Eddie Kessler gave Richard a nod of acknowledgement; Richard nodded back then quickly looked away. If Nucky wanted to speak to Jimmy privately, it would be some time that Richard would be standing in that hallway, and there was not much to do except wait. And with waiting came the risk that his mind would begin churning – towards, the past, towards dreams of the future, towards the fantasy life that he kept alive.

It had been some time – nearly a year – since his release from the hospital in Chicago. There, too, he waited, his only escape within his own head. He'd heard the term "polite society," but knew from experience they were anything but. Even the nurses didn't pretend to hide their horror at his appearance; the doctors who curtly told him there was nothing they could do. Talking, eating, swallowing, even breathing – all were impaired, but even in the hospital, they seemed more concerned with his effect on polite society. Just wear the mask, they advised. The plaster that nearly suffocated him when they took a cast of his face. The delicate details, from the painted wisps of facial hair to the frozen smile. The wire of its fastening spectacles that dug fiercely the side of his head when he slept, yet during his time as Margaret's bodyguard, Nucky insisted he keep it on at all times.

There was a faint sound coming from the next room. At first he thought it was the phonograph in Nucky's office, but realized it was too nuanced, too real. Someone was singing – a woman's voice.

"Oh, kindly tell my daddy
That he must take care
That's a baby's prayer at twilight
For her daddy over there…"

He listened intently, but it had stopped. He winced to think of the children whose fathers perished in the trench – how many died not of enemy fire, but fever, perhaps even madness or melancholy. His thoughts so enveloped him that he barely noticed the woman only a few feet away. "Sir?"

Startled, he forgot to turn the intact side of his face toward her, as he was accustomed to doing. He was surprised that, as he faced her full-on, she barely blinked. She had dark eyes – kind, like Odette's. And a gentle smile. Her figure was thick, with a large bosom. Her chestnut hair looked soft.

"Can I get you something?"

Richard paused. "Mmmm. Bourbon, please."

The woman's smile widened. "Right away, sir."

As she turned, Richard spoke again. "Mmm. Pardon me. You sing?"

She faced him again, her eyes downcast. "Oh. Yes. Sometimes without realizing." She laughed a bit. "My apologies for disturbing you."

"Not. Necessary. You have. A lovely voice."

"Thank you, sir. I'll fetch your drink." She hurried away. Richard felt compelled to follow her, but didn't. He leaned against the wall. Eddie Kessler, who was just coming from Nucky's office, approached him.

"Mr. Harrow, may I get you anything?"

"No. Thank you. The woman. With the dark hair –"

"Ah, Cecelia. The new girl. She has a lovely singing voice. She sings 'Second Hand Rose' better than Fanny Brice. Lovely girl."

Richard broke in. "Yes." He watched the doorway, listened for her song, heard nothing.

"Very well, then." Kessler gave a nod and retreated to Nucky's office once again, leaving Richard to worry whether he'd be able to address her, speak her name without tripping on the syllables.

She returned with her tray, upon which was perched a glass of bourbon. With a straw.

"Your drink, sir."

"Thank you." He managed a smile. "Richard Harrow. Madam. Pleased to make. Your acquaintance."

Cecelia set down the tray, her face alight. "Cecelia Dawes." She extended her hand, and as Richard's own unsteady hand reached back, her dark eyes all but disappeared into her smile. They grew soft again, inquisitive, as she felt him tremble. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Harrow?"

Silence. Her heart stirred, as she realized he was still grasping her hand.