him. I’ll slice him into—”
“No, Matt, he didn’t try a single thing. He didn’t do a single thing. He didn’t say a single thing. He was just there and scary .”
Emily burst into tears.
The waitress turned from her other customers, coffee pot in one hand, and a frosted cruller in the other. “Everything’s all right,” Matt said to the waitress.
Emily cried harder. Matt patted her, but that was no more effective than a lemon-filled doughnut.
Matt considered his own family to be the most sensible people on earth. If only one of them were here right now, to say the right thing to Emily! But he was the only available O’Connor representative. He said slowly, “If your instinct said to be scared, I’m sure you were right to be scared.”
He would never tell her he had suspected her of dating Christopher on the side. Some things were best never said aloud.
He wrapped the rest of the doughnut in its little square of waxed paper and convinced Emily to get back in the car with him. He thought briefly of driving the long distance back to his own house and having his mother take over on this one, but he decided the person Emily really needed was her very own mother. Surely a girl’s mother would come through in a situation like this. Even Mrs. Edmundson would come through once Matt explained what had happened.
Matt went out the opposite entrance of the doughnut shop parking lot and drove the short distance back to the Edmundsons.
Molly loved this ballroom.
The chandeliers were breathtaking: seven of them altogether, with intricate crystal teardrops glistening like prisms in the sun. The floor was polished wood, the walls either glass—black now with the dark outdoors—or wallpapered in a pattern of pretend greenery: ferns and palms and ivies. But in several places, there was real greenery, identical to the paper, so that suddenly, there really was a fern frond in your face, and a big potted palm at your feet.
The band was at the center back, and a grand piano they weren’t using was on the far side. Food was in another room, and kids drifted continuously from food to dance floor and back. As always, it was the girls who wanted to dance and the boys who wanted to eat.
But what Molly liked best of all was that the ballroom was shadowy.
Once, during a wild number that was all drum and screaming, they turned up the lights and added some flickering colors, and everybody loved that.
Now it was dark again, and Molly slid from fern to piano and listened.
“Come on, let’s kiss and make up,” Con said. “Let’s dance, okay?”
Anne shook her head. Just once, just slightly.
Con’s chin tipped up—just once, just slightly. He was getting mad. He said, “I’m sorry it happened. Let’s not dwell on it.”
“I have to know why you did it, Con.”
“I didn’t do it, Anne. I’m sick of this discussion. Let’s dance, huh?”
“You did,” she argued. “And I need to understand why. Do you hate me? Do you hate our baby? You haven’t asked about her.”
“Anne, she isn’t ours any more. She got adopted. Let them worry about her.”
Molly was tickled. She had taken quite a risk, shoving Anne into the water. If Con had realized she was doing it, she’d have dug her grave with him. But Anne didn’t, and Con didn’t, and nobody else did either.
Molly gave Con and Anne about another fifteen minutes to break up forever. Of course, he’d have to drive Anne home. Anne might be able to work him over going home. But Molly didn’t think Anne would bother this time.
And then something happened to make Molly totally happy.
Kip—good old, organizing old, charitable old Kip—came across the room to rescue Anne. Well, Kip and Anne might not figure out what was going to happen next, but Molly sure knew, and she sure loved it. Con might hang in there with one girl he used to love, but Con would never stay when two girls were both trying to make him say he was sorry.
Lee Hamilton cleaned up a mess of
“No, Matt, he didn’t try a single thing. He didn’t do a single thing. He didn’t say a single thing. He was just there and scary .”
Emily burst into tears.
The waitress turned from her other customers, coffee pot in one hand, and a frosted cruller in the other. “Everything’s all right,” Matt said to the waitress.
Emily cried harder. Matt patted her, but that was no more effective than a lemon-filled doughnut.
Matt considered his own family to be the most sensible people on earth. If only one of them were here right now, to say the right thing to Emily! But he was the only available O’Connor representative. He said slowly, “If your instinct said to be scared, I’m sure you were right to be scared.”
He would never tell her he had suspected her of dating Christopher on the side. Some things were best never said aloud.
He wrapped the rest of the doughnut in its little square of waxed paper and convinced Emily to get back in the car with him. He thought briefly of driving the long distance back to his own house and having his mother take over on this one, but he decided the person Emily really needed was her very own mother. Surely a girl’s mother would come through in a situation like this. Even Mrs. Edmundson would come through once Matt explained what had happened.
Matt went out the opposite entrance of the doughnut shop parking lot and drove the short distance back to the Edmundsons.
Molly loved this ballroom.
The chandeliers were breathtaking: seven of them altogether, with intricate crystal teardrops glistening like prisms in the sun. The floor was polished wood, the walls either glass—black now with the dark outdoors—or wallpapered in a pattern of pretend greenery: ferns and palms and ivies. But in several places, there was real greenery, identical to the paper, so that suddenly, there really was a fern frond in your face, and a big potted palm at your feet.
The band was at the center back, and a grand piano they weren’t using was on the far side. Food was in another room, and kids drifted continuously from food to dance floor and back. As always, it was the girls who wanted to dance and the boys who wanted to eat.
But what Molly liked best of all was that the ballroom was shadowy.
Once, during a wild number that was all drum and screaming, they turned up the lights and added some flickering colors, and everybody loved that.
Now it was dark again, and Molly slid from fern to piano and listened.
“Come on, let’s kiss and make up,” Con said. “Let’s dance, okay?”
Anne shook her head. Just once, just slightly.
Con’s chin tipped up—just once, just slightly. He was getting mad. He said, “I’m sorry it happened. Let’s not dwell on it.”
“I have to know why you did it, Con.”
“I didn’t do it, Anne. I’m sick of this discussion. Let’s dance, huh?”
“You did,” she argued. “And I need to understand why. Do you hate me? Do you hate our baby? You haven’t asked about her.”
“Anne, she isn’t ours any more. She got adopted. Let them worry about her.”
Molly was tickled. She had taken quite a risk, shoving Anne into the water. If Con had realized she was doing it, she’d have dug her grave with him. But Anne didn’t, and Con didn’t, and nobody else did either.
Molly gave Con and Anne about another fifteen minutes to break up forever. Of course, he’d have to drive Anne home. Anne might be able to work him over going home. But Molly didn’t think Anne would bother this time.
And then something happened to make Molly totally happy.
Kip—good old, organizing old, charitable old Kip—came across the room to rescue Anne. Well, Kip and Anne might not figure out what was going to happen next, but Molly sure knew, and she sure loved it. Con might hang in there with one girl he used to love, but Con would never stay when two girls were both trying to make him say he was sorry.
Lee Hamilton cleaned up a mess of
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