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  “Me either. Father surprised me this morning.”

  “Has it been lonesome? Christmas without Father was awful.”

  Julius looked down, as if studying his plate with great intent. “Yeah. For my dad mostly.”

  Julius’s mother had left them last summer. Caroline learned of it listening at the door of Father’s study. Mother’s voice, sounding strangely shrill, had spoken the unthinkable. “She disappeared into the night. With a man.” Julius’s mother had left her child and her husband? How was this possible?

  She and Mother had gone over to see them that afternoon with dinner. Essie had arranged the meal in a basket with a colorful tea towel. Would the beautiful display make someone feel better when their wife or mother had left them? Caroline doubted it.

  Doctor Nelson had answered the door, looking just the same as he always did, dressed in a light suit and tie, his hair groomed so that the little ridges from his comb showed. Julius looked different, though. He hadn’t combed his hair, and his face looked pale and pinched under his tan. His eyes were bloodshot. He’d been crying. One other time he’d cried, but that was when he broke his arm. Other than that, he was tough. But this? This was too much.

  Julius took her into the kitchen while their parents talked. He pointed to the note, still on the table. “There it is.” His eyes, flat and dull, would not meet her own.

  I’m sorry, but I’m slowly dying here in this place. I was not made to be a small-town doctor’s wife.

  Why had they left the note on the table? Caroline would have burned it in the fireplace, along with any photographs of the woman’s selfish face.

  “Remember how I always tried to get her to laugh,” he asked. “She never thought I was funny.”

  “You are funny.”

  “Not funny enough.” He picked up the letter and stuffed it in his pocket. “She’s not coming back. My father thinks so. He hasn’t said it, but I can see by the way he’s acting like everything is normal. But I know she’s not. I saw her leave last night. She assumed I was asleep, but I was awake, reading Robin Hood again, and I heard a car pull into the driveway. I went to the window and I saw a car and this man get out. It was him. She ran to him. She couldn’t get away fast enough.”

  How dare she leave Julius. Caroline’s stomach burned. She wanted to smack something or throw an object at the wall. No, she wanted to throw an object at Mrs. Nelson. That was it. She wanted to hurt her like she’d hurt Julius. Mrs. Nelson was cruel and selfish. She tried to imagine her own mother leaving, but it was unfathomable. She would never do it. Mrs. Nelson would be sorry. It was one thing to leave a husband, but how did a mother leave a little boy, especially one like Julius? Caroline understood for the first time the phrase “May she burn in Hell.” The last time Caroline had seen Mrs. Nelson was just last week. It was the middle of the afternoon and she was bent over the sink, inspecting something. She had not looked up when the children came into the room, nor had she responded when Julius said they were going into town and could he get anything for her.

  He cried, later, sitting on the beach, and she had wrapped her arm around his waist and let his head rest on her shoulder, his tears mixing with the seawater on her shoulder.

  “Let’s throw the letter into the sea,” she said. “We won’t ever think of her again.”

  “All right.” They stood together. She took his hand as they walked to the place where the waves crashed onto the shore. Julius retrieved the letter from his pocket and crumpled it into a ball. He threw it hard toward the water. There was no breeze to deter its course as it sailed through the air and fell into a breaking wave. They did not see the paper that broke Julius’s heart again, but they both knew because of the time they had spent in the very same surf that it was pulled under the surface now, tossing this way and that until it would be carried out to sea, ultimately disintegrating into fish food. And yet, it was not enough to wipe away her memory. Caroline saw her in the shadows under Julius’s eyes.

  Since that day, Mother had made sure to include him in everything at the house. Doctor Nelson was often away at night doing house calls or delivering babies, so Julius would stay in their guestroom. “You’re family now,” Mother said to Julius one night. “Family isn’t always blood. Sometimes, when you’re lucky, you get to choose who you want for your family.”

  Now, the waiter, dressed in a black tuxedo, put a small plate in front of her. A sliver of toast with a dollop of caviar and sour cream on top. “Are you going to eat that?” Julius whispered in her ear.

  Caroline giggled. “Mother says it’s a delicacy.”

  “How’s Essie?” asked Doctor Nelson.

  His question yanked Caroline from her conversation with Julius. Why was he asking about Essie? She darted a look to her mother, who held her small appetizer fork in midair. Caroline squeezed Julius’s hand under the table and pretended to be absorbed in her food. If the adults realized they were listening, they might stop talking.

  “She’s fine,” said Mother.

  “Why do you ask, old man?” Her father’s voice held a hint of teasing.

  “It’s time for me to move on, I suppose,” said Doctor Nelson.

  “I see no reason not to,” said Father. “Everything’s been taken care of legally.”

  “You’ve been a good friend, Edmund. I thank you for your help.”

  “Every man needs a good attorney at least once in his lifetime,” said Father.

  “If only it were only once,” said Mother.

  “I understand Essie will be at the house on Christmas day,” said Doctor Nelson.

  “She’s a live-in, so yes,” said Mother. “But you knew that.” Her mother’s voice was teasing as well. “I don’t suppose you’re intending to steal my housekeeper?”

  “Something like that,” said Doctor Nelson.

  Caroline looked over at Julius. His eyes twinkled back at her.

  “Essie?” she whispered. “And your father?”

  “He hasn’t said a word to me.” He continued to whisper.

  “We’ve been corresponding since Thanksgiving,” said Doctor Nelson to Mother. “She’s terribly worried you’ll mind.”

  “Doctor Nelson, I’m quite aware of your correspondence. She may be clever, but she’s not able to hide everything from me,” said Mother.

  “Do I have your permission?” asked Doctor Nelson.

  Caroline looked up at her mother. She smiled, looking extremely satisfied with herself. “As much as I hate to lose her, she does not belong to me.” She stabbed a piece of toast with her fork. “However, she’s like family to us, so you’re forbidden to hurt her.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” said Doctor Nelson.

  “Let’s have a toast,” said Father, picking up his champagne glass. “To new beginnings.”

  Caroline and Julius toasted one another with their glasses of milk. “Merry Christmas, Julius.” She smiled at him.

  “Merry Christmas, Caroline.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Miller

  IN THE DAYS FOLLOWING CHRISTMAS, Miller thought of the Bennetts often, and not just when he used his telescope. Despite the pleasure the gadget gave him, it made him hate them more. It was nothing to them, this gift. Yet, to him it was the difference between wanting to live or not, from having something to look forward to or nothing but flat, dry hunger day after day. For this he hated them. To the Bennetts, it was not a dent in their wealth or their existence. They had anything and everything they wanted. This kindness was just a way for them to feel less guilty about it. People didn’t do something for others unless they were getting something for themselves at the same time. He knew this after living in the orphanage for so long. The kids lived by this rule: I’ll give you this, if you give me that.

  He made it his mission to learn everything he could about Edmund Bennett. He asked Sister Catherine if he might read her discarded newspaper each day, hoping to find mentions of the Bennetts in the paper. She was delighted, for he had shown little interest
in anything academic, and Sister Catherine was a kind soul who loved the children, even when they were too old to be endearing. He understood this, especially in the stark contrast to some of the others, who smacked the children’s hands with rulers for the smallest offense. Sister Catherine was the first to teach him that kindness was a weakness one could easily exploit.

  The first article he saw in the paper was about Edmund Bennett opening a center for veterans of the Great War where they could visit with one another, play games, and have refreshments. Miller cut it out and pasted it in his journal. In the weeks and months to come, he continued to cut and paste several more articles. It seemed the family was always doing some good deed. He cut around the edges of the photograph carefully to make sure he captured the entire article and photograph.

  That March, he saw the Bennetts again. The Sisters had taken the children out for the day, a rare treat, to have a picnic at a park, even though the weather was chilly. Miller had found a long stick and declared it a gun. Timmy found another stick, shorter and less satisfying, and they played cowboys and Indians, running and shouting, until they came upon a vendor selling peanuts and popcorn to a well-dressed family of three. Miller stopped, his stick midair, surprised. It was the Bennett family. They stood before the cart, steam rising above their heads. Caroline was dressed in a brown coat and hat, as the sky was dark and moody, threatening a downpour. Miller shivered in his jacket with the holes in the elbows, the cold catching up to him now that he stood motionless. An insect of some kind had caught Timmy’s attention, leaving Miller alone to watch them.

  The Bennetts—Edmund, Sophie, and little Caroline—out for a stroll in the park. He saw it like a headline in the newspaper, like so many he’d seen in the society section of the newspaper in recent months.

  Mrs. Bennett was slender, only reaching Mr. Bennett’s shoulder in height. He could not see her face because she wore an enormous hat. Caroline pointed to a bag of peanuts right in the middle of the cart. “I want that one, please, Daddy.”

  Edmund, a large man, might have been intimidating, but he was not. At least, not at this moment when he was looking down into the eyes of his ten-year-old daughter. “If that’s the one you want, you shall have it.” He turned to his wife. “And you, my dear? What will you have?”

  His wife murmured something that made him laugh. He paid for the purchase and offered each of them his arm, and the three walked away together. They did not notice him. He was invisible.

  I want that. I want what he has. I want to be him. That night he wrote in his journal.

  March 28, 1922

  I saw them in the park. Caroline wanted peanuts, so she got them. I want peanuts and all the rest of it, too. So, I will marry Caroline someday. I will become like Edmund Bennett. No one can stop me.

  PART II

  San Francisco 1929-1930

  CHAPTER ONE

  Miller

  MILLER STOOD OUTSIDE THE GATE of the Bennett mansion. Enormous and made of bricks, it stood back from the road a hundred feet with a rolling lawn between the gate and front door. The entire property was protected by an iron fence, the top of which had sharp points. No one got in or out unless they didn’t mind getting impaled. He rubbed the scar on his left hand, lasting evidence of a grease burn from his fish frying work down at the wharf. Pulling his hat low on his forehead, he gripped the iron rods with both hands and watched the front door. In the three years since the first time he stood outside these gates, he’d never spotted any of the Bennetts coming or going. Servants occasionally, and the chauffer with his stupid hat, but no Bennetts.

  It was his birthday. Twenty years he’d been knocking around this unforgiving world. He forced himself to walk here and look at the Bennett mansion at least once a week. No reason to get complacent and start giving up on his goals. No surrender for this kid. He was tough. Eventually he’d get what he wanted. He’d survived this long on his own with no one to ask for help. After he left the orphanage at seventeen, he’d found work as a cook because of his experience working in the kitchen. As he grew older, the nuns started giving him more and more responsibilities. Had to earn your keep when you were too old to be adopted but too young to live alone. Turns out, learning how to feed forty hungry kids with very few supplies was a good skill.

  His resolve never weakened, despite the passage of time. He would be a Bennett.

  After a few minutes—he never stayed long for fear they’d see him and call the authorities—he walked home, stopping once to buy a newspaper and some cigs. He used his key to let himself into the room, exhausted and antsy at the same time. He tossed the cigarettes on his bed and pulled out his handkerchief, bringing it to his nose. What a dump. He hated this place. His room smelled of mildew unless he opened the window. Then, it smelled like fish and let in the damp, bitter cold. The place had come furnished, which meant he had a twin bed and a table and two chairs. No kitchen, which was fine. He usually ate at the restaurant.

  He set the paper onto the table and grabbed a cigarette from the pack. Happy goddamn birthday. Twenty years old and no closer to his dream. This was a dead-end life. Nothing but working and sleeping. He opened the window, shoving it up with brute force because it always stuck. He flinched, the shriek of a seagull tearing through his flesh. Fucking birds. Nasty creatures with their weird eyes on the sides of their head, staring at you.

  Taking a long drag on the cigarette, he sat at his table and opened the newspaper to the society section. The rest of the world was starving to death, but the rich continued to have parties and wear fancy clothes. He hated all the rich bastards, but he had to keep up on what was happening with the Bennetts.

  There it was. The something he’d been looking for. A photograph of Caroline Bennett on the campus at Mills College organizing a group of women to knit socks for the poor. She was still as plump as a little sausage, but she was pretty, with a lovely halo of blond hair and always dressed in beautiful clothes. If he ever had the chance, he would praise her clothes. He knew it was strange, but Miller loved fashion. He followed all the latest trends in the paper. Sometimes he stood at the newsstand and thumbed through Vogue to see what people with money were wearing. What you wore could make you feel like a different person. Wearing nice clothes changed a person on the inside into what was presented on the outside. He knew this only because he owned one suit and when he wore it out to speakeasies and clubs, it made him feel like a gentleman and less invisible. Lately, he’d noticed women staring at him. He’d transformed, finally, from a skinny kid into a man. He was handsome, and he knew it. Honestly, it was the only thing going for him, given everything else was shit.

  He cut out the article to paste in his notebook and moved to the classified advertisements. Sometimes there were ads for work, although less and less since the market crashed. That had been a scary day. He’d wondered about the Bennetts in the days following, as the news filled with stories of men who’d lost their fortunes committing suicide. Would the Bennetts lose their fortune like so many of the other idiots? But no, they seemed to be fine. Yet another reason why he wanted to be Edmund Bennett. The man was untouchable. Money swelled at a faster rate for Bennett Industries than it did for anyone else. News of his business expansions were often in the newspaper; everything from munitions to textiles.

  A classified ad caught his eye. The pharmacy and soda fountain across the street from Mill’s College needed a soda jerk. Near the college that Caroline attended? Would college students frequent a soda shop across the street from campus? It seemed likely. Would Caroline be one of them? It was worth the chance, if he could get the job. Making sodas was better than what he was doing now, frying fish and washing dishes.

  The next morning Miller took a trolley over to the soda shop. It was not open this early in the morning, but a sign said Help Wanted in the storefront window. An older man wearing a dark suit was inside, sweeping the floor. Miller knocked on the window and pointed to the sign as an indication of his intent. The man shuffled to the door and unlo
cked it. “You here about the job?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. I saw the advertisement in the classifieds. Is it still available?”

  “Yes, yes. Come in. I’m the owner, Ernest.” The shop smelled like the inside of a cookie jar. To the right of the entrance, eight stools encircled the counter. Above the counter, bottles of soda flavors lined a shelf. A Coca-Cola sign and a list of sandwiches and other menu items hung across the back of the counter.

  “I’m Miller Dreeser, sir.” They shook hands.

  “Sit, please.” Ernest indicated one of the small tables scattered across the black-and-white checkerboard floor. Would you care for coffee?”

  “No, thank you,” said Miller, taking a seat.

  “I’m the primary cook.” He pointed to the back of the shop as he hobbled over to the table. “Through there is the kitchen. My wife used to run the front here, making sodas and ice cream sundaes and such.” Ernest sat across from him, wincing. “Darned arthritis. Anyway, Delores passed away last month, God rest her soul. My daughter’s been running things, but she needs to go home to her family.”

  Miller, hat resting in his lap, launched into his speech. “I’m sorry about your wife, sir. I don’t have much family, since I grew up in an orphanage.” He liked to use the orphan boy story to evoke sympathy. It worked surprisingly well when looking for work, even on men. “Fortunately, when I was old enough, the nuns taught me to cook in the kitchen for the other children. I’ve been working at restaurants the last couple years. Bussing tables, washing dishes, doing some cooking. I’m comfortable doing most things in a kitchen. I’ve never worked at a counter, but I can’t imagine I wouldn’t be able to pick it up pretty quick.”