Bridge of Scarlet Leaves. Kristina McMorris

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      2

      Cigarette smoke at the Dunbar swirled, adding to the fog of Lane’s thoughts. Since arriving, he had been struggling to keep his focus on the Negroes playing riffs onstage. Now, with TJ off fetching drinks, he could finally allow his eyes to settle on the profile of Maddie, seated across from him. Her jasmine perfume, while subtle, somehow transcended the wafts of beer and sweat in the teeming club.

      From above the bar, blue lights danced over the crowd united in music and laughter—racially integrated, as the entire world would be when Lane was done with it—and rippled shadows across Maddie’s face. The narrow slope of her nose led to full lips, moist with a red sheen. Her hazel eyes studied the musicians with such intensity that he chose to merely watch her.

      Amazing that he’d known her for more than half his life, yet only months ago had he truly begun to see her. The ache to touch her swelled, along with a desire to make up for lost time. He reached over and brushed the back of her creamy hand resting on their cocktail table.

      She jolted, her trance broken. “Sorry,” she said, and returned his smile.

      “Pretty good, isn’t he?” Lane indicated the saxophonist. The long, haunting notes of “Summertime” made the guy’s talent obvious even to Lane.

      “Yeah, I suppose.”

      “You don’t think so?”

      “No, I do. It’s just—the structure’s so loose, with all those slurs, and the downbeat going in and out. Plus, the key changes are too quick to feel grounded. And during the chorus, his timing keeps—” She broke off, her nose crinkling in embarrassment. “Gosh, listen to me. I sound like a royal snob, don’t I?”

      “Not at all.”

      She exaggerated a squint. “Liar.”

      They both laughed. In truth, he could listen to her talk forever. “God, I’ve missed you,” he said to her.

      “I’ve missed you too.” The sincerity in her voice was so deep, he could lose himself in that sound for days. But a moment later, she glanced around as if abruptly aware of the surrounding spectators, and her glimmering eyes dulled, turned solid as her defenses. She slid her hand away, sending a pang down his side.

      He told himself not to read into it, that her aversion to a public show of affection wasn’t a matter of race. She was simply fearful of jeopardizing her relationship with her brother. Understandable, after all she had been through.

      “So,” she said. “Where did Jo go?”

      “To the ladies’ room.”

      “Oh.”

      Awkwardness stretched between them as the song came to a close. They joined in with a round of applause. When the next ballad began, it occurred to him that a slow dance would be their only chance for a private, uninterrupted talk. His only chance to hold her tonight. He gestured to the dance floor. “Shall we?”

      “I . . . don’t think we should.”

      “Maddie, your brother won’t get any ideas just because—”

      A booming voice cut him off. “Evenin’, sweet cakes.” The guy sidled up to the table near Maddie, a familiar look to him. Beer sloshed in his mug, only two fingers gripping the handle. He had the sway of someone who’d already downed a few. “Fancy seeing you here.”

      Maddie shifted in her seat, her look of unease growing. “Hi, Paul.”

      Now Lane remembered him. Paul Lamont. The guy was a baseball teammate of TJ’s, ever since their high school years, subjecting Lane to occasional encounters as a result. Even back then, the towhead had carried a torch for Maddie subtle as a raging bonfire.

      “What do you say?” Paul licked his bottom lip and leaned on the table toward her. “Wanna cut a rug?”

      “No thanks.”

      “C’mon, СКАЧАТЬ