She realized she was squeezing her book against her chest and lowered it. “I am aware of that.”
His eyes followed the book. “What are you reading?”
Kate hesitated. Aunt Lorna always warned, Don’t talk about it with boys, darling. They’ll think you’re as dull as dust.
She turned the cover and read aloud, “An Introduction to Differential and Integral Calculus by Lester W. Hornsby.”
Hugo’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Well … that’s an interesting bedtime story. You like math?”
“I thought I did until I started calculus. But I need to figure it out, so I work on a page every night.” And, because she was tired of looking like a fool tonight, she added, “I’m going to be an astronomer.”
He leaned against the door frame. “You need math for looking at stars?”
“Of course.” Why did so few people know that? “Astronomy isn’t just looking at stars, it’s using math to understand them. It’s how theoretical physics is proven. How people like Einstein—” She stopped herself. As dull as dust.
Hugo’s lips tilted in a half smile. “Ollie never told me you were so smart.”
“That’s because my grandfather doesn’t know me.”
“Well, I’m glad you came. For his sake, I mean.”
Which reminded her. “Does this house have a telephone?”
He seemed thrown by the question. “Not at the moment, but I’ll pay the bill tomorrow.”
“I need to send a telegram.” Kate glanced at her Rolex and decided it was too late to borrow the neighbor’s phone, but every hour she didn’t have that money order was another hour she’d have to spend in this house. “Maybe I’ll call a taxi and drive to Western Union. Oh—wait.” She saw the flaw in her plan. “I can’t call a taxi without a phone.”
“I’ll drive you, if you don’t mind sitting on the back of a motorcycle.”
Kate stared.
He gave a soft laugh. “Write it out, and I’ll drive it down for you. I’m a night owl anyway, and then you can get in bed.”
The offer felt too personal for some reason, but she certainly wasn’t going to get on a motorcycle with him. “All right.” She went to her purse on the wooden chair and pulled out the small notebook and pencil she carried everywhere. The lighting wasn’t good, so she went to the kitchen and sat at the table. She flipped pages.
“Wow,” Hugo murmured over her shoulder. “That’s a lot of lists.”
“Do you mind?”
“Sorry.” He moved to the side of the room.
Still, she felt his eyes on her as she found a blank page at the back and started writing. To Mrs. Harvey Wallace on the S.S. Argentina.
Kate crossed off the name and wrote Mrs. Donald Norton.
She wrote several sentences explaining the appalling condition of her grandfather’s house and his—she remembered Mrs. Fairchild’s description—unsavory boarders, then decided it was too long and drew a line across it. Telegrams charged by the word, and punctuation was extra, so she’d have to use STOP instead of periods. She wrote on the lower half of the page: Cannot stay here house full of unsavory boarders STOP must return to San Francisco at once STOP situation dire please send money order for one month hotel STOP
She paused before adding: Congratulations on your marriage Kate
She sensed Hugo watching from across the room as she carefully ripped the page from the notebook.
He asked, “You’re not going to live here like you said, are you?”
“No.” She folded the paper over twice.
“Ollie will be disappointed.”
She stood. “I think he’ll be relieved.”
“Then you don’t know him at all.” Hugo came toward her, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the only family he has.”
Kate tightened her hand around the folded paper, realizing he would read what she’d written. “It’s not my fault my grandfather and I are strangers.”
“It is if you leave.” He yanked the paper from her hand and walked away.
CHAPTER 4
Kate woke to sunlight streaming through the window and jazzy piano music in the distance. She sat up, squinting at the drab little room with its dusty dresser and sagging curtain.
Not the least bit frightening.
Every morning, she woke up ashamed of her fear of the dark, vowing to conquer it—or at least do a better job of hiding it. Last night, she’d failed on both counts.
Her slim skirt had crawled up to her waist, and she reached back to unzip it, angry at herself for sleeping in her clothes.
Her hands froze.
Rumbling male voices drifted from the kitchen. Her gaze darted to the open door, but from this angle, all she could see was the wall of the hallway. She stood and quickly tugged down her hemline, then tiptoed to the door and shut it.
Her empty stomach twisted at the smell of pancakes, but that would have to wait.
She sat back on the bed, opened her notebook, and flipped to yesterday’s list—October 9, 1938. She should have reviewed it last night, but did so now, placing a tidy checkmark next to the tasks she’d completed. Two tasks remained undone: Unpack (which was just as well); and Calculus page 27 (not for lack of trying; she’d spent hours on the train staring at derivatives).
She turned the page and wrote: October 10, 1938
1. Calculus page 27. The third day in a row she’d written that page—a small failure.
2. Check newspaper for San Francisco weather. She usually checked the forecast in the evening newspaper, before laying out her clothes for the next day. Another missed step.
3. Check train schedule to San Francisco. Hopefully, there’d be something leaving around noon. She tapped the end of the pencil against her teeth, wondering if she dared board a train before receiving a money order from Aunt Lorna.
Kate pulled out her wallet and counted eighty-three dollars. Plenty to get home—the train ticket here had cost seventeen—but a decent hotel would be about fifteen a night, plus food, plus taxis to get to school. She jotted figures on the reverse page and decided her money would only last three days.
She couldn’t leave until she’d heard from Aunt Lorna, which might mean another night in this place, but she could survive that.
In daylight, everything felt possible.
She managed to slip into the laundry room without having to face anyone and opened her suitcase to find everything rumpled and creased. She’d never ironed before. She decided on a dress with striped fabric that hid the wrinkles.
In the bathroom mirror, she looked reassuringly like herself. A lock of reddish-brown, shoulder-length hair had ended up on the wrong side of her part, and she pulled it back. Most of her friends had to sleep in curlers, but her own hair was naturally wavy. She leaned closer and decided her summer freckles were finally fading. Then stood back to see if her figure had developed any curves overnight. Still lean and straight.
Sometimes she longed for the striking beauty of her friend Susan, but most days she was content with being, as Aunt Lorna put it: Quite attractive without being showy about it.
She squared her shoulders and whispered to her reflection two things she knew to be true and two things she wanted to be true. Some days she got creative, but today she stuck to the standard list.