handkerchief for Tony’s bleeding nose.
“Sorry.” Tony’s tears mixed with the dripping blood. “I’m insane.” He nodded to Sally. “Sorry.”
“Lean your head back.” Sally gathered ice from the water glasses into a napkin and then held it to his nose.
“Shall we order?” Tony made them laugh.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
December 1958
At Jill’s reception at the Hotel Baker, Tony showed up with an older woman whose close fitting, gold-lamè dress shimmered seductively. Art told Sally her name was Kathleen, Kathy, Krimm. Everyone seemed to know the small blonde. Sally’s parents, Mrs. Woods, Jill’s parents, even the Reddinger clan welcomed her. Sally didn’t remember if Kathy attended the wedding, but the reception seemed filled with twice the number of people St. Patrick’s could hold.
Tony urged Kathy to dance with him. She held onto the back of her chair, resisting. Tony got louder and louder. Sitting next to Sally at the bride’s table, Jill studied her empty glass. Finally, Kathy gave in, dancing the first dance, the bride’s dance, with Tony. The couple danced all the way to the front table, even after Charles Reddinger stood and motioned for the band to stop playing.
Tony yelled at a cowering Jill, “First in and first to dance!”
Kathy fled back to their table. Art apologized to the bride, rescuing a wilted Tony and guiding him off the floor. Charles Reddinger’s best man unfolded his fists.
When Charles and Jill began to dance, the best man moved over to sit next to Sally. “I don’t dance.” Sally nodded, thankful. He looked as if he recently gave up dragging his knuckles on the ground. She smiled at the thought. The brute misjudged her grin, thinking it an invitation to talk. “Chuck and I are Navy buddies.”
Sally continued to nod at the details of their service experience. Drinking to excess, walking through screen doors, and urinating into their Sheriff’s beer seemed to comprise the gist of their endeavors. One strange story about a broken transformer on a small island in the Philippines drew her attention. The natives fixed the equipment by encircling the area with miniature tomatoes to keep the midget spirits from playing games. Manna-who-knees, he called the south-sea leprechauns.
Sally caught a glimpse of her father standing at the Woods’ table. Mr. Woods didn’t look friendly. However, Mrs. Woods stood up and offered Sally’s father her chair. Mr. Woods reached up to detain her, but she ignored him, joining Sally’s mother at her table. Wishing she could read lips, Sally turned back to the best man’s deep grumble.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Art Woods stayed close to Tony and Kathy. Kathy seemed more interested in Art than Tony. Art kept shaking her advances off, while trying to slow down Tony’s drinking. Tony’s conversation increased in coarseness as the evening progressed. The lug at the main table was talking Sally’s ear off. She turned toward Art, sensing his gaze. She smiled and gestured with her chin for him to come over. Without looking back at Tony to gauge his condition, Art rushed to the front table rescuing Sally from the hulking ghoul at her side. Sally stood, before Art reached out his hand for the dance. Then they were in each other’s arms on the crowded dance floor.
“I met your mother,” Sally said as they danced.
“What did she ask you?” Art stiffened under her hands.
“If we were friends.”
Art moved closer, as if relieved. “We are. And you are more beautiful than the bride.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Sally hoped the comment was half-way true. Maybe being in Art’s arms made her shine. They hadn’t danced since homecoming. She stayed close to his body, matching his movements. The world certainly forced them to consider mature subjects. Sally reacted to Art’s guilty glance at Tony’s table. “How’s he taking it?”
Art missed a step. “He’s drowning his sorrows.” He tightened his grip on her waist. Sally clasped their
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