Clara knew how to observe the properties. It's why she stood in all black at the Saint Bernard Clairvaux cemetery in Dorothy. It wasn't love for her grandfather that made her stand in black on the Jersey mainland on a summer Saturday morning.

Her uncle's eyes were on her from almost the moment she parked her father's Buick and stepped across the first grave, but Clara attempted to ignore him. She regarded her cousins thoughtfully. Poor little lambs, they looked so upset, she thought. How was it possible they loved their grandfather so much while she found him so despicable?

Aunt June invited her for lunch after the internment, but she refused the invitation. Clara could not eat at her uncle's table, now.

"Dollface," Eli murmured, approaching her as the mourners dispersed.

"Don't. Don't. Not after what you were part of," Clara looked at him with fierce anger in her eyes.

Fuck Jimmy, Eli thought. How do you fuck up sending a gunman? His words to Harrow stood, he thought, because he still believed they would all be better off with Nucky gone.

"So you've written us all off?" Eli asked.

Clara's eyes flashed. "You all conspired to have my father killed. What should I do?"

He regarded her thoughtfully. Clara was the first kid he'd watched grow up. When he and June were courting, they'd go eat dinner at Nuck and Mabel's, and then they'd play with Clara. Eli always thought he fell in love with June in part because she was so natural with Clara. It made him see what a good mother she'd be to their children. It's why he could see how the pain tearing at his niece was destroying her, and why the anger in Clara's eyes cut him so deeply.

"It was Jimmy," he said, hoping for forgiveness.

"Try that line on Father. Jimmy can barely decide what pastry to order at Formica Brothers. Someone led him into this." Clara stared into the trees, seeing the man in the Ford without realizing it. "It was that awful little troll from Chicago, wasn't it? He pushed Jimmy into this."

Capone, sure. He wondered why Clara despised him. "Yes, he pushed Jimmy into it." It wasn't even strictly a lie, Eli thought, looking at the church steeple behind Clara's head. Jimmy pushed back against him, but once Capone, the little one, and the one who was screwing Gillian started in, Jimmy folded fast.

"It doesn't change anything," Clara said. "The three of you...you still conspired to kill my father."

"Harrow, too?" Eli asked, thinking of the broken man sitting in the VIP room at the party.

Clara shot her uncle a venomous look. "Do you think I don't know what Richard's part in this was, to keep me occupied while the gunman did his work? Do you want to know how he kept me busy?"

"Clara, that's a sin," Eli said in a shocked voice. She was his niece. He often had to remind himself she wasn't an eight-year-old in a crinoline. The last thing he wanted was to picture...that. Although he was suddenly possessed by the urge to ask her if she made Harrow keep the mask on.

"That's a sin?" Clara asked with a hysterical note of laughter in her voice. "You conspired to kill your brother, my life is paid for by a river of blood and illegal booze, but my bedding a man I," her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue, "love, that's the sin that worries you?"

"It's not true, Clara," Eli said, thinking if nothing else, he could spare her that pain. "There were three men in that room who love you, but Harrow was the only one who was thinking about you. He tried to convince Jimmy not to order the hit, and..." Eli skipped over the point where Harrow had asked him how he could kill his brother, and focused instead on what Jimmy told him later, "he thought he had succeeded."

Clara's hands went out behind her, and she leaned against a headstone. Richard hadn't betrayed her in the way she thought. Guilt for the things she had said, for the things she had felt, crashed over her. He still had known what Jimmy and Eli were considering, and she felt a new flame of anger start inside her. He hadn't put her first and let his loyalty to Jimmy overcome any commitment he should feel for her. Richard should have told her. But he hadn't betrayed her, not like she thought. Not in a way she couldn't forgive.

"I said horrible things. Unforgivable things," Clara said softly.

"Dollface, your aunt and I say unforgivable things to each other at least once a month. Then we go out to the garage and makeup."

Clara made a face. "Ugh, I didn't need to know that."

"Oh, I had to picture my niece with the masked man, but you didn't need to hear that?" Clara looked up and smiled at him and then fought back the urge to cry.

"What's Father going to do now, Uncle Eli? To you, to Jimmy? Jimmy thinks he's won, but..."

"Jimmy is an idiot," Eli answered. "Our best bet might be the lady prosecutor."

Clara nodded slowly. She still felt like she was being ripped in half. How could she do it? How could she want her father to go to prison, and from the undercurrents, she gathered it was much more severe than election-rigging now.

Clara and Eli were so intent on their conversation they failed to notice the man in the Ford snapping pictures with his Brownie camera.

It was a warm summer Saturday afternoon, two days before July 4th, and almost everyone was happy and excited.

After all, it was the afternoon of the fight of the century.

Charlie Luciano and Meyer Lansky were checking into the Fairmount in Jersey City when the clerk handed Charlie a message.

"Fuck Darmody. That fucking little pissant. The butcher went up to New York and found Benny," Charlie said in a voice he thought was his quietest. It still caused Meyer to pull him aside, after casting a worried look at the high rolling gamblers AR had invited down for the fight standing in the lobby who were looking at the enraged Charlie.

"We've got to get back to Atlantic City, Charlie. Who is going to tell AR?" Meyer answered.

"Fuck Darmody," Charlie said again before pushing the task of talking to Rothstein off on Meyer. He wanted to watch Dempsey pummel Georges Carpentier from the front row, god damn it, not listen to it from fucking Atlantic City. Not even screwing Gillian in that creepy old bastard's house with Jimmy, Capone, Harrow, Thompson's odd brother, and the rest in the other room made him want to spend any more fucking time in Atlantic City.

Meyer started speaking soothing words to Charlie as they drove off in the Oldsmobile, trying to calm him down so he wouldn't beat the hell out of Darmody on sight.

*****

At the beach house, Jimmy watched Richard closely. As usual, these days, his head was hanging down, and his hands fretted across the material of his pants. Damn Clara, Jimmy thought, absolving himself of any part of the catastrophe.

"Rich, what is it?" Jimmy asked finally.

"What happened at Babette's," Richard managed to get out.

Jimmy purposefully misunderstood. "With Doyle? It was just a gag. Besides, it will keep him in line."

"Mmm. That's not. What I meant. You said. A nice. Girl and. I would. Settle. Down," Richard tried to explain, but with each word, speaking became more difficult, and his facial tic worsened.

"You will. You'll see," Jimmy interrupted as he heard the car containing Waxey Gordon and his associates.

Richard looked at him. A miracle had happened, Richard thought, a nice girl loved him, but now she thought he had used her to help Jimmy succeed.

"Why. Did you. Make fun of me?" Richard asked.

"Rich, I wasn't." Jimmy heard the car door close. "Look, fuck Clara. She's hardly the only girl in the world, okay?"

Richard recoiled, but it didn't stop him from standing behind Jimmy's shoulder as Waxey Gordon came in, and it didn't stop him from doing everything he could to help Jimmy make the deal for Waxey to take care of the butcher once and for all.

*****

The drive from Dorothy to Atlantic City was miserable in the best of times. Her father had been nattering about a road deal since she returned from D.C., and Clara felt a sudden surge of goodwill for the project. It was a long time to be alone with her thoughts as the merciful numbness she'd mostly been encased in dissipated, and the raw agony of the last eight days bit at her. She thought through everyone she knew, everyone she loved, in Atlantic City, and realized the only person she trusted absolutely was Angela. Clara felt a rush of shame. She hadn't even checked on Angela or Tommy because she'd been so wrapped up in her own heartbreak.

Her fingers drummed the steering wheel. Her temper, her impetuousness, could get her into trouble, mostly when she acted without thinking. And she'd been wrong if Uncle Eli was telling the truth, and Clara couldn't see a reason why he would lie about Richard's involvement. She still had things to be angry about, she thought, but...it was survivable. But she needed to talk to him, she needed to apologize, she needed to stop talking and let him tell her in his own words what the hell happened.

The Ford was parked by in Mrs. Siddons's driveway, and Clara's heart skipped a beat. She was breathless when she knocked on the door. There was no answer. Something drove her to try and find Richard now, the same feeling she'd had Memorial Day. A note, she decided, she should leave a message. She ran back to the Buick, only to realize she had her smallest day bag and no paper or pen. There was none in the Buick, either. Clara sighed in frustration.

The Ritz, she thought. She'd go home, change out of the funeral clothes she was wearing, write Richard a letter, leave it here, and go find him. The idea of escaping into the peace of the Ritz was delightful. She could think there.

Unfortunately, the lobby of the Ritz was complete chaos. Clara looked around in shock. Granted, it was July 4th weekend, and the Dempsey fight was tonight, but never, in all the years she'd lived there, had she seen the Ritz coming apart like this. There were angry guests scattered across the lobby with their luggage. Other angry people poured from the restaurant. Clara picked her way through to the elevators, where people were lined up to get on.

When she finally got on, she was shocked to see the Ritz's assistant manager, Mr. Donaldson, instead of Leroy or one of the other elevator operators at the controls.

"Miss Thompson," he said as he started the elevator with a jerk. When the last guest departed the elevator on the seventh floor, Clara took her chance.

"What's happening?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, there's just some problem with the colored workers this afternoon.Nothing for you to worry about," he said in an attempt to be jovial. The last thing he needed, he thought, was for Miss Thompson to reach out to her father and tell him what a mess the Boardwalk was on this, the most profitable weekend of the year.

Father, Clara saw suddenly. It was how he planned to undermine Jimmy. He was going to cripple the city. He was going to bankrupt the Boardwalk during the height of tourist season when everyone made their money.

He was going to destroy Jimmy at any cost, even if the entirety of Atlantic City was collateral damage, she realized. As she stumbled past a pile of newspapers by the front door of the suite, she could see Chalky White waiting to speak to her father. Of course, she thought. Mr. White would still be livid at Jimmy, and understandably so, about the stupidity the Commodore talked Jimmy into.

She turned back and grabbed the top newspaper. The Dempsey fight! Jimmy would be at the radio presentation, and doubtlessly Richard would be with him. Clara started to run out of the suite before she realized she was still in her funeral clothes. No, she thought, she couldn't show up looking like a wraith. Turning around, she kicked off her black shoes and started unclipping her stockings as she raced to her room.

*****

He was going to be good at running Atlantic City, Jimmy thought as Richard drove them to the theater. The deal with George Remus? Fucking perfect. It was going to be a game-changer. They were going to make money at levels Nucky never even dreamed of. And Clara had done him a favor, mocking him about his mother. Running things out of his house, without his mother's interference or the Commodore randomly shouting, was better. Made him look like a grown-up. Made people respect him. Even if he had had to send Tommy and Angela away for the weekend.

The botched hit on Nucky wasn't the end of the world. People saw he was willing to act, even if the act hurt. The butcher was about to learn that lesson, courtesy of Waxey Gordon. Courtesy of him. No one was going to harass him, certainly not some crazed meat cutter.

Richard stared straight ahead as they drove. Jimmy sighed. He hadn't wanted Clara and Richard to get hurt. If Clara wasn't so fucking stubborn, Jimmy thought. Richard might really be better off without her. Fuck, Jimmy realized, he didn't even believe that. But Clara always forgave him anything. She knew Nucky's crime. Tomorrow, as soon as he woke up, he was going to get a message to her. He'd talk until she understood. He'd tell her Richard was innocent, that he had made a mistake, that he needed her help to do this. That Angela needed her help. That Richard needed her. But first, he and Richard were going to enjoy tonight.

*****

B. F. Keith's Garden Pier Theatre was packed. People from all walks of life had paid $2.50 a ticket to listen to Dempsey wallop the Frenchman as it happened over one hundred miles away in Jersey City. Neither Richard nor Jimmy were having as much as fun as they hoped. Jimmy felt like everyone kept turning to stare at him, and Richard picked up on his anxiety, which made his inherent watchfulness kick up several notches. When Jimmy received a note reading 'I'm watching you,' Richard almost suggested leaving.

Clara smoothed her dress as she worked her way to the box office. She'd bought it on that trip to Bonwit Teller because it reminded her of the dress she'd worn the night before Angela and Jimmy married. After all, that was a happy night. It consisted of a dark green slip with a green tulle overdress decorated with copper embroidery. She thrown it on, applied dark lipstick, and was back out the suite and calling for the elevator within minutes. A far cry, she reflected, from the time she and Angela had spent getting ready that night six months ago. Only six months ago, and yet an entire lifetime seemed to have passed.

When she tried to buy a ticket, the box office attendant they were sold out. Clara closed her eyes and then did the thing she always tried to avoid. "My name is Clara Thompson. You might know my father, Nucky? And I'm here to meet my oldest friend, Jimmy Darmody?" An usher was dispatched to take her to Jimmy.

"We got dressed all by ourselves, too," the brunette said as she starting climbing in Jimmy's lap.

Richard was uncomfortable. Not only because of the people around him who kept looking at him but because he liked Angela. He didn't understand why Jimmy needed other women when he had someone like Angela waiting at home. Then the red-haired girl gasped at his face, and Jimmy rushed to his defense. He's with me, Jimmy said, as if that took care of everything.

"We're having fun here, Rich," Jimmy said. "Clara ended things with you, no need to feel guilty."

Next thing he knew, the redhead said he'd be a good story for when she was old and climbed into his lap.

Clara's eyes raced around the theater. Suddenly she saw Jimmy with some chorus girl on his lap. Jesus, she thought, he really is turning into my father. Poor Angela.

"There he..." she started to say to the usher when the dark-haired girl in Jimmy's lap moved, and she saw a flash of green tweed next to him. A man in a green tweed suit with a girl in his lap, sharing an awkward kiss. Awkward because, as she knew all too well, learning to kiss around the mask wasn't intuitive. And this woman was kissing him like it was a task and not a pleasure.

Clara gasped, which made Jimmy look up from the girl in his lap.

"Mr. Darmody," the usher said, "this girl said she's here to see you."

The usher's voice knocked Clara back into reality, and she turned and fled.

"Clara!" Jimmy called, once again knowing he had somehow fucked up badly. "Clara, goddamn it!"

Meyer was ready to be out of the car. Not one but two tires had blown on the never-ending drive from Jersey City back to Atlantic City. Charlie hadn't exactly coped well. He'd started complaining before they'd gotten in the car and hadn't fucking stopped yet. Now Meyer wanted to punch Darmody senseless, just as payback for this car ride from hell.

"We've spent so much fucking time in this seaside shantytown I know how to get to this damn theater street-side," Charlie groused as they pulled up.

Clara's first instinct was to run back to the Boardwalk and flee to the Ritz. Then she realized that's exactly what Jimmy thought she would do, so she turned and ran for the theater's street-side exit.

First, Jimmy had to get the brunette out of his lap, and then he had to get his leg to cooperate. By the time he could move, Clara was disappearing through the exit door.

He turned back to the seats. "Richard, come on!"

Richard sat, staring straight ahead. The look of pain on Clara's face. He had done that. He had done that.

At Jimmy's order, he made himself stand and follow behind him.

Jimmy started to go out of the exit to the Boardwalk but then realized Clara would anticipate he would think she would go that way. He turned and went towards the street-side door, cursing his bad leg as they went.

Clara took a large gulp of salty air when she made it outside. Pain sliced through her. She knew men cheated. She'd watched them come into her home with their mistresses and then come to dinner the next night with their wives. Hell, when engaged to Darcy, she'd cheered herself with the thought that he would probably take a mistress quickly and leave her alone.

But Richard. She'd never expected Richard...she closed her eyes to hold back the tears. Not because she didn't think no one would want him, she certainly wanted him, but because she thought he was loyal.

And he was, just not to her. Because apparently, she deserved no one's loyalty.

"Clara Thompson, what the fuck is wrong with you?" a voice heavy with the accent of New York tenements asked.

Clara opened her eyes. Charlie Luciano and Meyer Lanksy were staring at her while standing next to an Oldsmobile.

"Clara!" Jimmy's voice called out.

Fuck it all, Clara thought. Let everyone else know how this feels.

"Charlie, remember when you said you owned me a favor?"

"Sure," Charlie replied.

She swallowed hard and then found her voice. "Kiss me."

He leered at her for a moment and then moved fast to throw her back against the cement column holding up the awning outside the theater. Her head smashed into the cement, and for a moment, she welcomed the pain. Charlie kissed her like their mouths were at war, and at one point, he sucked so hard on her tongue she thought it was going to rip out of her mouth.

She was distantly aware of voices, of the sound of running, and she knew Jimmy and Richard were there. Charlie mercifully pulled back.

Clara turned away. "Get me out of here," she whispered.