ROSITA, STILL SWATHED from head to toe in this morning’s black dress and veil, stood as still as the water fountain goddess on the front lawn. Her signature perfume—jasmine—wafted around her, gently tickling my nose, stirring memories of happier times. She hadn’t worn that perfume since she’d come here, and I wondered at her choice to do so now. A subtle way to taunt Eddie with all that they’d lost?
It was impossible to know where her gaze landed, but all eyes were on her.
Eddie—eager even after their earlier encounters, about to stand, but forcing himself back into his seat. Claire and Douglas—nervous and excited. Maxine and Henry—concerned. Seamus and Liam—surprised. Cormac—sneering, as usual. Dr. Aldridge—anxious. Marco—curious. Joey—indifferent.
It would be the last time we’d all be together. Alive.
“Oh, Rosita, how I’ve missed you—” Claire started, jumping up from her chair. For the first time since arriving, she didn’t seem like she was acting. “It’s been, oh, how long—”
“Shut up, Claire,” Eddie snapped. She sat down, cowed.
He straightened his tie. “Rosita, I’ve come to give you what you asked for on our way here to bury our son. A divorce. But on one condition. You will turn the island over to me. I will pay you handsomely—”
Marco exclaimed, “You said this was your property, Eddie. That you could sell it to me, free and clear—”
“You want to sell this island—my island—where our son is buried? To his killer?” Rosita asked. Each word like cracking ice, each shard driving into my heart. Though Rosita had revealed earlier that day that she believed Marco was responsible for Oliver’s death, I mourned anew the boy’s loss, and, yes, perhaps selfishly, chafed with hurt that in all the times I’d tended to her over the past year, Rosita had never told me the circumstances of Oliver’s death.
“It was never my idea to have him buried here,” Eddie said. “We can have Oliver and your grandparents moved to a cemetery in Toledo. Where I can visit, too.”
Rosita snorted at that, indicating her doubt that Eddie would ever bother doing so.
Eddie ignored that and went on. “And Douglas is working on a grand new script, a picture show that will star you and Claire as the Sweetheart Cousins.”
Rosita turned toward Douglas. I imagined the cutting look, hidden by her veil, with which she regarded him. “What’s changed your mind about Claire and me? Remember that before I met Eddie, Claire and I begged you to take us with you to Hollywood? And you said—”
“I wrongly said that your talent isn’t big enough for Hollywood,” Douglas said. “I’m sorry I said that. I’ve changed my mind. After—the tragedy—everyone will…”
“Find me interesting? The tragic mother, emerged after a year of mourning—”
Claire clutched at Rosita. “Yes, and I’ll be there right beside you—”
Eddie cut in, “It’s a new start for you, and I’m funding it—”
“Being a star was never really my dream. It was just a means to an end.”
“Right. To escape your crappy life,” Eddie said bitterly. He jerked a thumb at Claire. “To rescue her.”
Claire turned bright red, shame and fear flooding her face. I knew those emotions.
But all Rosita ever told me about her and Claire’s childhoods was that, sure, they’d grown up poor in Toledo.
I realized then, based on Claire’s reaction, not Eddie’s words—for I knew he lied easily—that she’d been hiding her own past from me.
But then, I’d kept certain truths of my own hidden from her. From Pony. From everyone.
Now Rosita shook her veiled head. “No. I married you because I loved you.” She emphasized “loved”—past tense. Even the shadows in the corners seemed to withdraw in discomfort. Why did they have to have this conversation in front of all of us? “Until you let our son get killed.”
Eddie’s lips tightened in a thin, cruel line. “We can’t get him back. Forget the movie if you like, but take what I’m offering. Find a different island to hide away from the world.”
Rosita asked flatly, “Why do you want to sell my island, Eddie? And to a rival?”
“I want out of bootlegging,” Eddie said. “I’m using the capital to move into, ah, other businesses.”
“He thinks Prohibition won’t last,” Marco said with a little chuckle, as if he could lighten the mood. “Crazy, I say—for all the talk, the politicians will be too embarrassed to end it. But I’m offering a great price—”
Something felt off to me. Eddie should have plenty of money from bootlegging. If he wanted out, couldn’t he just quit?
Unless he’d already tried to get into one of those other businesses—heroin, prostitution, gambling—and had overextended. Or taken a loan, or made a deal with someone that was beyond his means?
“I don’t care,” Rosita said. She turned so she was facing Eddie, and though her veil remained lowered, I could feel her eyes boring into him, burning with hatred. “You have ruined the island for me. Coming back here. Bringing this … this swine with you. But I’m not selling it.”
Marco jumped up. “Look, I know you’re still mad about your kid, but I ain’t the one who pulled the trigger, and I wouldn’t’a gone for Eddie if I’d’a known the boy was with him—”
Cold crept over my skin. Marco had put a hit out on Eddie. Poor sweet Oliver must have died in the crossfire.
“And if you’d been a fit mother,” Eddie said to Rosita, “instead of hungover after firing yet another nanny, I wouldn’t have had to take him with me—”
“I wouldn’t have fired the nanny or been hungover if you hadn’t been screwing her—”
“I told you, we weren’t screwing!” Eddie shouted. Then he cleared his throat, turned to Dr. Aldridge. “Are you making note of this—this—”
Dr. Aldridge turned red, but nodded as he cleared his throat and jerked at his burgundy bow tie. “Paranoia? Yes. Noted.”
I gaped at the doctor. I was wary of him, given my history with him, but I always thought he was fond of Rosita.
Eddie switched his regard to Marco, and stated with satisfaction, “Rosita will turn the island over.”
I wanted to scream. In that moment, I hated Eddie, Marco, Dr. Aldridge. I hated Rosita. All four of them, for being more concerned about their own desires and conflicts than about an innocent little boy.
“Look, doll, you can take the easy way—the stardom I’m willing to set up for you. Or just take the money and start over by yourself elsewhere. If you don’t, if you try to stand in my way, well, you’d have to be insane. That’s a fact that Dr. Aldridge here is happy to attest to. With Claire and Douglas as witnesses. Or sure, do it your way—the hard way. Dig in your heels, and I won’t have a choice but to make sure you’re truly locked away.” Eddie gave Rosita a cold smile. “And then my attorneys can make a case that an insane dame can’t control property. It becomes mine to, ah, manage for you—and I’ll sell it anyway. Either way, easy or hard, the island becomes mine, and I’m selling it to Marco.”
Claire dropped her head. Douglas stared at his hands, at rest on the piano keys.
Dr. Aldridge tugged at his bow tie as if it was choking him. “I’m sorry,” he started.
But Marco muttered something, an indistinct mumble to most of us, but Eddie must have heard clearly enough, for he was up on his feet in an instant, fists on his hips, leaning over Marco. Joey moved closer to his boss, and Cormac tensed.
“What was that?” Eddie snarled. “What the hell did you just say?”
Marco turned bright red but glared up at Eddie. “I said, wouldn’t it just be easier to kill her? Then you’d inherit—” He stuttered to a stop and shrank back. Even blustering Marco knew he’d gone too far, as Eddie’s face blazed with fury.
I looked at the Carmichaels, as if they might know what to do to stem the evening’s horrid direction. But Maxine looked as though she might faint, and even Henry—who’d been so adept at soothing Eddie just moments before—looked aghast. Suddenly, Rosita laughed with bitter amusement. “Oh, you foolish toad. Eddie would never kill me.” Was she only trying to defuse the tension, or did she really believe that? I wondered. Eddie saw murder as a tool of expediency, easily wielded against those he no longer needed. But from his reaction to Marco, he must still care about Rosita.
She went on. “And anyway, the answer is no. No, I will not agree to be in Douglas’s film. The Sweetheart Cousins days are behind me. Nor will Dr. Aldridge or anyone else declare me insane. I will keep my island. And eventually, Eddie, you will give me my divorce.” She paused, and I could sense a thin smile curling her lips behind her veil. “Because I have something you want more than any money you can get for this island.”
Eddie’s tight, red face suddenly fell and drained of color. For the first time in all the years I’ve known him, he looked scared. I did not know what Rosita referred to—but he clearly had an idea. From the flick of a worried frown on Cormac’s face, so did he. Everyone else looked confused—except Seamus. He was expressionless, as he had been through the last agonizing minutes, observing as if from afar.
Rosita turned, started to leave the room, but Eddie grabbed her elbow, poked his gun in her ribs. “One song, sweetheart. None of us have heard you sing in so long.”
“Oh, you’ll kill me after all, if I don’t sing? In front of all these witnesses?”
“Wouldn’t it be a shame if my gun went off accidentally—as all these witnesses would attest,” Eddie said. Well, so much for my brief hope that Eddie still had sentiment for Rosita. Apparently, he just didn’t want Marco to be the one who killed her. “Not a person here who would say otherwise—if they know what’s good for them. And Marco’s right, I’d get the island free and clear, no need for me to lose money for a divorce.” He shook Rosita. “Or to worry about what you’ve found.”
“Oh, you don’t think I was foolish enough to keep what I found all to myself, do you?”
At that, Eddie glared at me. Everyone else stared at me, too. It made sense that she would have told me about whatever she had found—who else had she talked to in the past year?
No one—as far as I knew.
And yet, I had no idea what she was referring to.
Rosita jerked her arm from Eddie’s grasp. “All right, Eddie, I’ll sing. Just for you. Not because I’m afraid of you. But because I want to.” She strode over to the piano.
Claire jumped up. “What do you want to sing, Rosie?” It startled me to hear the old nickname again. “How about ‘Yes, We Have No Bananas,’ or ‘Toot, Toot, Tootsie’?”
Ridiculous, cheery songs. Yet their unique stylings had made the cousins famous—at least in Toledo speakeasies.
Rosita shook her head. “I think instead—‘Always.’”
I drew in a sharp breath. She’d often sung the ballad for Oliver, as a lullaby. The chorus echoed in my head: I’ll be loving you, Always. With a love that’s true, Always …
Eddie’s eyes suddenly shone with sorrow. Rosita had made a purposefully pitiless choice. Perhaps, by dwelling on her sorrow for the past year, she’d gotten used to the pain. Eddie had pushed it back, to the point he could make this callous deal with Marco. But now, she’d again ripped open the hurt.
Rosita regarded Douglas. He struck a soft chord.
And then Rosita slowly lifted her veil. We all saw her face for the first time in more than a year. Everyone inhaled at once, so that it seemed the very mansion was gasping.
I pushed my glasses up on my nose, desiring to get as clear a view of Rosita as possible.
She looked exactly as I remembered her from the day of Oliver’s burial. Her once bright cobalt eyes turned to gray ice, underscored by dark circles. Her lips pressed together in a thin, pale line, making the distinctive beauty mark above the left side of her lip more prominent. Her skin was dull, with a grayish cast.
Tears sprang to my eyes from surprised relief at seeing her face again. In the far reaches of my mind a worry had crouched that all along I’d served a specter.
Rosita’s voice slowly lifted—rough, not as strong and clear as we all remembered—but sure. And for a moment I was back, back in the Century Club in Toledo, back to the night more than three years before, when I first met the McGees.