The Secret of the Nightingale Palace by Dana Sachs Page A

so human, in fact, that Anna felt a twinge of regret for having sent her duck back to the kitchen.
    â€œI should explain—”
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” Melora said, sealing down the adhesive. She held Anna’s hand for a moment longer, her attention lingering on Ford’s ring, and then she said, “That’s really pretty.”

2
    Bridget
    T hree days later, Goldie woke Anna at just after 6 A.M. Anna had slept at the Sherry-Netherland the night before, curled up in the twin bed across from her grandmother’s, so that they could leave New York by midmorning. She had forgotten, though, that Goldie was an early riser who would wake anyone who slept later than she considered proper.
    â€œIt’s gray outside, and it might rain,” she said to Anna, who was still asleep under the covers. “I don’t want to be chilly, so I changed my mind about my suit. I’m wearing the heavier linen instead. And I’ll bring my wool scarf just in case.” Her voice carried the hoarseness of sleep, but it filled the room.
    Anna turned over, pretending to still be sleeping. Sometime later, she heard Goldie say, “I’ve had my bath and I’ve washed my teeth.”
    The word wash —which came out as warsh —echoed in Anna’s ears. It was one of the lingering remnants of Goldie’s childhood in Memphis. Anna burrowed deeper.
    â€œI’ll wait for you for breakfast. Anyway, I only eat a couple of tablespoons of Raisin Bran.” When Anna remained silent, Goldie said, “People who sleep all day never accomplish anything.”
    Anna sat up, knocking her pillows to the floor. Her grandmother was walking around in her knee-high stockings, but other than her lack of shoes, she was already completely dressed. Today she had chosen a dark brown suit, a brown and white striped blouse, three strands of walnut-sized tiger’s eye beads, and a jaunty cream-colored handkerchief that was peeking like a little flag out of her left breast pocket. Anna took in all of this during the time it took to stomp over to the bathroom, shut the door, and lock herself inside. She sat on the toilet for several long minutes, her face in her hands, considering the fact that she had agreed to drive Goldie all the way across the continent. Was she out of her mind?
    Anna was still feeling irritated with her grandmother at ten thirty, when they finally left the city. They had waited until after rush hour, then headed out through the Lincoln Tunnel. To Anna’s surprise, she found driving in Manhattan less terrifying than she had expected. Once they were safely in New Jersey, Goldie said, “You’re really smart, aren’t you?” She seemed impressed by Anna’s skill. A few minutes later, though, passing through Paterson, Anna veered too quickly between lanes and her grandmother announced, “I’m not going to tell you how to drive this car,” as if she would have liked to do just that.
    Normally Anna was an inattentive driver, but today she focused completely. Yesterday’s tune-up had revealed that the forty-year-old Rolls-Royce remained in excellent condition. According to the records, it had added exactly 2.8 miles to its odometer since Anna’s father, Marvie, drove it from Palm Beach to New York City three years before. In total, the car had 27,437 miles on it, or just under 700 miles a year. This information seemed to prove that other than forays to nearby restaurants and occasional cruises along South Ocean Boulevard, Goldie and Saul Rosenthal had rarely driven it in Florida. Pete, the New York mechanic, specialized in various models of Bentley and Rolls, and because he deeply admired the ’62 Silver Cloud, he volunteered to ride with Anna on a practice loop up Park Avenue and down Lexington. “She’ll be a doll,” he told Anna. “Treat her nice and she’ll drive like a dream.” Anna felt concerned that the car