Page 69 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

“Why do you even care? So what if I did?”

“So you did.”

Catherine glared at him in the darkness. “You are unbelievable.” She shoved past him and went for her book, her heat transferring to him as they made contact.

Charles followed her as she marched away from him, down the quad, her feathered hair catching the wind. “He deserves better!” he called, several paces behind.

Catherine spun around. “Colin does? Or do you mean that you deserve to know where I’m at, and who I’m with, at all times? That you don’t want me, but you still want to control my life?”

“Colin is my best friend.”

“Oh yes, you’ve proven that so many times.”

“It’s for him that I left you!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Tell me, Cat, why else would I? What other reason could I have, to turn my back on the only woman I’ve ever loved?”

Catherine’s chest heaved. Her breath spiraled in the air before her. “What about Lisette?”

“What about her?”

“You love her.”

Charles threw his hands up. “Shit, I’m sure trying to!”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

Charles sniffed, an old habit, but one he’d never really lose, because he now knew that the sniff was a cry for relief, whether it came or not. “Because I have to love her, Catherine. Men aren’t meant to be alone. Everyone loves someone.”

Catherine softened, but she made no move to narrow the gap between them. “That’s really sad, Huck. But coming here, questioning me, it won’t help anyone. You told me we were done. I believed you.”

“I meant it,” Charles said weakly, and he wished he could redo the moment because he did mean it, but he couldn’t make himself sound convincing.

“You’re not entitled to know anything about me. Not anymore.”

“Yeah, and Colin? What’s he entitled to?”

Catherine smiled sadly. “He hasn’t asked, because he knows that if you ask a question, you get the answer, whether you’re ready or not.” She tucked a bang of hair behind her ear that the wind picked up. “Go home to Lisette.”

Charles didn’t stop her when she walked away this time.

Augustus tried to recall a time when he’d been on a train. The few times he’d traveled as a child had been by car or plane, and then, as an adult, a businessman, he was exclusively a flier.

He’d rather have flown. Aside from being quicker—a couple hours, rather than a day and a half—flights were a known element to Augustus. Statistically, they were far more likely to perish in a car than a flight, and trains were somewhere in the middle of that.

But Anasofiya was prone to ear infections, something Irish Colleen assured him was normal, but this put a damper on flying when the doctor said it could cause permanent damage to her eardrums. He also said it might not, but that there just hadn’t been enough studies done yet to take that risk.

So, Augustus bundled up his daughter, packed their bags for a short trip, and left on the 5:00 a.m. bound for New York City.

Lizzy would be angry when she found his note. Not immediately, of course. The note said simply, call Mama.

Irish Colleen knew his travel plans. She knew because he sought her counsel on this, despite that his mother claimed he never needed her. That wasn’t true at all, though. He did, when he thought she had something to offer, and on this, he suspected she just might. An immigrant herself, who’d never been back to Ireland to see any of the relatives she left behind, he wanted to know if she resented her mother for that.

“Resent? No, no, I didn’t resent her. I don’t,” Irish Colleen had said, two days prior, steam from her coffee fogging the glasses she now had to wear. “She made the decision she felt was best, and as a mother who’s had to do that far too many times herself, I understand.”

“But?”

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