said apologetically. "I hope I didn't ruin those beautiful blue shoes, Anastasia."
Anastasia looked down at the floor, where her shoes were lying by the couch. "They're a little smudged is all," she said. "No problem."
"And you danced with every single usher," her mother went on. "They were really awfully sweet, to dance with you kids."
"Yeah," Anastasia agreed. It was true—each of the ushers had danced with the junior bridesmaids. And her father had danced with her, though he was correct that he was a terrible dancer. Sonya's father, Dr. Isaacson, had danced with her, too.
Steve, Eddie, Kirby, and Norman had spent the entire reception eating endless amounts of food from the buffet table and hanging out near the band, talking to the musicians when they weren't playing. Talk about adolescent behavior.
"About the ushers," her mother was saying.
"What about them?"
"Well, there was one who was especially tall and good-looking. The one who came down the aisle with you, Anastasia, at the end of the ceremony?"
Oh, no, Anastasia thought. I tried so hard to keep them apart. But now is when she's going to say that he came up to her and said, "Hi, Swifty!" and she said, "You must mean my daughter," and then
he
said—
She gulped. "That was, ah, Meredith's Uncle Tim," she said. "Mom," she went on in a nervous voice, "I have a confession to make—"
But her mother wasn't paying attention. "He acted very strange," she said. "He kept staring at me."
"Staring at you?" asked her husband.
"Yes. He stared at me
knowingly.
That's the best way I can describe it. And he kept starting toward me as if he were going to say something."
"Did he? Say anything, I mean?" Anastasia asked apprehensively.
"Good heavens, no. Every time I saw him start toward me with that strange look, I went to the ladies' room. Or I grabbed you, Myron, and started dancing.
"And then, just as we were leaving," her mother added, "he was there in the doorway, and I could
swear
that he whispered, 'See you tomorrow,' when I walked past. Isn't that strange?"
Anastasia felt uneasy. "I understand he's a rather strange person," she said, feeling a little disloyal to Septimus Smith. "He drives a Porsche and leads a glamorous life. I think you were very wise not to talk to him."
"So do I," said her father.
They were all silent for a moment, remembering the wedding. Anastasia was suddenly remembering something else, as well: Septimus Smith would be knocking on the door of her house tomorrow at 2 P.M .
"Mom? Dad?" she asked. "Can we do something tomorrow, just as a family? Can we first go out to brunch, maybe about eleven o'clock, and then after that we can take Sam to the dinosaur exhibition at the Science Museum?"
"Sounds good to me," her father said.
"Sounds
great
to me. I'd love it," her mother said. "I think I'll make a pot of coffee, " she added, yawning. "Anastasia, can I get you anything? Milk? A Pepsi?"
"No, thank you. I just remembered something I want to do upstairs."
In her stocking feet, Anastasia went upstairs and into her brother's bedroom, where Sam slept soundly, wearing his sailor suit.
"Sam," she said into his ear, but he didn't stir.
"
Sam,
" she said more loudly, and shook his shoulder.
"Mmmmmmm?" Sam murmured.
"I've decided to sell you back your sloop, " Anastasia said.
"Mmmmmmm?" He rubbed his eyes sleepily.
"Your
sloop,
Sam. You can buy it back, like you wanted."
"No. I don't wanna." He turned over and buried his face in the pillow."
"But Sam!" She shook him again. "You said you'd give me fifty cents. Remember?"
"No," he said in a muffled voice. "I changed my mind."
"Sam, I really want you to have that sloop back."
He lifted his head, opened his eyes, and looked at her groggily. "You pay
me,
then. A dollar."
"A
dollar?
"
But Sam had put his head back down and was breathing deeply.
Anastasia stared at him for a moment. Finally she sighed. She went to her room, picked up the little red sloop from the windowsill, took a crumpled
Anastasia looked down at the floor, where her shoes were lying by the couch. "They're a little smudged is all," she said. "No problem."
"And you danced with every single usher," her mother went on. "They were really awfully sweet, to dance with you kids."
"Yeah," Anastasia agreed. It was true—each of the ushers had danced with the junior bridesmaids. And her father had danced with her, though he was correct that he was a terrible dancer. Sonya's father, Dr. Isaacson, had danced with her, too.
Steve, Eddie, Kirby, and Norman had spent the entire reception eating endless amounts of food from the buffet table and hanging out near the band, talking to the musicians when they weren't playing. Talk about adolescent behavior.
"About the ushers," her mother was saying.
"What about them?"
"Well, there was one who was especially tall and good-looking. The one who came down the aisle with you, Anastasia, at the end of the ceremony?"
Oh, no, Anastasia thought. I tried so hard to keep them apart. But now is when she's going to say that he came up to her and said, "Hi, Swifty!" and she said, "You must mean my daughter," and then
he
said—
She gulped. "That was, ah, Meredith's Uncle Tim," she said. "Mom," she went on in a nervous voice, "I have a confession to make—"
But her mother wasn't paying attention. "He acted very strange," she said. "He kept staring at me."
"Staring at you?" asked her husband.
"Yes. He stared at me
knowingly.
That's the best way I can describe it. And he kept starting toward me as if he were going to say something."
"Did he? Say anything, I mean?" Anastasia asked apprehensively.
"Good heavens, no. Every time I saw him start toward me with that strange look, I went to the ladies' room. Or I grabbed you, Myron, and started dancing.
"And then, just as we were leaving," her mother added, "he was there in the doorway, and I could
swear
that he whispered, 'See you tomorrow,' when I walked past. Isn't that strange?"
Anastasia felt uneasy. "I understand he's a rather strange person," she said, feeling a little disloyal to Septimus Smith. "He drives a Porsche and leads a glamorous life. I think you were very wise not to talk to him."
"So do I," said her father.
They were all silent for a moment, remembering the wedding. Anastasia was suddenly remembering something else, as well: Septimus Smith would be knocking on the door of her house tomorrow at 2 P.M .
"Mom? Dad?" she asked. "Can we do something tomorrow, just as a family? Can we first go out to brunch, maybe about eleven o'clock, and then after that we can take Sam to the dinosaur exhibition at the Science Museum?"
"Sounds good to me," her father said.
"Sounds
great
to me. I'd love it," her mother said. "I think I'll make a pot of coffee, " she added, yawning. "Anastasia, can I get you anything? Milk? A Pepsi?"
"No, thank you. I just remembered something I want to do upstairs."
In her stocking feet, Anastasia went upstairs and into her brother's bedroom, where Sam slept soundly, wearing his sailor suit.
"Sam," she said into his ear, but he didn't stir.
"
Sam,
" she said more loudly, and shook his shoulder.
"Mmmmmmm?" Sam murmured.
"I've decided to sell you back your sloop, " Anastasia said.
"Mmmmmmm?" He rubbed his eyes sleepily.
"Your
sloop,
Sam. You can buy it back, like you wanted."
"No. I don't wanna." He turned over and buried his face in the pillow."
"But Sam!" She shook him again. "You said you'd give me fifty cents. Remember?"
"No," he said in a muffled voice. "I changed my mind."
"Sam, I really want you to have that sloop back."
He lifted his head, opened his eyes, and looked at her groggily. "You pay
me,
then. A dollar."
"A
dollar?
"
But Sam had put his head back down and was breathing deeply.
Anastasia stared at him for a moment. Finally she sighed. She went to her room, picked up the little red sloop from the windowsill, took a crumpled
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