Carmella stared at Inez, some of the indomitable Donato determination and stubbornness suffusing her face. At that moment, she was very much her brother’s sister. “We will elope, tell Nico afterwards, and if he will not accept us, then we will leave and not look back on him or on San Francisco.”
Shocked, Inez leaned back in the chair. What Carmella had just proposed was exactly what Inez had done when her now-ex-husband Mark Stannert had appeared out of nowhere a decade ago, whirled her around the dance floor, and wooed and won her. I was the same age as Carmella. And just as foolish and headstrong. Left my family without a backwards glance when my father disowned me for marrying without his consent. What a strange world, or are all twenty-year-old women blind in the face of what they think is love?
Carmella interrupted her musings. “If I don’t see or hear from Jamie today, I am going to the police station tomorrow. I will not be able to live without knowing.”
“And how do you propose doing this?” Inez said a trifle harshly. “Are you going to march in, present yourself as a secret fiancée, and ask to see the body? Do you think it will be so easy?”
Carmella looked down at Inez’s handkerchief. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. I will find a way.”
Drumming on the tabletop, Inez deliberated. Carmella wiped her eyes, then smoothed the damp piece of fabric out on the table. Inez caught sight of initials in the corner: “MMS.” It was one of Mark’s old handkerchiefs that had made its way into her trunk in Leadville and from thence into her dresser drawer in San Francisco. Even after the divorce, he had found a way to wiggle into her life. Damn his eyes! she thought, even as something undefined contracted in her heart.
Inez took a deep breath. “Let’s do this. Tomorrow morning, we shall go down to the station together. I will present myself as a distant relative. A second cousin or such.” She thought it was a good thing she had had no interactions with the San Francisco gendarmes and had worked hard to stay anonymous in the large city. “You can be my daughter,” said Inez. “But you should be heavily veiled. We will say we heard this might be James Monroe, and we are the only local relatives.” She paused. “The body will most likely be with an undertaker. If it is a terrible death, they may not allow you to attend me.”
Carmella had been brightening perceptibly during this recitation. Like the dawn of a new day, her face took on a hopeful shade of pink. “They will,” she said with conviction. “They will! And as you say, it may not be Jamie at all. The longshoreman did not know for certain. He could be mistaken. And there are times I do not hear from Jamie for days. He said he wanted to be sure of this position. Maybe he needs another day or two, before he comes to tell me. He may even be living at the theater, or wherever he is working. Maybe they have given him living quarters and that is why he has not been back to the boardinghouse. He has been busy, and I know he doesn’t tell Mr. Klein everything. Even though they share living quarters and friends, they live separate lives.”
The scenario the young woman wove seemed to give shape to her prayers and put hope in her heart. The paleness faded from her face, and her eyes were again shining, but not with tears.
Inez herself remained unconvinced that the unfortunate victim was Jamie Monroe. Too many uncertainties. Still, she wasn’t willing to commit one way or the other, so she simply said, “That may well be. In any case, you should head home, or proceed with whatever you planned to do today, and be as normal as you can. Can you do this?” She stood.
Carmella stood as well and handed Inez back the handkerchief. “Yes. You know, the more I think about it, Mrs. Stannert, the more I think it highly unlikely to be Jamie. He would not put himself in danger. And Otto, poor Otto, always jumping at shadows and to gloomy conclusions.” She laughed a little then hiccupped and sniffed. “I am such a silly girl for falling apart like that. Surely I would have known, in my heart, if something happened to him. Wouldn’t I? I love him.” Carmella smiled at Inez, full of faith. “I have not said that out loud to anyone before, besides Jamie of course. I am glad that I can say it to you. And soon I will be able to proclaim it to the world! So, what do we do, Mrs. Stannert? About tomorrow?”
“It would be best to meet after Antonia goes to school but before the shop opens. Let’s say ten in the morning at Lotta’s Fountain. You know where it is?”
“At Third, Market, and Kearney. Perfect!” Carmella suddenly moved forward and embraced her. Inez found her nose buried in the frothy purple feathers of Carmella’s hat.
“Thank you, Mrs. Stannert. I have had no one to talk to about Jamie. We didn’t dare breathe a word, but how often I longed for a confidante. I am sure we will put this nightmare behind us, and it will prove as insubstantial as the fog come tomorrow.”
Patting Carmella’s back awkwardly, Inez almost added, “We shall see,” but stopped herself. She reflected that despite her best intentions of a few hours previous, here she was, thoroughly enmeshed in the affairs of Jamie Monroe and Carmella Donato. The handkerchief with her ex-husband’s initials, damp in the palm of her hand, almost seemed to mock her previously unwavering determination to remain divorced from the world of love and passionate emotions.
Staring at the broken bits of vase and dead flowers that
