THE SILHOUETTES OF THE TREES made it difficult to see the houses of Warren Street from the road. Their lights twinkled between the branches and leaves, glistened on the stone walks and wet pavement and gave only a hint at their true grandeur. As the limousine coasted by, Claire took it in with a yearning for home she never thought she would have. She licked her lips and she waited for the house to come into view. She worried this visit would turn into the nightmares she'd had since her aunt told her she would go. Her father didn't call to be sure she would attend. He didn't even call to congratulate her. He was either too busy or too used to getting his way that making certain mattered little to him.

        "Be there in just a minute, Miss," the driver said. He must have noticed her anxiety.

        Claire's eyes went to the back of the man's head. She didn't recognize him. Father changed drivers too often to recall any. The man blurted some weak excuse that her father was stuck at work and couldn't be there himself. This wasn't unusual. He came to get her himself less and less every year. Maybe he thought her too grown and capable. It still would have been a nice gesture.

        "Hey—can you do me a favor?" Claire asked, seeing the man peer at her in the rearview. "Drop me at the gate. I'd like to walk up."

        "In them heels?" he said in a Boston lilt.

        "I haven't seen it since Christmas. Heck, I haven't seen it in spring since I was a kid," Claire said, sitting back in the seat. She picked at the fingers of her gloves, but still managed to smile.

        "Yer the boss, Miss Healey," the man said.

        The limousine coasted along the street. Claire checked her carefully arranged hair to make sure it was still in place. She put the compact away satisfied and contemplated her homecoming as the vehicle pulled up to the gate barring them from the sprawling set-up. Claire looked over the lawn and the house beyond. Several
fancy cars lined the circular drive. The limo door opened with a pop and the cool spring air rushed inside the warm coach. Claire accepted the driver's hand. The gate groaned open, capturing her attention.

        "Take this," he said, opening and handing her an umbrella. "I'll get it from ya later. Ya dad'll kill me if 'e finds out I let ya walk in the rain."

        Claire smiled at him, half paying attention to what he said. She took the umbrella with thanks. She doubted if her father would deign to care.

        "Watch them stones. I'll be out for a ride if ya twist ya ankle," the man added, nervously.

        "Say," Claire said, concerned. She heard more than he said. "Are things all that bad here?"

        The man adjusted his chauffer cap.

        "Na-no, miss—not at awl. It's a great gig," he said and forced a smile to be sure she believed him. "I jus' doan wanna lose is awl. Just staht'd."

        Claire eyed him with a frown. Her dad was a hard man, but seeing another grown man afraid of him was too much. She almost blushed with the shame of it.

        "Well—thank you," Claire said, not knowing what else to say. "I promise not to breathe a word of this walk to anyone. Our secret."

        The man nodded, unconvinced.

        Claire smiled sheepishly at the driver. She couldn't do anything more than keep her word. She turned on her heel and started up the cobblestone drive. The walk became one of the longest she ever took, not outranking the walk to the door of her school on the first day. The thought made her smile and her spirit eased in spite of the
shadow of the great house.

        Behind her the limo rolled toward the livery hidden in the trees at the back of the lawn. Without the head lamps to light it up, the scene was dismal. Claire sighed, resigned to accepting the night for what it was and nothing more. Her father had steadily collapsed inward since mother took sick. She needed to remember his coldness
for what it was too.

        Reaching the end of her walk, Claire lowered the umbrella and peeked through the windows. She saw people milling about in stardust finery, holding drinks and grinning through small talk. The raindrops on the windows made it surreal; something from a picture.

        Claire's eyes caught sight of a new view beyond the old panes. He stood near her father, golden and confident, like he had always lived there. He smiled and responded to someone's conversation. A woman reached out and stroked his arm, smiling too big to not be interested. Claire wondered who this Apollo was, unable to not be
interested herself.

        "Claire?" She heard her name called from the shadows of the door.

        Claire squinted at the dark surrounding the doorway. There she saw an outline of a suited man who hung back at the top of the stairs. The red ember of his cigarette glowed. She took a step forward, squinting.  He leapt down the steps to meet her, flicking the cigarette to the lawn.

        "Claire!" He exclaimed.

        It was Edward Lynch—tall, dark and not handsome. He wore a fine suit, flashing his worth where his features failed him. In fact, the only fine thing about him was the suit.

        "Hello, Eddie." Claire fought to smile at him.

        "My God, look at you!" he cried, taking in her outfit. "What a sight!"

        Claire snickered at his attempts to sound hip. "Thank you, Eddie."

        Eddie took hold of her arm and pulled her toward the door. He had always been too persistent and too fervent. Claire tripped along behind him, recalling the chauffer's concern about her twisting her ankle on the drive. Holding the hat on her head before it whisked off, she tried to keep her feet solidly beneath her despite Eddie's zealousness. Claire unhappily leaned on his arm. The smell of smoke choked her and made his presence even less desirable.

        "I was hoping you'd make it," Eddie said. "Your dad said you were expected, but I know how New York can keep a hold on you."

        He grinned too much, with too many teeth.

        "Well, my aunt wouldn't hear of it and neither would he," Claire said, as he pushed her through the door. "So New York will just have to wait for me to get back," she added, straightening herself.

        Eddie shut the door and tore the umbrella from her hand. He shoved it in a bin with a pile of others and jumped for her coat. As he yanked the garment from her shoulders, the old butler came along the hall to meet them.

        "Miss Claire," the butler said in his composed monotone. "Your father is expecting you." He took the jacket from Eddie before he mangled it in his enthusiasm. "Shall I take you in?"

        "Hey, I was gonna—" Eddie started.

        "Yes, please, Wilson," Claire said. She smiled warmly at him for
saving her from the clod.

        The butler bowed, his smile discreet. He stiffly walked toward the sitting room. He knew she didn't like Eddie all that much and she guessed he didn't like Eddie either. Claire followed Wilson, thankful for the ally.

        The butler entered the room ahead of Claire to announce her arrival to her father. Before he uttered a word, a raven-haired woman about Claire's age called to her. The startling sound brought everyone's attention to the door. The butler made his bowed exit, leaving her to face them alone.

        "Claire!" The young woman cried, making her way across the room. Her eyes sparkled as much as her jewels, but it was her smile that was the most radiant. She carried herself like a movie star.

        "Saraid Kelly!" Claire gasped. She was relieved to see her girlhood friend. She wouldn't need to entertain Eddie now. The girls clasped each other in a brief hug. "Oh, Sarry—it's so good to see you again."

        Claire's father frowned. Beside him, a manifestation of the god Apollo attended with deep interest. He drew a cigarette from his lip, eyes narrowed. Her father passed the mysterious Apollo his glass and waved him off. Claire smiled at Sarry, who babbled on in front of her. Claire's eyes went back and forth between her and Apollo. Her view became blocked by Father's approach, while the younger man retreated out of sight. She wondered who the man was once again, made more curious by the fact her father did not wish to introduce them.

        "Claire." Her father smiled, almost genuinely happy to see her. He kept his arms tucked behind him. "I am so glad you were able to make it," he told her, despite his body language to the contrary. He should hug her. He hadn't seen her in months. In that time, she'd finished school and grown up. "Congratulations on finishing school," he said, perhaps seeing the disappointment in her eyes. "My word, you grow more like your mother every day." Disgust flashed in his eyes and he scowled at her.

        Claire opened her mouth to speak but swallowed her words. She saw Apollo return, his face serious, his brow furrowed, his eyes fixated on her father's back. He offered her a meager, sympathetic smile that was quickly hidden by the butt of his smoke. Claire snapped her eyes back to her father, embarrassed. She tried to force a grateful thanks, but it only came out a pathetic mumble. She stood there beside her childhood friends in an uncomfortable silence.

        "Supper is ready," the butler called from the door.