“No, I need to see if the washroom is free so I can clean up before work. You probably need to do the same.” Vivian glanced at the pistol that still gleamed angrily on the table. “And get rid of that. Wedon’tneed it.”
She received only a glare in return as Florence snatched up the gun and stalked into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
“I finished the dresses for Mrs. Wilson last night. You’re welcome, by the way,” Florence said when she emerged five minutes later. “Don’t forget to bring them to the shop.”
Vivian was sitting at the table with her head slumped into her arms, contemplating the effort it would take to make coffee. She looked up in surprise to find Florence fully dressed and shoving her arms into her coat. “It’s too early to head to work,” she pointed out.
Florence gave her an impatient look. “I need to clear my head. All these secrets are making it ache. I was up all night worrying.”
“I told you not to wait up,” Vivian muttered, defensive but not meeting her sister’s eyes.
“Guess I’ll have to remember that next time.”
As the door shut behind her sister, Vivian dropped her head once more, sighing loudly. Florence was right, of course—she was keeping secrets. But it was all for Florence’s sake, so didn’t that make it right? Or at least as close to right as she was going to get these days, so there was no point feeling so guilty.
A gentle tap on the door made her jump a little, wondering for a moment if her sister had come back to say… what, exactly? Florence wasn’t going to apologize. She never apologized.
“Viv?” The door opened a few inches and Bea’s head poked around, looking concerned. “You okay?”
“Hi there,” Vivian said, attempting to smile, but the sympathetic expression on Bea’s face told her she didn’t need to bother. “Guessing you ran into Florence?”
Bea nodded, closing the door behind her as she came inside. “On the stairs. She…” Bea hesitated, finally settling on “She didn’t seem very happy with you.”
“She’s never happy with me,” Vivian said sullenly, then sighed. “It’s worse today. I’ve got a little time before I have to be at work. Need some breakfast?”
“Sure,” Bea said.
“I’ll pull something together,” Vivian said, standing with a small groan. “Just give me a moment to get dressed.”
“That’s not dressed?” Bea frowned at the coat Vivian was still wearing.
“I wore this last night,” Vivian admitted. “And I don’t have any stockings on.”
Bea raised her brows, trying and failing to keep the wicked smile off her face. “Sugar, I hope you’re planning on sharing that story.”
“All right, spill the beans,” Bea said, blowing a cloud of steam off her coffee as Vivian set two bowls of hot Wheatena between them. Each was splashed with the last of a can of condensed milk and topped indulgently with canned peaches, which Vivian hoped would help fill up a stomach that was still protesting too much to drink and not enough sleep the night before. “What did you get up to that sent you home with no stockings and Florence out in such a huff?”
Vivian cradled her own cup of coffee between cold hands, flexing her stiff left palm against its heat. The cut was better but still far from healed. She wouldn’t be able to get out of sewing much longer, though, injury or no. She pushed the thought aside and leaned forward.
“Leo Green took me out on a date last night,” she said, speaking quietly even though no one was there to overhear. “Out to the movies, and then he asked me if I wanted to come back to his place.” Bea’s eyebrows shot up and she bit her lip to keep from interrupting. “I didn’t make it home until this morning. Flo was not thrilled.”
Vivian thought about mentioning the gun her sister had somehow acquired, but before she could decide whether or not to say anything, Bea was already pressing for more details.
“So you and he…”
“Definitely not,” Vivian said, rolling her eyes. “I know what happens to women in this neighborhood. Once they start having babies they don’t stop. Not something I’m interested in just yet, thanks.”
“But you did spend the night at his place?”
“Yes, I did. We both fell asleep, actually, after we…” Vivian trailed off, blushing.
“Got a little bit frisky, but only a little bit?” Bea suggested, her grin turning into a cackle of laughter when she saw her friend’s blush grow. But then her expression turned serious. “Your sister’s never going to get on board with you going out, you know.”
“I know,” Vivian sighed, stirring her cereal absently and scowling into the bowl. “Wish she’d take a hint from your mother and stop worrying.”
Bea shrugged. “Mama doesn’t like it, you know. But she can’t argue with a paycheck. Wish I could do more than waitress. But I’d rather work somewhere like the Nightingale than as a maid in some snooty house. For the most part, no one gives you any trouble there. Honor’s good about making sure no one pinches her girls.”
“If you could pick any work, what would it be?” Vivian asked, curious.
