Last Dance (6 page)

His smile was so smooth. It reassured her. Maplewood Lane was a road for happy families: you could tell by the shady trees and the neat trim around the white houses and the wonderful smell of steak being barbecued a few houses away. Emily didn’t stop to think that her own street looked and smelled exactly the same.

Maplewood Lane seemed to Emily a sign that all would be well before long. The sun had not yet set, the air was warm, her parents would calm down, and Matt would show up.

Resting on these hopes, Emily said, “Actually, I’m halfway running away from home.”

Emily tended to believe that other people were trustworthy. She tended to think that a nice smile meant a nice person, and that someone who had problems of his own would understand and care about hers. She said, “Oh, Christopher, it’s my parents. I love my father, but he’s been so awful lately because he’s so mad at my mother, and now she’s moving out, which is a blessing, but she says I have to live with her or she’ll never speak to me again, and my father said if I even go with her for a minute I can’t live with him either, and I…I just ran off.” At the last minute she did not confide that her mother and father both had been ready to smack her. The vision came back, horrifying her all over again, and she thought, Matt, oh, Matt, come for me! The sick feeling hit her stomach again, and Emily put a hand over her mouth, feeling nauseated.

“Great dress to run in,” Christopher observed, taking a fold of the material between his fingers. “I love these little silver knots!” He released the skirt, with its excess fabric, and ran his fingers very lightly over the knots of silver thread. He followed the seam of the dress up the sides and over to the silver heart necklace with its short silver chain. “You planning to camp out here on Maplewood in this dress?”

Emily stepped back. She could not deal with this on top of all her other problems. She wanted to step farther back, but it seemed rude.

Christopher’s smile stayed just the same, as if he were a photograph and not a person.” And practical running shoes, too, Emily. I admire your choice.”

Imagine being nervous of somebody I know perfectly well when we’re standing in the front yard on Maplewood Lane, and ten other houses are watching us. I just don’t have enough experience, she thought. “I’m on my way to a dance,” she explained, forgetting that she did not know Christopher perfectly well—she did not know him at all.

Christopher tilted his head. “Without a man in your life? Allow me.”

Emily struggled to paste a smile on her face to show him it was nice of him to be gallant. “Well, my boyfriend was coming for me, but my mother hung up on him, and if he does drive down, here, he won’t know where to find me, and I’m not really sure what to do.” She took a breath before asking if she could make a toll call on his phone, and Christopher said, “So where’s the dance? At the high school again?” Christopher shook his head slightly. “I was a little out of it that time, but as I recall the theme was pumpkins. I laughed so hard.”

Emily said uncomfortably, “Actually the dance is at Rushing River Inn.”

“No kidding?” Christopher took her arm and guided her toward his front door.

“If I could use your phone and call the O’Connors,” Emily said hesitantly, “then I could probably straighten this out.”

“Nah, I’ll just take you there. He’ll show up. Don’t worry. Just let me get my license and my car keys. You think I’m dressed up enough for a dance?”

Christopher—asking if he was dressed up enough? Although he certainly did look good in a shirt and jeans, most of the boys would wear a jacket and tie. But he’ll only be dropping me off, she thought, so what difference does it make? She said, “Christopher, if I could just use your phone? And if you don’t mind, the bathroom, too—I—um—it’s been—”

But Christopher did not head for the door to his house. He opened the car door instead. It was a beautiful scarlet sports car and even as he led her to it he smiled at the car, adoring it, and himself in it. Emily wanted to rip her arm free and race across the grass and—

What is the matter with me? Emily thought. Am I such a jerk that the only solution I have to anything is racing around backyards? I cannot spend my whole life coping by running away!

Her stomach hurt so much now she felt as if they should go to the clinic, not the dance.

“I love to crash parties,” Christopher said, with the same smooth smile. “You’ll be my ticket, Emily.” And he linked his arm in hers, securely, like a chain.

It was not that Anne needed anything, it was just the female habit of checking to be sure her purse was where she had left it.” What’s the matter? Con asked, watching her.

“My purse. It’s gone.”

“Got to be right there,” Con said.

“It isn’t. Con, I know I set it on this chair.”

“You must not have,” Con said tiredly. “Because the chair is empty.”

“Which purse was it?” Beth Rose asked. “That big white straw one?”

“No. The big pink leather bag.” Anne kept turning, as if the purse must be lying at an angle to her vision, and if she just found the right place to stand, she would spot it. Molly hid a grin.

“What did you bring it for anyway?” Con asked irritably. “You never need any of that stuff you’re always hauling around.”

Molly loved how everybody reacted on cue. Even Gary, who usually leaped to help any damsel in distress, didn’t leap this time. Beth Rose, if she carried a purse at all, carried tiny cloth ones on long shoulder straps so that the purse dangled, hardly noticed. Tonight Beth Rose had a tiny clutch bag in silver fabric with sparkles. Molly saw how Gary looked with satisfaction at his girlfriend, who didn’t lug suitcases around and then lose them and embarrass him.

Beth Rose said, “Well, maybe you left it in the car, Anne. Con, why don’t you go look in the car for her?”

Con glared at Beth Rose and then controlled himself and said, “I don’t think she—”

“I didn’t leave it in the car. I distinctly remember putting it on the chair,” Anne said. “Somebody must have taken it.”

Con heaved a sigh. An enormous sigh, out of all proportion to the problem. A sigh that implied that Peace in the Middle East rested upon Con’s shoulders. Now Beth Rose glared at Con, and Gary muttered to Beth Rose to take it easy, and Mike looked at the sunset and whispered to himself alone, “Girls.”

Molly was happy.

The pool was shaped in an L, with the smaller end very shallow for kids to wade in safely. Along one side were beds of flowers, mostly scarlet geraniums, with a very narrow strip of cement between them and the pool to prevent leaves and mulch from actually getting in the water.

It was hot outdoors, but nothing really had started indoors. Nobody felt like dancing, mostly because nobody else had started dancing, and nobody felt like eating, because they weren’t hungry yet, and half the girls were on diets anyway. They held their questionnaires and didn’t ask anybody anything, because it just seemed dumb, and faked. So they wandered out of doors and made a few remarks about how lovely Mount Snow was, and then they wandered down near the pool and gazed at the water and wished they were in bathing suits instead of dancing clothes, so they could go swimming and cool off.

Mr. Martin, who was an assistant manager of the resort, was a big bearded man with an enormous belly. He was wearing a very nice suit with a bright paisley vest and a solid color tie that picked up the gaudiest color in the paisley vest. Indoors, with the air-conditioning, he was very comfortable. Outdoors, in the heat, he began perspiring by the bucketful and became crabby.

“Lee!” he yelled at one of his waiters.

Lee was seventeen, and had graduated that very Saturday afternoon from Lynnwood High. All sensible Lynnwood High grads were off partying in Lynnwood this very minute, but Lee unfortunately had to work. Lee was not in a good mood, and all these happy Westerly kids made him very, very irritable. He didn’t think much of Westerly anyhow, especially since Westerly had beaten Lynnwood in every single sport Lee was in this year: wrestling, track, and tennis. It was Lee’s belief that Westerly boys paid off the referees. He had just learned, moreover, that his roommate for freshman year at Central State was going to be a Westerly person. He kept looking at this bunch, at their old “Last Dance” and wondering which of these dorks was going to live with him. He had read over their little quiz and seriously considered adding the question, “Which one of you will be Lee Hamilton’s roommate, and are you worthy of this honor?” but he knew Mr. Martin would kill him, which did not seem an auspicious way to begin his summer.

“Yes, Mr. Martin?” he said.

“Lee, go down to the swimming pool and tell those kids the pool is off limits for them tonight. They reserved the ballroom, the screened verandah, and the terrace and that’s that. The swimming pool is for overnight guests and anyway, we don’t have a lifeguard on tonight, so nobody can be down there. Keep those teenagers up here where they belong. That’s your job, Lee; don’t screw up.”

Lee rather liked the idea of yelling at Westerly kids. He stomped down the gravel path and immediately recognized Gary Anthony, who had trounced him in every wrestling match they had ever had. Great, Lee thought. “Okay, everybody,” he said loudly, trying to sound like Authority, “the pool is off limits, and I’ve got to ask you to stay up on the terrace if you want to be outdoors.”

The “everybody” he addressed did not even look his way.

Lee raised his voice and repeated the order.

The only thing that happened was that a girl in a very short purple dress asked him if he had been born on an ocean liner. Lee stared at her. She grinned right back, very flirty, and said, “Come on, now, cooperate, I want to win the VCR, don’t you? I don’t even recognize you! You must not be a junior, huh? Where’s your quiz? Have you gotten any answers yet?”

Lee said, “I’m a waiter.”

The girl laughed. “No, really, do you have any answers?”

Lee said, “Just that you’re not supposed to be down at the pool. You want to help me round up all your friends and herd them toward the terrace?”

The girl laughed again. She said, “No, really, tell me.”

Lee hoped for the sake of Westerly High that this girl did not represent the typical I.Q. He walked around her and aimed for Gary. He figured if he could get Gary headed for the terrace, maybe he could get the rest of them.

Molly was enraged.

Her expertise was boys. She rarely winked at one who didn’t wink right back, and a smile from Molly always meant a smile from the boy. Who was this kid, anyway? Well, whoever he was, she didn’t like him. He was cute, too. Not very tall, which was too bad, because Molly preferred height in a boy, but very muscular. Like a wrestler. Of all the boys here, he was the one she would most like to see in bathing trunks.

She thought briefly of shoving him in the pool. Being soaked would take away a little of his snobbery and reveal a little of his body, too. He’d have to peel off that jacket then, wouldn’t he?

Beth Rose and Gary and Anne and Con were tiptoeing along the narrow stone strip between the geraniums and the deep end of the pool. Kip and Mike Robinson had taken off their shoes and were sitting on the edge, dangling their feet in the water. Two couples were dancing on the cement, to the music from a radio one of them had brought. It was like a separate dance; the popular kids were having their own down there while the ordinary kids were up in the ballroom.

Molly watched Con. Anne was in front of him, and his hand went to her waist, to guide or to caress, Molly could not tell.

The purse thing had worked nicely. It took them fifteen minutes to find it, and Con didn’t believe Anne when she claimed she hadn’t put it there. Con was now making an effort to be nice to Anne: an effort which, if Molly knew Con, he could not keep up very long. Con liked things to go smoothly or not at all.

I know how to handle Con! Molly thought. I deserve Con. He ought to be mine. It’s my waist his hand should be on!

Anne turned slightly just as she got to the end of the geraniums and faced Con. She pursed her lips as if to kiss him, but Con didn’t lean forward to kiss Anne. He concentrated—or pretended to—on his balance.

Balance? Molly Nelmes thought. Balance. Or lack of it?

For the third time the unknown wrestler/waiter ordered everybody away from the pool.

Molly slid between the two dancing couples and up behind Gary and Beth Rose, Kip and Mike, and Anne and Con.

M
ATT SLOWED DOWN SLIGHTLY
. He didn’t come this way often and he was afraid of missing the turn to Emily’s house. His heart was beating harder, and he was laughing at himself. “What are you, a knight in shining armor?” he teased himself. “You think M&M’s going to be standing in the driveway in her green dress with the silver knots, her arms held out, so you can sweep her away to safety?”

It was exactly what he was thinking.

He loved the whole idea.

He and Emily had saved a life six months before and the afterglow of doing that had stayed with them both a long time. Now the idea of protecting Emily, of being the one she waited for to give her a better life, was another glow. Matt was grinning, alone in the car, happy about the whole idea.

He adored Emily.

Plus, he was slightly superstitious. They had met by such an accident—both of them showing up at a student convention neither of them much wanted to attend—both sitting down with a sigh where there happened to be empty seats. Then finding each other there, and never even knowing what the convention was about afterward: just talking, talking, talking, as if there would never be enough time to share all the thoughts they wanted to share. Matt truly loved Emily.

He slowed down, squinting into the glare of the sunset, trying to read the street signs.

Out of Maplewood shot a bright red Corvette. A beautiful, very expensive car. Normally Matt checked out cars very carefully, because he loved them, and his happiest days were when his latest car magazines arrived in the mail. But this time his eye happened to fall upon the driver and the passenger.

At the same time the driver accelerated right into Matt’s path, he leaned over to kiss his girl.