Jimmy Darmody wasn't accustomed to seeing his friend and associate so distracted. But he was cautiously optimistic, as he knew the reason.

"Richard."

Richard Harrow looked up, as though startled. "Hmm." Jimmy smiled knowingly. The two men were silent for a moment, and then Richard spoke.

"I'm wondering. If I can ask a favor."

Jimmy leaned back, smiling. "Anything."

"For advice. Guidance. On matters of –"

"Cecilia Dawes."

"Yes. I've grown. Quite fond of her."

"You know what? If it's all right with you, I can invite her to our place."

"Not. For a meal."

Jimmy sighed at the thought of his friend's discomfort, how Richard would not even take food in his or Angela's company. The mere thought of doing so in front of a woman must have been torturous. "No. Maybe some coffee, or drinks. We'll listen to music, get her to sing. You can take her out for a walk on the boardwalk. Or the beach. That's kind of romantic."

Richard nodded. Jimmy continued. "She's probably going to be just as nervous as you."

"I hardly think so."

"It's natural. Don't worry." There was another long pause, then Jimmy laughed a little. "You know, if this goes somewhere, you'll have to eat in front of her sooner or later. Otherwise she might think you don't like her cooking or something."

Richard half-smiled. "True."

On Saturday evening, Angela answered the door. Cecila's cheeks were flushed before she even touched the wine.

"Mrs. Darmody." Cecilia extended her hand. "Cecilia Dawes."

"It's so nice to finally meet you."

Finally? No matter. She seemed sincere enough. In Cecilia's other hand was a bottle. "Some homemade wine for my gracious host and hostess."

"Thank you. Please, come inside."

Richard sat in the parlor by the window; hearing the women's voices, turned the good side of his face towards the center of the room. Cecilia's face instantly burst into a smile. "Hello, Mr. Harrow."

Cecilia heard a door close softly, and Jimmy emerged. "Hello." He gave a nod to Richard, who rose from his chair to greet their beaming guest. She could hardly breathe. Richard wasn't saying a word, just studying her.

"May I. Take your coat." He stepped behind her. She smelled like lavender.

"Thank you, Mr. Harrow."

"Please. Richard."

Cecilia looked at the floor, then gazed at his face, not sure whether she saw a smile. "All right. Thank you, Richard."

"Hmm." He hurried from the room.

Jimmy took note of the wine bottle. "Why don't we open this up?" Angela headed for the kitchen; Jimmy followed. "I may have moved the glasses. I'll go check."

At that moment, Richard returned. He froze when he reached the doorway. "Please. Won't you sit down."

Cecilia walked to the chair opposite his. "Only if you'll do the same." He obliged.

"Jimmy. Mr. Darmody. Was hoping. You might sing tonight."

"That depends on how strong the wine is." Cecilia sighed and laughed at once. "I'm not accustomed to having an audience."

"But you sang. For me. At Mr. Thompson's office."

"A captive audience of one. Well, besides Eddie Kessler, but that's only because we work in the same office. He couldn't exactly avoid it."

As if on cue, Angela returned with a tray of wine glasses. She and Jimmy sat together on the sofa. Cecilia picked up two – one with a straw – and reclaimed her place near the window. The straw teetered on the edge of the glass as she handed it to Richard.

"Mrs. Dawes," Jimmy began, raising his glass, "my wife and I, and Mr. Harrow, thank you for coming tonight. I have a matter I'd like to discuss with you."

Noticing that both she and Richard looked equally perplexed, he continued. "As it turns out, our neighbor is looking for a governess. She's seeking someone who has a love of music as well as a fondness for children. Would this interest you?"

Cecilia sipped her wine. "It certainly would. I do adore children." She glanced at Richard. Now, his smile was entirely visible.

"The Darmodys. Have a son."

"Yes," replied Angela. "Tommy."

"I would have liked to have a family myself," Cecilia continued, "but sadly, my husband passed away."

"I'm very sorry." Jimmy reclined in his chair. "If I may inquire, how did he die?"

"He served in the war. Succumbed to sickness. I would assume from conditions in the trenches."

Jimmy nodded. "I'm a veteran myself. Richard is as well, as I'm sure you're aware." He took a drag of his cigarette.

"Yes, sir." Cecilia took a long sip of her wine, drew a deep breath, and blurted out, "Daniel, my husband, served in the ninety-second infantry division."

Jimmy winced. "Excuse me?"

Cecilia's voice rose slightly. "Ninety-second infantry."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dawes, but with all due respect, I think you're—"

"I'm not mistaken, sir. And I'm not ashamed either. I was, in fact, married to a colored man."

The room fell completely quiet, save for the muffled ocean, Richard's tic and, Cecilia assumed, her pounding heart. Angela sat up in her chair, nothing short of fascinated. Jimmy was dumbstruck.

"I didn't mean to shock you, sir. But to be frank, I'm used to such a reaction. The stares, the disapproving whispers. My own family ostracized me." She turned toward Richard. "People can be unabashedly cruel, I'm afraid." Her eyes grew stormy for a moment.

Jimmy cleared his throat. "I see." He waited for a response from Richard, but saw only his shoulders rise and fall, his breath quickening. "Mrs. Dawes, rest assured, you are among friends here."

"Thank you, sir."

"If you. Would excuse me." Richard rose from his seat. "I think. I'll take some air." Cecilia's throat tightened as he faced her. He didn't seem upset in the least. So, she wondered, why is he leaving?

"Mrs. Dawes. If you would. Please join me." He looked at Jimmy for approval.

Cecilia nearly jumped to her feet. "Oh. Oh, yes, I'd like that."

Jimmy sighed deeply, grinning like a child. "Enjoy your walk."

Richard nodded, then fetched the coats. He returned, opened the door and motioned to Cecilia. He could see her shoulders tremble as her arms reached into each sleeve. She was transfixed, at once hopeful and terrified.

In the darkness, the ocean reached across the shoreline, as if playfully trying to tag her feet, like a mischievous cat. Cecilia was in better spirits now, as Richard walked beside her. He was reminded for a moment of his dream about Odette, and how he was awakened by the horrified screams of Margaret's young daughter. He stopped in his tracks for a few seconds.

"Richard? Is something the matter?"

"No."

She felt herself strangely emboldened. She removed her coat and placed it on the sand. Richard hesitated, then sat to the left of her. She gazed at the ocean, while he watched her face, her hand as it brushed the chestnut-colored tresses from her cheek. The wind was relentless, though, so she tried to tuck it under her hat, still to no avail.

"I'm sorry. No one. heard you sing."

Cecilia could not suppress her laughter. "Oh, but I did. I sang like a little canary. My big secret." She noticed how the muted light made Richard's face appear whole. "Do you ever remove your mask, Richard?"

"When I sleep."

"The Darmody's home is lovely. So close to the beach. The rhythm of the ocean – it's like a lullaby itself. I imagine one would sleep quite well there."

"Indeed."

She glanced toward the house, but saw only shadows flash against the glass. She leaned in and whispered, "I wonder if they're watching us?"

"Hmm. And what. Would they hope to see."

Cecilia shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know—" The words barely escaped her lips when she felt the warmth of a hand over her own. She marveled as Richard edged closer. His fingers intertwined with hers.

"So. You may have an audience. After all."

It was the first time Cecilia Dawes – or any of them – had ever seen Richard Harrow laugh. Or as close as he would ever come. No matter. It was enough to overwhelm Cecilia's sense of decorum, reason, and everything that went along with it. She lay back in the sand, the force of her laughter and the grip of her hand pulling Richard down with her. With her free hand, she reached across his chest, and laid it directly over his heart. It was, in rapid succession, beating in cadence with the waves, a song all their own. He stroked her hair, closed his eye, and counted the stars.