The way Jimmy did it. Could she ever forgive him? He came home one afternoon. He entered with his key. Well, the apartment was his.
Kay was in her dressing room selecting a hat, pearls, and white gloves for an evening at the opera. Puccini. A too-familiar tearjerker, but always entertaining. Hearing bustling, she stepped downstairs in her high heels.
He was dressed more casually than usual for a Wednesday in a camel-cashmere V-neck and houndstooth-weave wool slacks, with brown oxford shoes. The attire of a successful man, comfortable with himself, nothing left to prove.
“Jimmy!”
He noticed the pearls, the white gloves, the close-fitting dress, and smiled. “Lovely as always, Kay. I’m here to collect my girls.”
“To collect…? Right now? For what?”
He glanced at his wristwatch. The same wristwatch he wore at the Garden Pavilion of the Century Theatre so many years ago, when he proposed to her. “They should be packed by now. Olga and Lionel will accompany us, of course.”
“Oh,” said Kay, realizing. “April.”
“All three,” Jimmy corrected her.
Kay frowned. “All three? Do they—”
He nodded. “They didn’t tell you?”
She slumped into a chair. “They didn’t. You didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jimmy.
He proceeded down the hall toward the girls’ quarters. Kay tried to compose herself. Finally she rose, walked across the room, and dialed the phone. “Dottie. Kay. Listen, I won’t make it to the opera. Invite whoever you want. The tickets are at Will Call. I’ll explain later.”
Jimmy reappeared flanked by Olga, Lionel, several trunks and suitcases—and Andrea, Kathleen, and April, all in their henceforth superfluous school uniforms. Olga stared at her feet. Lionel scrutinized the chandelier.
“This is what you want, honey?” asked Kay kneeling before Andrea.
Andrea nodded, tears streaming down her face.
Kathleen, in a lavender raincoat with a matching broad-rimmed hat, hugged Kay’s leg. “Goodbye, Mommy.”
“It’s not raining, darling.” Kay stroked her hair.
“I know,” said Kathleen.
An hour later, the girls—with Jimmy and Olga and Lionel and all their travel cases—were boarding the navy-blue first-class car of the Capital Limited in Penn Station. Kay stood on the platform trying not to weep.
Andrea pulled down the window of their cabin and reached out. “Goodbye, Mom.”
Kay took her hand and kissed it.
The train hooted and began chugging.
Kay waved and blew a kiss. She watched the train leave and then watched the empty track as bells rang and whistles blew and people embarked and disembarked at other platforms. Finally turning to leave, she braced herself for an evening alone in her now-deserted home.