Page 93 of If Looks Could Kill
He froze, startled.
This was not a thing I had ever, ever done before. Not by the hair of Aunt Lorraine’s chinny-chin-chin. A mouth, even one as beautiful as Mike’s, is a curious thing to kiss. Unlike, say, a baby’s roly-poly cheek or a poodle’s curly head. I pulled away, mortified, wondering if I had missed, or done it wrong, or made a shameless ninny of myself.
His eyes were still closed. His features, soft. Almost asleep. Slowly, I backed away.
Before I could take another step, he caught me and pulled me to him. He smiled, a private smile it felt I could take to my grave, then and there, and not feel cheated out of much.
And then Mike kissedme.
Perhaps I hadnotmade a shameless ninny of myself.
Mike kissed me as if he’d been waiting a lifetime to do it, and if he wanted to spend the rest of a lifetime doing it, that would’ve been all right with me.
And so we might have remained, till kingdom come, had not the door burst open and Freyda and Cora come tumbling breathlessly out, dressed in high-waisted ball gowns and lacy shawls from a century ago, pausing only long enough for Cora to administer a “Tchah!” of scorn and Freyda to hurl a “Really, Tabitha?” at me before hurrying away from us and up the street.
Tabitha—The Rosary(Late Night, Sunday, December 2, 1888)
It took me a block to catch up to Cora and Freyda. Mike came after with a suitcase in each hand.
They ran in dancing slippers on filthy streets of gravel and shards of metal and glass.
“What happened?” I panted. “Where’s Pearl? Is she still back there?”
Freyda whirled around, clutching her sides. “You mean,youdon’t know?”
A cold hand gripped my heart. “Know what?”
Freyda shook her head. “Pearl’s gone.”
My heart sank. Not again. “She was asleep when I left,” I said. “Where is she?”
“I figured you’d gone together,” cried Freyda.“How could you leave us?”
She resumed her march up the street. “And all the time, you were just”—she gestured toward Mike—“having a night about town with your fancy boy. On tonight, of all nights.”
“I went to warn my flatmates,” I said, “that Rosie’s men might come there looking.”
Cora watched Freyda’s face.
“And to get my things,” I continued, “and Pearl’s. So we’d have clothes to share with you. And money, to put us all on a train in the morning.”
Freyda would not be appeased. “A train to where?”
Cora was out of breath, and the cold seemed to affect her lungs.
“Come on,” she wheezed to Freyda. “We don’t have time for this. We’ve got to go.”
“I was going to take us all home,” I told Freyda. “Tomyhome, upstate. Where we could hide in safety.” I blinked back tears. “And recover.”
“That’s pretty,” Freyda said. “We’ll sit on your farm and pet bunnies till we feel better.”
“I don’t have a farm,” I said through tears. “I don’t have bunnies. I just wanted you safe.”
“My life’s here,” Freyda told me. “I’ve got family. Friends. I don’t need to be evicted from my own city.”
“I’m sorry I left, Freyda,” I said. “I’m so sorry you woke up frightened and alone.”
“I wasn’t alone,” Freyda said. “And I didn’t wake up ‘frightened.’ I woke up first to all kinds of terrible noises, but nothing followed, so I decided I was dreaming and went back to sleep. Then I woke up to that woman poking at me, moaning and crying, asking me if I was Pearl and where-oh-where could Pearl be. Searching the bedclothes like Pearl must be hidden under the pillow.”
