contraceptives. Stuff was his word. “Let’s not ruin a perfectly nice evening. You aren’t . Okay?”
Anne came to a halt. “Except sometimes we didn’t bother,” she said.
Con’s eyes found a spot on the wall above and to the left of her.
“Don’t look at me,” he said, not looking at her.
She was filled with rage and terror, but even more with a dreadful need to placate him. He mustn’t get mad at her. She needed him. “Okay,” she said, “this is the wrong time. But Con, there is no time. We—we have to—talk—about—about—”
She couldn’t say the real words, either. Words like baby, illegitimate, childbirth, abortion, adoption, marriage—all those caught, snagged by fear, and didn’t come out of her mouth. “Stuff,” she said lamely.
Con put his arm around her waist and began walking again. She could not believe it. In a moment they would have caught up to Molly and Christopher. “Con,” she whispered.
His fingers tightened painfully around her. His lips came right to her ear, as if he were nuzzling her lovingly. “I could kill you for bringing this up now. Don’t you dare do it again,” he hissed.
She was so cold now her back ached.
Molly’s rich laugh rang out. “No, no, you guys. The way it works is, you walk inside , and kiss under Kip’s little rose arbor, and get immortalized on film.”
“Expensive film,” added Christopher.
“Oh, is that how it works,” said Con, laughing.
Anne struggled to laugh with him. Nothing came to her face but fear and anger, and that she could not show. She kept it blank instead, and again she saw Molly’s expression— Oh, Anne won’t laugh with me, huh? said Molly’s vivid features.
Anne looked at Con. This is my fault, she thought. Any girl with half a brain would have planned this conversation better. I—
And then she thought, Now wait a minute. He’s the father. He should have planned a little better. Who is he to complain? Is he pregnant?
“Poor Kip,” said Molly. “She did such a nice job on decorations and nobody asked her to her own dance. Isn’t that sad?”
You stinker, Anne thought. You haven’t even seen the decorations yet. You just want to announce somebody’s bad luck and jeer at somebody who’s not here to defend herself.
“Kip doesn’t have a date?” repeated Con, visibly amazed.
Now the coldness shivered up Anne’s spine, settling in her skull, throbbing like a glacial headache. He likes Kip. If he leaves me, will he turn around the next night and call another girl? Kip, say? Could Con do that—after three years with me?
Con was not looking at Anne. He walked her into the gym, and they were, and she knew it, the picture of romance. A kneeling photographer caught them, bulb flashing. Con was laughing, pressing his cheek against hers, looking right into the flash.
He won’t look at me again, she realized. That might make it real. He’ll get through this entire evening without letting it get real.
She stared at the cafeteria and knew in a moment that Con could pull it off. Because Kip had succeeded beyond anybody’s wildest dreams. The cafeteria was no longer real: It was a fantasy of fallen leaves and shining stars.
Hundreds of brilliantly colored autumn leaves hung from invisible wires strung across the ceiling. An actual fountain splashed gently on rocks. Behind it greenery formed a wreath for two benches. Already coins twinkled in the water where couples had made wishes. If a penny would make my wish come true, Anne thought ruefully, I’d sit all night by that fountain.
Baskets of flowers, stacked pumpkins, and split rail fences flanked a scarlet runner that led to a barnboard refreshment stand. Behind bales of hay, junior high girls dressed in white lace and black cotton maid costumes were serving cider and wedges of apple pie. A wheelbarrow piled high with real autumn leaves stood next to an old wooden porch swing.
Beyond lay the dance floor.
No d.j. for this dance! A live band,
Anne came to a halt. “Except sometimes we didn’t bother,” she said.
Con’s eyes found a spot on the wall above and to the left of her.
“Don’t look at me,” he said, not looking at her.
She was filled with rage and terror, but even more with a dreadful need to placate him. He mustn’t get mad at her. She needed him. “Okay,” she said, “this is the wrong time. But Con, there is no time. We—we have to—talk—about—about—”
She couldn’t say the real words, either. Words like baby, illegitimate, childbirth, abortion, adoption, marriage—all those caught, snagged by fear, and didn’t come out of her mouth. “Stuff,” she said lamely.
Con put his arm around her waist and began walking again. She could not believe it. In a moment they would have caught up to Molly and Christopher. “Con,” she whispered.
His fingers tightened painfully around her. His lips came right to her ear, as if he were nuzzling her lovingly. “I could kill you for bringing this up now. Don’t you dare do it again,” he hissed.
She was so cold now her back ached.
Molly’s rich laugh rang out. “No, no, you guys. The way it works is, you walk inside , and kiss under Kip’s little rose arbor, and get immortalized on film.”
“Expensive film,” added Christopher.
“Oh, is that how it works,” said Con, laughing.
Anne struggled to laugh with him. Nothing came to her face but fear and anger, and that she could not show. She kept it blank instead, and again she saw Molly’s expression— Oh, Anne won’t laugh with me, huh? said Molly’s vivid features.
Anne looked at Con. This is my fault, she thought. Any girl with half a brain would have planned this conversation better. I—
And then she thought, Now wait a minute. He’s the father. He should have planned a little better. Who is he to complain? Is he pregnant?
“Poor Kip,” said Molly. “She did such a nice job on decorations and nobody asked her to her own dance. Isn’t that sad?”
You stinker, Anne thought. You haven’t even seen the decorations yet. You just want to announce somebody’s bad luck and jeer at somebody who’s not here to defend herself.
“Kip doesn’t have a date?” repeated Con, visibly amazed.
Now the coldness shivered up Anne’s spine, settling in her skull, throbbing like a glacial headache. He likes Kip. If he leaves me, will he turn around the next night and call another girl? Kip, say? Could Con do that—after three years with me?
Con was not looking at Anne. He walked her into the gym, and they were, and she knew it, the picture of romance. A kneeling photographer caught them, bulb flashing. Con was laughing, pressing his cheek against hers, looking right into the flash.
He won’t look at me again, she realized. That might make it real. He’ll get through this entire evening without letting it get real.
She stared at the cafeteria and knew in a moment that Con could pull it off. Because Kip had succeeded beyond anybody’s wildest dreams. The cafeteria was no longer real: It was a fantasy of fallen leaves and shining stars.
Hundreds of brilliantly colored autumn leaves hung from invisible wires strung across the ceiling. An actual fountain splashed gently on rocks. Behind it greenery formed a wreath for two benches. Already coins twinkled in the water where couples had made wishes. If a penny would make my wish come true, Anne thought ruefully, I’d sit all night by that fountain.
Baskets of flowers, stacked pumpkins, and split rail fences flanked a scarlet runner that led to a barnboard refreshment stand. Behind bales of hay, junior high girls dressed in white lace and black cotton maid costumes were serving cider and wedges of apple pie. A wheelbarrow piled high with real autumn leaves stood next to an old wooden porch swing.
Beyond lay the dance floor.
No d.j. for this dance! A live band,
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