said, just like that, surprising Miri. “But don’t dawdle. If you’re not home in half an hour I’m calling the police.”
“Mom…it’s a long walk.”
“I know exactly how long it is.”
“Okay.”
“And not in my shoes.”
“I’ve already changed out of them.”
“Okay then.”
Miri was grateful for Rusty’s good mood.
She took off one of her mittens and stuffed it in her pocket so shecould hold Mason’s bare hand as they walked home. His skin was rough, probably chapped from not wearing gloves in this weather. He had a strong grip. Some guys held your hand like it was a fish they wished they could throw back.
Mason spoke first. “That was Dr. Osner’s daughter, right?”
“Yes, Natalie.”
“My brother’s girlfriend works for Dr. Osner.”
“You know Christina?”
“She got me an emergency appointment one day when I had a toothache.”
“He’s my dentist, too,” Miri said, then wondered why they were talking about teeth when the moon was shining and the sky was full of stars. Maybe he was wondering the same thing because after that they stopped to kiss at every tree, her back pressed up against it, Mason leaning into her. When they came to the site of the crash, they stood silently, his arm hugging her shoulder.
“Where were you when…” he said.
“I saw it happen,” she told him. “I was coming home from the movies with my mother.”
“Jeez…”
“What about you?”
“I was at work…at the bowling alley on East Grand. We didn’t hear anything but we felt it. I thought it was an earthquake.”
“We don’t have earthquakes in New Jersey, do we?” Right away she regretted asking such a stupid question.
He shrugged. “There’s a first for everything.”
There’s a first for everything , she repeated silently, and he was a first for her.
When they got to her house he asked if her number was listed.
“Yes. N. Ammerman. That’s my mother. Or I can give it to you now.”
“I don’t have a pen.”
“I do.” She dug a leaky pen out of her bag and handed it to him. He stuck the top in his mouth, holding it between his teeth, the way he had with the cigarette. As she recited her number he wroteit down on his arm, just above his wrist. Miri had never seen anyone do that, would never have thought of doing it herself.
He kissed her goodnight, touching her face. “Miri Ammerman,” he whispered.
For the first time her name sounded musical. It sounded like a love song. What did it mean that he said her name that way? What did it mean that he touched her face? Did it mean he was in love with her the way she was with him?
Mason
Phil was the one who told him if he wanted to see her again to go to the dance at the Jewish Y, that she’d probably be there. It didn’t cost anything to get in, he said. And you didn’t have to be Jewish. Nobody asked. Nobody cared. He said he and Steve wouldn’t be there. They’d been invited to a party given by Phil’s cousin Kathy Stein, in Perth Amboy. Kathy was a freshman at Syracuse, and aside from the two of them, everyone at the party would be older, would already be at college. It wasn’t necessary for Phil to make excuses about why Mason wasn’t invited. But Phil was a decent guy.
There was a holiday dance at the YMCA that night, too, and Mason planned on going until Phil told him about the girl from the Osners’ party. Miri. That was her name. And as long as Steve wouldn’t be there to get all hot under the collar about him dancing with his sister’s friend, why not go?
At the YMCA he’d have known all the girls, most of them, anyway. And they’d know him, dance with him, laugh with him, but none of them would feel the way Miri had in his arms. He couldn’t explain it. He half hoped she wouldn’t be there tonight. Because he sensed he was just looking for trouble. She was young. He had to be careful. Above the neck only. And only if she wanted him to kiss her. Only then.
And there she was, in that red dress,
“Mom…it’s a long walk.”
“I know exactly how long it is.”
“Okay.”
“And not in my shoes.”
“I’ve already changed out of them.”
“Okay then.”
Miri was grateful for Rusty’s good mood.
She took off one of her mittens and stuffed it in her pocket so shecould hold Mason’s bare hand as they walked home. His skin was rough, probably chapped from not wearing gloves in this weather. He had a strong grip. Some guys held your hand like it was a fish they wished they could throw back.
Mason spoke first. “That was Dr. Osner’s daughter, right?”
“Yes, Natalie.”
“My brother’s girlfriend works for Dr. Osner.”
“You know Christina?”
“She got me an emergency appointment one day when I had a toothache.”
“He’s my dentist, too,” Miri said, then wondered why they were talking about teeth when the moon was shining and the sky was full of stars. Maybe he was wondering the same thing because after that they stopped to kiss at every tree, her back pressed up against it, Mason leaning into her. When they came to the site of the crash, they stood silently, his arm hugging her shoulder.
“Where were you when…” he said.
“I saw it happen,” she told him. “I was coming home from the movies with my mother.”
“Jeez…”
“What about you?”
“I was at work…at the bowling alley on East Grand. We didn’t hear anything but we felt it. I thought it was an earthquake.”
“We don’t have earthquakes in New Jersey, do we?” Right away she regretted asking such a stupid question.
He shrugged. “There’s a first for everything.”
There’s a first for everything , she repeated silently, and he was a first for her.
When they got to her house he asked if her number was listed.
“Yes. N. Ammerman. That’s my mother. Or I can give it to you now.”
“I don’t have a pen.”
“I do.” She dug a leaky pen out of her bag and handed it to him. He stuck the top in his mouth, holding it between his teeth, the way he had with the cigarette. As she recited her number he wroteit down on his arm, just above his wrist. Miri had never seen anyone do that, would never have thought of doing it herself.
He kissed her goodnight, touching her face. “Miri Ammerman,” he whispered.
For the first time her name sounded musical. It sounded like a love song. What did it mean that he said her name that way? What did it mean that he touched her face? Did it mean he was in love with her the way she was with him?
Mason
Phil was the one who told him if he wanted to see her again to go to the dance at the Jewish Y, that she’d probably be there. It didn’t cost anything to get in, he said. And you didn’t have to be Jewish. Nobody asked. Nobody cared. He said he and Steve wouldn’t be there. They’d been invited to a party given by Phil’s cousin Kathy Stein, in Perth Amboy. Kathy was a freshman at Syracuse, and aside from the two of them, everyone at the party would be older, would already be at college. It wasn’t necessary for Phil to make excuses about why Mason wasn’t invited. But Phil was a decent guy.
There was a holiday dance at the YMCA that night, too, and Mason planned on going until Phil told him about the girl from the Osners’ party. Miri. That was her name. And as long as Steve wouldn’t be there to get all hot under the collar about him dancing with his sister’s friend, why not go?
At the YMCA he’d have known all the girls, most of them, anyway. And they’d know him, dance with him, laugh with him, but none of them would feel the way Miri had in his arms. He couldn’t explain it. He half hoped she wouldn’t be there tonight. Because he sensed he was just looking for trouble. She was young. He had to be careful. Above the neck only. And only if she wanted him to kiss her. Only then.
And there she was, in that red dress,
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