Instead, I took my cue, cutting a line through the crowd, clip-clopping faster, down the stairs, out the door, into the muggy night, past a drunk couple, straight to the curb, desperate for a lit taxi to swoop me safely home.

19.

“ruby!”

As I clomped into the street, Oscar burst out of the building behind me.

“What . . .” He stumbled to a stop, hesitating on the sidewalk. “Are you . . . okay? What was that up there?”

I turned, anger boiling in my throat. “I don’t. Play. The piano. I’ve been telling you that over and over but you don’t seem to want to listen to me.”

“I’m sorry.” He ran his hands over his cheeks. “Oh God, Ruby, I really am. I don’t know why I put you on the spot like that. I guess I panicked and figured you were used to it, being—”

“I’m not. And you know what? I don’t have to get used to it. But you do.”

He shuffled backward. “I guess so. I mean, you’re right.”

A taxi dropped somebody off on the near corner. I raised my hand for it.

“Where are you going?” Oscar asked, a note of panic in his voice.

“Home.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No.” I leaned on the car door. “No. Oscar. That’s sweet, but . . . you need to go up there and shake more hands.”

“But—”

“They’re giving you this platform. You have to help them fundraise.” I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “That’s what Dad’s always done, that’s what Win does, even Leo and Alice, when they’re asked to. It’s part of the job. You were doing great, keep it up.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the lit-up windows and let out a little laugh. “I feel so . . . on parade.”

“Yeah, well.”

“No, I mean . . .” His jaw clenched through his smile, like he wanted to confide something.

I waited, holding the cab door open. Oscar leaned in, exhausted, letting his forehead fall against mine. I closed my eyes.

“Hey, kids!” The voice behind Oscar was older, male, but as I leaned out to identify the source of it, a light flashed in my face. A camera? It turned off before I stopped blinking, but the photographer seemed satisfied—a short, bald guy, I saw now. He waved, shouted “Thanks!” and vanished toward the Wing Club entrance.

Oscar squinched his eyes shut. “What the actual—”

“These things attract photographers,” I said quickly, hoping he couldn’t see how shaken I was. “It’s fine.” I squeezed his wrist. “You’ll be fine.”

He straightened. “Okay. You’re right. See you back at the ranch, then.”

The photographer snapped another shot of him as he strode back into the club, bouncing more with every step.