“Anna, is there something else the matter?” Stuart asked.
How much should she tell him? It was hard to know. If she shared too much, she ran the risk of him seeing right through her, of recognizing that her affection was muddied with other desires. If she didn’t share anything, how would he ever know what she needed?
“I heard from my mother yesterday. Things aren’t looking very good for my parents.”
“What are they saying?”
“That there’s not enough in the bank account Joseph opened.” She held her balled-up dress in front of her chest.
“What about the affidavit?” asked Stuart. “You said there were more letters now.”
“The consul wants them to come from close relatives.”
“And your parents have no relatives in the U.S.?”
Anna shook her head. “Just me.”
“Right, of course,” Stuart said, acknowledging his slip with a small laugh. “You couldn’t sponsor them, I suppose?”
“I’m on a student visa.” She used her free hand to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.
“There’s nothing else Joseph can do?” Stuart asked.
“He’s done so much already.”
“How much was in the account?”
“Twelve hundred dollars,” she said, and watched Stuart’s eyebrows jump.
“And the consul is saying it’s not enough? That’s crazy.”
“They told my parents they’d want to see ‘some amount’ of money in an irrevocable trust.”
“How much?”
“They didn’t say. But if the expectation is for them to live off the interest, without touching the principal, we’re probably talking about close to five thousand dollars.”
Stuart let out a low whistle.
“I know.”
“What does Joseph say?”
“Nothing definitive. But I’d be surprised if he can part with that much money.”
“Few people can.”
They stood there in silence for several minutes. If only Anna knew what to say or do to turn the evening around. It was possible that, at this point, it was already too far gone.
“Do you know Eli Hirsch?” Anna finally asked.
“Vaguely.”
“I went to see him yesterday.” A sand crab scurried past their feet, and they both watched it disappear into a hole in the sand. “He thinks my best option is to forget school and try to get American citizenship. Then my parents would qualify for a preference visa, which is far easier to get.”
“Wouldn’t your parents be crushed?”
“My father hasn’t worked in over a year.”
“How easy is it to get American citizenship?”
“If I applied for permanent residency, not very easy.” Anna inhaled and forced herself to look at Stuart. “But if I married an American, it’s fairly straightforward.”
Had she really repeated Eli Hirsch’s suggestion aloud? Anna wasn’t drunk, by any means, but the beer had left her feeling bold.
“Is that what you want?” Stuart asked, his brow furrowed. “To marry?”
Anna couldn’t bear to meet his eyes for a moment longer. Instead she looked away, studied the way the sand stuck to her toes. All she wanted this very instant was to put her dress back on. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have your eye on one American in particular, or will any American do?” Stuart’s voice had a hard edge to it. Anna had never seen him angry, didn’t know it was even possible to elicit such a response from him.
“Stuart, please.” She reached for his hand again, the same hand that had felt like it was another part of her under the table at Bert’s, but he shook it away. “Let’s just swim, okay?”
“It’ll be dark soon,” he said, looking up at the sky and then back at her. “I think we’ve lost our window.”
Anna bit her lower lip. How had she made such a disaster of this?
“Can you make it the rest of the way home?” he asked. “I told some of the guys I might try to meet back up with them when we were through.”
Through? She nodded vigorously, wanting badly for him to know she was fine, although it didn’t look like he was waiting for an answer. He had already scooped up his shirt and shoes and begun walking back down the beach. Anna watched him get smaller and smaller, wondering if at any point he might glance over his shoulder to find her still standing in the same spot. But he never did.
August 1934
Gussie
By the time Anna and Gussie arrived at the beach, on Saturday morning, to watch Atlantic City’s annual pageant swim, a hundred or more swimmers had been corralled behind the start line.
A few ACBP lifeguards had cleared a wide path to the water’s edge. Now they patrolled either side with their arms outstretched. “Move back!” someone called, so Gussie and Anna and several hundred other spectators took a half-dozen large steps backward.
More lifeguards were stationed in rescue boats along the course, ready to disqualify swimmers who cut corners or dive for the ones who had overestimated their own abilities. It’d be easy to do so, as the course was challenging. Swimmers entered the water in a mad dash at States Avenue and, presuming they didn’t get a fist or a foot in the face, swam out into open water, where the waves could be especially unforgiving. The rule was that the swimmers had to make a sharp turn at the orange buoy and swim 220 yards north to Garden Pier. Only after they’d rounded the second buoy, past the pier, could they return to shore.
Gussie scanned the course, looking for Stuart. He wasn’t at the start line but it was hard to tell if he was in one of the rescue boats. A few guards dangled from Garden Pier, where they had a bird’s-eye view of the race and could holler at the swimmers below, but Gussie couldn’t make out their faces from this far away.
At precisely ten o’clock, a man with a megaphone stepped up to the start line and welcomed the swimmers and spectators to the event. The crowd cheered, and Gussie clapped her hands excitedly. She looked over at Anna, whose arms were folded across her chest.
