The Beresfords (30 page)

We had no more opportunities to talk that evening, but I felt like I carried a glowing ember in my chest that would set me alight if I wasn’t careful. After months of distance and silence, Jonathan and I were friends again! And he was back at church! Nothing else mattered.
Oh, God
, I prayed silently,
only bless Jonathan and let us always be friends and I’ll never ask you for anything more.

“Someone had a good day,” Eric Grant said, sitting down beside me and balancing his paper plate on his knee.

I even smiled at him because I couldn’t help myself. Besides, apart from Jonathan and Caroline and Tom and Marcy, he was the only other person there I knew. “Yes. Hello. I hope you had a good day, too.”

“It’s improving. What made yours so wonderful?”

“Everything,” I blurted. “Nothing. Coming here, I guess.” I jammed a forkful of pasta in my mouth before I could say anything else idiotic.

He watched me, amused, which didn’t make chewing any easier. “How’d your math test go? There’s no word for third-to-last, is there? ‘
Threnultimate
’? Your
threnultimate
math test?”

I covered my mouth with my hand so I could answer. “Fine. It went all right. Thank you, as always, for your help.”

He waved this away and took a bite of his own food, to my relief. The ambient music was loud enough and the guests numerous enough that I thought it was okay to be silent. I wound more spaghetti on my fork, surveying the company. Tom and Marcy, the couple from across the way and the one from downstairs, some of Caroline’s symphony friends and Jonathan’s co-workers, a few Hastings students whom Caroline met during the admissions process, including the supposed future governor Rob Newman. He didn’t look like one to me. Too delicate and aloof, though his narrow eyes missed nothing, and he was lightning-quick with the throwaway lines. The group gathered around him shouted with laughter periodically, Newman’s face deadpan.

“Frannie,” I heard Eric Grant say, “I was talking to Jon a minute ago.” My attention snapped back to him and I gave him a questioning look. “You know I’m doing that Bible study
with those guys—we meet before work on Thursday mornings—I thought it would be great to have Jon there, so I asked him if he wanted to join.”

My glowing ember flared up. “You did? How nice of you! What did he say?”

“He said he would let me know, but that it sounded like just the thing.”

“Yes!” I gave a bounce in my seat. “Oh, I’m glad to hear it. I know you’ve enjoyed it. I hope he decides to—” I sought him out where he stood next to his wife, a casual hand on her hip. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Rob Newman interrupted with one more one-liner and there was another burst of laughter.

The next thing I knew, Eric Grant had put his plate aside and took hold of my hand. When I pulled away, startled, he only clutched it more firmly. “Wait a second, Frannie—”

“What are you doing?”

“Just hang on—Frannie, we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess. I don’t know. No.”

“How can you say that? We’ve seen each other a couple times a week for months now. At your house, at church.”

I stopped trying to tug out of his grasp, but I felt angry heat prickling my face and neck. He took advantage of my seeming acquiescence to press on. “Frannie, you must know—you must have guessed—that I care about you. No—listen. I don’t know how you escaped my notice so long, but it struck me like a lightning bolt at your eighteenth birthday—remember? I’m crazy about you. I think you’re the most gorgeous—”

“Stop! Don’t—please—” I edged away on the sofa, but he followed me.

“—Most beautiful girl I know and the sweetest and the kindest. I’ve waited so long for you. I know you may not have thought about me like this at first because I’m older than you—”

“I don’t think about you
at all
like that,” I hissed, desperation making me rude. “Please—let’s not talk about this.”

“Frannie, all I’m asking is that you go out with me. A date.”

“No!”

“I even called your uncle to see if it would be okay with him—”

My gasp was loud enough to make the couple nearest us look over, but at least Eric Grant released my hand. Leaping to my feet I stammered, “I—I—I have to get home.” I pushed through the crowd to the kitchen, where I flung open cabinet after cabinet looking for the trash. He plucked the plate from me and deposited it in the bullet can. “Frannie—calm down. I can see I went about this the wrong way—caught you off guard. Caroline said you’ve never had a boyfriend—”

I hid my face in sheer mortification. My uncle—Caroline—how many people did he consult before mentioning this to me? “I have to go,” I said again. “Please—I can’t listen to this. It doesn’t matter—I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

Before he could stop me I was out the door, pounding down the apartment complex steps and fleeing for the visitor parking as if hounds were on my trail. How
could
he? I had refused to hear his sister’s insinuations, Jonathan’s hints. I had refused to analyze the hitches in Uncle
Paul’s voice when he mentioned Eric Grant or the studied looks he cast our direction when Eric came over or sat with us in church. But my willful blindness had not made it go away. How
could
he?

Eric Grant could do nothing without mixed motives. He had been so kind to me, helping me with my math. And going to church! Did he actually believe anything he claimed to, or was it all part of his plan of—of what? “Seduction” sounded ridiculous, but what else could I call it? I had seen how he toyed with my cousins, how he lured Rachel into abandoning her convictions, how he flirted with her unforgivably even after she was married. He had fooled me into thinking his character improved, but it was all lies, all charades.

I found myself speeding, even accelerating through a yellow light, and only the thought of my aunt Terri’s reproaches brought me to my senses. Slowing down, I took myself to task.

I was being melodramatic. I was over-reacting. Eric Grant was an unscrupulous flirt, and out of boredom or idleness he had turned his attentions on me. Surely after tonight—after being reminded how gauche and uptight I was—he would knock it off. Go out with his fawning co-worker or any of the other women Caroline assured me were dying of love for him. I just needed to calm down. Eric Grant meant nothing by it, and I would only make matters worse by imagining he did.

Nor would he try anything again, I was certain. No man welcomed rejection, especially from an inexperienced teenager who did it with such poor grace.

My calm was nearly restored by the time I pulled into Aunt Terri’s driveway. It would all be fine. Look how Jonathan and I had finally patched up our differences. There would be one awkward meeting with Eric Grant, in which he apologized and I said it was no big deal and let’s pretend it never happened, and everything would be fine.

Because that was how these things worked, wasn’t it?

My relief was short-lived.

“Who’s that?” Tanya asked, pointing. We emerged to the glare of the Warm Springs High School parking lot. Few cars remained since I’d stayed after to help the prom committee make centerpieces, but the one she indicated would have drawn attention in any case. A candy-red MR2 ticking at the curb by the bike rack. If that weren’t clue enough, Eric Grant leaned against the passenger door, sunglasses on. He wasn’t looking our way—the cheering from the baseball field distracted him—and I yanked Tanya back behind the nearest bank of lockers.

“You know him?” she whispered.

“Sort of. His sister is married to my cousin.”

“Then what’s he doing here—giving you a ride home?”

“I rode my bike.”

“Oh, come on, Frannie,” she coaxed. “Tell me—he’s kind of nice-looking and that’s a sweet car. Better than Nelson’s.”

Tanya had confessed to me while we stuck glittery fake flowers in florist foam that she and Nelson were “going together” and he asked her to the prom. She swore me to secrecy, since her strict parents didn’t want her going out with anyone, much less a Caucasian guy. “Tell me,” she said again. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No!” I insisted. “Nothing like that.”

Tanya made a face. I know I was a disappointing friend. I didn’t drink, sneak out, defy my parent-figures, or admit to crushes on any of the boys at school. She seemed to expect tit-for-tat after telling me about Nelson, but I had nothing to offer. Certainly I had no intention of sharing my lingering feelings for Jonathan. And as for Eric Grant—well—if a massive earthquake struck and the ground split open and swallowed him up, I would find a way to go on.

“If he’s nothing but sort of family, why are you hiding?”

“Because—because” —I took the plunge. “He told me he liked me the other day, but I don’t like him back.”

She socked me in the arm, grinning. “No way! What’s wrong with him?”

What
wasn’t
wrong with him? I settled for, “He’s old. Already graduated from college.”

“Ooh!” Tanya raised impressed, penciled brows. I would have to remind her to wipe off her make-up before she showed up at her family’s restaurant, or her mom would bawl her out. “Frannie, you’re full of surprises.” She peeked around the bank to check him out again. “Think how fun it would be to show up at the prom with an older man who drives an MR2!”

“It’ll never happen.”

She checked her watch. “Well, you can’t just hide here the rest of your life, and I’ve got to catch the bus or
Ma’ll
kill me. Come on—I’ll walk out with you. Stop shaking your head. You’re being a dope. This isn’t sixth grade. What do you think he’s going to do to you?”

Before I could stop her, she gave me a mighty shove in the backpack, and I tumbled into the sunshine again. Eric Grant’s head turned and he straightened. “Hey, Frannie! There you are.”

“Hi. What are you doing here?”

A corner of his mouth went down. “Not re-living the glory days, that’s for sure.”

I stopped in my tracks and Tanya ran into me. Was
that
why he was looking at the baseball field? He was thinking about the Carnival all those years ago, and how he and Rachel—

“I stopped by your house, but Paola said you were still at school, so I came by to catch you. Want to introduce me to your friend?”

Tanya gave a nervous giggle and fidget as she shook hands, in a manner completely unbecoming a National Merit Scholar who got accepted to Yale. Disgusting. “Frannie was helping me make prom centerpieces,” she explained. “Which was super generous of her, considering she’s not even going.”

“Not going?” echoed Eric Grant in mock astonishment.

“I know,” said Tanya. “Crazy, isn’t it? I told her lots of guys would ask her, only they’re scared of her because she’s so pretty.”

“She is that.”

I ground Tanya’s toes beneath my sandal and had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes water.

“What couldn’t wait?” I asked him bluntly.

“Oh, things.” He grinned at Tanya. “It was nice meeting you. Would it be all right if I spoke to Frannie in private a minute?”

“Sure, sure.” Another uncharacteristic titter and a flip of her hair. “See you tomorrow, okay, Frannie?”

“Tanya!” She didn’t even notice my surreptitious signals that she not abandon me, so I neglected to remind her about her make-up. Let Mrs. Nguyen have at her.

A distant cheer went up from the baseball field.

“I see people still get excited about the team here,” said Eric Grant. “Seems like it would all feel flat after the wondrous Greg Perkins graduated. Have they erected a statue to him yet?”

“There’s a plaque by the gym,” I answered sullenly. I hated to hear him joke at Greg’s expense—hadn’t he scored enough points off him?

He laughed. “Wow. I was kidding. But that’s awesome. Really. It’s not every day local boy makes good.”

“What did you want to talk to me about? I should get home and study.” I fished in the pocket of my shorts for my Kryptonite key.

“I thought you’d like to know that Jon called me today and said he was in for joining my Bible study.”

I paused in backing my bike off the rack, unable to prevent a wide smile. “He did! Oh, I’m so glad!”

“It’ll be good to have another young guy in the group. Pastor Donald must have thought someone needed to keep an eye on me because he put me with all the old pillars of the church. Jon knew who most of them were.”

“That’ll be wonderful for him. For all of you.”

“And then there’s this.” Eric Grant held out a small blue envelope, on which my name was scrawled in Caroline’s careless script.

My stomach took a dive. The first conclusion I jumped to was that it was a baby shower invitation. Caroline was pregnant? No, no. Maybe she was throwing a shower for Rachel.

It was neither. Leaning my bike on its kickstand, I unfolded the note and read: