I want that he should be a good boy.”

“He is, ma’am—Esther,” Jenny corrected. Her eyes flitted to David, and Esther followed them. “He’s better than I deserve.”

David shook his head, gripping her hand tighter. “Jenny—"

“That is quite a thing to say,” Esther said softly.

Jenny looked away from David and back at Esther, pink creeping into the high apples of her cheeks.

“Why do you feel this way? That David is more than you deserve?” Esther asked.

Jenny did not answer. David’s cabbage soup turned about in his stomach.

“Mama—” he began, but Esther put up her hand.

“Please. Daveleh, remember what I asked you. There is no hiding. Please,” Esther said. David nodded miserably, and Esther turned her attention back to Jenny, her voice soft and careful. “You know that David’s little brother passed away?”

“I do. I—I’m sorry for your loss.” Jenny said it as though she were a stranger, like she didn’t know exactly what had happened to Les. Instinctively, David turned to press a kiss to her temple. Jenny stiffened. Esther pretended not to see. 

“He tells me that you might know a little something about what that is like,” she said.  

Jenny’s breath caught, just for a moment, and then she nodded. “Yes. My brother, Danny.”

“I am sorry, then.”

“You don’t have to be. It was a long time ago.”

“Time heals all wounds?” Esther asked with a dark chuckle.

Jenny shrugged, looking back down at her lap. “Something like that,” she murmured.  

“It is a nice thought. But it is not right. Is it?” Esther said.

Jenny’s head snapped up. “No. It isn’t.”

Esther nodded knowingly. “The hurt is different. Over time, we do not carry it on our outsides. But inside. Because we think that others should not have to see, yes?”

“I guess so.” Jenny’s voice was almost a whisper.

“That is how you’ve always been, Daveleh,” Esther said, stretching her hand across the table, even though she knew David was too far to reach. Her lips smiled at him; her eyes did not. “Because you want we shouldn’t see how you are hurting. You want to protect us even though it us who should be protecting you.” She shook her head, and her eyes were fixed on something that neither David or Jenny could see. “But it is hard to protect against what you do not know.”

This time it was Jenny’s fingers that pulsed around David’s.

Esther sighed. “And Jenny, I think you might be the same?”

Jenny nodded again.  

“But you let David see? And you have seen him?”  

“Yes,” they said together.

Esther raised her eyebrows. “Then it is foolish to say you do not deserve David. Because that is something not so easy to find.”

Jenny sighed. “There’s—more to it than that.”

“Is there?”

“I’m not Jewish,” Jenny admitted. She looked at Esther expectantly. “You know that.”

Esther’s jaw tightened, just for a moment, and David knew she was thinking of the rosary. But Mama was practiced at putting on a brave face, and she deftly smoothed the grim line of her lips into something that was not quite a smile. “I do. But David says that you would not change this part of him.”

Jenny shook her head. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t change anything about him.”

Esther’s expression relaxed. “That is a lovely thing to say, but it does not have to be true. We can love and still see the things that are not so good. No one is perfect; we should not pretend that they are.”

“No. But I don’t want him to be,” Jenny said, and her voice was suddenly stronger, more pointed. “I’m not.”

“I think there is more you want to say,” Esther pressed gently.

“I—” Jenny began, but she swallowed the next word. She took a shuddery breath. “Davey, I—”

David suddenly realized what was about to happen.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“I’m sure,” she replied. She reached with her free hand to touch his face, fingertips moving gently across his cheekbone.

David nodded, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead, not caring that Mama could see. He cleared his throat and turned back to his mother. “Mama, we—”

“No, I can do it,” Jenny interrupted. “I want to.”

He sighed and shifted so that he could hold her against him, wrapping one arm around her waist and capturing her hand with the other. He wanted her to know that he was there, that no matter what Mama thought or said, David did not care. He had seen Jenny’s hurt, and she had seen his. It was just what Mama said. They deserved each other.

Jenny’s green eyes found Mama’s blue ones and held them, fast. “You know that Jack is my friend?”

“I do,” Esther said.

“He’s been looking out for me since we were kids. I never really had folks. But Jack did. Jack’s mama was wonderful, and she took care of me and Danny when nobody else would. And I took care of Jack after she died.”

Esther only nodded, but David could see the bowstring tightness of the tendons in her throat.

“But I—when Danny died, Jack was already a newsie. It wouldn’t have been fair to expect him to help me.”

“If I know Jack, I find it hard to believe that he wouldn’t have tried anyway,” Esther said warmly.

Jenny almost smiled back. “He did try. But we were so little. I couldn’t let him do that.”

“What did you do, then?” Esther asked gently.

Jenny told her. She told her about her work in the factories, how it helped her pay her keep at the McCormicks’. She told Mama about watching what had happened to the little girl next to her, the way that the foreman had made her clean the machine. And then she told Mama what she had been so afraid to tell David. How that man had approached her and she’d gone with him, because he promised that she would be safe and fed and taken care of. The months she’d spent on the piers, doing whatever was asked of her by whomever asked it. And finally, the place on Bowery and Broome.

She told Esther how Jack had come to her because he’d been so worried for Davey, all about the plan—and how it started to come apart after she’d been attacked. How she thought she had lost Davey for good, but that he’d come to get her, to help her.

“That’s…it. I’m so sorry, but I just want you to know, I’m done with that now. I—I love Davey. David. And I want to be what he deserves, or, you know, as close to it as I can be. I’m sorry.”

Esther did not say anything for a long moment. Her eyes moved carefully over Jenny, from the crown of her head to the hand entwined in David’s. David knew that Mama saw the still faint impression of Jenny’s bruises, the fierce way that Jenny’s chin jutted forward, how brave she was trying to be. How brave she was.

David drew her closer to him and kissed her dark hair. Jenny looked down at the table.

“I did not think it was this kind of trouble,” Esther said. David could see that her eyes were filled with tears. He kept his arm firmly around Jenny’s waist and stared back at his mother.

Jenny shook her head. “I’m so sorry, I—”

“Oh no. Oh no, please,” Esther interrupted. She threw her bedraggled napkin onto the table and shifted onto her elbows, resting her face in her hands. She shook her head as though she could not believe what Jenny had said, even though David was sure she felt its truth. Her voice shook when she spoke again. “Please do not say you are sorry. I—sometimes I wonder why we ever came here.”

“Mama?” David asked uncertainly.  

“Children. You are children,” Esther said. The words grated against each other like metal against an iron file. “A child should never have to do these things.”

David wasn’t sure what to do. He felt Jenny sag against his side, and he didn’t know if it was because she was relieved or because what Mama said was true. The beautiful girl in his arms had never really gotten to be a child at all. Her childhood had been stolen from her. So had Danny’s. And Race’s. And Jack’s. And even though David couldn’t know that Mama’s tears weren’t just for Jenny—that they were for the years that had been ripped away from her own children, for the dreams that had been put off or disappeared forever—his chest felt heavy at the sight of them.

“It is not right that this is the only way you thought you could take care of yourself. It is not right. It is not fair,” Esther said.

“No, it isn’t,” David agreed. He held Jenny close, cradling her face against his chest with his hand. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist. Mama watched them, her eyes soft and red.

“Jenny? Dear?”

Jenny nodded so that Esther would know that she’d heard.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry that any of that happened to you. I wish that it had not,” Esther said. “I want you to know that I do not think it is your fault. It is not something you did wrong. David’s father will feel the same way, I know it. We—well, we understand what it is to make choices you never thought you’d have to. Yes, I certainly understand that.” The last words, Mama spoke almost to herself.

 Jenny’s hold tightened around David for a moment, and then she pushed herself upright, wiping at her face. “Thank you. Esther.”

David saw Mama hesitate, just for a second, and then she pushed back from the table and moved so that she was next to Jenny’s chair. Jenny looked up at her uncertainly, but when Esther leaned down and wrapped her arms around the girl, the tension in her shoulders seemed to unravel.

“Thank you,” Jenny whispered again.

Esther let her hands move gently across Jenny’s cheeks as she pulled away. She leaned so that she was resting half on the table.  “What is it that you want from each other, children?”

“We love each other,” Jenny said simply. She sniffed. “I love David.”

“And I love you,” David said. He absolutely did. He never wanted Jenny to doubt it again. She shouldn’t have to lose any more time to her demons; they’d stolen enough from her already. He cleared his throat and looked at his mother. “I—Mama—”

Esther’s eyebrows raised, and David knew that she understood what he wanted to say. “I do not think you should be afraid to say it, Daveleh. Not if it is true.”

“I just—I want to be with you, Jenny.”

Jenny looked at him and wrinkled her nose. “We’re together already,” she said.  

“That’s not what I mean. I mean—well,  I mean—”

“He means marriage, mameleh,” Esther said gently. David couldn’t read her face, but she did not look away from the two of them.   

Jenny froze. “Oh.”

Why did she look so—was she frightened? Surprised? “Are you—”

“I—oh, Davey.”

“I think it is a beautiful thing to want,” Esther said.

David’s stomach spun like a top. He pushed out of his chair and moved to throw his arms around his mother. “You do? Oh, Mama, I—”

Esther held him at arm’s length. “Someday, maybe, tateleh. I meant it when I said you were children. Both of you. There are things to learn before you make this kind of choice.”

Jenny was silent, watching them both with wide green eyes.

“But you and Papa—”

“—are happy. But it was not easy, and we have been lucky to grow together.”

“But you loved each other, and you were young,” David protested. He was sure that he’d already learned whatever he needed to know.

“I know, David. And that’s why I am telling you to wait.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I do,” Jenny said softly.

“I thought you might,” Esther replied. She let go of David’s shoulders and took up one of Jenny’s hands. Her lips curved into another not-quite smile. “Things have been hard for you both. You don’t want—well, you don’t want—”

“We don’t want it to be all that we have,” Jenny finished.

Esther looked relieved. “Yes. Pain is a great teacher. But it is not what should join you together, or you will always hurt. And that is not what I should want for either of you. It seems you’ve had enough of that already.”

Jenny looked up at Esther. “It’s not because I’m not—”

“It is not because of anything about you, dear. I cannot lie to you. I’ve had in mind the girl that my Daveleh should marry since he was in diapers”—David blushed fiercely— “and you are not what I pictured. But sometimes, things turn out different than what we picture. And it is not my vision that matters. It is his.” Mama looked at him and held his eyes for a moment.

“Thank you, Mama,” David said softly.

Mama swung out her arm so that she could wrap her free hand around David’s wrist; her touch tethered them both, to her, to each other. “Just take your time, children. Be children. As much as you can. And I will do whatever I can to help you.”

“Thank you,” Jenny said, her voice still shaky and unsure, as though she couldn’t believe any of this was happening.

“You’re welcome. I—I know what it must have been for you to come here tonight, Jenny. You are brave. And you deserve better than what you’ve had. Please believe that.”

“I agree,” David said.

Jenny rolled her eyes, but David was relieved to see the sparest of smiles appear on her lips. “Of course you do.”

Mama slid further back onto the table, settling in. “Now, what are you doing about a place to stay? About work?”

“Well, I—” Jenny began. “I’ve been staying with Katherine.”

Esther nodded politely. “Oh. That’s very kind of Miss Pulitzer.”

“Yes.”

“But not very practical, I think.” Esther looked pointedly at Jenny’s fine dress.

“No. I guess it isn’t.”

“Do you have work yet, dear?”

“No. I—well, I tried today.”

“And it didn’t go well?”

Jenny shook her head. “I—well, I’m not sure what I’m right for. I don’t know how to do so many things. And everyone wants a letter of reference or some kind of experience, and I—no, it didn’t go well.”

“What if—” Esther cocked her head in consideration. “What if you stayed with us tonight?”

“What?” Both David and Jenny looked up in surprise. “Oh, Mama—"

“Do not get ahead of yourselves, children,” Esther said. “This is not a permanent solution. But it might be better for Jenny if she had someone to help her just now. Daveleh, you can sleep on the cot in the kitchen; Jenny, I’m sure Sarah will not mind if you sleep in their room with her. And tomorrow, I’ll take you around myself. I have some deliveries to make, and I know there are plenty of people who need girls to help with washing and some of the cleaning in the buildings. Can you do that, Jenny?”

Jenny bit her lip. “I—I think so. I might not be very good—”

“I’ll show you. And the other things, it is not so hard to catch on. It is hard work, but simple enough.”

“I could do it,” Jenny said, more certainly this time.

“I think you could. And once we have that set up, we will find you a real place to stay. A safe one,” Esther said. “How does that sound?”

“Why are you doing all this for me?” Jenny asked.

“Because you love my David,” Esther said, her voice thick. “And you were brave enough to tell me the truth because of that. And he loves you. He loves you, and he thought he should hide it to protect you both. I—I wish that he had not, that he did not think he had to. I cannot lose another son. And I think—I think you should not be what has happened to you. You are what still can be.”

“I see where he gets it from,” Jenny murmured.

Esther smiled. “Gets what?”

“His hope, I guess,” Jenny answered. She looked at David, smiling, and he felt a blush creeping up the back of his neck.

“It can be hard,” Esther said. “To keep it going. I know. But we can’t give up. And I think it is better when you let others help, yes?”

“I’m beginning to think so,” Jenny said softly.

The apartment door clicked open.

“Papa, don’t!”

“But Sarah, I think it is a proven fact that when a father’s hands are cold, his daughter’s face will warm them right up!” 

Esther smiled. “And how was the walk, you two?” She placed a gentle hand on Jenny’s cheek before she went to help Mayer with his coat.

Jenny’s fingers lingered over where Esther’s hand had been. David leaned toward her, cupping his hand behind her head and pulling her in for a brief kiss. He ached to take her up to the roof, to do what they had not been able to, but he knew better than to disrespect the opportunity Mama was giving them.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I—no one has treated me like that in such a long time,” Jenny whispered back. “She’s lovely, Davey. Your mama.”

“She is,” he agreed. “And so are you. Are you alright?”

Jenny’s eyes moved over his shoulder, and David turned to look. Sarah brandished her knitted cap in front of her, a completely inadequate shield against Mayer’s freezing hands. Esther was laughing easily at the two of them, slapping at Mayer with the arm of his coat.

Jenny smiled. “I think I’m going to be. Are you?”

David looked at the empty chair in the corner, Les’ tiny cap hanging on one of its wooden pegs. Then, he looked back at Jenny. “I think I’m going to be too.”

Chapter Text

It was easier than Jack thought to find his stride with Davey; he really had thought that it would take a while for Davey to forgive him. A long while. And Jack was prepared for it. He knew that he’d wait as long as it took. It was a strange thing to know, because really, Jack never waited around for forgiveness. He figured that if he’d really fucked up, he might as well just take off, start over, pretend as though he didn’t remember what happened or the guilt that he felt. He’d tried to do it during the strike.

He’d done it with Jenny.

He could remember the day he’d gone to find her at the piers better than he could entire years of his life. Jenny had been shriveled and dirty, painted with cheap make-up and thrusting out a child’s chest. Jack had wanted to throw up, to run away, but Race had wrapped his hand around Jack’s wrist and dragged him to Jenny.

“Jen, you gotta come with us,” Race had said. “It ain’t safe here.”

Jack hadn’t said anything. He could only look at the men approaching the greasy, toothless man selling the girls. They were too old, too big, too sweaty, too shifty. Jenny shouldn’t have been there. Those men shouldn’t put their hands on Jenny. They shouldn’t—Jack’s stomach turned. Danny wouldn’t like it. Jack didn’t like it.

Jenny shook her head, stretching her painted smile as far as it would go. “You have to go. He ain’t gonna like it. Go, okay? Please?”

“Not without you,” Race said. “Jack, c’mon. Tell her.”

But Jack hadn’t told her anything. The pimp had whirled on them, yelling that they couldn’t get his merchandise for free. He’d slipped on brass knuckles and swung at Jack and Race. Race’s body had curved away from the hit, but Jack had flinched away at the last second, staring too hard at the steely metal grooves.

“Go!” Jenny hissed. “Get out of here!”

And they’d run. But Jack had looked back over his shoulder. He’d seen the pimp delivering Jenny to a leering man at least three times their age. She’d caught Jack’s eye for a split second, and he shook his head. No. Don’t. Jenny had looked away from him and gone with the man anyway. Race pulled Jack away.

Jack had thrown up in the nearest alley, and they’d never gone back.

It wasn’t that Jack wanted to remember; just like he never wanted to remember the things his da had done, the way his mother’s face had slackened in death, Snyder’s beatings, any of it. But there was something about his darkest moments that spread over Jack’s memory, that stained it in thick black splotches, like ink spilled out on paper, messy and borderless, seeping and indelible. Jenny was her own dark smudge mixed up with all the others. What had happened couldn’t be erased.

Davey was there too, on the page of Jack’s thoughts. But since Les, Davey’s lines were drawn in pencil, still precarious, not quite permanent.

But just then, Davey was beside him, animated, smiling, talking a mile a minute, like Jack hadn’t seen him in months. Jenny was being led around the lower east side by Esther Jacobs, not a gruff man with a black hole for a mouth. And Jack, inexplicably, had been forgiven.

“So, it went okay?” Jack asked when Davey took a moment to breathe. “I mean, if your ma is takin’ her around today and all.”

A half-smile crept across Davey’s face, and he shook his head. “Yeah. I mean—it’s not what I thought was going to happen.”

“What did ya think was gonna happen?”

Davey scratched at the back of his neck, not quite looking at Jack. “I—well, I didn’t think Jenny was going to tell Mama about—well, you know.”

“She did?” Jack’s windpipe suddenly felt very small. He focused on keeping his footing and watched his boots slide through the slush. “What—what did your ma say?”

“She was actually—I mean, she wasn’t alright with it,” David said, and his words seemed slower, more deliberate. “But she didn’t make Jenny feel badly.”

“That’s great, Dave. Real great,” Jack heard himself say. He stepped over a puddle.  

How was it that Davey’s mama had known what to say? If Jack had laid odds, he would have assumed that Esther Jacobs would have tossed Jenny right out of the house and locked Davey away forever. Jack had told Jenny that Esther would understand, but he wasn’t sure he’d actually believed it. Esther and Mayer would want to protect Davey. Davey was such a good boy. Not like Jack.

Jack wasn’t a good boy, he knew, and Jack had made Jenny feel plenty bad. He never meant to. But his memory’s sketch of Jenny’s face as he stumbled away on the piers suddenly seemed stark, harsh. 

“She’s even staying with us,” Davey said. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as though he hadn’t said anything particularly noteworthy.

Jack tried to smile. “Whoa,” he managed.

“I know. I hope that Katherine doesn’t mind—”

“I’m sure she gets it.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Jack echoed. He cleared his throat and clapped Davey on the back. “I’m glad Jen’s got you to look out for her.” And he was. He knew he was glad. That he should be glad. Why didn’t he feel glad?

Davey’s forehead wrinkled. “You did it for a long time before me.”

“Yeah, well. I ain’t so sure I did a very good job of it,” Jack shrugged.

Davey’s fingers wrapped tightly around his elbow. They stopped walking, stepping out of the midafternoon crush on the sidewalk.

“You’re both pretty hard on yourselves, you know?” Davey said. He ducked his head, trying to hold Jack’s eyes.

Jack snorted, jerking his elbow away from Davey’s hold. “That’s rich comin’ from you, Dave.”

“I know,” Davey said, nonplussed. “But it’s true. All of that stuff—you couldn’t help it. Either of you.”

“Changin’ your tune, ain’t ya?” Jack rolled his eyes. Maybe Davey had forgiven Jack, but there was still a part of Jack that hadn’t forgiven Davey for running away from Jenny. Because running away was what Jack had done, and Jenny deserved better. Davey was supposed to be better. But he wasn’t. And maybe that was more frightening than Jack wanted to admit.

 “I—I didn’t understand before.” Davey gnawed at his bottom lip, hands fiddling absently with the empty canvas bag at his hip.

“You think you do now?” Jack asked, voice low.

“Maybe not all of it. But more than I did before. Mama said—she said—”

Jack sighed. “What? What did she say?”

Davey hesitated. “Just…that we shouldn’t be what’s happened to us.”

The words socked Jack in the gut. But he kept still and looked back at Davey.  

“What do you think that means?”

“I think you know,” Davey said gently.

Jack shook his head and took off. He didn’t leave Davey behind, not exactly, but he knew he couldn’t just stand there, letting Davey stare at him that way—like he could see all the black stains and smudges Jack had fought so hard to hide. He wondered how Jenny could stand it. Jack didn’t want to be forgiven if it meant that Davey was going to look at him like he could see the scared kid Jack had always been.

Behind him, Davey’s feet slapped on the wet pavement. “Jackie. Jack, wait.”

Jack whirled on him, and Davey stopped short, sending slush over the toes of Jack’s boots. “So I’m just supposed to forget? Jenny’s supposed to forget?” Jack hissed through his teeth.

A few of the passersby gave them a wide berth. Jack saw a young woman completely reverse course, and it was then that he realized his hand was clenched in a fist. Fantastic.

Davey seemed unphased. He took a step closer to Jack. “No. We can’t forget.”

“No,” Jack agreed uncertainly. He stretched his hand open and jammed it into his pocket.

Davey watched Jack closely. He sighed. “But—”

“But what?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I’m never going to forget Les. I’m never going to stop feeling like it was my fault. But it can’t run the rest of my life, you know?”

Why couldn’t it? Jack wanted to ask. People could pretend all they wanted, Davey could pretend, that the things that had happened to them did not define them. But what else was there? Jenny would always be what she was now; Esther’s tacit acceptance couldn’t change what had come before. Les would always be dead. Davey would always be wounded. Katherine would always be too good for him.

And Jack? Jack would always be scared. He would always be waiting for the bottom to fall out because it always did. He’d learned. Why hadn’t Davey?

Jack started to walk again, trusting his feet to guide him back toward the distribution yard and trusting Davey to follow.

“Simple as that, huh?”

“No. But it’s worth working at,” Davey said.  “Forgiveness.”

Jack looked away, tugging at the lining of his pocket. “So. You forgave Jen.”

“And she forgave me. And I forgive you.”

“And then we all lived happily ever after, huh?” Jack asked.

Davey nodded. “But I still need to forgive myself. For Les. For what I did to Jenny.”

“That was my fault.”

“Yeah, but see, it wasn’t,” Davey said insistently. Jack coughed. “Okay, yes, the plan was yours and everything. But I’m the one who ran away. I’m the one who hurt her. Not you.”

But that wasn’t true. Jack had run, just as sure as Davey had. Jack had hurt Jenny too. How was he supposed to ignore that? 

“So, what you’re sayin’ is, you’re okay with that? That you hurt her?” Jack asked. They turned the corner.  

Davey frowned, pushing his cap forward. “No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just that—if all we do is keep going back over the things that we’ve messed up, we can’t move forward, right?”

“Sure, Dave,” Jack said absently.

“Jack.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s—it’s okay. That’s what I mean,” Davey said.

Jack sighed. “What?”

Davey’s thumbs nervously circled the cuff buttons of his wool coat. “You don’t have to keep telling me you’re sorry. You told me you were already. I believe you,” he said softly.

Jack’s feet kept on, but his chest felt tight. He knew that he should be happy. All he’d wanted was for Jenny to be safe, for Davey to come back to life. But the realization that things were actually falling into place somehow made him feel uneasy.

Davey walked just behind him, as though he were afraid to get too close. Jack flared his nostrils, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He slowed his pace and fell in next to Davey.

“I get it, Dave,” he said.

But Davey knew better.

“Do you?”

Jack pushed out another breath, watching the vapor bounce off his lips. “Yeah. Forgive myself, blah blah blah.”

Davey rolled his eyes. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” Jack said softly. “It just ain’t that easy for me. Or, I’m thinkin’, for Jen.”

“No,” Davey said, his voice suddenly small. He shook himself. “But you have to start somewhere.”

“Start what?” Jack asked.

Davey looked down at the pavement. “I don’t know? Whatever comes next.”

Jack kicked softly at the arch of Davey’s boot. “What comes next?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Davey admitted.

“Me either.”

They walked for a moment in silence. Jack could see the tall gates of the distribution yard in the distance. The littles were running around, scooping up handfuls of grey slush and shoving them into each other’s faces, trying to hurl wet snowballs at each other in vain. He saw Albert propped against one of the brick pillars, smoking a cigarette and laughing at something Specs must have said. He and Davey had been that way once. Casual, unhurried.

Jack sighed, and his steps stuttered. “I’m glad, Davey. Okay? I’m glad it’s workin’ out, I really am.”

Davey slowed beside him. “But?”

“But nothin’. I’m just thinkin’.”

“About?”

“What comes next, like you said,” Jack said.

He looked up the street and watched Albert gather a clod of slush in his hands, aiming at Smalls’ backside. The ammunition fell apart in midair, and Smalls shook her rump at Albert, stopping only to turn and stick her tongue out at him. Albert dove for her, cigarette still flopping from his lips, but Smalls was too fast, and Albert slid, face first, onto the sidewalk. When he lifted his head, his cigarette was bent in two.

Jack smiled in spite of himself. “We ain’t kids no more, huh?” he said, turning back to Davey.

“No. We’re not,” Davey agreed. His eyes flitted to Albert, who was whining, loudly, about his busted cigarette, but Davey did not smile. Instead, he stared down at his feet again, shoulders creeping toward his ears. “I—it’s—I wish that you could just know what’s gonna happen, right? Like—I—well—last night? I told Jenny about—well, I said—or Mama said—”

Jack nudged the other boy with his elbow. “Jesus, Dave. Spit it out before you choke on it.”

“I told her about wanting to get married,” Davey said, all the words tumbling out in one breath.

Albert had pulled himself off of the pavement and was running at Smalls, arms extended in a menacing pantomime of a bear hug. Smalls’ squeal made it all the way to where they were standing, but neither Jack nor Davey gave any sign that they’d heard it.

“Shit,” Jack said in disbelief.

Davey looked back at him. “Yeah.”

“What’d she say?”

“Oh,” Davey said, as though he hadn’t expected the question. He grimaced. “Well, not too much actually.”

“I’m sor—”

Davey shook his head. “No. No, it’s okay. We’re going to wait.” He cocked his head at Jack. “Do you—do you think about that with Katherine?”

Jack stared back down the block. The fracas in front of the gates appeared to have died down; he couldn’t see Albert or Smalls anymore. “’Course I do. I been thinkin’ about it for a good long time. There ain’t nobody else for me, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean,” Davey said. He shifted his neck from side to side, like he was preparing to throw hands. “I just want to prove to her that I mean it.”

“What else can you do?” Jack asked. “I’m sure she knows. I mean, look what you done already.”

Davey turned away, dragging the toe of his boot through the grey slush. “I—I started thinking.”

“Well, you’re real good at that, Dave,” Jack said absently.

“I—I’m thinking I might go back to school,” Davey said. “The new semester starts in a couple weeks, and, well…”

Jack grabbed Davey by the elbows. “Davey, are you—"

Davey gently shook Jack off. “I need a way to take care of her, Jack. And I’m not like the rest of you. I’m not strong or—or—I don’t know, resilient?”   

“You’re wrong about that,” Jack said, shaking his head.

“You know what I mean.”

“Sure.”

“I’m never going to work on the docks or as a sandhog.”

“You don’t wanna.”

“Well, no. But I can’t be a newsie forever.”

“No. You can’t.”

Davey met Jack’s eyes, and Jack could see the resolve in the other boy’s face. “School is my chance to make something of myself. To prove to her that she won’t want for anything.”

“I think that’s real nice, Davey. But—do you—would you be okay? Y’know, back there?” Jack tried ignore the way his gut clenched.

“I’d do it for her,” Davey said softly. “And maybe I should do it for Les anyway, huh?”

Jack sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “How do you mean?”

“If me going back to school is what got us sick—”

“—which ain’t your fault, by the way—”

“—but if it’s why we got sick, if it’s why Les is gone? Maybe I need to finish. It can’t be for nothing, right?”

“I guess,” Jack said.  

Jack held Davey’s eyes, and he could see that Davey was waiting for him to say more, to push back, to argue—but Jack knew he didn’t have any right. He couldn’t stop Davey. And he wasn’t sure that he wanted to.

Jack looked away. Davey started to walk again. No one was left in front of the gates, but they could hear scuffled steps echoing against the cement as they approached the yard.  

“You thought about what you want to do?” Davey asked.

Jack shrugged. “Haul cargo or dig tunnels, right?”

“No, Jackie. I’m serious. You said March. It’s coming up.”

“Yeah. It is,” Jack said. They were at the gate now, and Jack wrapped his hand around one of its bars. The pimpled iron was searingly cold under his bare palm, but he didn’t let go. In the yard, the kids who had surplus papers were lining up to sell them back. Albert was at the head of the line, his red hair drenched in icy water and a smile on his face. Smalls was behind him, bouncing on the balls of her feet and laughing.

“I been thinkin’ about the offer Pulitzer gave me,” Jack said. He leaned away from the gate, letting the rod take his weight as he swung his body outward.

“What offer?” Davey asked.

“Y’know. The cartoonist thing,” Jack said.

Davey’s breath caught. “Oh. I—is that still available?”

“Yeah. You know I told him I’d think on it. He never officially said he’d keep it for me, but—”

Davey raised an eyebrow. “If Katherine said—”

“Exactly,” Jack said with a nod. “Not proud that my girl has to do the heavy lifting—”

“—she doesn’t. You know Pulitzer would never have asked you about it if he didn’t think you were good.”

“Yeah. Well.”

“Come on, Jackie.”

“I ain’t gonna count my chickens just yet. But it could be somethin’,” Jack said. He swung forward and back, a weathervane caught in a shifting gale. “I—could be somethin’.” He had to be. For her.

“You already are,” Davey said.  

Jack let go of the gate and shouldered into Davey, trying to hide his own emotion. “Jesus, Dave. Don’t get all mushy on me.”

Davey pushed him off. “Sorry. I mean, I’m not, but…” Davey smiled. “You’re something.”

And Jack knew. He knew that he should take Davey’s belief in him and run with it, but belief meant expectations, and in Jack’s experience, expectations came with a weight too heavy for running. He didn’t know how to carry them. He never had.

But looking at Davey, bottom lip raw between his teeth, eyes wide and searching, Jack wasn’t so sure the other boy knew how to carry them either. But Davey was trying. He was trying for Jenny. For Les. For himself.

Jack could try. For Katherine. For himself. He could.

He threw his arm around Davey’s shoulders. “So, you’ll be a school boy again.”

“I prefer scholar,” Davey said. Jack snorted. “And you’ll be an illustrator. For The World.”

“Ain’t that big a deal. And ain’t even happened yet.”

“But things are going to start happening,” Davey pointed out. He steered them into the yard and swept his arm at the line of boys. “Think you’ll miss it?”

“What? Bein’ a newsie?” Jack asked.

“Yeah.”

“Miss freezin’ to death and walkin’ through my shoe leather and shoutin’ myself hoarse every day?’”

“Yeah. That.”

“Of course I will,” Jack said. He squeezed Davey’s shoulders and then let him go. “We ain’t never gonna be this free again, Davey. Never.”

Davey’s chin jerked toward Jack. “I—I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“We got the air. We can go anywhere we can take ourselves. We can raise our voices like we ain’t never gonna be allowed again, huh?”

“Free,” Davey murmured.

“Yeah. Free,” Jack said. He sighed. “Never would’a thought you’d catch me in an office.”

“You’ll have to wear a suit. Maybe a tie.”

“Don’t laugh too hard. You was wearin’ a tie the first day I met you, and you’ll be back in one pretty soon, eh, school boy?”

“And then I’ll be in an office too,” Davey said softly. He watched the boys in line, pairs of shadow boxers, cheeks pink with cold, heads thrown back in laughter. Davey’s smile faltered, just for a moment.

Jack cleared his throat and punched lightly at Davey’s shoulder. “And then you’ll sweep Jen off her feet.”

Davey snorted. “And you’ll ride off into the sunset with Kath.”

“I guess I ain’t never gonna ride nowhere, huh?” Jack said. “Gonna be chained to my inkwell from here on out.”

“Never say never. Stranger things have happened.”

“You and Jen.”

“And you and Kath.”

“Imagine you an’ me, a couple a swells with wives,” Jack laughed.  

“Wives,” Davey repeated.

“Sounds real, huh?” Jack said. He elbowed Davey in the ribs. “You scared, Dave?”

“No,” Davey said, but his voice wavered.

“Yeah, me too,” Jack said.

Davey let go a breathless laugh, and Jack rested his hand on the other boy’s shoulder. The muscle there was hard, the line of Davey’s shoulder broad and strong, built up again after months of wither and disuse. It was reassuring. Davey’s shoulders could carry a weight. “Listen, me and Kath is gettin’ an early bite at Jacobi’s before the evenin’ edition. You think you wanna join us?”

Davey shook his head. “I promised I’d be home in time for dinner.” He smiled helplessly. “I want to see if Jenny and Mama found anything.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you want see.” Jack wiggled his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Davey mumbled, cheeks burning. He cocked his head at Jack. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though?”

Jack nodded. “I’ve got ya for a few more weeks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Davey replied. His smile dimmed, just a little. “And then—”

“It’ll be okay, Davey,” Jack said.

“I mean, I hope so.”

“Kath keeps tellin’ me that I gotta believe a little bit more, so—”

Davey lifted his cap, pushing a swoop of dark hair under its brim. He nodded. “I know. I keep telling Jenny the same thing.”

Jack snorted. “You? You keep tellin’ her to believe? Mr. Shit-a-Brick?”

“Yeah, I know.” Davey rolled his eyes. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Ain’t we all?” Jack said. He cuffed Davey’s shoulder, and Davey smiled again, ducking his chin. For a moment, it felt as though they were how they’d always been. Davey wasn’t going back to school, Jack wasn’t weeks from losing the only home he’d really known. Les might just run up to them, waving his wooden sword and demanding an extra pape so that he could con a sweet lady out of a dime with his best Sarah Bernhardt cough. They were boys. Not men. Not now. Not yet.

But soon.

Davey started to turn on his heel and opened his mouth, probably to say goodbye, but slender arms snaked around him from behind. He stopped with a jolt. Katherine.

“Davey!” she cried, and Davey wrapped his arms around himself, letting Katherine thread her arms through his. She squeezed him around the ribs and then released him, keeping one of his hands for good measure. Davey turned to face her. “How did it go? When Jenny didn’t come home, I just assumed—”

“Hey Kath,” Davey said warmly. He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I gotta run, but Jack can explain everything. Jenny’s—she’s staying with us for now. But we’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Of course!” Katherine said. She let her eyes dart around Davey’s shoulder to Jack, and Jack nodded. Yes. Everything is fine.

Davey squeezed her hand, already taking a step backward. “And Kath?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

Katherine shook her head. “Oh, Davey. I’m just glad that it’s working out.”

“Me too,” Davey said. He let Katherine’s hand go.  “Bye guys.”

“See ya, Dave,” Jack said. Davey raised his hand in a half-wave and took off down the block, his steps brisk and expectant. Jenny was waiting.

And so was Katherine.

“Dinner, my love?” Katherine asked, tucking her hand in the crook of Jack’s elbow.

“Late lunch is more like it.”

“Well, whichever,” Katherine replied. She squinted in the direction Davey had gone. “It is working out, right?”

“What?”

“Davey and Jenny. She’s staying with them? What—”

Jack sighed. “Davey took her to meet them last night. And they told his ma.”

“Told her—”

“You know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Jack said. “Apparently, it went okay, though.”

“That’s—my goodness.” Katherine blinked uncertainly. She nodded, still staring down the block. “Good for them. Good for Davey.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Um, shall we?”

“We shall,” Katherine agreed. She kissed the wrinkled wool at his bicep, and they wandered away from the gate, leaving the newsies to their slush assaults and wrestling matches.

The walk to Jacobi’s was short, and usually, peppered with conversation. But not that afternoon. Jack knew he should ask Katherine about her day, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. Davey was on his way to Jenny, ready to lay all he had at her feet. And Jack? Jack walked without seeing where his steps were taking him. Like he always had.

“Jack?” Katherine asked after several silent minutes. Her fingers curved gently against his tendon.

“M’fine, love.”

“Are you?”

He sighed. “I—well, we—me and Davey, before you got there—we was just talkin’ about all the things that are gonna change in the next little bit.”

“Alright. How do you mean?”

“Davey said he’s gonna go back to school.”

Jack felt Katherine’s breath hitch against his side. “I mean—I know that should be good news. But I can’t help but think about—well, you know.”

“Les?”

Katherine nodded. “Is he sure?”

“Seems like it,” Jack said with a sniff. “Say it’s so’s he can make himself worthy of Jenny or somethin’ like that.” Katherine started next to him, but Jack reached over to cover her hand. “No, don’t say anythin’ yet. I—Kath, when he said that—I just…I couldn’t help it.”

“What couldn’t you help?”

He hesitated. But Katherine had shown him every part of herself. Surely he could do the same. Jack cleared his throat. “I want to be worthy. Of you.”

“Jack.” Katherine’s words were more breath than speech. She leaned her head against his shoulder, careful not to lose her footing. “You are. I promise you are.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“I just—all this stuff with the two of them has been makin’ me think, y’know?”

“What have you been thinking, love?” Katherine asked softly.

They were nearly at Jacobi’s now. Jack tugged her away from the doorway, and they stood, framed by the picture window at the deli’s storefront.

He held both Katherine’s hands in his own and took a stuttering breath. “Davey loves Jenny. Just as she is. He don’t care about any of the things that she’s done. His ma don’t care. And Katherine, I—I just—I just—”

Jack’s breath abandoned him, and he felt Katherine loose her hands gently from his. One of her hands wrapped around his waist; the other found the back of his neck, the kid leather of her gloves soft against his weathered skin.

He hadn’t realized he was crying until she guided his forehead toward her shoulder, letting her hand run gently through his hair, down his neck, across his back. She rocked him back and forth, and she did not care about the people who slowed down to stare.

“Jackie. Shhhh,” Katherine soothed. “I love you just as you are. Just as you are. You’ve never had to prove anything to me. Not ever.”

Jack clutched her to him, chest beating hard against Katherine’s body. “But your old man—”

“—gives you more credit than you give yourself,” Katherine finished.

Jack lifted his head. “What?”

Katherine nodded, pushing him gently to her arm’s length, ladylike hands gripping the pilly wool around his shoulders. “You may not be his favorite person, but it isn’t because he doesn’t know that you’re talented.” Her hand caressed his cheek. “And smart.” She pressed up on her tiptoes and let her lips find the hinge of his jaw. “And a completely formidable foe.” Her fingers tugged at the vee between the lapels of his coat.

Jack looked away. “But I ain’t educated or refined or whatever. I been in jail. I fought against your dad.”

“Jack, he doesn’t like you because you’re a man in love with his daughter. He’s never liked any of my sisters’ suitors either. It comes with the territory.”

“But I’m—the things I done—"

“I can’t say none of it matters, because it does.”

“I knew it.” And he tried to pull away, but Katherine held fast to his coat.  

She shook her head. “No, love. It matters because it’s made you who you are. And I love you. Just as much as Davey loves Jenny. More, even.” She looked up at him, her brown eyes more than a little sad. Jack’s chest clenched. “Sometimes, I just wish it was easier for you to let me,” she said.

“Me too,” Jack breathed. His forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know why it isn’t.”

“Jackie,” Katherine said softly. Her hand cupped his cheek. “Even if you don’t know you know, you’ve told me a hundred times.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You’ve lost so many people. And so many things have gone wrong. You’ve told me, and I thought I heard, but I wasn’t really listening.”

“You were,” Jack insisted. “You did.”

“I tried. But I’m just starting to understand. You’re afraid, Jack. Of losing the things you care about. It—sometimes, it keeps you from holding onto things, I think. Because you don’t want to have to let them go.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? What he’d been trying to tell her without understanding what he was trying to say. Jack knew too well that loving was not the same as keeping, that loving was the thing that brought the most pain in the end. Mama had taught him that. And Da. Even Les.

But Katherine’s constancy up to this point had made it worse. Because Jack wanted to believe that she would always be there, and he couldn’t. Why would she be?

But what if—

He thought of Jenny, and the way she’d trusted Davey. Of Race, and how convinced he was that the salve for any wound rested in the hearts of other people, misguided though his schemes were. They had all been hurt, and yet, Jack was the only one hiding, waiting for the hurt to come again.

Why?

Jack looked down at Katherine, auburn curls framing cheeks that had gone pink in the early evening cold, and he couldn’t think of a single reason.

“You’re not going to lose me,” she said firmly. Her jaw was set, her eyes serious. “I’m here. You’re stuck with me. Come what may, no matter what’s already happened. Whatever’s coming next, we will figure it out together. I promise. For sure.”

Jack took a wet and shaky breath. One of Katherine’s fists was still wrapped in the lapel of his coat. An anchor. A reminder. A promise.

What if—

He sniffed. “Your dad really doesn’t think I’m—”

“My father is irritable and more than a little unpleasant,” Katherine interjected. “It isn’t you.”

“So, if I wanted to go after that job he offered…”

“You do?” Katherine’s eyelids fluttered. “Really?”

“Gotta think about my next steps, right?” Jack said. He mopped his face with his hand before setting both hands firmly on her waist. She felt solid, real. “Our next steps?” he asked, tucking his chin toward his shoulder.  

Katherine threw her arms around his neck. “Definitely ours.”

“I love you, y’know?” Jack murmured, holding her flush against him.

“I love you too,” Katherine whispered.

When they pulled away, Jack kept his fingers curled around her waist. “You know when I say next steps, that I mean—”

“I know. And I’m ready when you are,” she said, and when she smiled, Jack couldn’t help drawing her to him again.

“I hear your father’s irritable and kinda unpleasant, though,” he murmured.  “Askin’ him for your hand might—”

“Now would be a good time to shut up,” Katherine said. And she covered his mouth in a kiss that made Jack forget every unanswered question. The spilled ink would never disappear, but there were new lines to sketch.

Chapter Text

Things had started to fall into place over the past few weeks. Jenny was working at a laundry and, though she’d managed to find a room at a ladies’ boarding house not too far from Davey’s tenement, she spent most of her early evenings at the Jacobs’ dinner table. Esther would guide Jenny’s still clumsy fingers through a hemstitch while they gossiped with Sarah or traded jokes with Mayer, and then Davey would walk her home. Jack suspected there were more than a few stolen moments on the roof, and if anyone knew for sure, they pretended not to. Jenny’s hands were red from work, but her eyes were brighter than Jack had seen them in a long time.

And Davey—Jack kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Davey to shrink away from the decision he’d made to return to school. But Davey kept steady. It was different this time. Jack knew that. Davey had made the choice to move on himself, and he was doing it for Les—and for Jenny.

Before they knew it, it was Davey’s last day. He’d—miraculously—managed to sell every last pape, and now they were at Jacobi’s, where Katherine had organized a party that felt like Christmas, Purim, and St. Patrick’s Day all rolled into one.

“He’s had quite the year. I think it would be nice to do a little something to send him off in style, don’t you?” Katherine had asked. And she knew Jack couldn’t argue.

That didn’t change the fact that Davey was a somewhat reluctant guest of honor.

“I—wow—you—y-you didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Davey had stammered, as a chorus of newsies jumped out from every conceivable hiding place when they’d entered the deli. He’d clutched his chest, and Jack was almost concerned that Davey was going to faint. But Jack and Katherine had managed to shore him up long enough to guide him over to the corner booth, where Jenny was waiting for him—and so were Esther, Mayer, and Sarah, all dressed in their Shabbos best, and all looking more than slightly amused at the antics of the mob of newsboys around them.

“No one went to any trouble, and you will enjoy this,” Katherine said, poking Davey’s side.

“Yes ma’am,” Davey agreed automatically. He looked at his family. “She talked you all into this too?”

“We did not have to be ‘talked into’ a party, Daveleh,” Mayer laughed. “And even if we did, your Miss Pulitzer is very—ah—how do you say—”

“Persuasive,” Sarah filled in. Jenny giggled next to her.

“Finishing school wasn’t good for much except learning how to entertain, so I may as well use what I learned when I can,” Katherine replied.

A cackle went up, and Jack turned just in time to see Finch pour the ice from his glass down the back of Specs’ shirt, and Katherine shook her head.

“Somewhere, my mother is very proud of me.”

“I am certain she is, Miss Pulitzer,” Esther said warmly. “Thank you so much for inviting us. And for doing all of this.”

“My pleasure,” Katherine replied. And Jack could see from the smile on her face that it was. He leaned in to press the briefest of kisses to her cheek. Her smile widened. “Thank you for that, Mr. Kelly.”

“My pleasure,” Jack said. “Well, should we get the ball rollin’ here?”

Katherine wrinkled her nose. “In a minute. Davey, can you come with me to the kitchens for a second? I want your opinion on the hors d’oeuvres.”

“The what?” Jack asked.

“Snacks, my love. Snacks.”

Jack nodded. “Ahhh. Well, Davey’s real fond a’ pickles, so if you’ve got those back there—”

Katherine was already moving, dragging Davey behind her. “We’ll be right back!”

“She is a special young lady, Jack,” Esther said, a laugh bubbling beneath the words.

“That she is,” Jack agreed. “It’s good to see you all.”

Jenny looked away from the conversation she’d been having with Sarah and up at Jack. “Jackie, can I—can we talk?” She looked over at Esther, who nodded.

Jack scratched at the back of his neck, confused, but he held out his other hand to help Jenny slide out of the booth. “Sure, Jen. I guess, uh, I guess we’ll also be right back?”

“Take your time,” Mayer said.

Jenny kept her hand in Jack’s as they moved away from the table, and Jack found that she was leading him toward the far end of the bar, where there were more waitstaff than newsies.

“What’s this about, Jen? You alright?”

“I—” she began, but she shook her head. “I’m fine. I promise. But—”

Jenny held out her hand, and Jack saw the envelope she’d taken from Davey the day she met his folks resting in its palm.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“Take it,” she said. “It’s really yours.”

“I don’t—”

“Just take it, Jackie,” Jenny urged.

Jack sighed and grabbed for the envelope. He was surprised when he felt satin between his fingers, and then, he noticed the tiny pearl hooked through a neatly embroidered buttonhole. It wasn’t an envelope at all. 

And then, he could see it. He could see the pouch, tucked neatly inside Mama’s scuffed medicine chest, just beside the prayer card of the Virgin Mother that Jack always thought had looked a little like Mama herself, with roses in her cheeks and sad, lovely eyes. The little white pouch would stay in its place until Jack had been safely tucked in bed, and then Mama would unlock the chest and slip the rosary out of its hiding place. Jack could see her, the thin white cotton of her nightgown pulled taut between the bend of her knees and the splintered floorboards as she worked the jet beads through her fingers and murmured her prayers. Her long, dark hair would be unbound and, with her eyes closed and face bare, she looked almost like a child. Jack supposed she had been; he’d never thought to ask her. Mothers were not children. Except they had been. And sometimes, they were.

Pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our deaths.

Mama.

“Oh. Oh my God,” Jack breathed. “Where did you get this?”

“You remember?” Jenny asked softly.

Jack opened the pouch, his fingertips fat and fumbling against the delicate button. “A’course I do.”

“She was teaching me the mysteries before she got sick, and she said I could hold onto it to practice with. I—well, I never got the chance to return it,” Jenny said. She watched as Jack eased the rosary out of the pouch and into his hand, the shiny black beads piling in his palm. “Do you remember them? The mysteries?”

“Joyful,” Jack said.

Jenny nodded. “And Glorious. And—”         

“Luminous,” they said together, trading knowing smiles.

Jack cleared his throat. “And Sorrowful.”

“She didn’t teach me those,” Jenny said. She touched her fingertip to the beads in Jack’s hand. “She—well, she—”

“Ran out of time,” Jack managed, breath shaking. He’d always known the Sorrowful mysteries. He’d never had a choice.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” Jenny said. “I—I just didn’t have anything to remember her by. And she was the closest thing I had to a mother, you know?”

“You pray?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Jenny said. “I didn’t always—I wasn’t sure that I should. That I was allowed? I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean,” Jack said.

Jenny nodded. “But when I do, I feel like she’s with me. Like she can hear me too. And if she can hear me—”

“It don’t matter if anyone else does,” Jack whispered. He’d spent years pretending Mama could hear him, that she could see what he was going through, and that she cared; he just hadn’t realized he wasn’t the only one.

“Exactly. That’s exactly it.”

Jack blinked self-consciously. “You could keep it, y’know? I ain’t thought about it in years and I—”

“No.” Jenny shook her head and reached to close Jack’s fingers around the beads. “It’s yours, Jackie. She’s yours. She wasn’t mine. Not really.”

“That ain’t true, and you know it,” Jack said. “She loved you.”

“I loved her too,” Jenny said softly. “So did Danny. But…”

Jack watched as Jenny’s eyes moved across the room to where Davey’s parents sat. The other newsies had apparently decided to make their introductions. Esther’s fair head poked out from a throng of newsies; Smalls was cushioned against Esther’s side, beaming up at her. Mayer was at his wife’s other side, dutifully nodding his head along to something Albert was saying. Esther caught Jenny’s eye and smiled.

“But you got folks of your own now, huh?” Jack asked. He slipped the rosary back into the pouch and slid it gingerly into his breast pocket. Jenny laid the flat of her palm against it, and Jack looked down; her red hand was still small as a child’s.

“Maybe,” Jenny said. “I hope so.”

Jack wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the crown of her head. “I’m real glad, Jen. I know it ain’t been easy, ‘specially not the last few months.”

“No,” she murmured into his chest.

“But you got them now. And they’re good people. The best. Davey’s the best. And you deserve the best.”

Jenny pulled away, but she kept her hand on his chest, curling her fingers into the mouth of his pocket. “You believe that?”

“I do,” Jack replied. “Don’t you?”

“I’m trying,” she said. “What about you, huh? You and your heiress.”

“Shaddup.” Jack rolled his eyes and shoved gently at her shoulder. “But yeah. I’m tryin’ too.”

“Good,” Jenny said with a nod. The heel of her palm pressed against the pouch and, even through layers of fabric, Jack felt the curve of the beads roll over his chest. “Think she’d be proud?” Jenny asked.

Jack covered her hand with his own. “I hope so. I really do.”

“I love you, Jackie,” Jenny said softly.

“Love you too, Jen,” Jack replied. “I—”

Jenny threw up her hand and covered Jack’s mouth. “I swear to God, if you apologize again, I’ll punch you in the face. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Jack promptly licked her palm, and the moment was indeed ruined. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jenny’s entire face wrinkled in disgust, and Jack wasn’t at all shocked when he felt his own spit being wiped down the side of his face. He laughed and seized Jenny by the sides, tickling her mercilessly. She squealed and tried to wriggle away, but to no avail; Jack was still bigger and stronger than she was. He lifted her off her feet, and Jenny kicked out, knocking over a chair. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack could see Mr. Jacobi raise concerned eyes to the heavens.

“Ow!” Jenny hissed.

“I didn’t do it. You did!”

“Because—ooph!—you’re—don’t, oh my God—tickling—stop, stop, stop!—agh—”

Jack snickered, squeezing her tighter. “Uncle?”

Jenny managed to pry her elbow out of Jack’s hackneyed embrace, and she was just about to dig it into his ribs when—

“Um, what exactly are you two doing?”

Davey looked as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or die of embarrassment; Race was at his side, face puffed out like a blowfish in a desperate attempt to keep from cracking up. Jenny’s elbow froze in midair, and Jack gulped.

“Just catchin’ up, Dave,” Jack said. He blinked innocently.

“This is what they do, Dave,” Race said helpfully. He slapped Davey on the back. “You get used to it.”

Davey shook his head. “Would you, um—would you mind putting my, uh, my Jenny…down?”

“Yes, would you mind?” Jenny asked sweetly.

Jack set Jenny gingerly on her feet, and he considered himself lucky when she didn’t promptly stomp on his toes. She coolly smoothed her skirt and hair, smiling at Davey.

“Lovely party,” Jenny said.

Davey rolled his eyes and reached for her hand. “Perfect place for hand-to-hand combat.”

“Oh, if that was what we were doing, Jack’d be on the floor,” Jenny said, her voice affected and sweet. She batted her eyelashes. “Right, Jack?”

“Only ‘cause you got pointy elbows, and you never play by the rules,” Jack replied.

“That is a solid fact,” Race said. “Them things is like knives.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow, and Race shrank backward.

“You all are charming; have I ever told you how charming you are?” Davey laughed.

“One of us is charming,” Jack countered. He reached behind himself to tuck in the shirt tail that had come loose when he’d grabbed Jenny.

Jenny snorted. “And the other two are—”

“Oooh, careful now, Miss Egan,” Jack said, with a wicked wiggle of his fingers. “Don’t say somethin’ you might regret now.”

“Yeah, and this time it might be two against one,” Race added, shouldering up next to Jack. They both grinned at her.

“Davey will protect me,” Jenny said, and she quickly stowed herself behind Davey’s lithe frame. “Won’t you, Davey?” She peeked around his arm at Jack and Race and stuck out her tongue.

“I am definitely not getting in the middle of whatever this”—Davey gave a noncommittal wave of his hand— “is.” 

“Too late,” Jack said with a grin. He saw Jenny’s hand discreetly slip between the front of her skirt and the back of Davey’s trousers, and if Davey’s strangled yelp was any indication, she had definitely pinched his backside. Race doubled over in laughter.

“I take it back. You’re none of you charming,” Davey grumbled. “And at my party too,” he added dramatically.  

“Ah, yes, the conquerin’ school boy!”

“And here I thought you loved me,” Jenny tsked. She wrapped her arm around Davey’s waist and forced herself under his arm.

“I know he loves me,” Jack added.

“I ain’t so sure about me, really,” Race admitted ruefully. “Although I ain’t got a proper thank you for bringin’ this lovely lady into your life.”

Out of habit, Jack’s stomach lurched, but it was clear the wounds had started to scab; Davey took it in stride. He pulled away from Jenny and grabbed Race’s face in both his hands, smacking a wet kiss against the other boy’s cheek. “Thank you, Race, from the very bottom of my heart. And don’t ever, ever try to help me again.”

“The boys at school know that’s what you do to a guy what wronged you, they’ll stay far away,” Race mumbled, mopping Davey’s spit off his face. Then, he thought better of it. He smirked. “Well, maybe not all of ‘em will mind so much. You be careful there, Davey. Wouldn’t want your gal havin’ to beat away the boys what gets too friendly.”

“And just like that, moment over,” Davey said with a shake of his head. He pulled Jenny to him again, and she leaned her head against his chest, trying to smother her giggles in the crisp fabric of his shirt.

Race laughed. “Aw, Davey. We’re gonna miss you around here.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We really are.”

Davey nodded. “I’m going to miss you guys too. But I’ll be around. And besides, Jack, you’re going to be too busy for us all pretty soon anyway.”

Jack blushed and looked at his feet. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You told them yet?” Davey asked.

“A few,” Jack replied. “I’m surprised more of ‘em ain’t figured it out since Race is one of the ones who knows.”

“Hey!” Race sputtered. “I can keep a secret. I just ain’t so good at makin’ plans.”

“We know,” Jack and Davey said together.

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome,” Race said sourly. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Maybe it won’t be so bad with you two gone. Maybe I’ll get the respect I deserve.”

“Aw, Racer, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy,” Jenny said with a completely unsuccessful attempt at stifling a laugh.

“Jesus, what’s a guy gotta do to catch break from you people?” Race huffed.

“If we figure it out, we’ll let you know,” Davey said, and a smirk spread across his lips. His arms wrapped lazily around Jenny’s waist, and she leaned her head back against his chest. Her smile was easy and sure. So was Davey’s.

Jack hadn’t realized just how long it had been since he’d seen that same expression on Davey’s face—months, at least. It had been months since Davey’s shoulders sagged in relief rather than defeat, months since he’d looked at Jack the way he was now, like they were on the same side and Davey wouldn’t have it any other way.

But Jack knew that he’d never seen Jenny this way, not even when Danny was still alive. Jenny’s beauty had always been barbed, hidden behind bared teeth and those same sharp elbows. Jack knew that she’d had to lock parts of herself away to survive, to keep something from the rough touch of roving hands. But seeing her in Davey’s arms, Jack almost felt like he was seeing her in a way he never had before. Not because of Davey, but with him. 

They were both, maybe for the first time, unbound and unguarded.

Jack thought again of Mama at her prayers, of the blessings and absolution that she so desperately wanted. Jack had found some absolution of his own.

“I’m thinkin’ it’s time for the toast,” Jack said, letting his own smile take hold.  

Davey’s ease faded. “Toast? Oh, Jack, I don’t—”

“Shaddup. We’re honorin’ you, whether you like it or not,” Race interrupted. “’Sides, Jackie-boy’s been workin’ on this for a week.”

“You have?” Davey asked.

Jack felt his cheeks burn. “Well, I mean, don’t get your hopes up or nothin’. Um, Race, would you—”

“—yeah, I’ll get Kath. Just a second.”

“This is a double act?” Jenny asked, raising her eyebrows. “I thought you were good at giving speeches, Jackie.”

“He is,” Davey said immediately. He met Jack’s eyes over the crown of Jenny’s head and nodded, pulling Jenny somehow closer against him. “He’s the best.”

“Only when I got the right guy tellin’ me what to say,” Jack said, winking at Davey. “But I’m not the only one who has some things to say to Davey here.”  

“Oh,” Davey said softly.

Jenny leaned up to kiss the curve of his jaw. “If I had known, I might have a few things to say myself.”

Jack didn’t have a chance to laugh at the way Davey’s Adam’s apple suddenly bounced up; Katherine swept toward them, flanked by Mr. Jacobi and a tray of glass mugs filled with sudsy brown sarsaparilla. Identical trays were floating around to all corners of the restaurant.

“Everyone grab a drink, please!” Katherine instructed, voice rising above the din—pointlessly, it turned out, as the newsies had already created an eager assembly line to ensure that everyone had a mug. Jack could see Blink making an exaggerated bow as he supplied Sarah with her glass, which she accepted with an admirably straight face. Race had swiped a couple drinks from Mr. Jacobi’s tray and was hustling through the crush of boys to deliver them to Esther and Mayer, who were still holding court with Smalls and Albert. Jenny grabbed two glasses for herself and Davey, who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

Katherine was at Jack’s side now, a mug of sarsaparilla in one manicured hand and a hearty butter knife in the other. She shook her curls behind her shoulders and hoisted her glass in the air, rapping on its side with the blade of the knife. Sarah and Esther immediately followed her lead, and there was a sudden tinkling all around.

Davey was roughly the color of a beet, and Jenny was loving every second of it.

“Thank you,” Katherine said with a pert nod as the clatter died down. She set the knife down and let her hand slip into Jack’s. “As you all know, we’re here today to celebrate Davey Jacobs”—a cheer went up, and Jenny squeezed Davey with all her might—“and the time he’s spent as a newsie. Every one of us that made it through the strike knows just how important Davey’s been to lower Manhattan”—more hooting and hollering from the gallery—“and to all of us lucky enough to be his friend—because there’s no truer friend than Davey. And no one knows that better than his partner. Jack?”

Jack nodded and squeezed Katherine’s hand before he stepped forward. He raised his glass toward Davey. “You all know I got plenty I could say about Davey,” Jack said, and there was the soft twitter of laughter. “And I’ll say it too. But anybody who knows Davey knows that he ain’t just a newsie. He’s a real smart guy, a great leader, a tremendous pain in the ass—sorry, Mrs. Jacobs—and someone who’d do anythin’ to take care of the people he loves.

“We all know Davey was a newsie ‘cause he wanted to do what was best for his family. And we didn’t have to know his folks to see that. We could see it ‘cause he took such good care of Les.”

The laughter died, bit by bit. Somber faces tilted toward their full glasses, and there were a few sniffs.  Jack’s hand wavered ever so slightly, the sarsaparilla trembling in the glass. He let himself look at Davey, whose blush had faded away. Jenny’s arms tightened around Davey; Katherine’s hand found the small of Jack’s back.

“Davey’s the best brother there is, and we all seen it more times’n we can count. Sarah knows.”

Sarah raised her glass to Jack with a careful smile, her eyes shining.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs, Sarah—we all miss Les too. An’ even though this here shindig is about Davey, we wanted to make sure you knew how much we all loved him. So, this first one is for Les—a born newsie, if ever there was one.”

Glasses were lifted in time with soft murmurs of To Les. Jack couldn’t bring himself to look at where Esther and Mayer were sitting, and when he looked back at Davey, the other boy’s eyes were wet and red—but not unhappy. Jenny kissed Davey’s cheek so gently he might have been made of glass. She nodded to Jack. 

“Thanks,” Jack said, swallowing hard.

Katherine’s fingers knuckled into the fabric at the back of Jack’s shirt, and he took a shaky breath.

“The first thing we all prob’ly noticed about Davey is how much he loved his little brother. We all saw Davey throw hisself in front a’ guys twice his size to keep Les safe, an’ we all know that he didn’t think twice about it because Davey always puts the folks he loves first. Every time. He can’t help it.

“And that’s what bein’ a newsie is really about. We sell our papes for the big guys”—a scoff from Katherine—“but we’s a family first. It don’t matter that Davey is shit—sorry, um, not great? Look, he ain’t the best at hawkin’ a headline, and we all know it. But he’s our brother, an’ he wouldn’t never let none of us down. He ain’t never let me down, even when I done him wrong.

“We all know Davey’s headin’ back to school, and that don’t surprise nobody; he’s smart as a whip, an’ we all know he’s gonna do great things. But, Dave, we didn’t want to let you go without tellin’ you what you mean to us, and without wishin’ you well for the future you’re goin’ after.”

Jack met Jenny’s eyes with a shy smile, and then he looked to Davey, who was still wrapped tightly in her arms. Davey’s chin scraped the air in front of him, his jaw taut against the tears that Jack could see in his eyes, but he nodded at Jack to go on.

“We’re gonna miss you, but this ain’t goodbye. You got a place with us no matter what, and besides—once you found your family, there ain’t no such thing as goodbye.” Jack cleared his throat. “To Davey.”

“To Davey!” Race echoed from his place next to Esther and Mayer. Jack finally looked over, and both Esther and Mayer were smiling warmly, their cheeks wet but mugs lifted high.

“To Davey!”

Katherine yanked Jack backward by his shirt tail and pushed up on her toes to kiss him. “You did it, love. That was beautiful.”

Jack scoffed. “I don’t know ‘bout that.”

“I do,” Jenny’s voice said behind him. He turned, and she enfolded him in a tight hug. “That was great, Jackie. I see what everybody means about you and your speeches.”

Davey hung back, his cheeks red.

“How’d I do, Dave?” Jack asked. His hand reached for Davey’s, and Davey gripped Jack’s tightly.

“Thank you,” Davey rasped. “I—I didn’t know—”

“Yeah, you did,” Jack said, ducking his chin and clapping Davey on the back with his free hand. “I just ain’t ever put it quite like that before.”

“No,” Davey agreed. He rolled his lower lip between his teeth, and his eyes danced away from Jack’s and down to his feet—but for the first time in months, Jack didn’t feel like he’d lost him. Davey sighed. “I—well—I just—thanks. Thank you.”

And then Davey’s arms were tight around him. Jack hugged him back, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jenny and Katherine exchange a knowing smile.

Around them, the other boys had settled back into booths and around tables, swigging at their sarsaparilla. The deli was humming again; Jack’s words had dissolved into the air, and life was already moving forward. But Esther and Mayer were on Jack and Davey now, Sarah at their heels.

“Oh, Jack,” Esther said, bracing one hand on the side of Jack’s face and the other on Davey’s shoulder. “I—those were beautiful words. About both our boys. I don’t—well, I am not sure I know how to thank you.”

Jack’s cheeks burned. “You don’t gotta thank me, Mrs. Jacobs. I didn’t say nothin’ that ain’t true.”

“Even still,” Mayer said with a smile. “It was important for us to remember those things. For David to hear them as well, huh?”  

Jack looked at Davey. Davey looked at Jack. There was an inordinate amount of hemming and hawing.

“Katherine—Miss Pulitzer, you tell him, huh?” Mayer laughed.

“I would, Mr. Jacobs. But I can’t make him listen,” Katherine replied, wrapping her arm around Jack’s waist.

Esther rolled her eyes. “All men are the same.”

“No. They’re not.”

Jack heard Jenny’s voice behind him, but the words were not for him—not just then. Her voice was low, and he knew that she was talking only to Davey; that if Jack turned to look, he would see Jenny’s forehead nodding against Davey’s shoulder. But Jack didn’t look. It wasn’t his moment to watch.

“And thank goodness,” Sarah murmured, smiling at her brother and Jenny.  

“Yes,” Esther echoed, but her smile was for Jack. “Thank goodness indeed.”

The party lasted for a while longer. At some point, something stronger than sarsaparilla started to circulate—provided, no doubt, by Race and some associates from Sheepshead—and Mr. Jacobi produced an accordion from the back pantry. The music started out lively, and the newsies were a frenetic swarm of arms and legs, but eventually, Mr. Jacobi’s fingers moved more slowly, and the melodies became plaintive and a little sad.

Mayer and Esther danced together, Mayer’s leg dragging ever so slightly, but his arms holding his wife fast and sure. Davey and Jenny were wrapped against each other, and their feet hardly moved. Jenny’s head was pillowed against Davey’s chest, the same easy smile on both their faces, and Davey kept ducking down to kiss the crown of her head. Sarah was spinning a little awkwardly with Racetrack, who was the latest in a line of newsies who had patiently waited their turn to dance with Davey’s beautiful sister. Race’s rhythm did not match the music, but Sarah’s grin suggested that it didn’t much matter.

Katherine was in Jack’s arms, her hands looped firmly behind his neck as she watched his eyes dart around the room.

“Can I ask you something?” Katherine asked, her voice melting into the layered notes wheezing from Mr. Jacobi’s accordion. Her fingers drummed softly on the knob at the top of Jack’s spine.

“A’course.”

“When it’s your turn—you know, to leave all of this, to do what Davey is—how will you feel?”

Jack thought for a moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to leave; Jack had left or been left too many times to be precious about change. A guy had to keep moving. Jack had always moved forward, even when he wasn’t sure what the next step was. He didn’t have a choice.

Until now.

It wasn’t the kind of choice Katherine might understand. Jack’s choice was the kind you had to make in the split second before a door closed. But this time, he’d managed to wedge his toe in the jamb, to peek at what was on the other side before he let the door slam and gave himself over to darkness, like he had so many times before.

But this time, the weight of Mama’s prayers was heavy against his breast, sagging in his pocket. Jack had heard her murmured petitions night after night; he hadn’t been able to sleep unless she was next to him, and so he would lie with his eyes buttoned shut, listening. So many of her prayers were for him, and every one was hopeful. She hoped Jack would grow up healthy and strong. She hoped that he would keep his tender heart, that he would be a better man than his father had been. She hoped that he would do better for himself than she had done. Mama hadn’t had choices, not even the choice to try to peek ahead.  

But Jack could see enough of what was waiting to know that he would be all right. Just like Jenny. She’d pressed her eye to the keyhole of what could be and seen at least a sliver of hope, of Davey, on the other side. Davey was doing his best to pry open the door, to let her in; Katherine was doing the same for Jack.

She blinked up at him, her brown eyes almost amber in the gaslight. Jack let his hands move from her waist to the pink apples of her cheeks, and he felt her skin start to warm beneath his fingers. He ducked down to kiss her, and it was not a polite kiss. Katherine almost gasped, and Jack used her breath as an excuse to push further, his tongue slipping against hers. Mr. Jacobi’s fingers slipped against the keys, sharps and flats dropping into nothing, and there were a few low whistles and hoots around the room.

When he pulled away, Katherine was nearly breathless. “I—I—Jack—what did you—that—that wasn’t an answer to my question.”

“Oh, yes, it was,” Jack laughed. “I’ll be okay, Kath. Because it means I’m one step closer to startin’ that future we been talkin’ about. And I can’t wait for that.”

“Hear, hear!” Davey called. His arms were tight around Jenny’s waist, and Jack assumed that, if Esther and Mayer weren’t standing right there, Jenny would have been kissed just as thoroughly as Katherine had been. Jack also had a suspicion that if Davey and Sarah weren’t standing right there, Esther would have been kissed just as thoroughly herself.

“Do you mean it?” Katherine asked.

Jack nodded. “Like I said, once you find your family, there ain’t no such thing as goodbye. The newsies is my family. But so are you. And it don’t matter what changes, so long as you’re there.”

“I will be,” Katherine said, her voice thick.

“I know,” Jack said. “And that ain’t nothin’.”

He kissed her again, softly this time. Mr. Jacobi started to play, a jolly waltz; probably, Jack thought, to discourage any further public indecency. Esther and Mayer moved toward the counter for a cup of coffee, and Race grabbed Sarah, pulling her back out on the floor. And as Jack took Katherine’s hand, he caught sight of Davey and Jenny. Davey’s hand was molded to Jenny’s waist, leading her through the time steps with a confidence that Jack hadn’t seen in a very long time. And Jenny let Davey lead, trusting him even when she twirled so fast that the world must have blurred around her. They laughed and spun and clung to each other with all their might.

It wasn’t what Jack had planned at all. It was better.

Chapter Text

The party had gone later than expected. When Mama and Papa made to leave, people were still dancing—although Mr. Jacobi had put away the accordion and turned on the phonograph, his fingers too stiff and tired to keep up with the young feet of his customers. David hardly noticed. He held Jenny close against his chest, so close he almost couldn’t tell where he ended and she began, and he wondered why they hadn’t found occasion to dance more often.

“David?” Mama’s hand was on his shoulder, and he felt as though he were being dragged out of a dream.

“Hmm?”

Esther smiled at him. “We’re going home now. Papa’s leg is smarting a little, and I think we’d both like to be in our bed sooner rather than later, huh? Sarah’ll see us home.”

David nodded. “Alright. I’ll be along—I just have to walk Jenny—”

“No,” Mama shook her head. “It’s nearly nine o’clock. They’ll have locked up the boarding house. Jenny, dear, you sleep in with Sarah, and I’ll make sure to have the cot out for Daveleh in the kitchen, yes?”

“Thank you, Esther,” Jenny replied.

Esther reached past David’s shoulder and laid her hand on Jenny’s cheek. “You’re always welcome. I am so proud of you both. This was—this was a very special night.”

“It was,” Jenny agreed, notching neatly under David’s arm, like it was a place carved especially for her soft curves. David felt suddenly warm.

“Don’t stay out too late, alright?” Mama said. “I’ll leave the lamp on the table.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Mayer held out his hand, and Esther moved to meet him at the door. Papa’s arm looped lazily around Mama’s waist, and his gait stuttered just a little as they pushed out of the deli and into the street, Sarah following with a smile on her face. Through the picture window, David could see his parents’ heads bent together, his father’s mustache inching toward the pert upturn of his mother’s nose. A quick kiss, and then they ambled away, arm in arm.

“I’m proud of you too, you know,” Jenny said. She shifted so that they were face to face again, her arms around his neck. And God, the way her chin dipped into the hollow of her throat, the way her eyes seemed to sparkle in the lamplight, the way her dark curls had come undone as they danced—

David couldn’t help himself. He lifted her by the waist and kissed her, hard.

There weren’t many newsies left—even Jack had ducked out to help Katherine find a cab—but the ones who were still there nearly combusted.

“DAY-VEY!”

“…didn’t think he had it in ‘im, did you?”

“S’a good thing his ma left!”

David couldn’t be bothered to care. Not just then.

When he set Jenny on her feet again, her face was three different shades of pink. “Davey—”

He smothered a grin. “What?”

“A girl needs to breathe, you know,” Jenny said. She gripped the blunted triangles of his collar to steady herself.

“Only every now and again,” David replied. Jenny slapped playfully at his chest, and he caught up her hand, turning it right over and pressing his lips softly to her pulse point. “Thank you. For being here.”

Jenny softened. “I wouldn’t have missed it. Like I said, your mama’s not the only one who’s proud, okay?”

“What are you proud of?” he asked. The phonograph crackled out a softer tune, and their feet started a slow shuffle, hardly moving at all. David let one hand find Jenny’s waist, extending their clasped hands in a soft arabesque; Jenny rested her fingertips on his shoulder. They looked proper now, but David could feel the energy thrumming between them. His fingers flexed against her waist, and the space between them almost disappeared again.

“I’m proud of you for doing something that scares you, for one,” Jenny said. “And I’m proud that I’m yours. I—I’ve never felt that before. I didn’t think I would ever. But I know, what you’re doing, you’re doing for us. Even if it’s hard.”

“I am,” David murmured. And it is hard.

They swayed for the rest of the song without speaking. The needle clicked away from the record, and Mr. Jacobi looked nervously at the Regulator clock that hung above the kitchen door.

“I think the party’s over,” Jenny whispered.

“It’s my last day,” David said.

“I know,” Jenny said, guiding their twined hands down. Their bodies peeled away from each other, but Jenny kept his hand in hers. “But you heard what Jack said, right?”

“Hmm?”

“About family? This isn’t goodbye forever,” she said.

Around them, tables were being cleared and boys were putting on their coats. Most waved casually at Davey and murmured their thanks to Mr. Jacobi before shuffling out into the night. Jack was right. It wasn’t goodbye forever.

But as David watched the other boys leave, he realized there was a certain goodbye he hadn’t yet made. And he had to do it before he could start again.

“Davey?” Jenny’s voice called him back.

“What?”

“It’s time to go.”

“Yeah,” David said, shaking himself. “Yeah.”

Jenny must have let go of him, because David realized that she’d managed to produce their coats without his noticing. She gently spun him around and helped his lanky arms into their sleeves, and then spun him back to do up his buttons, bottom to top. He was still a little sweaty and lightheaded from the dancing. Jenny eased into her own coat and took his hand again.

“Are you ready?”

And even though it was not what Jenny was asking, he suddenly wasn’t sure that he was.

David cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he called. “Mr. Jacobi? Thank you so much.”

The old man smiled a tired smile.  “You’re welcome, son. Be good, huh? Make sure that you come around.”

“I will.”

David didn’t even realize they were outside until he heard the door click shut behind them. The cold stung his cheeks, and he felt Jenny burrow in close to his side.

“Where did you go?” she asked gently.

“There’s something I need to do,” David said.

Jenny nodded seriously. “Okay. Okay. But Davey—it’s late. What—”

“Tomorrow,” he interrupted. “There’s something—would you go with me tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Jenny replied, her voice soft. She squeezed his ribs. “Where do you want to go?”

“I want to—I need to see Les,” David said. The words rattled. “I can’t—if I don’t—I can’t go back there if I don’t. I have to—”

“I know,” Jenny said, pressing her finger to button his lips before his breath could mount. “We’ll go.”

David let his forehead drop to meet hers. “Thank you.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Home?” David asked, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Home.”

As they left Jacobi’s, David was careful not to look back. He knew that he couldn’t. But Jenny’s hand was warm in his, and that was something.

***

It was easier if David pretended that it was the rumble of the elevated that was making his insides jitter and tremble. He knew that he should have been to see Les long before, but somehow, he hadn’t been able to make himself go.

Mama, Papa, and Sarah had made the trip at least once a month since the burial society had put up Les’ stone. At first, they did not ask if David wanted to go; at first, he wasn’t strong enough, and then the weather turned, and they were worried he would get sick again. But after he’d gone back to work, Mama had asked. She had only touched his cheek when he told her that he couldn’t, but he knew what she was thinking.

Grief is a valley that must be walked through, from its black mouth to the promise of light on the other side. It is not something that can be avoided. There is no shortcut, no alternate route. 

David had not grieved. Not really. He hadn’t sat shiva. His garments had stayed intact. The tears he’d cried had been for himself. He hadn’t let himself face Les. Not yet. But he knew that he had to. If he was going to put on that stupid cap and uniform and convince himself that it was all right that he was there and Les was not, he had to see his brother—he had to understand.  

David’s feet thrummed along with the train’s bump and rattle, nearly bouncing out of their shoes.

Jenny’s hand was warm around David’s, and she twitched her thumb over his, stopping its nervous circles. He looked at her, her rosy cheeks and wide green eyes, and tried to concentrate on the soft dapple of freckles across her nose. Jenny looked back, and she held his gaze just as tightly as she held his hand. She took a deep breath, and David knew he was meant to follow; he took a deep breath too. Jenny nodded in approval. Sarah had taught her well.

“It will be alright, you know,” Jenny murmured softly. She ducked her head, dark curls wrapped under her old red scarf, and kissed his shoulder.

David shook his head, and the movement felt strange and jerky, as though someone else were pulling an invisible string attached to his chin. “I just—I haven’t been yet,” he admitted.

“What?”

“I haven’t come to visit.”

Jenny sighed. “Davey, it’s—”

“It isn’t. It’s not okay,” David said, and his head was pulled back and forth, back and forth. “I should have—it’s my fault that he—”

Jenny’s hands were on either side of his face, cutting the string, forcing him to look back at her; her small hands were dry and raspy against his cheeks. “Hey. Hey. I thought we were past that.”

“Me too. I thought I was too,” David said. Because he’d been doing so much better. He thought of spinning around Jacobi’s with Jenny the night before, warm and heady with wine. But the train car was cold, and the late winter light was stark and unforgiving.

He sighed. “But going there—I didn’t see it happen, you know?”

It didn’t mean that he hadn’t pictured it. Les had died of the thing that nearly killed David, after all. But it wasn’t comforting to imagine Les’ skin turning gray or to think of him gasping for air. So, David tried not to. But without having seen—

Jenny’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I don’t know, actually. What it’s like not to see it.” Her hands fell away from him, and she tucked them neatly in her lap, her thumbnails digging absently at her workworn knuckles.  

Of course. He was a prize idiot.

“Jenny—”

“I’m not saying it because I’m upset, Davey,” Jenny said, and her voice was clear and steady. Still, she looked down at her little red hands and not at David. “I saw Danny. And when you see something, it’s easier to understand it. You’ve come so far—but it’s alright if there’s still some ground to cover, you know?” She touched his thigh and left her hand where it fell. “But don’t go backwards. Please? Not now.”

David wrapped his arm around her, and he was relieved when he felt her relax against him.

“It’s just harder than I thought,” he said. 

“Of course it is,” Jenny replied. “But I’m here, you know.”

“I know,” David said, squeezing her tighter.

“You’re not doing this alone.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

A nasal voice rang through the car, which jolted and shuddered its way to a great impression of stillness. “Lefferts Park! Lefferts Park next!” 

“That’s us,” Jenny said.

“Yeah.”

David did what he was supposed to. He stood, took Jenny’s hand, helped her up, and escorted her from the car. He offered his elbow as they descended the platform, and he managed to put one foot in front of the other, carefully following the directions he’d rehearsed with Mama before he’d left their flat. He took a breath whenever he felt Jenny’s ribs expand next to his own.

And then they were at the gates. Mokom Shalom. Mama and Papa had little say in where Les would be laid to rest; with Mayer’s troubles at work and the doctor’s bills, they’d had to appeal to one of the Hebrew burial societies. And so, Les was here. Far from home, surrounded by strangers.

David peered through the gate, at the vast expanse of stones that lay ahead, and he actually gulped.

“We should go in,” Jenny said.  

David didn’t move. “I know it’s silly. It’s just a cemetery.”

“It isn’t silly.”

He looked down at Jenny. “Does Danny—is he—”

She shook her head. “No. There’s no place to visit,” she said softly, dipping her fingers into her coat pocket.

“I—” David began, but Jenny stopped him with a shake of her head.

“You don’t always have to be sorry,” she said with a smile that was neither happy nor sad. She cocked her head and looked up at David. “But could you do something for me?”

“Anything.” And he meant it.  

“Be grateful for this. Even though it will hurt. Because it’s something you will always have—a place where you can be with him—and that’s not nothing.” She drew her hand out of her pocket and brushed her fingers across his cheek. “And don’t apologize.”

David blushed. “I can’t help it.”

Jenny swallowed a laugh and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I know,” she said. “But try.”

“I’ll try,” David agreed, pulling away from the kiss with his eyes still closed.

“Good,” he heard her say. He opened his eyes, and the same ambiguous smile still rested on her lips. “Let’s go in, huh?”

And even though David would rather run in the opposite direction, he followed Jenny through the gates. They walked hand in hand, David half a step behind. The gravel pathway crunched under their boots, dark and wet underneath the melting snow.

The section at the front of the cemetery was well-manicured and replete with gleaming stones, some nearly waist high. No one else was about. David focused on reading the Hebrew inscriptions as they moved past, on counting the stones that had been piled on top of the monuments, trying to slow his thoughts, to force himself to be present. Jenny kept easing him forward, her little hand tight and sure around his own.

David watched her curls move in the brisk wind, somehow darker against the red of her scarf. She was fearless.

Almost.

He cleared his throat and pulled her backward, just for a moment. “Can I—”

She rolled her eyes, and he knew she thought he was going to try to apologize again. “Davey, don’t—”

“No, it’s not that. Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll always have me,” he said, carefully tucking a flyaway tendril back under her scarf.

“What?”

“You said I’ll always have this. And I know it isn’t the same thing. But you’ll always have me. And you’ve told me all about Danny. So… I can be your place.”

“Oh,” Jenny beathed. She looked down at her booted toes.

“Was that the wrong thing to—”

She looked up suddenly, shaking her head. “No. No, it was… I love you, you know?”

“Me too. I love you too,” David said. He kissed her, gently, and tugged on the end of her knotted scarf. “Thanks for coming out here with me.”

Jenny nodded, smiling up at him, and he pretended not to notice the way her eyes were shining. She turned to pull him along, but they had reached a fork in the pathway.

“Do you know where he is?” Jenny asked.

“Mama told me,” David said, leading her toward the right. “I think it’s this way.”

As they moved farther from the entrance, the stones were smaller and dull, and the narrow strips of brown grass between them unkempt; David knew they would be weedy and wild come spring. But there were trees and a not-unpleasant oversized puddle of a pond, still cloudy with half-melted ice. Les would have liked this better than being surrounded by polished marble stones.

Mama had said that Les was under a young beech tree, just after a bend in the path. He was with the other charity children, the boys and girls who could not become men and women. But at least they were not alone, David thought.

His eyes skimmed over the collection of little stones, all hardly taller than the books he’d already set out to carry to school with him the next day.

And then, he saw it. Him. He saw Les.

“It’s—that’s—there. There he is,” he said, and his chest suddenly felt tight. His feet stopped on the path, and Jenny snapped back against him.  

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Are you—"

David flinched. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

They stood that way for a moment, Jenny holding him as tightly as she could. He could feel her eyes searching his face, but he couldn’t look at her. He could only look at the little hunk of limestone with Les’ name.

“Davey?”

“They didn’t have much money for a stone,” David said softly. “But the burial society—well, because he was so little, they—”

“They helped,” Jenny finished.

David nodded. He wasn’t sure that he could move.

Jenny let his hand go and stepped off the path. David watched as she knelt on the grass, dark spots soaking her knees as they met patches of foundering snow. David knew the ground would still be cold and hard, that it wouldn’t really thaw for weeks yet, but Jenny looked as at ease as if she were sitting on the eiderdown they still kept on the roof. She ran her little red fingertips over the simple carving of Les’ name, over the years that would always be too close to one another: 1889-1900. He would be eleven, almost, forever.

“Hi,” Jenny said softly. She rested her hand on top of the small stone. “Hi, Les.”

And then David couldn’t help himself. He tripped out of the walk way and lowered himself to the ground next to Jenny. She gently took his hand and pressed it to the marker. When his fingers brushed against the white stone, David almost gasped.

“It’s alright,” Jenny said. “You’re here. I’m here.”

“He was better than me,” David said. The pad of his pointer finger traced the ‘L’ at the beginning of Les’ name.

“What?”

“Better. He was better.”

“Davey—”

“Being a newsie was his very favorite thing. I—when Papa told us we’d have to sell, I was so angry. And, I don’t know, scared, maybe. But Les couldn’t wait. And then we get out there and—God, he was so good. Like Jack.”

“Like Danny,” Jenny said, watching David lay the flat of his hand against the stone.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like a duck to water. Or whatever people say,” she said with a careful smile. “He was always happy when he was out there with his papes.”

“Les too. A natural.” David blushed. “I—well, you heard Jack. I never was. I—"

Jenny shifted so that she was on her bottom, not caring about the damp. She leaned into David, and he threaded his arm around her.

“Tell me something else about him. What else did he like?”

David thought for a moment. “Books about knights. Baseball. Girls. He—well, he always had a date. I don’t even know where they went or what they did, but he was always with some little girl. They loved him.”

“Oh?”

“I—yeah. He was better at that too,” David said.

Jenny nuzzled at the place where David’s neck met his shoulder. “I think you’re doing just fine.”

“He told me once that when you meet the right girl, it’s like your heart falls out of your butt,” David said. He laughed, light and breathy. “He was right.”

“Is that so?” Jenny asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah,” David murmured. His eyes stung, but he steeled himself and kissed the crown of Jenny’s head. “I wish you could know him.”

“Me too,” Jenny replied, and he knew that she meant it.

“I just—” he started, but he could not finish. His chest was tight and his eyes full.

David would never understand why it had happened. And maybe it wasn’t his to understand why. But Jenny was right. Being there, seeing the stone that marked Les’ life, made everything seem more real. Before, it was like Les had just gone away. Like he might come back someday. But David knew now that he would not. The stone was hard, the carvings on its face permanent.

And there, bent over the block of limestone, David cried for Les.

Jenny wrapped herself around him, absorbing every shudder, every sob, until there weren’t any more. They stayed that way for a long time, Jenny silently rocking him back and forth. David knew that she understood, that she was not angry or embarrassed—and neither was he. There was no distance between them. And for once, David did not apologize. He let Jenny hold him, and he let himself feel the things that he needed to.

Gradually, David’s breathing slowed, and he wiped his face with the palm of his hand. Jenny’s lips whispered across his cheek. He carefully reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of river stones that Les had picked out the summer before; they’d had to run home before they could go to the docks, and Les had never had the chance to try them out. They were not too big, not too small, but smooth, worn by the current and perfect for skipping. David stacked them neatly on top of Les’ marker, a tiny cairn.

“What are those for?” Jenny asked, still cradled against David’s side.

“It’s tradition,” he said, his voice wet and shaky. “It lets them know you were here. Some people think it protects the souls of the dead.”

Jenny looked at the twin stones for a moment, and then, she reached into her own pocket. David couldn’t see what she had pulled out at first, but her red fingers pressed a small, tortoiseshell button next to David’s stones.

Danny’s button.

“Maybe they can protect each other now,” Jenny said, her voice almost a whisper.  

David shook his head. “You—are you sure?”

Jenny nodded. “I am. You’re my place. This is theirs.”

David pulled her to him, her face buried against his shoulder. He had not traded Les for Jenny, not exactly, but he was familiar with the dealings of a God who wanted to instruct, but who could still be merciful. Les was not a sacrifice; he was an accident. Jenny was not an accident; but she was a blessing. David’s pain was tempered by love—and so was Jenny’s. God’s judgment was not without mercy. The world had not yet ended.

“We’ll protect each other too,” David said. He wrapped her curls around his hand.

Jenny smiled up at him. “Always.”

They stayed with Les a while longer, and then David stood; he knew Mama was waiting supper for them, that there was school and work to think of in the morning. He touched his fingertip to Danny’s button and, without thinking, pressed his finger to his lips. He helped Jenny right herself, and she leaned down to look at the stone, cradling her hand on its craggy side.

“Be good,” she whispered.

And then they turned and walked away from what had been, toward what could be, hands threaded together against the cold.