Sarah sat under her window, sewing. The view from that side of the apartment was lovely, if limited; she could see the sky if she craned her neck. Twilight had fallen on the city, and the stars were beginning to glisten in the sky. When Sarah was very little, Mama had told her that the stars were angels, each one watching over one of us. "Everyone has their special star, Sarah," she'd said. Sarah hadn't asked which star was hers. Looking back, she supposed that Mama expected her to, and was surprised when she instead asked about the sky. Guardian angels were lovely, and helpful, and kind—but what about the blackness beyond them? Were there people with no angel, whose warden was instead that great, void expanse of pitch?

She knew Jack must have a guardian angel. Everything went his way. He was charismatic, charming, handsome, and right now, when he usually would be swinging halfway into her room and giving her a glad hello, he was nowhere to be found.

It's not as though that's any big surprise, she thought, then stopped her needle moving and chided herself. She had no reason to suspect him of doing anything behind her back—nothing but her own fears, and things that Davey had told her the boys laughed about late at night in the Lodging House. That he had another girl in Brooklyn, and one in the Bronx, and one in Queens, and one who sold ice cream at Coney Island....

She forced herself to continue her needlework. The family needs the money. Davey doesn't make enough to support us all, and Papa's arm still hasn't mended. So keep sewing, and Jack'll be here before you're done.

Maybe he was late because he was thinking of the best way to dispel those rumors. Any minute now, he'll knock gently on the window like he always does, and she'll smile, and reach up, and open it like she always does. He'll say, "Mind if I come in?" and she'll say,

"Might as well," and he'll hold the frame and gracefully slide in, and then he'll tell her that he heard some of the boys say that he had stepped out with Candy, the blonde from Medda's, and he wanted to make sure that she knew it was all talk, that she was the only girl in the world for him like he was the only boy in the world for her. Then he'll lean over, and reach out and put his hand behind her head, and touch his lips to hers.

She'd never kissed anyone before she kissed Jack. Even in her family, her shows of affection were limited to touches: a squeeze on the arm, a pat on the head, a tight embrace. Now, she was brimming with kisses. They overflowed; they poured out of her and suffused everyone around her. If you squeezed her, she thought, kisses would spill out and cover the floor, and her family would have to walk through them every day.

Jack was helpful in getting rid of some of her kisses. He gave as good as he got, however, and many a happy night was spent on the fire escape seeing who could get rid of all of their kisses. Neither of them could, of course, but they had a marvellous time trying.

Recently he wasn't trying nearly as hard. He was saving his kisses, taking hers with gusto, yes, but not giving her as many. Maybe his kisses were running out, and he wanted to save them for her. Or maybe he was splitting his kisses, giving some to her and some to....

She had stopped sewing again, and guility she took up her idle needle and plied it harder than ever. He still wasn't here to comfort her. She had more kisses in her than she knew what to do with, and he wasn't here to relieve her of them. She needed relief. She needed it so badly that her whole body sang for it. Her waist needed to be encircled. Her stomach and chest needed to be pressed against. Her back needed to be touched. Her lips needed to be…there isn't a word for what I need to happen to my lips, she thought. The closest she could come was converge, and that didn't fit.

The sky was completely black now, with the guardians shining brightly, and still he didn't come. She must be one of the people who had no angel, or else he would be here. Someone would be here, to take care of her and her kisses. But no, she was watched over by nothing but the great bleak nothing, and the nothing could not help her.

I wonder what's keeping my true love tonight

I wonder what's keeping him out of my sight

It is little he knows of the pain that I endure

Or he would not stay from me this night, I am sure

Oh, love, are you coming your cause to advance?

Or love, are you waiting for a far better chance?

Or have you got a sweetheart laid by you in store

And you're coming to tell me that you love me no more?