He pushed himself up on the side of the pool, his body raining like a heavy storm. “You’re not serious.”
“I am! What would it take?”
“A complete plan, for one,” he said, still brushing it off. “Like, who would we rob?”
“Okay, how about Tom Buchanan,” I said. “Hypothetically.”
Jay sat beside me, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Daisy could scout the safes in his place, and I could break them open. You could have a party at your place and entertain the guests long enough for us to finish the job.”
“Sure, because I love talking with all my father’s lovely friends,” Jay said. “If we were to do that, what would we do when Buchanan notices his cash is missing?”
“Take air,” I said. “You said you want to get out of here, didn’t you?”
The way he paused showed me that he’d really meant it when he said it. “Where do we go after New York?”
“Chicago might be nice. I hear all the G-men are corrupt andthe city breaks into total mayhem a couple times a year.”
“Lovely.” Jay scoffed and looked off to the side. “Don’t you crave safety?”
“Controlled chaos makes me feel safe, in a way now. It means there’s some awareness that the world is a bad place.”
“And when the police catch us on the road with a bunch of jewels in the car?”
“Please.” I knew his question was not serious. Weeks ago, he almost let Cannon Cleary fall off a building. “You’re not afraid of the police.”
“I sort of am.” Jay winced and massaged the meat of his knee. “I think I got a cramp.”
I removed his hand, replacing it with mine, to dig into the sore spot for him. “We’ll put the money into things and make it look like it was earned, or you could dump it into one of your father’s banks and say he earned it.”
“My father’s banks? How?” Jay talked about his father like he was a long-lost stranger who’d spent his entire life at this mansion.
I noticed that Jay seemed freer when he was left to himself. I think his father thought every negative emotion brought a negative outcome, so there’d be no use for the feelings like anger and rage—the ones he couldn’t tie into a neat bow.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Shouldn’t you know? You’re a bootlegger.”
“I don’t,” he said, flatly.
I looked at Buchanan’s house—that white palace of excess andperfection, with long balconies and windows blocked by black portieres. The clouds behind it were like swan wings sprung in flight, spraying pinks and whites in front of the sun.
“I have reason to believe Buchanan’s corruption runs deeper than a lot of people realize,” I said. “Without money, he’d be forced to face the true person that he is.”
“True, he would.” Jay looked around, seeming eager to change the subject. “I do hope karma comes around for him eventually. Say, do you want to go to Coney Island next Sunday?”
I forgot I was turning eighteen next week, maybe because going even deeper into adulthood filled me with dread. Spending the day with Jay was the best gift I could give myself. “Sure,” I said.
I didn’t question the things he wanted to do with me. I accepted every perk.
“Or we could do an orchestra outing at the Lafayette,” he said.
“Sure,” I repeated.
Jay reached over for his watch on top of his pile of clothes. “My father will be back soon.” He looked back at his house with worry. “You may want to get going.”
As I stood and gathered my things, the weight of the plan hung in the air between us. I’d gotten no answer. But that also meant I hadn’t gotten a no. I could feel something in him that was unsatisfied—the same way I was, though it may have been about something different.
Jay fixed his gaze on the horizon, lost in whatever thoughts were brewing in his head. I almost thought we’d work through this in a sudden moment of clarity, but then he turned aroundhalfway and gave me a strangely formal nod.
