“Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry. You understand my position…”

“I understand your position,” was the soft reply. The brown-haired young woman steeled herself with patience and took a deep breath, her dark blue gaze unwavering. “I would like your position to be altered.”

“I’m afraid that’s entirely impossible.” The man behind the desk looked at her with apologetic eyes highlighted by heavy, ruddy cheeks. “We are government-run, Mrs. Connoy. You need to understand that the papers—which you had drawn up—require certain protections to be placed on Jane. If you wish to prevent her removal or even visitation by anyone other than a certain woman named Melanie Connoy, then I need to know for certain that you are Melanie Connoy.”

Melanie exhaled quietly. “So you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you. But what if some other woman came along saying she was Melanie Connoy and I let her in? What would you do?”

“But I am Melanie. Ask me anything.”

The man’s bushy black eyebrows knit in the middle, his expression stiffening. “Mrs. Connoy, I’m sorry. I can’t let you in. What I can do, however, is give you the appropriate documents.”

“The appropriate documents for what?” she demanded, folding her arms over her chest and trying to remind herself to breathe with some degree of rhythm. “Sir,” she added when she had calmed enough to trust herself to speak.

He smiled up at her, a kind smile despite the work-ruined features that built it, and slid several sheets of paper toward her, grabbing another couple from a file inside the desk. “Proving your identity.” He pointed to some of them. “And requesting visitation.” He pointed to others. Already they were jumbled together in her mind, but she was too angry to consider this for long. She snatched them up.

“I thank you,” she stated thanklessly.

“I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Connoy.”

“Your sorry isn’t worth shit,” she responded bitterly, stalking out of St. Jude’s Home for Children with her eyes filling troublesomely with tears sown by futility.

Ian Baumer bounded into the kitchen, startling Mel from her late-afternoon tea. “Mel!” he exclaimed, dropping a copy of the evening edition of the New York Journal onto the table in front of her. She immediately dropped the teaspoon she was holding and looked at the proffered newspaper.

“What is it?” she asked with alarm.

“Look.” Ian’s expression was impossible to read, something between smug and irritated, as he pointed to an article across the bottom of the page.

Early this morning, New York City police arrested a young boy found breaking into St. Jude’s Home for Children in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. Melanie drew in her breath and continued reading. The boy has since been identified as Jed “Leapfrog” Kristo, a twelve-year-old lad who already possesses a criminal record.

Melanie’s eyes widened, her throat tightening. “What?” she breathed, looking straight up at Ian as the color drained from her face.

“Yeah.” Ian studied her quietly. “Isn’t it bad to trespass on government property?”

“Yes,” Melanie responded curtly, getting to her feet. “It’s very bad.” She stepped through the kitchen doorway and crossed the lobby, slipping into her knitted coat. “I’m going. To the police station,” she explained as she pulled her hat down over her ears. “If anyone asks,” she concluded, gesturing to the lodging house around her.

Ian nodded. “All right.”

The dark-haired girl slid her hands into her pockets to warm them. “Do you think I need—” She broke off, shaking her head. “I can always come back,” she murmured. “I’ll—be back,” she informed Ian with one hand on the doorknob.

“Do y’want me to come?” Ian inquired. The elder girl shook her head simply.

“I’ll come back if they give me any trouble,” she assured him.

“All right. Take care of yourself, Mel.”

Melanie smiled. “And the same to you, Ian.” She nodded once more and then moved through the door into the cold.

The door of the police station swung noiselessly on freshly oiled hinges and Melanie ducked her head slightly as she entered, doing her best to look calm and respectable. She removed her hat, tucking it into her pocket, and approached the front desk.

“May I help you, miss?” The young man behind the counter had a pair of light brown eyes that smiled at her.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” She nodded politely. “My name is Melanie Connoy. I’d like to talk to someone about a certain lad named Jed Kristo.”

“What exactly would you like to know, miss?”

“If you have him here.” She flicked her eyes around the interior of the police station and then looked back at the policeman.

“Yes, we do.”

A hint of brightness flitted over her blue eyes. “May I see him?” she asked.

“No. You may not, Ms. Connoy. Only the family, you see.”

“I’m family. Well, I’m as close to family as he has, here.” She swallowed hard, her mind racing for the best phrasing.

“I’m sorry, but you aren’t…” He trailed off, flipping through a few sheets of paper. “Cynthia Lorton,” he concluded.

“No, I’m not,” Melanie agreed pleasantly. “She lives in New Mexico, you see. I’m the nearest to family that he has here.” Her words came out crisp and delicate, even calm, and quite inoffensive.

The man rested one hand on the counter in front of him. “Miss. You have to understand. I would let you in, if I could. I am under strict orders.” His voice was stern, but he softened the statement slightly by adding, “I’m sorry.”

“In that event, I intend to do what it will take to have him released.” The eighteen-year-old laced her fingers together and looked kindly at the officer.

“He hasn’t been in front of a judge yet.”

“Then I need to speak when he is brought before a judge.”

The policeman sighed quietly. “You look desperate,” he commented to the fire in her eyes. “I might as well sneak you back there. But would you do me a favor and pretend to be Cynthia Lorton? At least protect my job?”

Melanie grinned. “Hold on a moment,” she said, laughing softly as she spun around three-hundred-sixty degrees. “Hello, sir,” she greeted in a fresh tone of voice. “My name is Cynthia Lorton. I heard my son was here?” Her eyes danced above her outdoor-flushed cheekbones.

Somehow, the policeman managed to keep from laughing. “Yeah. That’ll do.” He gave her a subdued smile. “Follow me, please.”

She tailed him past several doorways and down a fairly extensive hallway until they reached a doorway. In front of it, two cops were swapping stories and laughing. “No visitors, Jack,” one of them—with a thick head of blonde hair—stated, jerking one thumb in Melanie’s direction.

“No visitors?” Melanie blinked at him, putting on her best haughty face. “But I’m—his—mother.”

The second officer, with extremely short, darker hair, drifted his glance over her. If he disbelieved her, he said nothing. “Well… I don’t know.”

“It’s in the file that family can visit,” Jack explained.

“All right,” shrugged the blonde-haired man. “He’s all yours. He really isn’t worth talking to, though. Kind of hostile.”

“Jack, will you come get me something for my knee? It’s killing me,” added the second man.

“He’ll talk to me,” Melanie assured them as she clicked the door open and stepped inside. “Leapfrog?”

“I don’t wanna talk t’the press,” mumbled the brown-haired boy, seated cross-legged on the floor with his back to her.

“The press calls you Leapfrog?” smiled Melanie.

“Yeah.” Leapfrog turned around and smiled at the dark-haired girl. “Oh, heya, Mel.” His lips stretched into a smile. “Yeah, though, they do. It’s in my record. Jed “Leapfrog” Kristo.”

“How…extraordinary,” commented Melanie, pushing several locks of her glossy dark hair behind her ear as she moved into the room. “So, love, how are you doing?”

“Me?” He shrugged. “Well, couldn’t be worse, t’tell the truth.” He wrinkled his nose a bit, looking to her. “What exactly are you doin’ here, anyhow?”

Melanie rubbed her wrist lightly. “’Cause Ian showed me a newspaper, and I know why you’re here,” she told him softly. “I’m sorry. Why’d you—”

“I wanted to.”

“And now you’re stuck here. Have they said when you’ll get…a hearing?”

Leapfrog sighed quietly. “I…don’t want to upset you. But…unless your lawyer comes in and defends me by basically changing the terms of Jane’s visitation rights, I’m not going to need a hearing at all.” He looked grave. “They already know it was me that snuck in, and so they might not bother with a judge.”

“But you… Why did you sneak in?” Melanie asked in a murmur.

“To see Jane,” he answered offhandedly. “And to take a picture.” He grinned and fetched Sean’s camera from where it had been stashed out of sight. “For you.”

Accepting the contraption, the eighteen-year-old blinked back tears. “L-Leapfrog…” She held her breath and composed herself before speaking again. “I—I… I thank you…” She slipped the camera into her jacket pocket and smiled at him.

“But about the lawyer…”

“You mean Elliot?” she breathed, her face paling noticeably.

The younger boy nodded. “Yes.”

“I—I don’t know if—” A brief shudder went through her, and her skin grew of a still whiter pallor. “Leapfrog, I can explain, without him.”

“Mel, you just need for him to come and see me. That’s all.”

“I…I can write to him. Right?” She was biting her lower lip so hard she was afraid it would bleed.

“I need that,” Leapfrog responded quietly.

Melanie continued. “He’ll—he’ll just explain to the police that the rules for Jane were only meant to keep Jason out, and not…not adventuresome twelve-year-old friends of mine.” Her expression was nearly a smile, but couldn’t quite reach that status.

“But will he?” asked the brown-haired boy.

A little surprised that this concept hadn’t even dawned on her, Melanie shook her head briskly. “It’s only for clarification’s sake. He’d do that, certainly.”

“But Mel… Would he do it for you?”

The older girl continued to deny this issue. “For me? It—it isn’t for me. It’s for you.”

“Mel. Listen to me. If he’s going to change the regulations for me, the issue of why it even matters will come up. Won’t it?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” the elder girl conceded.

“And then what do you think he’ll need to do?”

“Talk to me,” she answered in a somewhat frightened tone. “Leapfrog, I don’t think you understand.”

“Probably not,” he replied. “But I get the general idea.”

The cell was silent for several moments. “I’ll write to him and ask him to come down here,” she concluded.

“Thanks, Mel,” Leapfrog responded quickly.

She took a deep breath and folded her hands lightly. “On—on a less serious note,” she managed to chuckle, “are you doing all right, though, with—”

“Excuse me, Ms. Connoy?” It was Jack, the officer from the front desk. “I’m sorry. All our visitors have time limits. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“You go,” Leapfrog told her with a smile. “Have Sean…you know.”

“Sean will—Yes, Leapfrog.” She smiled and turned to face Jack. “Thank you, sir, for allowing me time with him.”

“You’re welcome,” Jack replied, then tacked on, “Ms. Lorton.” He opened the door and Leapfrog smirked, wrapping Melanie in a hug.

“Good bye then, mom,” he grinned.

“Love you…son.” She hugged him back, laughing, and smiled over the top of his head before she left, escorted from the room by the police officer.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, the brown-haired boy traced absent doodles on the varnished plywood in front of him, his bright green eyes dilated with his languor. He had tossed aside the morning’s edition of the New York World, having discovered on page three a slew of inaccuracies which insulted his character and his morality, not to mention his good-looks. Its black-and-white sheets lay in a haphazard pile to his left, scarcely noted by him.

“Mr. Kristo.”

The voice, somehow familiar and yet not, caused Leapfrog to look up. He blinked.

“Are you at leisure?” The aspiring lawyer seemed much more at ease on his second visit to the cell; on his first, they had merely introduced themselves.

Leapfrog snorted lightly. “Do you have to ask?” he responded cynically, smirking up at the entrant. “Come in, sir.”

“Thank you,” answered Elliot Stephens with a nod of his dark-haired head. “It was, after all, merely a convention. I apologize if it was offensive.” He slid the black leather satchel off his shoulder and placed it on the marred wooden floor. “How are you faring?” “Not too well, Mr. Stephens,” the emerald-eyed lad commented. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m barely making it. And with the things I’m reading, it couldn’t get any worse.” He chuckled slightly and darted his eyes from the newspaper back up to the older man. “And how are you today, sir?”

Elliot merely laughed at the inquiry, his gaze settling on the folded newspaper. “Reading about yourself, are you? Well, you’re not wanting for interesting subject matter, anyhow.”

Shrugging disinterestedly, Leapfrog leaned back on his hands, directing his face upward. “So, what brings you back here so soon, Mr. Stephens?”

“The—the matter in question, of course. Your pending trial.” He nodded and folded his hands, taking a seat on the cot near him. “It will be impossible, I’m afraid, to proceed without the intervention of Mrs. Connoy.”

“Oh? Well, then, we’ll have to talk to Mrs. Connoy. Won’t we, sir?”

“Um…yes.” He looked uncomfortable at the suggestion, his expression stiffening slightly. “I don’t suppose you know if she plans to come here to…to visit, or something.”

Leapfrog shook his head, several strands of his too-long brown hair falling in front of his eyes. “I’m not all that sure.”

“I… I assume that you and Melanie are friends.”

“Yes, sir, we are.”

“And she…would not wish to see you in this predicament, I presume.” His glance was vacant, his mind elsewhere, as he continued to speak.

“I’m not sure I comprehend, sir.”

Elliot continued as though the twelve-year-old hadn’t spoken. “Have you seen her?”

Leapfrog nodded. “Once.”

“As in, she came here?”

“Yes. But…she didn’t seem to be too happy with me. I mean, she was pleasant and nice to me, of course—she always is—but…there was this upset look, sort of behind her face. Like she was mad, or something.”

“Mad? At you?” The law student raised his dark eyebrows.

“A little. Possible. I’m really not that sure, Mr. Stephens.”

The dark-haired man’s response was suddenly brusque. “Well, as I see it, our communication is entirely necessary. Unless you wish to stay here for all eternity, while I remain locked in a legal mess.” He smiled a bit, a smile that became him surprisingly well. “I assume you would not like that.”

“Not exactly, sir,” grinned Leapfrog.

“Such as I gathered.” He almost laughed, but checked himself. “How…how dear a friend is she, to you?”

“Pretty dear,” replied the younger boy with skeptical eyes. “As far as I know, Mr. Stephens, pretty dear.”

“And so much I also gathered,” he responded, nodding his head. “She sees you as…a brother, perhaps. A son, I daresay. The possibility exists, anyhow. She is, after all, a very affectionate girl.” His smile had suddenly become strangely insincere. “All right, then. Things stand as I presumed. Mr. Kristo, you had best refer your friend to me.”

Leapfrog nodded honestly. “Yes, I think I understand, sir.”

“You understand?” Mr. Stephens tilted his head to one side, his eyes curious.

“You want me to talk to Melanie so she’ll talk to you, and I can leave here. Is that right, sir?”

“I—” Elliot broke off, nodding curtly. “Yes. Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“Okay. If she comes in here to see me, I will try to talk to her. Mr. Stephens.”

“And that is all I ask of you, young man.” He smiled, a much friendlier and more open smile. “Do you need anything more before I go?”

The green-eyed boy shook his head. “Not that I know of, sir.”

“Then I thank you for your time, as well as your—assistance.” He laughed lightly at the idea of thanking his unofficial client. “I hope to see you soon.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Leapfrog, his eyes remaining fixed on his visitor until the door to his prison chamber had been firmly shut behind him. A glimmer of mistrust flashed through his eyes before he picked up his copy of the World in hopes of alleviating his boredom.

Promise Kept Smyth folded her hands together and rested them tightly on her lap as she sat in one of the chairs of the lobby, studying the door and attempting to draw courage from the silence around her.

“Heya, Promise,” commented Gertrude Brewster as she smiled at the sandy-haired girl and collapsed dramatically onto the sofa.

Almost simultaneously, Melanie stepped off the last of the stairs and moved into the lobby. “Hello there, darlings,” she greeted the two girls in front of her.

“Hello.” Promise Kept’s tone was absent, almost wistful, and Melanie frowned slightly.

“How’re you doing?” she asked, tipping her head to the side and studying the younger girl.

The sixteen-year-old shrugged lightly. “Okay. You?”

“I’m fine.” Melanie smiled lightly, taking a seat near Promise Kept and hugging her knees tightly to keep off the chill. Gertrude’s eyes focused softly on Melanie, awaiting her action. “Everything’s been going all right around here?” the dark-haired girl finally inquired.

Several strands of dark blonde hair slid in front of Promise Kept’s shoulders as she nodded. “I’m leaving tonight,” she stated.

Gertrude blinked in alarm. “Hm?” she asked, startled.

“Leaving for where?” Melanie demanded with alacrity.

“Tonight,” Promise Kept responded flatly. “I’m moving in with Jon. It’s for the best.”

Melanie straightened, her expression hardening. “You’re not…”

“Yeah, I am.” The younger girl’s tone allowed no room for commentary. “I went to the doctor’s, and he told me I need to stay in a suitable home where I would not work.”

Blinking slowly, Melanie responded with the utmost calmness. “You don’t have to work, here.”

“Yeah, I do. I have to pay rent,” she answered resignedly.

“You’re kidding, right?” An unwavering pair of dark blue eyes stared in shock. “You’re…you’re holding out on us for something, right? What…what do you need? What do you want? Who are you…who are you kidding?”

Promise Kept merely shook her head, her set expression betraying none of the confusion she felt. “No. No one can change my mind. I’m leaving tonight.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded a frustrated Melanie as Gertrude, a little disconcerted, edged away from them.

“Y-y-yes,” mumbled the sandy-haired girl.

“Yes?” blinked Melanie. “Yes isn’t an answer.”

The sixteen-year-old gulped her breath. “Yes, I know what I’m doing.”

Gertrude bit her tongue, hard, feeling a desperate need to comment but combating it with the acute acknowledgement that speaking would be somewhat dangerous. Her inner turmoil was postponed by Melanie’s placement of a further question, her tone much softer. “Are you getting married?” The emotion in her eyes was startling—Gertrude saw hurt painted there.

“No. But he understands what he has done, and he will live up to what he has done. For himself.”

“Then why,” Melanie pressed with over-sweetness, “are you moving in with him.” Her words were spoken with minimal inflection, making the inquiry more of a statement than anything else.

“Because I…um… He’s gonna help me raise the kid. And help take care of me.”

Gertrude blinked and Melanie colored. “We could help you raise the kid. And help take care of you.”

“I…I know. But, but…but Mel, yah gotta understand something. There’s—there’s a huge change I can bleed to death. I—I had that problem the last time. I almost died, Mel. The doctor wants me in a place he approves of.” She chewed her lower lip, her green eyes imploring the elder girl to understand her trauma.

“Then go to a hospital!” snapped Melanie, getting to her feet and beginning to pace, her eyes snapping sparks. “I can understand that you don’t want to—to—to give birth—in the middle of the lodging house lobby!”

Promise Kept sniffled, holding back tears. “I thought that you, of all people, would understand, Mel.” She spoke with a defeated air about her.

“No!” Melanie replied sharply. “I absolutely and entirely, one hundred percent do not understand why you are leaving us,” she spat before sitting down heavily and tugging absently at the ends of her soft dark hair. Her gaze flicked upward as Gertrude ducked into the kitchen, then realigned itself with her hands folded in her lap.

“Fine,” Promise Kept replied as a glower settled onto her pink-cheeked face. “I’m sorry I told you. I should have just left.” With that, she fled through the front door and slammed its heavy walnut wooden slab with all her strength.

“I will not accept that,” Melanie murmured. She grabbed her jacket and called toward the kitchen, “Gertie, tell anyone who asks where I went.” She pulled open the front door, preparing to rush after the sandy-haired newsgirl. She nearly tripped over her.

Taking a deep breath, Melanie reinforced her nerves and knelt quietly beside the sixteen-year-old, wrapping her jacket around Promise Kept’s shoulders. She tipped her head back and fixed her olive-green eyes on the elder girl.

“Don’t leave me,” Melanie sighed, curling her legs under her and sitting down on the frigid concrete of the stairs.

“I have to,” whispered Promise Kept. “I’m scared, Mel. I don’t wanna die.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“I could.”

Melanie lightly smoothed the younger girl’s hair with one hand. “I…I just don’t see why you have to leave.”

Swallowing, Promise Kept met her friend’s sad blue eyes. “The doctor said it would be best, since I’m getting sick. We don’t know what’s wrong. I haven’t—told anyone. Not even Jon.” She took a shaky breath. “And now the doctor is worried.”

The comparative silence of their individual serenity settled over them and then Melanie reached out and placed her hands on Promise Kept’s shoulders, turning her to face her. “You’re getting sick?” she asked in a low voice.

“Sick.” The ash blonde licked her lips and looked down. “As in I’m bleeding.” Her face flushed with the unfamiliarity of sharing such a secret. “And I’m throwing up everything I eat and drink. I can’t even drink water…”

Melanie lightly touched her fingertips to the younger girl’s cheek, her blue eyes earnest. “And what is Jon’s…dwelling…going to do for you?”

“Keep me warm, and fed, and clean, and in reach of the doctor quickly.” Promise Kept still couldn’t bring herself to meet Melanie’s eyes. “There is a birthing woman in the building.”

“Your…your safety is the most important,” conceded the eighteen-year-old. “But I want you back after you’re out of danger. Don’t you see? Don’t leave us forever.”

“I’ll come back.” Promise Kept nodded. “I promise.” She let her eyes drift back up to Melanie’s, then smiled tightly.

“And I want…I want someone to come and get me,” Melanie added quickly. She narrowed her eyes toward the horizon. “Right away,” she added.

“I…I promise,” the younger girl stated.

“Just…please. Make sure. Make sure someone fetches me.”

“I swear,” breathed the sixteen-year-old as she hugged Melanie tightly. “Someone will.”

“Good,” Melanie answered, kissing the top of the young girl’s head. “’Cause…that’s important to me.”

After several moments, the feeling that they were being watched settled onto the pair of Bay Ridge newsgirls and Melanie looked up, finding her field of vision all but filled by a tall, handsome fellow with black hair and icy eyes. “I’m Jon,” he commented when the eighteen-year-old looked up, extending a hand to shake.

“It’s…very nice to meet you,” she said quickly, releasing Promise Kept and shaking his hand as she composed herself. He smiled warmly at her. “I’m Melanie Connoy.”

“Ready?” He turned to Promise Kept and held out both his hands to her, smiling at her with the adoration that comes with a tender affection. Promise Kept took a deep breath, and then enfolded Melanie in the tightest embrace she could muster.

“Take care of yourself,” breathed Melanie. “And don’t forget your promise. Of course, I trust you with those.” She smiled ironically at the allusion to her young friend’s nickname.

“Bye, Mel,” Promise responded gently, taking Jon’s hand. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Melanie standing, eyes closed, arms folded, on the steps. Both girls turned away at the same time.

“It’s chilly out there,” Melanie commented offhandedly, swallowing the unexpected lump in her throat as she reentered the lobby. Gertrude was perched on the edge of the sofa, looking somewhat frightened. “I…I’m sorry if I caused a bit of a scene, there.”

“It’s all right,” Gertrude murmured.

“No, I’m sorry. It was completely out of line.” Melanie offered a smile, and Gertrude finally replied with one of her own. After a sigh, Melanie inhaled and commented with a touch of laughter, “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Gertrude’s dark green eyes looked toward the doorway as Sean entered the lobby.

“Evening, Sean,” smiled Melanie. Gertrude nodded a hello of her own.

“Evening,” replied the tall, brown-haired newsboy.

“How are you doing, d—” Melanie asked politely, biting off the gratuitous condescension.

“Pretty good,” Sean answered amiably. “What about you?”

“I…” Melanie paused, considering. “I’m all right,” she concluded. There was quiet in the room and Melanie jumped to her feet, desperate for something to do as a distraction. “So,” she began in a bright voice. “Who wants cookies?”

“Sure!” exclaimed Gertrude.

Melanie grinned and fled into the kitchen. She began to retrieve her ingredients. Sugar, flour, butter, water—unchanging, everlasting…

“Mel?” The brown-haired young woman looked up to see Angel of Death Davis standing in the doorway.

“Yes?” she responded somewhat crisply, shaking her head when she realized her tone and swallowing her bitterness. “I’m sorry,” she replied, pulling down her small bottle of vanilla from the cupboard. “What is it?”

“You okay?” he asked gently.

Melanie nodded swiftly. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

Angel of Death folded his arms deftly, leaning back against the doorframe of the kitchen. “But you ain’t okay now.”

Melanie merely shook her head, unwilling to ruin the mere beginnings of her cookie dough with the tears she knew would follow any response. She settled her mixing bowl on the counter and rested both her hands on it, sighing.

“She’ll come back, sometime,” the blonde-headed boy assured her.

“I know,” replied Melanie softly. She smiled as best she could.

“Just…just making sure,” Angel explained quickly before leaving her to her kitchen. She waved over her shoulder and continued to methodically measure out her ingredients. There was something so extraordinarily pleasing about cooking; it was a total mental release for her.

She smiled as she began to mold her completed dough into small balls. The others would be happy to have cookies, and she loved nothing better than to make them happy. And Leapfrog—

Was in jail.

People are too important, Melanie reflected. People are much, much too important to give up. She began to consider her options for dealing with Elliot Stephens. And planned to see him that night.

Inhaling deeply, almost sharply, Melanie adjusted her knitted wool coat around her and removed her hat, straightening her waves of dark hair as she folded it and tucked it into her pocket. She opened and closed her eyes, listening to the softly soothing sound of air entering and leaving her lungs to steady herself before the glossy-varnished door in front of her. Her hand shook slightly when she reached out to knock on the door and she drew it back, swallowing a mysterious lump in her throat, before finally tapping lightly on the wood and then clutching a small collection of papers tightly to her chest. As she waited, her breathing tightened involuntarily and her heartbeat sped.

“Who’s—” The door opened and Elliot Stephens blinked at the apparition before him.

“I—I brought all the—” She was interrupted by an amused laugh and a broad grin on the young man’s face as he ushered her into the apartment with one hand on her waist. “The papers,” she tried to finish, extending her right hand filled with the documents toward him. He nudged the door shut behind her with the toe of his shoe and left his hand on her waist, knocking the papers out of her other hand and beginning to waltz her neatly around the large room. The sheets drifted slowly back and forth like snowflakes on the air currents of the room. They had been whipped into activity by the whirling of Melanie’s simple cotton skirt as she kept the square-stepping rhythm neatly and evenly, her one hand caught in Elliot’s and her other resting in perfect dancing pose upon his shoulder.

“You’re good,” laughed Elliot, allowing her pale-skinned hand to trail off his fingers and spinning her gently. She moved away from him afterward.

“I’ve danced once or twice,” she told him with a bit of a laugh. “You’re lucky you picked a waltz; I’m better at the more classical steps.” A smile graced her blushing face when she met his light green eyes a few paces away, but when he moved toward her again, she took a rapid step back. Her richly pigmented eyes flicked to the scattered papers with a bit of dismay.

“Oh—I’m sorry about those,” Elliot exclaimed as she bent down, her skirt puddling neatly around her brown-shoed feet. “But it was worth it, wasn’t it?” She made no response, other than to pick up her marriage certificate and the document assigning Jane Miriam Connoy to a life at St. Jude’s Home for Children. “I—I can get it,” pressed the dark-haired man, kneeling quickly and beginning to scoop up further sheets: a design of stipulations for the visitation of the aforementioned Jane, a court order forbidding Mr. Jason Connoy access to the orphan asylum, a heavy, yellow-white envelope of photographs. He reached Melanie as they both extended their hands over the final piece of paper, a statement releasing Jane from the care of her mother. He looked at the unfortunate eighteen-year-old and wrapped his fingers gently around her wrist, looking up at her. So close to her, he held his breath and tried to read the emotions in those bright blue eyes as he picked up the final paper in his other hand. They remained frozen in this way, their gazes locked together, for an extended several minutes.

“Elliot,” she finally murmured. Her lips, he noticed, hardly moved when she spoke, though he could see—actually watch—her cheekbones growing pink under the warmth of his gaze.

He smiled at her, not letting go of her hand, and led her back to a standing position. “I can help you with the little boy,” he told her without allowing his glance to drift from her cobalt eyes. “I have already spoken to him, in fact.”

“I was hoping you could,” was all she said, and she dropped her field of vision to the floor and his well-shined black leather shoes.

“Which is, of course, why you came.” Without her bright eyes on him, he also could look away, and he studied the sheets of paper he was holding. “You’ve brought everything, haven’t you.”

“I figured it might all be necessary,” she replied softly. “Even though I know you’ve kept copies…”

“It’s all right.” He smiled. “As I said, I can help you. Of course. After all, it was I who wrote the faulty instructions. And I do apologize, Miss—Mrs., that is, of course—Connoy.”

She passed him the additional documents in her hand. “No need to apologize,” she murmured. “You did the best you could.”

“I did indeed.” He grinned toward her. “And so, Melanie, we thought we would never meet again!”

“Elliot, please.”

“And what if I ask for something from you, in order to take these papers to the police station and explain the alterations I am going to make?” There was a bit of a smirk hidden in the open smile on the twenty-two-year-old’s olive-complexioned face, but the light green eyes were honest.

Melanie drew a difficult breath, her voice coming out low and careful. “I am prepared to do whatever you require of me.” There was a decisiveness in her eyes that conveyed the detailed thought she had given this blanket statement, and all of its implications. “So, Elliot, what do I need to do?”

“First let’s discuss the alterations to the paperwork,” he responded, somewhat awed by her dedication. “And then we’ll discuss the stipulations.”

“Elliot, don’t play games with me.” Her voice was tired and worn, wrapping her in the protective shroud of wisdom beyond her meager years. In fact, the young lawyer-to-be mused, she sounded as though she’d lived an entire life. He had to look at her again, letting his eyes drift over the youthfully soft skin of her face, the clear brightness of her eyes, the long curls of her eyelashes against pale lids, framing her brilliantly blue irises with starbursts of beauty. He couldn’t help it; however hard he tried, he couldn’t help being in love with her. God, seeing her was like— He held his breath.

“No,” he murmured, “no games.” There was desperation in his voice, floating hotly on his lips. Melanie remained motionless, biting lightly on her lower lip as she awaited his verdict. Her cheekbones were narrow and soft; there was nothing angular about her, despite her poverty-induced thinness. She was all curves and cotton, from her slim white throat to the swelling of her shabby greyish blouse around her bosom; he couldn’t help it. It was too hard. His light green eyes danced like the cars of a Coney Island roller coaster through her relaxed curls of dark brown hair, dismounting on the delicate fabric of her shoulders, traipsing along the buttons that fastened that attire of silver-sheen to her slim white frame. God-damn it... “Melanie.”

“Yes?” She had seen him drifting off into the realms of his thoughts, but she had kept still, her own brain racing through the days she had spent; she saw the interior of Leapfrog’s prison cell, grey and dismal; she saw Sean’s camera in the hands of that same twelve-year-old, saw him clambering across the narrow metallic ledge of a drainpipe… She wished her eyes weren’t so unfocused; it would have been less restful to drape them in blackness.

“I…I wonder if you…if you could love me, if you weren’t married.”

She licked her dry lips and took a deep, shaky breath. “I—I don’t believe I can say.”

“Just pretend.”

“But I am married,” she managed to murmur. It took everything out of her to see the pain in his eyes. Almost instantly, they were unfocused again. His consciousness was drifting into another silent fantasy, filled with starbursts of soulfully blue eyes, curls of dark brown lashes, ski-jumps like chestnut hair, and the sweet pliability of her unloved self—

“Melanie,” he finally said, his voice rasping in his suddenly-dry throat. “I’ll—I’ll arrange for Leapfrog’s release if you come with me, into my bedroom.”

Hot tears seared her eyes, but her heart was astonishingly fluttery with the thrill of his silent adoration. She touched his hand with hers, guiding a surprisingly happy smile toward him. “Yes, Mr. Stephens.” Once a sinner, always a sinner.

“I wish you’d call me Elliot,” he sighed, but no apprehensive levy could stop the tsunami of seratonin that was cascading through his brain, swamping him with such a flood of bliss-filled thoughts that he couldn’t bring himself to understand her predicament; he was in love, actual love, and it felt so absolutely fantastic that he couldn’t bear to destroy the sensation. He floated behind her, guiding her into the darkness of his bedroom, unable even to speak through his earth-bound body.

The starlight shone on a girl who felt she had depraved herself, sitting on the curb with her knees drawn up to her chin in front of the Bay Ridge newsies’ lodging house. The papers were signed. Leapfrog would be freed at the earliest possible moment of the following day. And Melanie Connoy had allowed her haven of integrity to be penetrated by an attractive, sweet-natured, brilliant—
No, Mel, God no…

She had nothing left to say. She had left the lodging house that afternoon anticipating an exchange of the sort that had transpired and should not have felt no remorse; if reconciliation through the Catholic church was insufficient to erase tremendous sin from her record, then she was already condemned to hell. It was a strange sort of consolation. What really consoled her were the small bursts of euphoria that were becoming more and more difficult to wall up inside of her. Here, here was someone that really loved her. Someone who thought her beautiful and worthwhile. She had absolutely nothing in the world to offer him—not money, not girlhood, not even family support—yet he adored her. Yet to him, the best exchange in the world for his help—

She swallowed hard. There was a line that had been drawn separating the immorality of having a relationship with a husband-to-be prior to the wedding from the truly horrible act of adultery. Adultery was against the Commandments. Adultery was a mortal sin.

How could this possibly be adultery? How could the transfer of emotion from a man who hated her very being to the arms of someone she could love—did love—be so not permissible. Could God truly want her to remain—

It didn’t matter.

“Yes,” she had said as she took a seat on the thick quilt that graced Elliot’s bed. She had spread her skirt neatly over the bedclothes, smoothing it softly over her legs.

“Yes?” He had stood in front of a tiny oil-burning lamp with a book of matches. Melanie had remained silent, her vocal cords tightening so much as she fought to retain control of her emotions that she couldn’t have spoken had she wished to. A match tip had flared to life, sending an instantaneous scent of sulfur burning into the air. The wick that the dark-haired young man touched it to was minuscule, leaving just the smallest bit of yellowy light flickering on the desktop as he approached where she was sitting. “Yes, what, Miss Mel?”

So it’s Miss now, she recalled having thought with a mixture of sadness and joy. It was the complicated blending of upset and bliss that was inducing the pangs, not the actual matter at hand, Melanie had realized. “Yes,” she had repeated slowly, pausing between each word to regain control of herself, “I would be in love. With you.”

The winter-dirty concrete beneath her pressed coldly against the thin material of her skirt, and the hem of the fabric trailed in a damp stream of snowmelt. Her eyes had been visited by a film of tears, but her self-awareness was becoming keen once again, and she felt almost ready to enter the lodging establishment a controlled person.

“Mel?”

Only a bit rushed into recovery, Melanie looked up quickly with a starlight-glazed smile. “Yes?” Behind her was standing timid Morning Bennett.

“What’re you sitting outside for?” asked the girl with light brown hair, tipping her head to the side. The electric lighting of the lodging house lobby looked bright and inviting. It hid no secret romances or desperate attempts to prove independence.

“Oh, I don’t know. Looking around.”

Morning shivered slightly in her long-sleeved man’s shirt and light shawl. “You should come in. You’ll catch a cold.”

Standing up, Melanie resolved to be entirely normal. After all, nothing had transpired that impacted her on anything other than a spiritual level, and her potential for forgiveness was merely up for discussion with God, no one else. She was, however, a bit shaky on her legs. “Thanks, Morning. I’m a little sidetracked.” She laughed softly and stepped into the lodging house after the sixteen-year-old, taking a breath of the familiar air.

Home. There was something truly sweet about the idea. Her optimism returned in a heartbeat when she glanced around the unceremonious commonality of the lobby. The doorway to her kitchen abode. The stairwell to the bunkroom.

“You going to bed, Morning?” inquired Melanie softly. The younger girl was looking at the stairwell almost blankly.

“Yes,” she concluded, turning to smile at the dark-haired girl over her shoulder. “But you first. You’re looking…a little shaky.”

“Thanks,” Melanie laughed. “Your concern is appreciated. I must be sleepier than I thought.” She grinned and moved up the stairs slowly, ensuring that she maintained her balance all the way to her bottom bunk. “Good night, Morning, dear.”

“I hope you feel better in the morning, Mel,” responded Morning with a wholehearted honesty that provided Melanie with the remainder of the strength she would need to survive the next few weeks. She smiled and thought about how happy she would be when Leapfrog was out of prison. Then she thought about being able to see Jane again. And that was how she fell asleep: contented.

Had the police officer behind the station’s desk the following morning bothered to let his gaze linger on Melanie’s expression for more than half a second, he’d have noticed her intriguing mien—somewhere between harried and determined. As it was, he recognized the eighteen-year-old and motioned her in. “He’s in the back,” he muttered.

“Thank you, sir.” The exchange seemed like a comedy: the air squirmed with dramatics and yet their speeches were as commonplace as any.

One of the policemen within the prison area unlocked Leapfrog’s door and Melanie entered in a quiet swirl of skirts and coat. She folded her arms and smiled at the younger boy.

“Hello, Melanie,” he greeted, flicking listless green eyes toward her. She looked a little pale to his glance, but it might have been the cold.

She tucked several locks of dark hair behind her ears and sighed. “Has…has anyone talked to you about your trial?”

“You think I hear anything in here?” snorted Leapfrog.

“It’s about you, so I thought they might have,” she responded with a kind smile. His snappishness was only to be expected and she pitied his boredom. “At any rate, you’ll have one.” She nodded, a neat, decisive nod. “And they’ll acquit you.”

“Really?” He brightened and her heart lifted. “That’s great!”

“I—I agree,” she exclaimed. “Someone will tell you, I’m sure, when it is, and all of that.”

Click.

They both glanced up to the opening cell door. “Oh, hello, sir,” Melanie greeted the uniformed policeman who stepped into the room.

“Yes.” He nodded curtly. “Uh, Mr. Kristo, you are free to go.”

The lodging house greeted Melanie’s return with Leapfrog as the triumph it was, but her near-instantaneous disappearance to the upstairs scarcely went unnoticed. As she mounted the steps, she slid her arms out of her knitted coat and tucked it neatly around her hat, draping the apparel over her arm. When she reached the girls’ bunkroom, she set the coat and hat on her bed and sat down in the center of her quilt, sighing. Her hands lay lifeless in her lap, her mind racing, comparing, fluttering from point to point and objective to objective.

Gertrude entered the room on quiet feet, blinking green eyes slowly at the listless eighteen-year-old who hadn’t so much as glanced up upon her entrance, despite the wooden floor having creaked. “Hey, Mel,” she said after a moment, brushing back several strands of brown hair.

“Oh, hey, Gertrude.” Melanie smiled up at the younger girl, and Gertrude sat down on her bunk. “How…are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” replied the girl, “and you?” She hoped her inquiry was subtle enough; she had no wish to pry or be bothersome.

“I’m just fine.” Melanie shrugged slightly. “Absolutely fine,” she repeated with a certain forcefulness of tone. As though to warrant her statements, she added, “Leapfrog’s back.”

Gertrude looked somewhat nonplussed by this announcement. “I saw. That’s nice.” She shifted her weight, swinging her legs up on the bed in front of her and leaning back against her pillow.

“I…agree.” The air seemed thick with discomfort, and Gertrude drew a strengthening breath.

“You sound detached,” she finally stated after studying Melanie for several moments. “Not…not that it’s my business, of course,” she added quickly.

“Maybe I am detached,” came the soft reply. “I’m sorry, though. It’s been…a very rough week. Or two.” She was staring intently at her hands, lacing her fingers together in complicated patterns.

“Well, it’ll get better,” Gertrude said.

With a nod, Melanie concurred. “Just…just waiting.” She smiled softly at the seventeen-year-old, then laid down on her bunk, her bright blue eyes focusing on the underside of Little Bit’s bunk. “I’m glad he’s home.”

“Yeah…” Gertrude knit her eyebrows and observed the elder girl. She seemed to have some degree of a hang-up on this point, and the green-eyed girl sighed, assuming she was yet again oblivious to some very obvious situation that everyone else would know how to deal with.

Little shells of quietude began to form around the girls, their stiffening uninterrupted until Hummer Cage paused in the doorway, looking at their identically absent expressions. “Hey,” he murmured to get their collective attention.

“Hello,” Gertrude greeted with some degree of cordiality. Melanie, too, smiled toward the younger boy.

“Cookie?” suggested the black-haired boy gently. He held out a plate of the treats. “They’re cinnamon…”

“I…I have to go,” Gertrude said quickly and apologetically. “I’d—I’d love a cookie, all the same.” She picked one off the plate, smiling briefly at Hummer, and then ducked out the door. Melanie watched the lad with quiet blue eyes.

“Would…would you like one?” he asked again.

“I…I suppose so, yes, certainly.” She reached toward the plate and lifted one of the cinnamon-dusted sugar cookies off the tray, smiling to the best of her ability at the thirteen-year-old.

“Okay.” He nodded swiftly, his cheeks flushing ever-so-slightly as he watched her set the cookie down on the wooden side of the bunk. “I’m just gonna…gonna go put this plate in the guys’ bunkroom, okay?” he murmured, eyes downcast.

Melanie nodded, her expression kind. “Certainly.” As she watched his retreating figure slip shyly from the room, she stepped over to the mirror on the far wall and picked up her hairbrush, beginning to run it delicately through her already-smoothed waves of dark hair. Several moments later, the lad reappeared.

“Hi, Melanie,” he near-whispered with all the pleasantness he could place into his tone. “Do…do yah wanna talk?”

“About what?” she asked of his young reflection in the mirror before her, continuing to brush her hair, albeit somewhat more slowly.

“You…” Trailing off, Hummer folded his arms tightly and hugged himself before gingerly taking a seat on the bunk nearest her. “You’re sad,” he observed.

“Am I that scary?” Melanie inquired, turning her head so she could study him over her shoulder.

“No!” Hummer’s own pair of eyes flipped open, startled.

“I’m sorry.” She smiled at him carefully, setting down her brush and turning around with a smooth swish of her skirts.

“No, no…” He shook his head quickly, his black hair fluttering on an invisible air current. “You just seemed sad when I came in, before.”

“I was only thinking,” she replied rapidly.

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Melanie?”

The room remained still as Melanie watched him. “Lucas?” she answered in the same tone.

“You know that we all love yah, right?” His glance was one of timidity, his soft eyes looking anywhere but at her.

“I…I know,” she responded slowly, leaving her hairbrush near the window and crossing toward the black-haired boy. She pulled out a rickety wooden chair and eased herself onto its wicker seat.

Folding his hands tightly in his lap, Hummer nodded. “Good. I just…wanted you to know that we…appreciate you, and everything.”

The smile on Melanie’s pale-skinned face wobbled slightly. “It’s because I know that you—” she swallowed hard “—love me—” She broke off, staring at her hands with suddenly bleary eyes.

“I’m sorry I upset you!” exclaimed a traumatized Hummer, his eyes so wide they stung. “I’m sorry!” he repeated desperately. Melanie shook her head at him but he merely bit his lower lip. “I just wanted you to be happy, now, and not sad! I didn’t mean—”

“I—I’m just…” Melanie almost laughed, her breath whooshing lightly. “I’m just emotionally messed up right now,” she explained softly. “Don’t…don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help it,” Hummer explained. “You’re like family, Mel.”

“And you’re like mine. I don’t want you to be…upset. Please don’t.” In an effort to prove herself, she laced her fingers and looked up at him with a happy expression. “I’m fine. Look at me.” She motioned to her carefully smiling face. “See? I’m fine.”

“Is that smile real?” prompted Hummer with skepticism. “Or are yah just smiling to make me feel better?”

“It’s real,” Melanie assured him. “I promise to you, dear, that I’m truly fine. Only overreacting—dramatizing. You know how girls are…”

Hummer’s good-natured response was interrupted by a knock on the door and the penetration of Sean’s voice. “Mel?” he asked. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” He poked his head through the doorway and looked at her. “Leapfrog said you have my camera?”

“Yes!” The dark-haired girl sprang to her feet, blue eyes saucer-shaped. “Oh, God, I’m sorry…” She fled to her trunk, rapidly undoing the catches.

“It’s all right.” Sean spoke slowly, attempting to soothe her obviously ruffled countenance. “No need to be sorry.”

“But I am,” she stated as she pulled off a piece of shapeless bleached muslin and then removed Sean’s camera from her trunk. “I—I can’t believe I forgot.” She got to her feet and handed him the camera, meeting his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sean.”

“It really is all right,” he assured her, accepting the camera. “Thanks.” They exchanged smiles and then Sean spoke again. “Sorry, I’ll let you two get back to talking.”

“No!” Recovering her senses, Melanie reassumed her normal tone of voice. “No, that is. Really. It’s not… We weren’t talking about…anything.”

Sean’s blue eyes flipped to Hummer, who nodded his agreement, and then smiled. “All right, then.” He took a few paces into the room, wishing the camera still had film in it as he studied the wide-eyed look on Hummer’s face and the flustered pinkness of Melanie’s. “So how are you two?”

“I’m…” Melanie trailed off, consideration in her voice. “I’m fine,” she concluded with some degree of certainty.

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

“And you, Sean? How are you?”

“Just fine, thanks.” He glanced down at his camera, comfortably bulky in his large hands, glad of its familiar weight, and then back up, his gaze lighting on Hummer. “And Hummer? How are you doing?”

“Fine, thanks,” was the almost instantaneous reply. His nervousness almost glowed on his skin. “I—I have to go,” he excused rapidly, making a dash for the door. Melanie and Sean watched him go, then looked at each other. A bit uncomfortably, Melanie looked toward the floor.

“Did Leapfrog get arrested?” Sean finally asked.

Melanie nodded her head. “Yeah.” After a moment, she added brightly. “Luckily, he’s back now!”

“Yep. They just let him go? No trial or anything?”

Staring intently at the floor, Melanie replied, “The person who drew up the rules that got him in trouble, he went and explained things.”

“That’s good,” Sean stated. “The less that kid has to go through, the better.”

“I know,” agreed Melanie with a sincere nod. “I felt terrible. It was never meant to happen that way.”

Sean raised one brown eyebrow. “You felt terrible? What did you do to get him in trouble?”

“I…” Melanie blinked. “He was going to see Jane! And I was the one who—who had all those…those rules put down…”

“I know. He wanted to see her.” Sean rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And I thought your lawyer was the one who put all those rules down.”

“He was. But…he did it for me.”

“Still, it was Leapfrog’s own fault for going. You shouldn’t feel too bad about it.”

“I—I know. But I had to get him out.”

“Which was kind of you.” Sean watched her looking more shy than usual. “Eventful day, I guess.”

“My—my day?”

“Yeah. Your day.”

“E-eventful?” Melanie stuttered. “I was a—a bit busy, I suppose. I had to—you know—push paper, and sign things, and…yeah…”

“You’re still signing things?”

“I had to…to re-do some things. So Leapfrog would not be in…in trouble.” She nodded her head to affirm her certainty. “Also so I could go see my own daughter,” she added ruefully.

“Must be hard, being away from her.”

Another nod precluded Melanie’s response. “I hate it.” She sighed and looked away.

“When will you be able to have her again?”

“I don’t even know. I have to be able to demonstrate ‘financial independence’, whatever that means. Or I have to be twenty.” She rubbed her nose gently with her palm.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s like… I don’t even know, I guess, what it’s like.” She looked up. “You…you know, sort of at least, with Gracie.” The nod of his head and the determined line of his jaw clearly explained that Sean would die before letting anyone take his sister from him, but Melanie merely sighed. “But at least you aren’t married,” she added.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Sean genuinely. “I really am sorry that you have to go through all this.”

“I generally take things very well.” Melanie nearly laughed, but her expression betrayed more of exhaustion than amusement. “I don’t know,” she continued in a near-laugh. “It just gets really—really—difficult sometimes.” As an afterthought, she added, “I think I attach myself too much to people, or something.”

“That can be a good thing, too, you know. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes it is,” she responded, her eyes brightening for the first time, some of their dullness wearing off. “Sometimes it’s an absolute blessing. Although other times…” She allowed her words to sink to the floor as she carefully selected her new ones. “I do stupid things, because of it.”

“What kind of stupid things?”

“Oh!” Jumping a little, Melanie waved a hand. “Just…just stupid ones…” She watched Sean’s expression grow confused and then sighed softly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s nothing, really.”

“Well, we all do stupid things at one time or another,” Sean commented kindly. “So don’t worry.”

“Thanks,” Melanie responded, taking his hand for a moment and squeezing it. “You are a true friend.”