While the majority of the public was excited about the President-Elect, I was less enthused. Roosevelt may have been a promising prospect for the country, but the Democrat was dangerous for me. He spoke often, and loudly, about ending prohibition, an initiative that would strip me of my bread, butter and every other indulgence I enjoyed over the past several years. As soon as liquor was easy to acquire, I was unnecessary, a middleman who would be coolly cut by gin mill owners who had struggled with their margins for long enough. I was too isolated by self-interest to join the nation in their dreams of deliverance. Despite my skepticism regarding the state of the Union, I could not deny—though I tried—that things were as bleak as Igor had predicted they would be years prior. Dozens of North Side businesses had shut their doors and according to my brother, economists were anticipating there would be handfuls more. The South Side factories weren’t in better shape, laying off hundreds of workers as a result of significant dips in production needs. People were hungry, as evidenced by Capone’s soup kitchen being packed for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Once again, I stood on the outside, looking in at a country that had always been foreign to me. My needs didn’t align with theirs, yet I didn’t feel like an alien anymore. While I didn’t fit with them, I did fit with Cal. He made me different in a way that didn’t pull me from people, but thrust me toward them, because that was where he was, so it was where I wanted to be. He wasn’t born with shame like I had been. He didn’t desire distance, and I remained close to him. Perhaps he’d changed me a year ago on the shore, when he saw me in the darkness and opened my eyes. Maybe he’d been the catalyst for everything, the beginning of a new era, and not only for me. Cal was the Big Bang, the Tunguska event, the Great War, the election of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, movement, progress, tomorrow. He was gravity and I was the sea, my patterns shifting for him.

“You should join Millie, Ingrid, Maks and I at the party tonight,” Igor offered. He’d been making the same suggestion for weeks. “There will be some single broads for you to mingle with.”

“I have my own thing going on,” I told him vaguely. Tagging along with Igor, Maks and their girlfriends sounded like a sentence rather than a good time.