Page 58 of My Darling Girls

“I have to go,” Jo says, her head throbbing already. “Grace is in my studio.”

Millie says something, looks at Jo with a sad smile, waves at Horace, who doesn’t look back. The wind carries the girl’s words away, the water in the well laps violently against the stone walls, and Jo’s falling through the ground, and then she’s in her bedroom.

“Oh, thank god,” Grace says. She stands, partly shadowed, in front of Jo’s bed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her gaze is so furious, Jo feels pinned to her sheets, and it takes everything in her to resist the urge to squirm. “I almost gave up.”

The window is open, and the sting of the chill in the air is sobering. The day outside is murky and humid. Another rainstorm must be coming. The hum of the traffic is soothing, especially compared to the eerie quietness of the courtyard.

“Jo, are you listening? We must go now.”

“Go?” Jo asks, bewildered. Grace’s face is slightly blurred from all the haze in her head. Her mouth is dry. Her lips crack as she speaks. “Go where?”

Grace’s gaze turns icy. Unflinching. “Did you forget? You can be so obtuse sometimes. Unbelievable.”

Jo rolls her eyes, and the pain in her skull spikes. “How did you get in? Don’t tell me the door wasn’t locked. I locked it myself.”

“I picked the lock.”

Jo laughs. “Your family treats my studio like a goddamn train station. Everyone comes and goes as they please.”

Grace sighs, narrows her eyes at Jo, and sets her hands on her hips. “I apologize for my family. Very inconsiderate of us. We should be more respectful of your privacy.” She takes a step closer to the bed. Her warm breath tickles Jo’s nose. “Did you forget? You were supposed to meet me at the corner of 22nd Street and Michigan Avenue. An hour ago. I stood there, waiting, for almost forty minutes. In those forty minutes, I was offered fifty cents by some lowlife thug to entertain him and his friends at a stag party. I also was asked to go to a dancing hall by a young man who looked surprisingly decent. And right before I left, a man asked me to follow him into a back alley. I finally fled.” Grace sighs with indignation. “Admit it. You forgot about me.”

Of course she didn’t forget. She must’ve miscalculated her dose. She should’ve been awake hours ago. Jo clears her throat, dispatching something wet and phlegmy. “I forgot nothing. I just got . . . distracted.” She takes a deep breath. “Wait downstairs. I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“We don’t have five minutes. Come on. Get dressed now and let’s go. We need to be at Ava’s before they open for business.” With an angry puff, Grace storms across the room to the wardrobe, throws its door open, and shuffles through Jo’s meager assortment of dresses. “This. The brown dress with white lace. Looks very . . .” She casts a quick glance at Jo over her shoulder. “Ladylike.” She takes the dress and throws it on the bed. “Here. Get dressed. Brush your hair. We don’t have much longer before the customers start to arrive. I won’t be able to search Sally’s room then. You have two minutes. I’ll be in the kitchen.” The girl is a force that cannot be controlled. Inevitable.

Jo dresses slowly. Should she tell Grace about Millie and how lonely and broken her sister is? Just like Grace. But then she remembers Grace’s angry outburst when Jo told her about her visits to the courtyard and decides to wait. She doesn’t want to build a wall between Grace and herself. Because to break down a wall like this—thick and tall and impenetrable—is almost impossible.

Jo washes her face, brushes her hair. When she makes it to the kitchen, Grace is sitting at the table, her fingernails tapping on the wooden surface.

“You took longer than two minutes.”

“I did my best.”

Grace snorts and reminds Jo of Horace.

“I’ll fetch my Kodak,” Jo says, trying hard not to smile.

Grace leaps to her feet, eager to leave.