sick—maybe it’s the flu. I know she has a fever and she’s coughing.”
“How high is her fever?”
“I really don’t know,” Mark said. “I just heard that she was sick.”
“Who told you?”
“I forget, but anyway, why don’t we put it off until she feels better?”
“Okay, but do you know if she went to the doctor?”
The conversation was getting sillier and sillier. Mark said firmly, “I don’t know if she’s gone to the doctor, but I have to go now.”
“Okay, Mark. I’ll set something up after she’s better. Okay?”
“Sure. Why not?”
He returned to the kitchen. His father was standing up now, looking into the refrigerator. “What do we have for dinner, Mark?” he asked.
“Sausages and spaghetti, Dad, but listen. Something really crazy just happened.”
“What?” His father half turned towards him, and tried to appear interested.
“This girl just called, and she wants to set me up with guess who?”
“I can’t imagine,” his father said without much enthusiasm.
“Well, listen to this, Dad. She wants to set me up with Beebe Clarke.”
Now his father was interested. “With Beebe, Barbara’s daughter?”
“Right. And this girl is Beebe’s friend. I think she said her name was Wanda. She didn’t know Beebe
was sick. I had to tell her and I don’t even know
Beebe.”
Now his father was grinning. “Hey, that’s a kick.” “Her friend sounds like a flake though. I hope she’s
not like that.”
“No,” said his father. “No, she’s not a flake. She’s
a nice girl and a pretty girl. And she liked me. We got along just fine. You’ll like her.”
“Well, I know I’ll meet her one way or another.”
“Oh sure,” said his father. “Maybe I’ll give Barbara a ring and tell her. She’ll get a kick out of it too. She’s got a real good sense of humor. Kind of quiet but good.”
His father looked ready to tear out of the room, and Mark said, before he could stop himself, “Dad ...”
His father winced, but he turned back towards the refrigerator and said, “Okay, Mark, okay. Now what are we eating tonight?”
Later, his father plunked himself down in front of the TV set.
“Dad, will you need the van tonight?” Mark asked, after he had washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.
His father shook his head.
“Well, I was thinking of driving up to Twin Peaks and looking at the stars. Somebody in the City Astronomers said it’s usually clear up there, and the view is great.
“Sure,” said his father, his eyes on the TV set. “Good idea.”
Mark hesitated. He wanted to do something for his father, cheer him up, make him forget his disappointment over Barbara.
“Dad,” he said, “why don’t you come with me?”
“No,” said his father. “I’ve been there lots of times.” But then, as if he was reminded of something, he looked up quickly at Mark, smiled, and said, “Thanks, Mark. You’re a good kid, but I’m kind of bushed tonight. We were stacking cans of paint all day. It’ll be your turn tomorrow. You go yourself. Maybe another time.”
The fog followed him up the twisty road to the top of Twin Peaks. He could see most of it below him, wrapped around the streets and houses, dimming the lights from windows and street lamps, and even muffling the persistent red and green Christmas lights that twinkled on and off all over the city. Above him, wisps of fog obscured his views of Perseus, Cassiopeia, and Andromeda.
It was disappointing. He stood by himself on the cold, windy edge of the hill. There were others beside him up there on the top of Twin Peaks, but all of them were inside cars, and most of them were not alone.
It was disappointing. Except for that one splendid night on Mount Tarn, his view of the skies had, for the most part, been obscured by fog or, if the night happened to be clear, a full moon.
He leaned against the front of the van and tried to think positively. His father was generous with the van, and his father
“How high is her fever?”
“I really don’t know,” Mark said. “I just heard that she was sick.”
“Who told you?”
“I forget, but anyway, why don’t we put it off until she feels better?”
“Okay, but do you know if she went to the doctor?”
The conversation was getting sillier and sillier. Mark said firmly, “I don’t know if she’s gone to the doctor, but I have to go now.”
“Okay, Mark. I’ll set something up after she’s better. Okay?”
“Sure. Why not?”
He returned to the kitchen. His father was standing up now, looking into the refrigerator. “What do we have for dinner, Mark?” he asked.
“Sausages and spaghetti, Dad, but listen. Something really crazy just happened.”
“What?” His father half turned towards him, and tried to appear interested.
“This girl just called, and she wants to set me up with guess who?”
“I can’t imagine,” his father said without much enthusiasm.
“Well, listen to this, Dad. She wants to set me up with Beebe Clarke.”
Now his father was interested. “With Beebe, Barbara’s daughter?”
“Right. And this girl is Beebe’s friend. I think she said her name was Wanda. She didn’t know Beebe
was sick. I had to tell her and I don’t even know
Beebe.”
Now his father was grinning. “Hey, that’s a kick.” “Her friend sounds like a flake though. I hope she’s
not like that.”
“No,” said his father. “No, she’s not a flake. She’s
a nice girl and a pretty girl. And she liked me. We got along just fine. You’ll like her.”
“Well, I know I’ll meet her one way or another.”
“Oh sure,” said his father. “Maybe I’ll give Barbara a ring and tell her. She’ll get a kick out of it too. She’s got a real good sense of humor. Kind of quiet but good.”
His father looked ready to tear out of the room, and Mark said, before he could stop himself, “Dad ...”
His father winced, but he turned back towards the refrigerator and said, “Okay, Mark, okay. Now what are we eating tonight?”
Later, his father plunked himself down in front of the TV set.
“Dad, will you need the van tonight?” Mark asked, after he had washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.
His father shook his head.
“Well, I was thinking of driving up to Twin Peaks and looking at the stars. Somebody in the City Astronomers said it’s usually clear up there, and the view is great.
“Sure,” said his father, his eyes on the TV set. “Good idea.”
Mark hesitated. He wanted to do something for his father, cheer him up, make him forget his disappointment over Barbara.
“Dad,” he said, “why don’t you come with me?”
“No,” said his father. “I’ve been there lots of times.” But then, as if he was reminded of something, he looked up quickly at Mark, smiled, and said, “Thanks, Mark. You’re a good kid, but I’m kind of bushed tonight. We were stacking cans of paint all day. It’ll be your turn tomorrow. You go yourself. Maybe another time.”
The fog followed him up the twisty road to the top of Twin Peaks. He could see most of it below him, wrapped around the streets and houses, dimming the lights from windows and street lamps, and even muffling the persistent red and green Christmas lights that twinkled on and off all over the city. Above him, wisps of fog obscured his views of Perseus, Cassiopeia, and Andromeda.
It was disappointing. He stood by himself on the cold, windy edge of the hill. There were others beside him up there on the top of Twin Peaks, but all of them were inside cars, and most of them were not alone.
It was disappointing. Except for that one splendid night on Mount Tarn, his view of the skies had, for the most part, been obscured by fog or, if the night happened to be clear, a full moon.
He leaned against the front of the van and tried to think positively. His father was generous with the van, and his father
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