Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(70)

“Another reason not to raise a stink. He’s trying to build a life with Hadley that doesn’t rely on illegal activities. His reputation is precarious, especially considering the family business. I’m not putting his job in jeopardy over my poor grades and attendance. That’s not fair to him.”

As much as he wanted to argue, she had a point. But he damn sure wished she hadn’t put it that way, because it only made him feel that Lowe was doing the right thing, and here Bo was, on the illegal side of the family business with Winter.

She scratched her forehead and looked out over the water. “I have one more shot in January. One semester to bring my grades up before they expel me. And I guess that’s what I’m struggling with. Do I go back?”

“Of course you go back. Do you know how many women in this city would love to have that opportunity?”

“I know, but what if I’m not a scholar? And what about us? Being apart nearly killed me, and that was when I only had hope. Now I have this,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. “How am I going to go back now?”

He sighed heavily. No matter how hard he’d tried to avoid that negative inner voice, there it was, saying, I told you so. You thought happiness would be easy? Think again. There’s always a price.

“We will find a way to make it work. I can take the train down to see you.”

“When? You work six days a week. I’ll bet you have runs tonight, don’t you?”

He did. “Winter will give me the time off,” he said, but as soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew it was a lie. Once Winter found out what Bo had been doing with his sister . . .

All his old worries tumbled back. Winter would disown him. Bo would lose his job and wouldn’t be allowed to go near Astrid. He could see it all in his mind, playing out like a picture show in a theater.

He tried to shove them all back into the dark corners of his mind and busied himself spreading peanut butter on a cracker. He handed it to Astrid, but she didn’t eat it. He took a big gulp of hot tea and attempted to clear his head.

“If I didn’t go back to school . . .” Astrid said softly. “And I’m not saying I’m giving up, but I can’t help but wonder why I’m doing something that makes me miserable, and that maybe there’s something else out there for me. Hadley says I just need to find out what that is.”

Bo didn’t know how to help her find that. He didn’t know how to find it himself.

“I’m not asking for you to help me with that,” she said. “But what I’m wondering is . . . what will we do? How can we be—”

“Together,” he finished. It wasn’t as if he’d never entertained that fantasy. Of course he had. But he could never quite get the puzzle pieces to fit correctly. He could try to find a legitimate job, but nothing would pay enough to keep her in the style she was accustomed to living in. And even if she was willing to make some sacrifices, where would they live? In his old apartment? Not likely.

As if she’d picked out his thoughts, she said, “Aida lived on that end of Grant, and she wasn’t the only white woman in her boardinghouse. Besides, I went to Sylvia’s apartment, and it was perfectly fine. The building isn’t run-down.”

“No, but my apartment doesn’t even have a proper bedroom. It’s not a place for families. I should know. I slept on a pallet in the corner when I lived there with my uncle before he died.”

Neither of them said anything for a long while. In the distance, he could see the dark shape of a large ship cutting to the north of them, heading up the coast. The wind picked up and blew golden strands of her hair across his jaw. He tucked them behind her ear and smoothed a hand over the back of her head.

“You know,” she said. “I was thinking about the night I drove you to Dr. Moon’s. Don’t say it—I know I need to get your fender fixed.” A small smile lifted her mouth, and that made him feel a little lighter. “Anyway, I was thinking how Nob Hill and Chinatown border each other, and how you can drive a few blocks from the Wicked Wenches’ million-dollar apartment and be on Grant.”

“That’s true of any neighborhood.”

“But I was thinking of the incident outside their apartment building with that horrible woman and her husband, the state senator. The Humphreys. Remember them?”

How could he forget? It was the first time Astrid hadn’t tried to smooth things over for public appearances, and like everything Astrid set her mind to, she did it with gusto. He smiled to himself as she continued.

“Anyway, she was upset because the ‘immigrants’ were invading her neighborhood. And I was thinking, yes, of course they are. Because neighborhoods aren’t hard lines. There are those blocks between, where you can still find Nob Hill money living next to a Chinese merchant. Or there’s someone like Ju, who owns that small house on the edge of Russian Hill.”

Which had been vandalized repeatedly, despite the fact that Ju traveled with thugs wherever he went. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m just saying, there are those gray areas between the neighborhoods, and that makes me think maybe that’s a place for us. We aren’t the first people to do this. Love crosses streets. It doesn’t realize it’s supposed to stay confined to one neighborhood.”

Tell that to the old WASPs who would be happier if people like him didn’t look them in the eye, much less stepped on their sidewalks. He pulled her head to his chest and laid his own head upon hers, tucking her tightly under his arm.