“And you kept it all these years.”
“I did. As a reminder of my shame. You see, Esme had trusted me, she’d loved me. She was a woman who struggled to rise above her station in life in spite of terrible prejudice. Not that she was perfect. She made a rash decision, not thinking of how it could affect all her friends, including Sam. But every night, when I close my eyes, I see her tipping over the side of the railing, reaching out for my hand as she falls. I look over the edge and watch her body slam into the ground. I relive it over and over.” Darby let out a sharp breath. “I couldn’t face Sam. I wasn’t brave enough to try again.”
“But it was an accident; she attacked you first.”
“Intentions are worthless to me. I pushed her and she fell to her death. After, Mrs. Eustis at the Barbizon took pity on me and let me stay on, and the Gibbs school arranged for the job at the button store. Pity, for my terrible wound. There I could work behind the scenes and stay out of view. Of course, as styles changed and hats went out of fashion, I knew I looked strange, traipsing around town in my veils. But by then, I didn’t care. My life was structured, orderly. I paid my rent on time each month. The world around me transformed dramatically, but I refused to. I couldn’t.”
Jason spoke quietly. “You never heard from your family again?”
“No. I wrote my mother, but she didn’t write back. I made a quiet life for myself, working, coming home. It’s more in my personality, to do the same thing day after day. Like Bird, here.”
“He does like a structured regimen,” said Rose.
“Thank you for watching over him while I was away.”
“I’m sorry I invaded your apartment. That was terrible of me.”
Darby’s shoulders tensed, but instead of scolding Rose as expected, she shrugged and let out a sigh. “It’s the building. I would probably have holed up in a broom closet at the Barbizon if they hadn’t offered me the chance to stay on after Esme died. By then, it had become my refuge, my sanctuary. I can understand the deep pull of the place. You can shelter here when the city feels too overwhelming to bear. Sometimes I wonder if it’s a living, breathing animal instead of an inanimate pile of stone and cement.”
The thought was strangely comforting. Rose spoke up. “Can I ask where you’ve been the past few weeks?”
Darby gave a mischievous smile. “Oui. Montreal.”
“Montreal?” Jason blinked a couple of times and he and Rose exchanged incredulous looks. Not their first guess.
“Yes.” Darby pointed to the black-and-white photo on the bookshelf. “The girl I consider my grandniece was performing at the festival they hold there each year. Her international debut.”
Rose stood and took the photo down. “The one who calls you Tía. I thought this was a photo of Esme.”
“No, no. Alba loves the old black-and-white studio portraits from the fifties; she insisted on this for her professional photo. My influence, I’m proud to say. A head shot, they called it.” She wiggled her fingers at Rose, who handed her the photo. Darby stared at it, smiling, and for a moment, Rose got the sense of what she might have looked like without the scar tissue. Her face was radiant, underneath the damage.
“Looks just like Esme,” Darby said. “We’re not related, but she calls me Auntie anyway, dear girl. Alba is the granddaughter of Esme’s sister. She’d invited me to hear her sing in Canada and initially I said no, too far for an old lady like me to go. But when you showed up at my door, I figured it was a good time to hit the road, as they say. You lived in the building, I knew there would be no avoiding you. So I flew up and she took great care of me. I had the best seats, was brought backstage, went out for drinks after the gig with the band. Treated like royalty. She’s a good girl.”
“So you’d stayed in touch with Esme’s family all these years?”
“About twenty years ago, I had sunk pretty low. It was during October, a time of year I’ve always found difficult. I had constant nightmares, as if Esme was haunting me. Although I had always visited her grave a few times a year, that year I went on the anniversary of her death.”
“On Halloween?”
“Yes. I’d hoped to have a quiet moment to say I was sorry, but there was a group of women there, lots of commotion, in a good way. Esme’s family. They were pleased to meet someone who’d known her then.”
“Did they know who you were?”
She shook her head. “The hotel told them that Esme jumped of her own accord. Keeping the fuss to a minimum. This little girl was there, at the graveyard, dressed as a fairy in her Halloween costume. She played by herself off to the side, singing in perfect pitch, and I found her delightful. Over the years the family was kind to me, invited me over for dinners every so often. And as Alba grew up, I offered to pay for her singing lessons, head shots, whatever she needed.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Inside and out. When I was in Montreal with her I told her the truth, about who I was and what I’d done. Alba didn’t care. She said it explained why I’d taken her under my wing and nurtured her. That it was my way of making it up to Esme.”
“Esme would have been so proud of her,” offered Rose.
“True. Esme made some terrible decisions, but she should have had a singing career, an acting career. If she’d lived, I have no doubt she would have made something of herself.”
Rose stood. “Thank you for telling us all this. The story’s been killed, so we won’t be writing about you or Esme.”
“Killed?”
Rose cringed at her poor choice of words. “The company I worked for doesn’t want long stories anymore.”
“And this would be a doozy, huh?”
“It certainly would.” She paused. “You should see Sam again.”
Darby stood as well. “How could I, after all this time? We’re both doddering fools; nothing good can come of it.”
“You can return his book to him,” said Jason.
“Oh, you two can do that. No need for me to get involved.”
“You’re both in the same city after decades of being apart,” urged Rose. “Please don’t pass up the opportunity.”
“I couldn’t let him see me like this; better for him to remember the girl I was.” Darby’s fingertips went to her scar. For a moment she was lost in thought, lost in time. Then she shrugged. “Although I bet he’s no spring chicken anymore, either.”
“He’s a good-looking guy, for eightysomething.”
Darby let out an unexpected giggle. For a moment it was as if she were a teenage girl again. “I bet.”
“Think about it.” Jason’s voice was calm, soothing.
“When I think about all the things we could have seen and done together.” Tears filled Darby’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have sent that letter.”
“You can tell him yourself.” Rose moved closer and took her hand. “You should tell him yourself.”
“You seem more nervous than Darby,” whispered Jason to Rose as they guided Darby into the restaurant.
Rose made a face, but she had to agree. They were dining with Sam and Malcolm at Neo, Chef Steven’s restaurant.
Darby wore a mint-green satin vintage dress that curved around her skinny frame. A small matching hat was angled on her head, the requisite veil underneath. Jason gave Rose’s hand a squeeze as the hostess brought them over to where Malcolm and Sam sat, looking dapper in suits and ties. Both gentlemen rose to their feet.
Should she make introductions? The finer points of etiquette were completely inadequate here.
Darby walked over to Sam and took his hands in hers. “Sam. My dear Sam.”
Sam’s eyes watered and his chin quivered ever so slightly. “You’re here.”
“I’ve always been here.” She lowered her voice so it was barely audible. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Sam nodded slowly. “When I think of what you went through, my heart breaks.”
“I thought I was protecting you. But I was protecting myself.” She gestured toward the veil. “And I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“I have to be perfectly honest with you.”