the hall, Bernice blurted, “What are you doing here?”
Patting the chair next to him, the man said, “Can’t you guess?” When he opened his mouth, his New York accent fell out like a brick hitting a dirt floor.
“But you promised. You said—”
“I changed my mind.”
She stared at him for a moment, her heart thundering inside her chest. Finally, sitting down two seats away, she whispered, “You’ve got to leave. You can’t be here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want my parents to see you. I don’t want them to know what happened.”
“I already talked to your father.”
“What?” Her eyes grew large.
“We met last week.”
Now she was really thrown. “Last week? You were here last week?”
“I’ve been in Rose Hill for ten glorious, fun-filled days. What do you people do around here for fun? Watch the grass grow?” He leaned closer to Bernice and lowered his voice. “Look, just so you know, I called your parents’ house last Wednesday and your dad agreed to meet me at this funky health food restaurant on Myrtle. Sprouts and tofu, the smell of B vitamins wafting through the air. You know the kind of place. It’s just off Main.”
“There’s only one health food restaurant in town,” she said testily.
“So sue me for explaining.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Everything.”
“Angelo!”
“I’m a bastard. What can I say?”
She dropped her head in her hands.
“I came all this way to get your attention. Do I have it, Bernice? Do I?” He cracked his knuckles.
“I can’t have this conversation right now.”
“I heard about your father’s confession. It’s all over the hospital.”
“It’s a mistake.”
“What the hell. Mistakes happen. You made a big one in New York, babe. There I was, just a nice guy, trying to help you out with your book, show you the club scene. What did you call it? Cafe society.” He laughed. “How could I, a simple good Samaritan, predict the future?”
“You’re harassing me.”
“I am? Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry at all.”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
“I can’t stay here and argue with you. I’ve got to get back to my father’s room.”
“Fine. But I’m not leaving town.”
Rising, she said, “Stay away from me.”
“No can do, doll.” Placing his hat carefully on his head, he looked up at her and smiled. “See you around.”
8
Sunday mornings at the Runbecks had followed a certain pattern over the past few years. Because Cora’s sight had been failing due to cataracts on both eyes, anything that required extended reading had become Kirby’s responsibility.
Cora kicked herself now about the surgery. If she’d only known it would be that easy, she would have done it years ago. But all her women friends had warned her to stay as far away from the doctor’s office as possible. They told her horror story after horror story about cataract operations gone bad. Unleashed laser beams cutting off the tips of patients’ noses. Eyeballs falling out. Things they’d read in the National Inquisitor , stories sandwiched in between articles on babies born with no heads and aliens visiting the Vatican. Cora never read the magazine herself, but she liked to know what was happening in the world. As a result of her friends’ warnings, her life had become more and more restricted. And the Sunday morning Times Register was one of the casualties.
After trudging out to the mailbox to retrieve the extra-large Minneapolis paper, Kirby and Cora would sit at the kitchen table. Over pancakes and bacon, Kirby would read the highlights. First came the headlines on the front page. Anything that struck Kirby’s fancy would be read in its entirety. If something struck Cora’s interest and not Kirby’s, he would grumble his way through the article, paraphrasing and skipping sections so they could move on to something he thought was more important. Cora hated him for his selfishness. There was no other word for it. She’d
Patting the chair next to him, the man said, “Can’t you guess?” When he opened his mouth, his New York accent fell out like a brick hitting a dirt floor.
“But you promised. You said—”
“I changed my mind.”
She stared at him for a moment, her heart thundering inside her chest. Finally, sitting down two seats away, she whispered, “You’ve got to leave. You can’t be here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want my parents to see you. I don’t want them to know what happened.”
“I already talked to your father.”
“What?” Her eyes grew large.
“We met last week.”
Now she was really thrown. “Last week? You were here last week?”
“I’ve been in Rose Hill for ten glorious, fun-filled days. What do you people do around here for fun? Watch the grass grow?” He leaned closer to Bernice and lowered his voice. “Look, just so you know, I called your parents’ house last Wednesday and your dad agreed to meet me at this funky health food restaurant on Myrtle. Sprouts and tofu, the smell of B vitamins wafting through the air. You know the kind of place. It’s just off Main.”
“There’s only one health food restaurant in town,” she said testily.
“So sue me for explaining.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Everything.”
“Angelo!”
“I’m a bastard. What can I say?”
She dropped her head in her hands.
“I came all this way to get your attention. Do I have it, Bernice? Do I?” He cracked his knuckles.
“I can’t have this conversation right now.”
“I heard about your father’s confession. It’s all over the hospital.”
“It’s a mistake.”
“What the hell. Mistakes happen. You made a big one in New York, babe. There I was, just a nice guy, trying to help you out with your book, show you the club scene. What did you call it? Cafe society.” He laughed. “How could I, a simple good Samaritan, predict the future?”
“You’re harassing me.”
“I am? Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry at all.”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
“I can’t stay here and argue with you. I’ve got to get back to my father’s room.”
“Fine. But I’m not leaving town.”
Rising, she said, “Stay away from me.”
“No can do, doll.” Placing his hat carefully on his head, he looked up at her and smiled. “See you around.”
8
Sunday mornings at the Runbecks had followed a certain pattern over the past few years. Because Cora’s sight had been failing due to cataracts on both eyes, anything that required extended reading had become Kirby’s responsibility.
Cora kicked herself now about the surgery. If she’d only known it would be that easy, she would have done it years ago. But all her women friends had warned her to stay as far away from the doctor’s office as possible. They told her horror story after horror story about cataract operations gone bad. Unleashed laser beams cutting off the tips of patients’ noses. Eyeballs falling out. Things they’d read in the National Inquisitor , stories sandwiched in between articles on babies born with no heads and aliens visiting the Vatican. Cora never read the magazine herself, but she liked to know what was happening in the world. As a result of her friends’ warnings, her life had become more and more restricted. And the Sunday morning Times Register was one of the casualties.
After trudging out to the mailbox to retrieve the extra-large Minneapolis paper, Kirby and Cora would sit at the kitchen table. Over pancakes and bacon, Kirby would read the highlights. First came the headlines on the front page. Anything that struck Kirby’s fancy would be read in its entirety. If something struck Cora’s interest and not Kirby’s, he would grumble his way through the article, paraphrasing and skipping sections so they could move on to something he thought was more important. Cora hated him for his selfishness. There was no other word for it. She’d
Similar Books
