The Memoir of Johnny Devine (33 page)

Her heart clenched. Prolonging her time with
him—yes. Prolonging their last goodbye—no. Going out with him in
public—well, what did that matter now? It would be the last
time.

“
Yes. I’ll join you.”
Betty would have kittens. In fact, Eliza would have to agree with
her sister this time. Dining out with him was foolish and would
only make saying goodbye harder.

But how could she resist?

They took a cab and headed for the west side
of town, with a brief stop at the North Berkeley post office. That
didn’t take long. While Eliza waited, John dealt with the clerk,
then turned away from the counter with a shrug. No fanfare. The
book was out of his hands, that was that.

By the time they reached a restaurant near
Fisherman’s Wharf, the parking lot was full, surprising for a
Thursday. Though the sky was growing dark, the lights of the city
sent a golden shimmer across the rippling bay. Inside, the host led
them to a dimly lit corner table at a window overlooking the water.
Partially enclosed by dark wooden lattice draped with ivy, the
table was set for two with a tapered candle casting a mild glow
over deep-red linens.

John swept a guarded glance around the room
and then pulled out Eliza’s chair.

“
Thank you,” she
said.

John seemed especially quiet, which was odd,
since it was his idea to celebrate. He was probably thinking of
Millie.

Thoughts of Millie had tugged at Eliza all
day.

A phonograph played Billie Holiday’s “The
Very Thought of You.”

Swell. Nothing like a romantic love song to
awaken hushed longings.

When the maître d’ came
with a bottle of wine, John declined with a wave and a
“No
,
thanks,” but
as soon as the waiter left, John turned to Eliza. “I’m sorry, force
of habit. I didn’t think to ask if you wanted wine. Do
you?”

She smiled. “No, thank you.” No telling what
effect even a little wine would have, and it was best to keep her
tongue and her wits about her tonight. Eliza studied her menu, but
the items were not connecting with her brain.

John was handsome to distraction in his
black coat and tie. Of course, the man would be handsome in old
coveralls and a ratty fishing hat. The picture brought a faint
smile to her lips—a welcome diversion. She needed something to get
her mind off the finality of the day and the uncertainty about
Millie.

A shadow fell over her menu.

“
Hello, there.” Oscar
Silva smiled down at them. “I saw you two from across the room and
figured I’d better pop over and get an autograph.”

“
Hello,” Eliza said. What
an odd coincidence that Oscar was here.

John rose from his seat and shook Oscar’s
hand.

“
Congratulations on
finishing the book.”

How did he know? John must have telephoned
him. Which meant his appearance here was no coincidence after
all.

Oscar gave John’s shoulder a clap, and then
leaned down close to Eliza. “You think I’m kidding, but I really do
want your autograph.” He offered her a pen and a paper. “Would you
mind?”

Eliza smiled. “How exciting, my first. And
probably my last,” she added with a chuckle. “And to whom shall I
make it out?”

Oscar laughed. “To Oscar,
the
second
best
agent on the planet.”

She humored him, cheeks aflame. People were
staring now. Maybe that was Oscar’s plan. He was probably getting a
head start on generating press for John’s book.

“
Oscar, mind if I have a
word with you?” John gave Oscar a pointed look and turned to Eliza.
“If you’ll excuse us.”

Eliza nodded, not sure what to think of this
odd exchange.

The two men walked around a corner and out
of sight.

Above the dining room
chatter, Nat King Cole sang “
Almost Like
Being in Love.”
If the next title was his
“There Goes My Heart,” she would have to ask the waiter to play
something else.

While the two men were gone, Eliza received
curious glances from several of the diners. Ignoring them, she
tried to study her menu again, but nothing sounded appealing.

How badly had Millie suffered? Would she
recover?

When the men returned, John avoided Eliza’s
curious gaze and took his seat.

Oscar gave her a gallant bow and spied her
autograph. “Ah, yes, I can’t leave without that. This is going to
be worth a mint when that book hits the bestseller list.” He kissed
Eliza’s hand, gave John’s hand another firm shake, and then
left.

When the waiter came for their order, Eliza
chose clam chowder, hoping it would tempt her appetite. John handed
over his unopened menu and asked for whatever the chef
recommended.

A woman approached the table for an
autograph.

John was polite but wrote quickly and bid
her a good evening, barely short of shooing her away. Then he met
Eliza’s gaze with a wince. “Sorry. I’m used to this sort of thing,
but for you, it’s probably—”

“
Hiya,” a middle-aged
woman said, voice breathless. She beamed a giddy smile at John,
then at Eliza. “Can I have your autograph?”

John signed the back of her coaster.

Then the woman turned to Eliza. “And
yours?”

Eliza opened her mouth but couldn’t think of
a thing to say.

John rested his chin in one hand, hiding a
smile.

“
Thank you, but I’m afraid
I …” Eliza scrambled to think of how to let the woman down
gently.

“
Oh, and I’m sorry to
intrude on your meal, but could you tell me which picture was your
favorite to make?”

The woman was looking at her, not John.

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Picture?”

“
Oh yes, I’m your biggest
fan. Just ask my husband, he’ll tell you. I’ve seen every Gene
Tierney film.”

Eliza looked to John for help, but he was
sipping his water—and taking a very long time to swallow. A smile
curled beyond the edges of his glass.

What should she say? The woman would be
mortified if Eliza corrected her now. She turned to the woman and
smiled. “What is your name?”

“
Evelyn.” Her shoulders
nearly touched her ears as she clasped her hands.

“
Evelyn, what a lovely
name. Tell me, what’s
your
favorite film?”

“
Oh! Gracious, there are
so many!” She turned and whispered loudly at the man behind her.
“Oh, I know,” she said, turning back. “
Leave Her To Heaven.
That was
breathtaking! And if you don’t mind my saying, they really should
have given you the Oscar.”

Eliza avoided John’s face. “To Evelyn, with
love,” Eliza said as she wrote the message, then signed a loopy
signature that she hoped no one would ever be able to read.

“
Thank you!” Evelyn
smashed the autograph to her bosom and grinned at John as if she’d
just won a jackpot, then returned to her seat.

Unfolding her napkin, Eliza shot a furtive
glance around the room and hoped no one else was getting the same
idea. Then she caught John’s smile. She dropped her gaze to keep
from laughing.

John signed four more autographs by the time
their meal arrived, leaving them little time for conversation. Not
that either of them were feeling talkative.

A nagging foreboding about Millie had
returned. When the chowder came, Eliza’s stomach rebelled at the
thought of eating. She stirred the soup, then set her spoon
down.

John poked at his Lobster Thermidor. He
nodded at Eliza’s bowl. “You don’t like it?”

“
I’m sorry. I probably
shouldn’t have come. You wanted to celebrate, and I’m no
help.”

“
Are you not feeling
well?”

“
I’m fine, I just can’t
stop thinking about Millie. It’s so unsettling, knowing how she
must be suffering and not knowing what’s happening and whether or
not …”

“
You’re right.” He stared
at his hardly touched meal. “I can’t very well celebrate while
Millie might be lying somewhere holding on by a thread.”

“
I wish there was a way to
know.”

John placed his napkin on the table, then
grabbed his cane and stood. “There may be. If you’ll excuse
me.”

Eliza watched him go, sorry that she had
ruined his celebration dinner but grateful that he understood.

Ten minutes later, John returned, looking
more optimistic than when he left. “I phoned Nathaniel’s house and
spoke to a neighbor who is staying with his children. She’s at St.
Luke’s Hospital.”

“
How is she?”

“
The neighbor didn’t
know.”

Millie was alive, at least. But in what
condition?

John rose and offered her his hand. “Come,
our cab is waiting.”

She stared at his outstretched hand. So that
was it, the evening was over. “I’m sorry to have ruined your—”

“
To take us to St.
Luke’s,” he said. “That is, if you’d like to go.”

“
Oh yes!” She collected
her things, took his hand, and stood. “Thank you, John.”

He avoided her eyes.

As they left the restaurant, Eliza’s heart
swelled at his thoughtfulness, but she quickly put her gratitude
aside. It was just one more thing she loved about him that she
would miss.

At the hospital, Eliza stood by while John
asked the desk staff about Millie, but no one seemed to know where
she was. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, he and Eliza were
directed to the basement wing.

The
basement
. Because of the color of
Millie’s skin.

Pressing down her anger, Eliza joined John
in the elevator. “I hope they at least gave her a bed,” she
muttered.

John glanced at Eliza
without a word, just stuffed a fist in his jacket pocket and
watched the lights change until the
B
glowed.

Nothing could have prepared Eliza for the
sight of Millie’s room. From the doorway, she counted seven
occupied beds—the patients all colored—crammed into the room like
puzzle pieces. Men and women of varying ages surrounded one
bed.

Soft murmurings quieted when she and John
walked in.

Swallowed by a giant, white pillow, Millie
looked like a small, sleeping child. Her hair was a misty, gray
halo, her skin nearly the same color.

Dear God, she looks so frail …

As John moved toward the bed, a few of the
people shifted as best they could to make room for him.

One young woman in a maid’s uniform gave
Eliza a polite smile. Everyone else remained somber.

John leaned down and spoke quietly to
Millie, but she didn’t respond. He turned toward Eliza, his
expression as uncertain as she felt.

Is she
dying
?

John straightened and spoke in low tones to
a younger man—probably Millie’s grandson Nathaniel. The two men
maneuvered through the people and left the room.

Eliza moved closer and reached for Millie’s
hand, tears brimming. “I’ll pray for you, Millie.” To Eliza’s ear,
the words sounded so presumptuous, as if her clumsy prayers could
fix the woman. “I …” It felt like everyone in the room was
listening. She leaned down, kissed the old woman’s forehead, and
whispered, “I love you.”

Millie smiled faintly but didn’t open her
eyes.

Eliza looked to John, who beckoned to her
from the doorway. She excused herself and slipped away to join
him.

John glanced at Millie’s family, then leaned
down to speak into Eliza’s ear. “It’s her heart. The doctors don’t
expect her to last much longer,” he said. “They don’t even know how
she made it this long.”

Eliza’s eyes drifted closed. She wept
soundlessly.

A strong arm encircled
her, and she leaned into the comfort of John’s
embrace
.

As the cab carried
Eliza and John toward her apartment, she knew she
should try to make conversation, but it seemed her heart had
swollen until it pressed against her lungs and stole her ability to
speak.

Perhaps John didn’t mind her silence, since
he was also quiet. He was probably thinking about things that he
didn’t need to, like what he might have done differently for
Millie. Which was pointless. Millie had made choices for reasons of
her own, and it was unlikely John could have dissuaded her.

Another blanket of fog had settled over the
city while John and Eliza were inside the hospital, and the
thickness enveloped them now, closing in, cutting them off from the
world. Normally, fog wouldn’t be so troubling. But today, the idea
of losing both Millie and John at once left Eliza feeling more
isolated than she had felt in a long time.