- •I thought for a moment. “I don’t know. If I did, I don’t remember.”
- •I looked out at the Japanese maple. “Nice weather we’re having.”
- •I covered the receiver with my hand and repeated this to Abby.
- •Chapter Two
- •I leaned against the back door. Jane often had an interesting tale to tell, and, thanks to the volume of her voice, it was easy to eavesdrop on her phone calls. Only the odd word or two escaped me.
- •I looked at my mother, who looked pointedly at Karen’s hair.
- •I couldn’t blame Hunter or his drinking for the accident, though both had an effect on the aftermath. If he’d been sober, I’d still be called Frankie.
- •I let him carry on the rest of the way without comment. It felt like my eye had been whacked with a hammer.
- •I watched Marilyn change the IV bag and punch buttons on the various machines.
- •I closed my eyes and tried to think of something clever to say about Oedipus. Nothing came to mind. I checked the window again.
- •I shrugged. “He came stumbling in around midnight and started bugging me. When I told him to leave me alone, he grabbed me from behind, wrapped his arms around my chest, and started squeezing.”
- •I made a wry face. “Oh? And what about your boyfriend, Brad? I assume he’s the reason you’re getting dressed and putting on makeup.”
- •I watched the shaft of moonlight until I fell asleep, sometime after midnight. I dreamed about field corn, and Abby, and my name.
- •I remained where I was. Unless she got up to pinch me—and she’d been known to—I didn’t bother to correct myself.
- •I looked at my mother. “I wish they made seatbelts for mouths,” I said.
- •I should have gone straight over to Susan’s house.
- •I pulled up a chair and sat down next to Nana.
- •I blew the flame out. “Do you want me to let the dog go? I’d be more than happy to let him bite your hand off.”
- •I said, “Louise called, Abby. She said Belvedere’s doing fine. The Rimadyl is already working wonders.”
- •I closed my eyes and pressed my lips against her ear. “I don’t know what to do,” I said softly, not sure I wanted her to hear me.
- •I held her hand for a moment, savoring the sensation. Then I let it go.
- •I chewed the last of my Portobello. Susan ordered dessert, a crème brûlée.
- •I caught my mother’s eye. It was choke, not laugh.
- •I felt myself tensing up. I took a deep breath, willing my muscles to relax. “The guys you’ve dated. Did you do this with any of them?”
- •I laughed. “I’m not early. You’re late. Please note, however, that I didn’t blow the horn. I didn’t even get out and knock.”
- •I pulled the waistband of my underwear down and considered my reflection in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. My hysterectomy scar was still angry and red.
- •I buckled my belt and walked through the door Abby held open for me.
- •I laughed. “It sneaks up on you. Abby and I were watching vh1 the other night. They had some nostalgia show on, and what it was nostalgic for was the eighties.”
- •I hesitated. “I’m afraid she’ll fall into the wrong hands. I caught Jake holding her under the pond with a stick.”
- •I shook my head emphatically. “No way. She’ll have gravy,” I said to the woman with the hairnet, “and so will I.”
- •I nodded, taking a bite of dill pickle. “Yes. People had extra-marital affairs in 1923, just like they do now.”
- •I waited. Whatever I said, I didn’t want to sound shocked. The problem was that I was shocked.
- •I pushed away the plate of half-eaten roast beef and covered it with my napkin.
- •I opened my mouth to say, “What do you mean,” but I knew what she meant.
- •I laughed. “a kind of Stray Cats meets the Talking Heads sort of thing?”
- •I was beginning to feel the effects of a heavy dinner and a good deal of wine, and even though it meant the risk of falling asleep mid-sentence, I wanted to be more comfortable.
- •I refused to meet him at the Brentwood, suggesting instead that we meet for dinner at a Chinese restaurant called the Hang Chow. I told him that my mother and Nana would be coming with me.
- •I stood up. “Hi, Shirley. Please, have a seat.”
- •I nodded. “College. I want to be a professor.”
- •I propped my feet up on the glass-topped coffee table and picked a book from my mother’s library pile. It was Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown. I’d never heard of it.
- •I nodded happily. “I have my mother’s chariot for the evening. It’s at your disposal.”
- •I stepped into the weird hospital elevator with its facing doors and pressed the button for the fourth floor.
- •I made a whooshing sound.
- •I stood there, dumbstruck. Condensation from the glass in my hand dripped down my arm. Jean finished her drink and poured another.
- •I laughed. “You and me both. Tell me, before you left for Yugoslavia, were you seeing anyone?”
- •I nodded dumbly. Susan stepped back. Had I been blind? There had always been someone. I relied on her, I couldn’t live without her, I loved her.
- •I took the doll from her and put it back on the dresser. Across the hall, the bathroom door opened. My mother stood there, holding a curling iron.
- •I picked up a Life magazine and sat next to Abby on the bed. “Can I offer you some reading material? This is all about Jackie Kennedy.”
- •In the personnel office, Edna spoke to a gray-haired woman in gold-rimmed glasses who, according to her nameplate, was Marcella Rockway.
- •I nodded. Abby bristled, and I saw Edna put a hand on her arm.
- •I stared at her in amazement. Nana could be stubborn, but I’d never known her to stand up to my grandfather so firmly that he backed down.
- •I opened my mouth to say I didn’t care what it cost. Abby put her hand on my leg again. She shook her head slightly.
- •I said, “How can you just sit there like you’re attending a second grade piano recital? You’re polite, but you’re bored. You’re waiting for it all to be over.”
- •I sat up. I didn’t want to look at her, and I didn’t want to cry, so I closed my eyes.
- •I took her by the hands and helped her to her feet. “Thanks for the warning, but I’ve made my decision. It’s you, me, and Rosalyn. I just hope she doesn’t hog the covers.”
- •I glanced at the illuminated dial of my watch. “I don’t care about the speeding ticket. Put your foot down.”
- •I hung up the phone. “I’ll just bet,” I said, putting my credit card back into my wallet. Abby came out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around her body.
- •Vivian laughed. “What’s your favorite color, Poppy?”
I shook my head emphatically. “No way. She’ll have gravy,” I said to the woman with the hairnet, “and so will I.”
She pushed two trays over the steam shield. Abby sighed heavily. We both passed on the chocolate pudding. The skin on top was so thick it looked like the outer casing of a Nerf ball. Abby snapped the lid on a cup of Pepsi and shoved a straw through the hole.
“What’s the matter with you,” she said. “Do you want to eat this stuff?”
“No. I also don’t want to go to lunch with Dave.”
“You’re going to dinner with him. You’ve got his hopes up.”
We threaded our way through the crowded tables, finally settling in a secluded spot next to the fire exit, as far as out of Mr. Chisholm’s line of sight as possible.
“We’re not on the barter system. One dinner doesn’t equal a relationship.”
“What does equal a relationship?”
I frowned, thinking.
“Don’t pull a muscle,” she said. “I was just wondering.”
I spotted Kim, Alan, Joe, and Nick and waved to them.
“Five per table,” I said, holding up my right hand with the index and middle fingers folded down. Everyone laughed except Abby, who was busy using her fork to make a gravy moat for her castle of mashed potatoes.
Ten minutes later, Dave came waltzing in with a bag from Hardee’s. Abby shot me an evil glare. Fortunately, there was no room on either side of us, so he pulled up a chair between Nick and Joe.
“I hope you’re happy,” Abby whispered after a minute or two. She waved a piece of Salisbury steak at me, shaking congealed drops of gravy onto the table. “I could’ve had a hamburger.”
“Why don’t you go out with him, then?” I whispered. I took the fork from her hand and put it down on her tray. “Stop threatening me with that toxic waste.”
I looked out the window. The table next to the fire exit overlooked the students’ smoking lounge, which was where the kids in black Judas Priest T-shirts hung out. A girl in a motorcycle jacket caught my eye. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, she had all the hallmarks of the classic butch bar dyke, aggressive posture, shag haircut, and a bored expression. All she needed was a pool cue. We stared at one another for a moment. Then she leaned forward and thrust her head at me in a fuck-you gesture. I looked away.
“Abby,” I said. “Don’t look up, but that girl . . .”
I was interrupted by the ubiquitous Mr. Chisholm.
“You kids are blocking the fire exit,” he said. “There should be no more than five students sitting at this table. Five.”
Kim and Alan jumped apart as if they’d been shocked with a cattle prod. Nick and Joe stopped playing quarters with their soda cups. Abby and I tried to look innocent.
Mr. Chisholm glared at us. “I warned you. For kids who are supposed to be so smart, you’re pretty stupid. Five,” he said again, holding up his right hand.
“How many was that?” I asked Abby.
“Three and a half,” she replied.
We spent the next hour in the Principal’s office, trying to explain why we thought it was appropriate to mock the victims of Vocational Ed.
It was half past seven when Susan called, and I had to spend fifteen minutes arguing with my mother about whether or not I could go out on a Monday. I won, but only after promising to be back by eleven. It was eight before we actually pulled out of the driveway. We arrived at the drive-in forty-five minutes into Terms of Endearment.
I watched enough of the movie to know that Debra Winger died and Jack Nicholson drove Shirley Maclaine up a beach while steering the car with his feet. It was a cloudy night with no moon. Susan turned the volume on the speaker down. Pictures flashed on the screen. Two hours after my curfew, I went home to face the wrath of Barbara Koslowski. It was worth it.
Susan was squinting at me in the dim light. She’d given me a choice between an Indian restaurant and an Irish Pub on Franklin Street. I’d gone for the Pub. Though she’d only had half a glass of wine, her cheeks were flushed. Of necessity, I was drinking coffee. The only thing worse than being too young to drink, I decided, was having a girlfriend who was just old enough. I felt so obvious ordering a Coke or a glass of water. Coffee was the next best thing to beer or wine. It was the sophisticated choice. For emphasis, I ordered it black, though I preferred it with cream.
“Do you believe that story about your great-grandmother?”