The Lost Girl of Astor Street(8)

Mrs. LeVine had glanced at her wristwatch. “Piper, get the girls out of here, and call Dr. LeVine.” But I had been frozen there. She turned, and looked up at me with a glare even more severe than Ms. Underhill’s. “Go, Piper. Piper!”

Walter’s voice blends with the memory of Mrs. LeVine’s. “Piper?”

I shake myself from the LeVines’ living room and back into the present. “That seizure lasted eight minutes, I was told. It felt like forever. When her father finally got there, Mrs. LeVine took me aside and made it clear I was to tell absolutely no one about what I had seen. Not my father, not friends at school. She asked that I not even mention it to Lydia.”

Walter’s forehead scrunches as he frowns at me.

I pitch my voice low. “They’re worried about Dr. LeVine’s practice. About what would happen if word got out that his daughter has been having unexplained seizures for several months now.”

His face doesn’t lose the serious countenance. “Can it be cured?”

“Dr. LeVine says it can. That it’s a matter of finding the right combination of medicines.” I take a deep breath. “He says the seizures don’t hurt her. That she’s sore afterward and often comes to with a headache, but doesn’t remember a thing. So I guess even if she does have pain, she doesn’t remember feeling it.”

“Well. That’s a small comfort, I suppose.”

I picture Lydia as her beautiful self. Carefully curled red hair, skin aglow, and blue eyes lively. That is Lydia. I hold the image in my mind as the Other Lydia—her arms tucked awkwardly and her eyes rolled up—tries to crowd her out.

“This is 1924, for heaven’s sake.” I infuse my voice with false bravado. “We can make automobiles, telephones, and electricity. So surely this can be solved as well.”

Walter smiles down at me. “Yes, you’re right. And Dr. LeVine is one of the best in the city. Lydia couldn’t be in better hands.”

“Right.”

We slow to a stop at the back door of our home. He glances down at his shirt, soiled with Lydia’s blood and urine.

“You can’t put that in the wash, or Joyce will ask about it. I’ll have to replace it for you. Your hat too. What are your measurements?”

“Piper, one less shirt is no problem.” He threads the buttons of his suit coat through their holes. “I’m going to get cleaned up, and then I’ll be back down.”

He disappears into the house, and I sink onto the bare wood steps. My ankle feels as though it might be swelling, and my legs quiver beneath my school skirt. I stare at the back of the brick house behind ours as my head swirls to all sorts of dangerous places.

Can I trust Dr. LeVine when he says this is curable? Or is it like when Mother came down with influenza in the summer of ’19? When they told me she would be fine. And then she was not.

Lydia held my hand all through Mother’s funeral. Didn’t offer trite words of comfort, just pressed her palm against mine and stood there with me. How could I survive losing someone else I love? Especially without Lydia to see me through?

I take an angry swipe at the tears that fall. Lydia’s not dying. Dr. LeVine told me so, and I will choose to trust him.

Only I can’t block out the memory of my mother’s parting words to me. Of the way she beckoned me close and spoke with labored breaths. “You’re a smart girl, Piper. Trust yourself.” The last cohesive sentences she chose before slipping into an unsettled sleep from which she never awoke.

The words shiver through me with every breath I take—trust yourself. I find I can’t ignore that the seizures are happening with more frequency. Nor can I talk myself out of the fear that Dr. LeVine prioritizes secrecy more than Lydia’s healing.




“I beg you to reconsider this.” Lydia’s words are spoken through pinched lips. Her gaze trails after the Hart, Schaffner & Marx employee as he ducks into the back room. “Really, Piper. Buying a shirt for a man is far too bold a gesture. How could Walter not read into such a gift?”

“It’s my fault his shirt was ruined. I’m trying to be fair, not flirtatious.”

Lydia yawns. “And why would you have thrown a mud ball at him in the first place? You’re not a child anymore, Piper.”

I shrug and feign interest in the display of neckties, running the cool silk between my fingers. The store smells of cedar and mint and is oppressively quiet, like a library. The only other patron at the men’s clothing store is also a woman. Her back is to us as she surveys men’s suits, but even from here I can tell she’s nearly as tall as my brothers and old enough to be in here for a respectable reason—a suit for her husband, most likely. She keeps glancing at us. Probably curious about why two adolescent girls are in a men’s clothing store.

I resolve to ignore her silent questions. “Besides, Walter is seeing someone in California. He told me so yesterday. He’s quite smitten.”

“And how did you feel when he told you that?”

I shrug again. “It’s strange to think of him married. He wouldn’t come home as much. That makes me sad. But of course, I suppose I’ll be moving out before too long.”

“But you weren’t jealous?”

“No. Same as I wouldn’t be if I learned Nick were marrying. I’ve told you—Walter’s like my brother.” I smile as she attempts to cover up another yawn. “Am I boring you?”