Part 7 (2/2)

The spell was broken by the sound of a car dragging its m.u.f.fler down the street outside. Marie bit down on her lip again. I winced. She caught me looking at her, and something pa.s.sed between us. Understanding or friends.h.i.+p or truth or something, I don't know quite what it was. Then, instantly, she was the usual Marie, breezy and tough. She crossed her legs and stubbed her cigarette out in the gla.s.s. ”You don't have to feel sorry for me,” she said. ”I can take care of myself.”

”I don't feel sorry for you,” I lied, or half lied. And since one of the reasons that I felt sorry for her was Larry Hlotva, I asked, ”Do you think you'll still go with Larry after you move?”

Marie nodded.

”Oh, yeah,” she said. ”He wants us to get married. We have to wait till I'm sixteen, but he can quit school next year and work at his cousin's garage.”

This sounded like a really lousy idea, but then I wondered if my own probable future life as an old maid would be any better.

”Wow,” I said. ”I wonder if I'll even go out on a date by the time I'm sixteen.”

Marie laughed. I liked making her laugh.

”Or ever,” I said, and she laughed again.

”You will,” she said. ”It's too bad you have to wear gla.s.ses, though. Do you really need them?”

”Pretty much,” I said. ”But I'm hoping I can get contacts when I'm older.”

”That will help,” said Marie.

”I hope so,” I said.

”It will,” she insisted. ”Take your gla.s.ses off for a minute.” I did.

”That's so much better. You should go without them.”

”I kind of like being able to see, though,” I said.

”What for?” said Marie.

A wave of voices floated into the house, then footsteps. Then the whole horde of Prbyczkas was inside. I helped carry boxes out to the car.

”Drop by and see us,” said Mrs. P. ”We love it when Marie's friends come to visit.”

”Okay,” I said, even though in the first place, I didn't even know where it was, and in the second place, I had never even walked down the street to visit Marie, not before today. ”Okay,” I said. ”Good luck.

”I'll miss you,” I said to Marie. I meant it.

”Like fun you will,” she said, but she was smiling.

Her dad smiled, too, through the winds.h.i.+eld, a dazzling smile that I couldn't help smiling back at, even though I knew from Marie that he was kind of a jerk. Marie got in the front seat next to her mother and shut the door, m.u.f.fling the noise from all the little Prbyczkas in the backseat to a dull roar, which faded to silence as the big car rolled down the street and disappeared around the corner.

At least until they reached Pine Towns.h.i.+p, the car would hold them all together. Who knew what would happen once they got out of it? The furniture was still there inside the house, but by the end of the day that was gone, too.

The street breathed a sigh of relief. The house waited like a sc.r.a.ped knee.

twelve.

Thanks giving Monday ”THE THING IS, ILIKED MARIE,” ISAID TO PATTY. WE WERE WALKing down Pearl Avenue on Thanksgiving Monday, the first day of deer hunting. There was no school. We were going to Jim's Bargain Store for red thread, weather stripping, and green burlap. ”So why did I, like, not be her friend? More than I did, I mean.”

Patty thought it over. ”Well, you're pretty different from each other,” she said.

”Yeah, but can we be friends only with people who are just the same as us?” I asked. ”Wouldn't that be sort of boring?”

”I don't think you have to be just the same,” she said. ”But there has to be something that's alike. Otherwise what do you do together? What do you talk about?”

We stopped to look at the revolving silver Christmas tree in the window of Tony Williams Shoes. Children's socks and slippers were hung on it like ornaments. The window on the other side had a New Year's Eve theme: a champagne bottle, confetti, and high-heeled patent leather shoes with buckles or ribbon roses or rhinestones that could be snapped on in front depending on the occasion or your mood.

Patty said, ”I guess with anybody, there would be some things that are in common, just because you're both human beings. I mean, everyone has to eat and sleep. And breathe. Although breathing isn't something you usually talk about, unless for some reason somebody, like, stops breathing.”

It was an interesting conversation, and it might have gone on for a lot longer, if I hadn't looked up just as we turned onto Pittsfield Street.

”That's George!” I said under my breath.

”What?” said Patty.

”That guy getting out of the car up there,” I said, ”I know him.”

George circled to the pa.s.senger side and opened the door.

”And that's Mrs. Brown,” I said as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, resplendent in sky blue ski pants and a white ski parka with a fur-lined hood. The ski parka had tags hanging from the zipper; leave it to people in Deer Church to know where to find snow while the rest of us sputtered along in the drab gray nothing that hovers between autumn and real winter. George was wearing a car coat and a brown plaid scarf. He looked great, too, just because he was George.

”Who are they?” asked Patty.

”It's a long story,” I said. ”I'll tell you later.”

Maybe later I could also explain why happiness was spurting up inside me at the sight of them.

”George!” I called out. ”Mrs. Brown!”

They turned, and there was that moment that happens before someone recognizes you. It can happen with your own family, if you catch them off guard. I helped them out.

”I'm Debbie,” I said. ”I came to your garden last summer-”

”Of course!” said Mrs. Brown. ”And we've been waiting for you to come back ever since.”

”I knew I had connections in this town,” said George.

”What are you doing in Seldem?” I asked.

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