Page 9

The remains of our aborted dinner still littered the table—half-eaten plates of stroganoff congealing, Frankie’s highchair tray splattered with smears of gravy and stray peas.

A wave of weariness washed over me at the sight, but I couldn’t just leave it.

Mechanically, I cleared the table, scraped the wasted food into the garbage pail, and stacked the dishes to be washed.

As I filled the sink with hot, soapy water, my mind drifted yet again—back to lunch, back to Victor. The way his eyes had sparkled with mischief and promise as we talked. The way his fingers brushed against mine. The way he held my hand. And I had let him.

The warmth of his touch still lingered on my skin—imagined, maybe, but no less vivid. I could still feel the slight roughness of his fingertips and the gentle pressure of his palm against mine. It was a simple gesture, but it had sent a jolt through me like an electric current.

I shook away the thought as I plunged my hands into bright yellow dish gloves.

I scrubbed at the dishes as if I could scour away the confusing feelings swirling inside me, along with the crusted food remnants.

The hot water scalded my hands through the rubber gloves, but I welcomed the discomfort.

It grounded me, kept me tethered to the present moment instead of floating away on forbidden currents.

The sharp trill of the telephone pierced through the quiet house. I jumped, sloshing sudsy water down my apron. Cursing under my breath, I quickly removed my gloves and hurried to the phone table in the entry hall, my heart pounding in my chest.

I lifted the heavy black receiver to my ear, the bakelite cool against my skin. “Hello?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Babs? It’s Edie.” My older sister’s warm, rich voice flowed through the earpiece, instantly soothing some of the tension in my shoulders. She was the only one who could get away with calling me Babs. “I wanted to check on you. You seemed a bit…off when you picked up Frankie this afternoon.”

I sighed, leaning against the wall and twirling the phone cord around my finger. “I’m fine, Edie. Just tired.” Even as the words left my lips, I heard how flat they sounded.

There was a hollow pause on the other end of the line. I pictured Edith’s expression—her brow furrowed, her lips pursed in that way she had when she was trying to decide whether to push me or let me be.

“Babs…” she said finally, her voice gentle but firm. “I know you better than that. What’s going on? Is it Frank?”

I closed my eyes, my throat tightening. Part of me wanted to spill everything, to let the words come tumbling out in a cathartic rush. But another part of me—the mayor’s daughter, the well-brought-up girl trained to keep up appearances, smile, nod, and pretend everything was just swell—held back.

“Frank and I just had a little disagreement, that’s all,” I said, trying to inject a lightness into my voice that I didn’t feel. “You know how he gets sometimes.”

Edith was quiet for a moment, aside from her soft, even breathing on the other end of the line. “Just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Is he in the room with you?”

“Relax, there’s no need. He’s gone out. Probably to the bar.”

“Is this about your new job?” she asked finally.

I felt a flutter of surprise. “How did you…?”

“Oh, Babs.” She sighed. “I could see the excitement on your face when you dropped off Frankie this morning. And this afternoon, you were lit up like a Christmas tree. And then you got that look—the one you get when you’re bracing for a fight. So I figured Frank doesn’t approve.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the phone. Edith knew me too well and could read me like an open book, even through the crackle of the phone line. “You’re right. Frank doesn’t like the idea of me working,” I admitted. “Especially not for someone like Victor Cardello.”

“Someone like Victor Cardello?” she repeated, a hint of curiosity in her tone. “What do you mean by that?”

I hesitated, unsure how to put into words the confusing mix of emotions that Victor stirred in me. “Nothing particularly. I just think Frank is…intimidated.”

She was quiet for a moment, and I could almost hear the gears turning in her head. “Intimidated?” Edith asked, her voice taking on a playful lilt. “Well, well. This man must be quite the charmer to get Frank all riled up.”

I felt a blush creep up my neck, grateful that Edith couldn’t see me through the phone.

“It’s not like that,” I insisted, but the lack of conviction in my voice was painfully clear.

“Mr. Cardello is just…different. He’s sophisticated and worldly, and he talks about things like art and literature and travel and dreams and passions.

Things that Frank doesn’t understand or care about. ”

“But you do,” Edith said softly. It wasn’t a question.

I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cool wallpaper. “I…I don’t know, Edie. I thought I had put all those silly dreams behind me when I married Frank. But now?—”

“Babs,” she cut me off, her voice gentle but firm.

“I know you love Frank. And I know you love being a mother to Frankie. But that doesn’t mean you have to give up everything else that makes you who you are.

You’re a smart, talented, passionate woman.

You deserve to have dreams and ambitions of your own. ”

I pressed my lips together and looked up at the ceiling.

“You’re too young to remember what life was like for women before the war. I, alas, am not. We clawed our way out of the kitchen, and I’ll be damned if we’re going to be shoved back in.”

“Mother would disagree with you,” I countered.

“She’s from a different generation. And a politician’s wife through and through. Everything is about appearance for her. Always has been. Doesn’t make it right.”

I sighed, twirling the phone cord tighter around my finger until it bit into my skin. “I know. But sometimes I wonder if she’s right. If I should just be content with what I have. Frank is a good man, and Frankie is my world. Maybe I’m being selfish wanting more.”

“Nonsense,” Edith countered. “You’re not selfish for wanting to use your brain and your talents. And if Frank can’t see that, well, that’s his problem, not yours.”

Her words sent a surge of warmth through me, easing some of the tightness in my chest. “Thanks, Edie.” I sighed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d muddle through somehow,” she chirped, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “But luckily, you don’t have to.”