Sirens
A NEW LIFE
SHE
was a different person in the daylight hours, without her makeup and with her eyes like slits and her skinny frame wrapped in an oversize robe. I tried to hide my surprise, which reappeared when she emerged from her rooms an hour later, primped and wide-awake and put together. She peered in the library door, squinting.
“There you are. Hiding. It’s time we put you right,” she said as I stood up, and then she looked down at my old black shoes. “Good grief. First order of business is new shoes. And for pity’s sake, take off those awful stockings before we leave the apartment.”
“I’m not a flapper,” I said.
“Yeah? Well, we can fix that,” she responded. “Come on.”
SIRENS
BOOKS BY JANET FOX
Faithful
Forgiven
SIRENS
J A N E T F O X
speak
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First published in the United States of America by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2012
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Copyright © Janet Fox, 2012
All rights reserved
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ISBN: 978-1-101-62357-2
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| ALWAYS LEARNING | PEARSON |
For the two men who rule my heart, Jeff and Kevin,
and for my sister Mary, who is my own sassy Lou
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
PROLOGUE
T
HE
Titanic
taught us that there are no unsinkable ships. The Great War taught us that there are no deathless heroes. The influenza taught us that there are no places to hide.
We were done with darkness, so we shed our old skins. And some of us drank that wild brew called abandon.
The other girls, they came from everywhere: from the small towns with their quiet commons, from the city tenements with their honking mayhem. They wore their hair short and their skirts shorter. Followers of Bacchus, devotees of Pan, heedless of the old rules, yet they wanted to be all the same, the same—they were Zelda, they were Clara, they were Coco. They were flappers.
And when I shed my old skin, what soft and tender flesh did I expose? The heart does hold secrets, and is itself an unruly thing.
CHAPTER 1
LATE SEPTEMBER 1925
First you will raise the island of the Sirens,
Those creatures who spellbind any man alive,
Whoever comes their way. Whoever draws too close,
Off guard, and catches the Sirens’ voices in the air—
No sailing home for him…
—Homer,
The Odyssey
, Book 12, 44–48
Jo
The wharf stretched over the water, a black slab like a prone tombstone. Across the river the lights in Jersey cast shimmering reflections that bobbled and broke, the only light by which I could see since I’d pulled the Nash sideways and the car’s headlamps cast their lights south. With my right hand I tucked my collar up under my chin; the night was crisp and the stars threw a hard brilliance.
In my left hand I clutched the scarf, the metal tucked inside biting through the silk and into the leather glove, sharp points digging into my palm.
“Okay, Teddy,” I whispered to the chilly dark. “This is what you wanted. This is for you.”
I pulled my fist from my coat pocket and opened the scarf, the silk weeping over my open hand. I couldn’t see the poppies in the dark, those big scarlet splotches on white. I couldn’t see the three
medals with their grosgrain ribbons, their insignia, but as they shifted and clinked they grew heavy in my palm—some figment of my imagination—and I plucked them out of the scarf one by one and tossed them, my best Teddy-taught ball throw, into the water, which they hit with a soft splash, one, two, three.
The water shivered, just the smallest ripple, then stilled.
I hustled back to the car, hobbled by my coat and the uneven ground, shivering as I climbed in and pressed against the leather. I glanced through the glass knowing that he wouldn’t be there.
I let out the brake and stomped on the clutch and put the thing in gear and made off with a roar, spitting stones, navigating out of the maze of warehouses and dockside loading bays and back to the dark streets of the Lower West Side. I thought about Charlie, and my heart skipped a beat, and my foot pressed harder on the accelerator. I thought about Lou and what she’d say about Teddy and the medals. She’d probably think it was a shame.
But I’d made a promise. I did what Teddy asked me to do. I didn’t need his medals anymore. Because as I looked at everything I’d learned, at everything I’d found and lost in these five months past, this was my northern star: I still had Teddy.
Lou
So boys. Am I a witness, or a suspect?
As I cross my legs I can see the detective’s momentary distraction. I savor the moment.
You mind exhaling your smoke in the other direction, Detective?
It’s not the cushiest chair ever, either, though I don’t go on about that. The detective in the suit perches on the desk in front of me. The
guy taking notes sits right behind me, where I can’t see him. We’re in a tight little office with glass walls, and a bustle goes on in the precinct headquarters around us. Every so often some joker stares in at me like I’m a museum specimen or something. I fan my face. A gal can hardly think in here, especially considering.
Fine. I’m gonna start at the beginning. That way maybe you guys can fill in the rest of the blanks yourselves and stop pestering me. I’ll give you the whole kit and caboodle. Me and Danny. Me and Jo. Jo and Charlie. What happened that night. What happened to take us to that point. It’s quite a story, and I’ll give it to you straight, especially…
I pause for effect.
…how I’m an innocent victim.
I can see the smirk starting to form on those skinny lips, and I think, Don’t laugh, buster.
And Teddy, you want to know about Teddy, don’t you? It doesn’t all start with Teddy, but yeah, it sure ends with him. Yeah, right there in the water. Such a shame.
Jo thought she had him. A crying shame, that. But…
Then I see that the detective—Smith, isn’t it?—he shifts like he’s impatient, and I think, Settle down, sweet pea. I’m not gonna get ahead of myself.
CHAPTER 2
MAY 18, 1925
Lies are essential to humanity. They are perhaps as important as the pursuit of pleasure and moreover are dictated by that pursuit.
