Look For Me By Moonlight by Mary Downing Hahn Page B

struck nine.
    Shivering in the cold air, I dressed carefully taking more time than usual with my hair. I picked out my best black sweater, a soft angora turtleneck, and pulled on the jeans that fit best, a black pair like Vincent’s.
    Before I left my room I examined my face in the mirror. There was a tiny pimple in the corner of my mouth. If I picked it, it might get bigger. Or bleed. Better leave it alone and hope Vincent wouldn’t notice.
    I stopped for a moment outside the kitchen door and forced myself to breathe normally. Smoothing my hair, I stepped into the room, expecting to see Vincent at the table, but neither he nor Dad was there.
    â€œYour father’s already at work on his novel,” Susan said, answering my unspoken questions. “Vincent doesn’t eat breakfast. Tea in his room is all he wants. As for lunch, he asked me to leave a tray at his door so he can work all day undisturbed. We won’t see him till dinner, I guess.”
    Without noticing my disappointment, Susan opened the morning paper and began working the daily crossword.
    Todd looked up from his oatmeal. “Did you see Mr. Morthanos’s car, Cynda?”
    Susan drew the curtain aside. “Take a look, Cynda. It’s a real beauty.”
    A car the color of moonlight on ice gleamed in the morning sunshine. A Porsche, Susan was saying, very powerful, very expensive—she hadn’t realized there was so much money in poetry. Vincent must do something else, either that or he was independently wealthy. . . .
    Scarcely listening, I stared at the Porsche. It was the car I’d seen passing the inn the night of the blizzard. I’d known it would return, and it had. I remembered the eerie flash of its headlights. Was it possible Vincent had heard my whispered invitation? Was that why he’d looked at me so intensely? The very thought sent a little shiver racing up and down my spine.
    â€œI hate that car,” Todd said loudly. “I hate Mr. Morthanos, too.”
    Susan touched his curls lightly. “Now, Todd, what did I tell you? Mr. Morthanos is our guest. You mustn’t talk like that.”
    Ignoring his mother’s rebuke, Todd asked, “Is Will coming to see us today?”
    â€œThis is Monday,” Susan said. “Will’s in school.”
    Todd sighed. “Maybe he’ll come Saturday. We’ll build another snowman, even bigger than the first one. We’ll make new snow angels, too. The wind blew the others away, they flew up into the sky.” He tugged my sleeve to get my attention. “Wasn’t that the funnest day, Cynda, the day Will was here?”
    For a second, I didn’t know what Todd meant. I’d been thinking about Vincent, not listening to my brother. The day we’d played in the snow with Will seemed as long ago as childhood.
    Todd studied my face. “You like Will, don’t you, Cynda?”
    â€œOf course,” I said quickly. “He’s very nice. You’re lucky to have him for a friend.” As I spoke, Will slipped further and further into the past. Compared to Vincent, he seemed no older than Todd, a friend from long ago, a boy as ordinary as a glass of milk.
    â€œWill’s your friend too,” Todd said, frowning. “Or do you like Mr. Morthanos better now?”
    Susan came to my rescue. “Todd, for heaven’s sake, stop pestering your sister and eat your oatmeal. You hate it when it’s cold.”
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    Later, when I was alone in my room, I found it impossible to study. My algebra equations might as well have been bird tracks on snow, French verbs slipped from my memory, Greek and Roman dates jumbled hopelessly. The clock measured the minutes one by one, slowly ticking time away. So long till dinner, so long till I’d see Vincent.
    The ceiling creaked. Someone on the second floor was walking slowly back and forth, back and forth. I closed my eyes and pictured the inn’s layout.