out for a walk. Emma's doing some shopping."
"Could I talk to you?"
She looked startled.
"Just for a few minutes," I said.
Some hesitation. Then she shrugged. "I guess so." She considered asking me in, then changed her mind. Shutting the door behind her, she led me into the parlor.
I sat on the wine-colored sofa opposite her.
She waited for me to begin.
I had considered every evasive tactic, every manipulative rhetoric, but had abandoned them all. "Mrs. Matusik, if you'll forgive my directness, I'd like to ask you something."
She folded her hands in her lap.
"It sounds kind of silly."
She listened intently. "Ask away."
"Did Jack Radey ever give you a voucher or a coupon for a free hairdo in a beauty salon?- Back in nineteen thirty-four?-"
Her dark eyes became watery and her lips parted.
"It would have been August of that year."
The silence filled every crevice of the room. I could hear my heart beating.
"Yes," she said, quietly.
My heart pounded with the rush of blood.
Her face softened, a memory crystallized. "How did you know?"
The letters were real, then. They were true. Teresa Matusik sat across from me, as perplexed as I was. "He wrote a letter to my mother. He told her."
"Your mother. His sister."
"Yes."
"I didn't know he was writing to her." She looked down. "I didn't know enough about him at all." Her hands remained folded.
I tilted my head. "I don't understand."
"Stanley doesn't know."
I was quiet.
"He wouldn't have liked it if he'd known I'd accepted such a gift from another man. It would've undermined him. But," she said, "I couldn't resist. I guess I was weak." A fragile smile. "Such vanity. I was just a girl. It'd been years since I'd had my hair done in a beauty shop. Years. So I accepted it. But I kept quiet about it, and made Jack promise not to tell anyone around here. I didn't know he was writing to his sister." She shook her head. "Didn't know at all."
My heart was slowing down. I sat back.
From deep within her aging body, she looked out at me. "I felt real pretty afterwards. First time in quite a while." She nodded, remembering. "Real pretty."
"I won't say anything."
She was grateful. "Thank you." There was more she wanted to say, but it wasn't going to come. Not now. Not yet.
At ten minutes to six, I sat down at the curved counter and stared at Jeanne.
She put her hands on her hips. "You here for the big dinner? We close in ten minutes. Can't be done."
"I know. It's okay."
She looked at me curiously.
"I don't know anything about you, so if I'm out of line, just tell me. I'm a big boy. I can take it." I wasn't much good at this stuff. "But if you're not involved with anyone, and feel so inclined, I was thinking you might join me for dinner. My treat. I'd enjoy the company."
There. I'd done it. I'd learned long ago: expect nothing, and you won't be disappointed. But every now and then, you've got to try.
She was clearly a subscriber to the first part of my theory. Her slightly openmouthed expression was one of complete bemusement.
She started to speak, then stopped.
I sat there, trying not to feel like a schoolboy.
"You're a real mover, Leo from Canada," she said, finally. "Been a long time since I've had a dinner date. Especially with an exotic traveler." She stood back, eying me playfully. "Tell you what."
"What?" I asked.
She brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "We'll start with a coffee and talk about it. There are complications."
At least it wasn't "no." I nodded, approving. "One step at a time," I said.
We went to a diner, half a block away, and sat in a booth.
She stirred some sugar into her coffee. "I don't even know your last name."
"Nolan. Leo Nolan."
She tapped the spoon on the cup's rim, then placed it in the saucer. "And you don't care what my name is."
"I care. Very much. I'd love to know your name."
She put her tongue in her cheek and looked at the ceiling. "Right," she said. "I'm Jeanne Berney."
"I knew
"Could I talk to you?"
She looked startled.
"Just for a few minutes," I said.
Some hesitation. Then she shrugged. "I guess so." She considered asking me in, then changed her mind. Shutting the door behind her, she led me into the parlor.
I sat on the wine-colored sofa opposite her.
She waited for me to begin.
I had considered every evasive tactic, every manipulative rhetoric, but had abandoned them all. "Mrs. Matusik, if you'll forgive my directness, I'd like to ask you something."
She folded her hands in her lap.
"It sounds kind of silly."
She listened intently. "Ask away."
"Did Jack Radey ever give you a voucher or a coupon for a free hairdo in a beauty salon?- Back in nineteen thirty-four?-"
Her dark eyes became watery and her lips parted.
"It would have been August of that year."
The silence filled every crevice of the room. I could hear my heart beating.
"Yes," she said, quietly.
My heart pounded with the rush of blood.
Her face softened, a memory crystallized. "How did you know?"
The letters were real, then. They were true. Teresa Matusik sat across from me, as perplexed as I was. "He wrote a letter to my mother. He told her."
"Your mother. His sister."
"Yes."
"I didn't know he was writing to her." She looked down. "I didn't know enough about him at all." Her hands remained folded.
I tilted my head. "I don't understand."
"Stanley doesn't know."
I was quiet.
"He wouldn't have liked it if he'd known I'd accepted such a gift from another man. It would've undermined him. But," she said, "I couldn't resist. I guess I was weak." A fragile smile. "Such vanity. I was just a girl. It'd been years since I'd had my hair done in a beauty shop. Years. So I accepted it. But I kept quiet about it, and made Jack promise not to tell anyone around here. I didn't know he was writing to his sister." She shook her head. "Didn't know at all."
My heart was slowing down. I sat back.
From deep within her aging body, she looked out at me. "I felt real pretty afterwards. First time in quite a while." She nodded, remembering. "Real pretty."
"I won't say anything."
She was grateful. "Thank you." There was more she wanted to say, but it wasn't going to come. Not now. Not yet.
At ten minutes to six, I sat down at the curved counter and stared at Jeanne.
She put her hands on her hips. "You here for the big dinner? We close in ten minutes. Can't be done."
"I know. It's okay."
She looked at me curiously.
"I don't know anything about you, so if I'm out of line, just tell me. I'm a big boy. I can take it." I wasn't much good at this stuff. "But if you're not involved with anyone, and feel so inclined, I was thinking you might join me for dinner. My treat. I'd enjoy the company."
There. I'd done it. I'd learned long ago: expect nothing, and you won't be disappointed. But every now and then, you've got to try.
She was clearly a subscriber to the first part of my theory. Her slightly openmouthed expression was one of complete bemusement.
She started to speak, then stopped.
I sat there, trying not to feel like a schoolboy.
"You're a real mover, Leo from Canada," she said, finally. "Been a long time since I've had a dinner date. Especially with an exotic traveler." She stood back, eying me playfully. "Tell you what."
"What?" I asked.
She brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "We'll start with a coffee and talk about it. There are complications."
At least it wasn't "no." I nodded, approving. "One step at a time," I said.
We went to a diner, half a block away, and sat in a booth.
She stirred some sugar into her coffee. "I don't even know your last name."
"Nolan. Leo Nolan."
She tapped the spoon on the cup's rim, then placed it in the saucer. "And you don't care what my name is."
"I care. Very much. I'd love to know your name."
She put her tongue in her cheek and looked at the ceiling. "Right," she said. "I'm Jeanne Berney."
"I knew
Similar Books
