eyes to the bouquet—my sister’s bouquet—pulled out a single yellow rose, and handed it to me. Then she gave the bouquet to Wendy.
I held myself in. I didn’t cry. I think I might’ve even thanked Grandma Estelle.
But later in my room, I ripped the petals off the rose one by one, and I said a dirty word for each petal.
Wendy kept her flowers in a vase in her room. She asked me several times if I wanted to come in and smell them.
Whoa. Amazing how memories jump back to you.
The card that came with the black flowers sat in a puddle of spilled tea. I grabbed it and ripped it in two. Then I jumped to my feet and carried my teacup to the sink.
I poured the cockroach down the drain and washed the cup clean. Then I held my hands under the faucet and just let the hot water pour over them.
I was still standing there, leaning over the sink, when I heard someone come up quietly behind me. Then I felt a hand caress the shoulder of my T-shirt.
Thinking it was Abby comforting me again, I turned. And there stood Chip, with his crooked, sleazy grin.
“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.
“I . . . didn’t hear you. I didn’t know you were home,” I lied, taking a step to the side, drying my hands on a dish towel.
His eyes flashed. “I can be quiet as a mouse when I want to be,” he whispered.
I let out an awkward laugh. “You missed all the excitement. I—”
“Check this out,” he said, showing off the hip-length, brown leather jacket he was wearing. “I just bought it. In Easthampton. Like it?” He spun around, modeling it for me.
“Sure. Very cool,” I said.
“It’s Armani. The leather is not to be believed. Made from virgin calves or something. Here. Feel it.”
I hesitated. Virgin calves? He was joking, yes?
“Go ahead, Ellie. Feel it. You’ll fall in love, no kidding.” He stuck out his arm.
I ran my fingers down the jacket sleeve. “Really soft leather,” I said. That’s what I was supposed to say, right?
“I put it on and I couldn’t take it off. I just had to have it. A total impulse thing.” He brought his face close to mine and whispered again: “You ever do anything just on an impulse?”
The question hung in the air between us for a moment. When he didn’t get an answer, he changed the subject. “How about a drink, Ellie? It’s almost late afternoon. And who’s counting, right? I’m going to have a vodka tonic. Nice and summery, I think. What can I get you? We could go out on the deck and chat. You know. Get acquainted.”
Down, boy! Down!
“Well—”
“Hey, I really like that swimsuit. I saw you down on the beach with the kids. You look great in it.”
I straightened my long shirt. “Thanks, Chip . . . but . . .”
I heard Abby talking to Heather. Does Abby know what Chip is like? Would she be surprised to know that he’s coming on to me while she’s just down the hall?
“Uh . . . no drink for me right now. Thanks,” I said stiffly.
His eyes went dull.
“I’d better change and help out with the kids,” I said.
I brushed past him and started toward the stairs.
“Maybe later,” he called. It sounded more like a threat than an invitation.
Late that night, I was in bed, thumbing through a stack of magazines I had dragged out from my apartment—mostly dance magazines and ballet journals. Fantasy time for me.
Even after the humiliating incident at Miss Crumley’s recital when I was eight, I continued to dance. In fact, I took ballet lessons up till my senior year in high school—until the day the real world stopped the music for me.
It was hard work, and my leg muscles ached just about every day of my life. But I loved the feeling of floating in the air, turning and moving with such precision and beauty and grace.
Another reason I loved it: I was good at it, and Wendy was a klutz.
I wanted to be a ballet dancer in New York. I danced in my dreams and in my daydreams. I doodled dancing figures on all my notebooks instead of taking
I held myself in. I didn’t cry. I think I might’ve even thanked Grandma Estelle.
But later in my room, I ripped the petals off the rose one by one, and I said a dirty word for each petal.
Wendy kept her flowers in a vase in her room. She asked me several times if I wanted to come in and smell them.
Whoa. Amazing how memories jump back to you.
The card that came with the black flowers sat in a puddle of spilled tea. I grabbed it and ripped it in two. Then I jumped to my feet and carried my teacup to the sink.
I poured the cockroach down the drain and washed the cup clean. Then I held my hands under the faucet and just let the hot water pour over them.
I was still standing there, leaning over the sink, when I heard someone come up quietly behind me. Then I felt a hand caress the shoulder of my T-shirt.
Thinking it was Abby comforting me again, I turned. And there stood Chip, with his crooked, sleazy grin.
“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.
“I . . . didn’t hear you. I didn’t know you were home,” I lied, taking a step to the side, drying my hands on a dish towel.
His eyes flashed. “I can be quiet as a mouse when I want to be,” he whispered.
I let out an awkward laugh. “You missed all the excitement. I—”
“Check this out,” he said, showing off the hip-length, brown leather jacket he was wearing. “I just bought it. In Easthampton. Like it?” He spun around, modeling it for me.
“Sure. Very cool,” I said.
“It’s Armani. The leather is not to be believed. Made from virgin calves or something. Here. Feel it.”
I hesitated. Virgin calves? He was joking, yes?
“Go ahead, Ellie. Feel it. You’ll fall in love, no kidding.” He stuck out his arm.
I ran my fingers down the jacket sleeve. “Really soft leather,” I said. That’s what I was supposed to say, right?
“I put it on and I couldn’t take it off. I just had to have it. A total impulse thing.” He brought his face close to mine and whispered again: “You ever do anything just on an impulse?”
The question hung in the air between us for a moment. When he didn’t get an answer, he changed the subject. “How about a drink, Ellie? It’s almost late afternoon. And who’s counting, right? I’m going to have a vodka tonic. Nice and summery, I think. What can I get you? We could go out on the deck and chat. You know. Get acquainted.”
Down, boy! Down!
“Well—”
“Hey, I really like that swimsuit. I saw you down on the beach with the kids. You look great in it.”
I straightened my long shirt. “Thanks, Chip . . . but . . .”
I heard Abby talking to Heather. Does Abby know what Chip is like? Would she be surprised to know that he’s coming on to me while she’s just down the hall?
“Uh . . . no drink for me right now. Thanks,” I said stiffly.
His eyes went dull.
“I’d better change and help out with the kids,” I said.
I brushed past him and started toward the stairs.
“Maybe later,” he called. It sounded more like a threat than an invitation.
Late that night, I was in bed, thumbing through a stack of magazines I had dragged out from my apartment—mostly dance magazines and ballet journals. Fantasy time for me.
Even after the humiliating incident at Miss Crumley’s recital when I was eight, I continued to dance. In fact, I took ballet lessons up till my senior year in high school—until the day the real world stopped the music for me.
It was hard work, and my leg muscles ached just about every day of my life. But I loved the feeling of floating in the air, turning and moving with such precision and beauty and grace.
Another reason I loved it: I was good at it, and Wendy was a klutz.
I wanted to be a ballet dancer in New York. I danced in my dreams and in my daydreams. I doodled dancing figures on all my notebooks instead of taking
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