"I can't believe your first book comes out tomorrow," Angela said as Clara folded herself into one of the large club chairs in the living room after giving Angela her present.

"I'm not going to pretend I'm not incredibly excited, even if it won't have my name on it. Cashing that check was one of the greatest thrills of my life."

Angela smiled down at her with a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I'm a little jealous. I'd love to say my art brought in money. I am almost finished with a new piece, but I suppose it will only get added to the pile."

"Well, you know I want to see it."

Angela walked over to her easel and removed the draping covering her newest work.

"It's beautiful, Angela," Clara said as she examined it. "I mean, just her back displays so much...longing. And her hands are lovely."

Angela looked over at her friend. "Everyone wants to choose the right door to make a real connection. And thank you, I'm very proud of the hands. Also, thank you for the charcoal pencils. Why were you in New York?"

"Margaret made an appointment at one of Mrs. Sanger's clinics and took me to get a dutch cap." Clara looked straight ahead at the painting as she talked.

Angela looked into the sunroom, where Tommy was occupied with blocks, and then walked into the kitchen and came back with a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses, and a bottle of whiskey Jimmy hid behind the flour bags.

"I feel like this conversation might go best with a drink?" Angela said lightly.

Clara laughed. They pushed the cocktail table away from the chairs and sat on the floor. Clara thought it was like they were back in the little Upper East Side apartment her father rented for them when Clara was working in New York, eating on the floor while baby Tommy slept in the bedroom.

"I have the information if you need..." Clara began.

Angela shook her head. "That won't be necessary."

Clara wanted to ask her if it was because she and Jimmy were trying for another, or because things were going badly between them. She hoped it was the former, but felt it was probably the latter.

"To be honest, I'm more interested in the fact you feel you need one. Things must be...progressing?" Angela asked.

Mixing the exact right ratio of lemonade to whiskey seemed to take Clara's full attention.

"I think you are smart if they are," Angela continued and lowered her voice even more. "I love Tommy and wouldn't trade him for anything, but I wish..." she let her voice trail off because she wasn't sure what she wished. Angela couldn't wish the child she loved didn't exist, but she wouldn't wish her life on anyone. "Although the war is over and Richard is so honorable that your situation would be very different."

"I don't want him to marry me because he's honorable," Clara said before downing half her drink. "Jimmy, I think, told him I'm afraid of sex. I'm not. I'm terribly afraid of pregnancy because how can I be sure I won't turn into my mother? But more than that, I'm not ready to be a mother. I want to have adventures. I want us to have adventures together. I want to work on my career and figure out who I am beyond being Nucky Thompson's daughter. And if- when- I have children, I want them to have a very different childhood from mine."

Angela knocked back her drink. "I wish I'd known who I was before I had Tommy. Hell, I wish I knew who I am now."

"You are a really talented artist, an amazing mother, and a truly good friend." Both women are quiet. "Will you send Tommy to kindergarten when he turns five?"

"Yes, he needs to be around other children."

"That means you'll have so much more freedom in just another year, Angela. You can devote more time to your art, and maybe even find ways to make money at it."

"I'm not going to pretend that doesn't all sound wonderful. Maybe I'll even try and get a job doing something artistic? Jimmy hasn't wanted me to work, but..."

"I love Jimmy, it doesn't mean I don't know he can be an absolute jerk," Clara said softly. "Tommy certainly hasn't interfered with Jimmy's ambitions, has he? Margaret told me that the world doesn't look kindly on ambitious girls, and she's right. We pay for our ambitions and desires in ways men never even conceive of. Even just being defined as ourselves or by own achievements and not simply as someone's mother, wife, daughter feels like the loftiest of goals."

They drink and watch Tommy, who builds towers and then throws his entire body onto them to knock them down.

"I can't imagine Richard propositioning you," Angela said musingly as she finished her second drink. She felt Clara's anger and laughed when she looked at Clara's face. "Sometimes it's hard to believe you and Jimmy aren't blood. Both of you, and Tommy, all make the same face right before you get irrationally angry and slide into a tantrum. I'm not making fun of Richard; he's just so timid."

Clara exhaled, the alcohol making her emotions brew close to the surface. "That's what makes it so meaningful. Every gesture, every reach towards me requires bravery. They all come at a cost. And then suddenly I can tell they require less bravery, that he just knows I want him to hold my hand or kiss me and it's a little easier for him, and that's even more meaningful, somehow."

Angela blinked at her friend's sudden confession, but before she could follow up, Tommy came up to talk to them, and then it was time for Tommy to be put to bed. After he fell asleep, Angela and Clara resumed their attack on the bottle of whiskey.

Richard and Jimmy heard the sound of laughter from the driveway.

"Having a party?" Jimmy asked when he saw the bottle on the table and the bright faces of Angela and Clara. He didn't miss the way Clara smiled at him versus the way she looked at Richard.

"We are celebrating," Clara said, waving her arm to show the remnants of the whiskey bottle and almost knocking over the table.

"Yes, we can see. What's so great?" Jimmy asked.

Angela sighed, her happy buzz already retreating. "I finished a painting, and Clara's first book comes out tomorrow. We went to see if any store had them out early, but..."

"I have. A copy."

Richard had braved the Woolworth on the Boardwalk. Being out among people like that always made his hands move like they were seeking a piano or a trigger, but he wanted a copy of Clara's book. He went around to the loading dock and offered the stock boy $5 to open the carton of books early. When he was handed a copy of Ruth Fielding in the Great Northwest he decided enduring a shopping trip was worth it. Later in his room, he read it, and looked for all the bits of Clara she left behind in the book with Alice B. Emerson's name on it. It was easy to find her in the adventurous Ruth, with her pretty outfits, and a plan for every occasion. He wondered where Clara learned about making movies in California, or what it's like in the Pacific Northwest, but then remembered her bent over a pile of books at the D.C. library, intently making notes. Ruth narrowly escaped death a few times, which made him think of Clara's kidnapping attempt and made him worry that it still bothered her.

Clara looked up at him and smiled. "You read it?"

"She's a lot. Like you. Bossing people. Around. Mmm. And usually minutes away from disaster."

"You're teasing me again," she says, trying not to laugh.

"Is he, though?" Angela laughed. "Oh!" She stands up and starts rifling through a drawer before handing Clara a pen. "You should write an inscription and sign it."

Clara caught his eye, and Richard nodded.

"I don't know how you got a copy early," Clara said as she tapped the pen against the cover as she tried to decide how to combine what she wanted to write with what she felt comfortable writing. Finally, she finished and handed the book back to him. He slid it in his pocket, not wanting to read her words in front of Jimmy and Angela.

"Congratulations, Clara. It really is an accomplishment," Jimmy said. "But Richard and I have to go out of town and won't be back until the morning, and we need to leave."

"Clara, you should spend the night, then. It will be like old times. Jimmy, can you help me with something before you leave?" Angela asked while getting up to walk into the kitchen.

Clara held her hands up, and Richard helped her clamber to her feet. He leaned down to kiss her. "Tomorrow. Mmm. When I get back, we..."

"Yes."

He looked down at her. "I didn't say..."

"It doesn't matter, I'm in."

Later that night, after Richard's considered precisely how he'd like to kill Mickey Doyle on five different occasions, he finally was alone, and there was enough street light for him to read Clara's inscription.

'My dearest, Richard,

Thank you for always respecting and never belittling my desire

to be an actual person with passions and thoughts and ambitions,

and for the myriad of ways you supported me.

Love always,

Clara'