A Whisper in Time (30 page)

There was a loud chorus of “ahhhh” from the homecoming princesses, impatient eye-rolling from Olivia, and an instant expression of delight from Gabrielle. She hurried over and snatched the phone.

“I told you not to call.” Her voice made it clear that she didn’t mind.

“Couldn’t resist, love…” The sound of his voice faded as she walked to an empty corner.

They talked a long time. The game started. The crowd went through the normal cycle of screams and groans—from both sides of the stadium.

Gabrielle didn’t hang up on Korry until the cheerleading coach made her move, waving us toward our vehicles. I helped Gabrielle into her spot on the back of a white convertible and then took my place next to the driver. I’d become so used to the photographer now that I barely noticed him.

It seemed stupid to admit it, but I was enjoying the hell out of this night. As I watched Carlton climb into the car behind me, it occurred to me how strange this was. He was escorting the homecoming queen, and I was escorting the girl everyone would remember.

Halftime started. Our band played. The convertibles began their circle around the track.

Everything happened slowly, but time still seemed to blur. One by one, princesses were dropped off at the fifty-yard line. First the freshmen, then the sophomore and junior princesses.

Last came the seniors and the queen.

The crowd definitely saved its biggest roar for Gabrielle, although it was hard to know how much was for her reputation and how much was for the missing back to her dress.

And then it was over. We were back in the convertibles, rolling away from the football field. I scanned the crowd in the stands. Jesse and Benita were up there somewhere, but they weren’t the type to scream like idiots.

I caught sight of my parents. My mother
was
screaming like an idiot.

We cleared the stands and slowed to a crawl, waiting our turn to exit through the gate. A bunch of students had gathered on the asphalt, shouting and waving. Gabrielle waved back.

A lone figure stood on the fringe of the crowd, wearing a hoodie in neon green. My gaze zeroed in on it because I had a hoodie in the same color, same style.

Could it be mine?

Nah.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-O
NE

A N
EW
F
ORM
OF
L
IBERTY

Although I didn’t wish to think very long about today’s homecoming celebration or all of the activities Mark would participate in throughout this day, I could not help but wonder how often he missed fun because of me.

Was our relationship a burden for him? The very thought created an ache inside me.

Should I force myself to go out more? In my mind, I wanted to try, but the rest of me shuddered at the thought.

Perhaps I should plan fun things for us. Perhaps I should try harder to adapt to his world. Indeed, I ought to stop thinking of it as
his
world and start thinking of it as
mine
.

Dodging into the closet of my loft bedchamber, I grabbed a garment I’d been resisting and pulled it on. Standing before a full-length mirror, I studied myself in this pair of pants. The color was a dark blue, the fabric light and supple. The pants had no ties or elastic. They closed with a zipper. Norah had purchased them for me shortly after I arrived. She called them “capris.”

Pants might be normal for modern women, but they didn’t feel normal to me. Might I like these pants better with a bit of alteration? The width of the pant legs was acceptable, much wider and looser than what most women wore. But I didn’t care at all for the hem, which stopped too near my knees. Stockings wouldn’t be a reasonable remedy in October when it was still warm.

Perhaps I could lengthen the hem. I would consider this compromise.

After trading my brown skirt for the pants, I headed downstairs. Norah sat in a chair, reading a book. She dropped it immediately when I perched on the couch. “Morning, Susanna.”

“Good morning. How are you feeling today?”

“Much better.” She inclined her head. “There’s coffee waiting for you.”

As I smiled my gratitude and walked into the kitchen, the landline rang.

“Would you get that, please?” Norah asked.

I picked up the phone on the counter. “Hello?”

“Hey, Susanna,” Mark’s sister said.

“You’re up early, Marissa.” I returned to the living room.

“I have to be at work soon. Is Gran around?”

“Yes. Would you like to speak with her?”

“
No
.” There was a little laugh at the other end of the line. “You’re the person I want to talk to. Can you go somewhere so that she can’t hear?”

“Just a moment.” Surprised and pleased, I lowered the phone and smiled at Norah. “Marissa is calling me.”

“How nice.” She dropped her gaze back to her book.

I went outside and then spoke into the phone. “I’m on the deck now.”

“Okay, I want your opinion about something. I might come home for Thanksgiving. How do you think my family will react?”

“They’ll be delighted.” Could she have any doubt? Marissa was never far from their minds, particularly Sherri’s. “How long will you plan to stay?”

“Permanently?”

“Oh, I see.” This news would only heighten their delight, but the questions would be endless.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do.” She sighed loudly. “I’m homesick. I miss my family and my friends. I miss North Carolina. I want to be near the ocean again.” There was a pause. When she spoke again, her voice had thickened. “Fletcher hasn’t said ten words to me in the past two weeks. He’s so totally consumed by school that I might as well not be here. I can’t continue the way we are.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. It happens.” She sniffed. “Will everyone make me crazy by saying
I told you so
?”

“Mark will.”

“Yeah.” She laughed. “How is my little brother? Is he excited about tonight?”

I stiffened. “I do not know.”

“Have you talked with him about it?”

“Briefly.”

She made an impatient sound. “Susanna, homecoming is important to him. You have to let him feel special.”

“Thank you for your advice.”

“But you’re not taking it.” She laughed again and then quickly sobered. “Don’t tell anyone about Thanksgiving. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“I shall not.” And with that, we said our goodbyes. When I reentered the house, Norah looked up expectantly.

“How is my granddaughter?”

“She is well.”

Norah’s eyes narrowed on me with concern. “You look like you have something on your mind.”

“What might I do to help Mark feel special?”

She smiled. “Ask him out on a date.”

“That is a lovely idea.” I answered her smile with one of my own as my mind raced through the possibilities. “Perhaps I could prepare a quiet supper for him in the apartment.”

“Food is always an excellent option with Mark, but I think the two of you need to avoid time together in that apartment for a while.” She gripped the arms of her chair and pushed up, biting back a small groan. “You can fry chicken, can’t you?”

“Certainly.” I hovered near her, ready to assist if she needed me. “I have not seen this dish served at the Lewis house.”

“Not when Bruce is there, much to Mark’s regret.” She laughed. “I know you can bake an apple pie.”

“Indeed.”

“Well honey, you have the perfect fixings for a romantic picnic.”

“A picnic?” I shook my head. “I do not know what that is.”

“It’s simple. Pack a basket with food. Find a secluded spot outside, and there you go. The rest is left up to you.”

* * *

Norah and Charlie took me home Friday night. It must have been unannounced, for when we entered the kitchen, Mark’s parents were standing there, dressed to go out.

Charlie shook hands with Bruce and kissed Sherri on the forehead. “Where are you two headed?”

“Homecoming.”

They all watched me for my reaction. I had none—at least none I would permit them to see. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Want to come with us, Susanna?” Sherri asked.

We stared at each other intently. It wasn’t exactly a battle of wills, more like a testing of the other’s mettle.

“An entire football game will be more than I can tolerate,” I said.

“We’ll leave after halftime.”

Bruce blinked at his wife.

Mark had asked me to come, and now his parents were making it easy. It was special to him, and I needed to try. “All right. I accept.” I glanced down at my clothes.

“You look fine. It could get cold, though.”

“I do not have a wrap.” I felt oddly disappointed. For a few seconds, I’d been proud of my decision.

“No problem. We have extras.” She disappeared into the laundry room.

“Going now,” Norah said, hugging me from behind. “Bravo, honey,” she whispered.

Once the door had slammed on Charlie and Norah, Sherri returned, a glowing green jacket in her hand. It was one of Mark’s.

“Here you are.”

I put it on. It smelled like a freshly-washed version of him. The scent and feel gave me courage. “I am ready.”

* * *

Huge lights rose like great trees above the stadium, and the noise was daunting.

After five minutes in the stands, I began to fidget. The applause of thousands and the cold hardness of the bench—it all served to shroud me in misery.

Bruce placed his mouth near my ear. “Want me to find you a quieter spot?”

I nodded. We rose and edged out along the aisle and down the stairs.

He stopped near a place to buy food. “Hang out around here. We’ll find you after halftime.”

“Certainly.”

He left, plunging into the crowd fearlessly. There was less noise in my new location, fewer people, and a clear view of the field.

After an hour elapsed, whistles shrieked and then the players ran to their benches and sat down. The people in the stands stood and screamed.

Guards in dark uniforms opened a gate near me. Cars drove onto the odd road that circled the football field. None of the cars had tops. I stood in the shadows as they rolled past.

Mark’s car was near the end. He sat in the front seat, but someone else drove. His friend perched high in the back of the vehicle, so high we could see all but her legs and feet.

Gabrielle was more beautiful than I remembered from her photographs and movies. Abundant dark curls cascaded to her shoulders, held away from her face by a jeweled spray of flowers clipped behind an ear.

I walked as closely as I dared to the odd road and watched.

The ritual that followed might have been more fitting in my century than I would’ve expected here. Girls stepped from white cars on the arms of their suitors. In pairs, they sauntered to the field’s center, their gowns dragging in the grass. I blinked with concentration as Mark and Gabrielle stepped away from their car. Her gown was purple except the back, which was the same shade as her skin. Or was it…?

Merciful heavens. The dress left the skin of her back exposed, from her neck to the tops of her buttocks. I blushed at the sight. I didn’t wish to know if Mark would touch her there. I looked instead at him.

Once all of the couples had reached the center of the field, a man talked in loud, annoying echoes.

The crowd screamed.

The man echoed more, and then loud music played.

The couples made their way back to the cars.

The entire ceremony had lasted only a few minutes and had displayed a bewildering lack of charm. Why had this been important to Mark?

When his vehicle passed by, he nodded at the crowd, a detached curve to his lips. Then his body stiffened. He leaned forward, staring my way. Had he spotted me?

No, I must’ve been mistaken.

Mark’s parents left early Saturday morning for one of their “turbo errand runs.” It felt good to know they trusted us to be alone.

I dressed carefully. First came the blue capris, with the hems lowered as far as the fabric permitted. Then my birthday T-shirt, striped in blue and white. It too had been altered. The sleeve on my left arm had revealed my burn, and that I could not allow. Norah had helped me to add bands of wide, white lace.

As I skipped down the stairs to the kitchen, I ticked off the preparations for the picnic on my fingers. The fried chicken and apple pie that I brought with me from the lake house waited in the fridge. Norah had lent me her best picnic basket, complete with tablecloth and napkins. The basket looked too bulky for transport, but she assured me that Mark would figure it out.

He trudged in after nine o’clock, sweaty and splattered. I watched him from my spot at the table. “Are the trails muddy?” It was a possibility I had not allowed for.

He shook his head. “Not really. I went off-road in an area with a few muddy spots.” He stopped at the fridge and drew out a bottle of Propel.

“I would like to ask you out on a date.”

He lowered the bottle and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re asking
me
?”

“I am.”

He smiled slowly. “What’re we going to do?”

“I shall pack a picnic dinner.”

“Cool. Where are we going?”

“Perhaps you could decide. I would like to ride our bikes on paved trails. Is there somewhere close?”

“The Museum of Art. My friends Jesse and Benita say it has a lot of great places to…” He stopped and smiled again.

“Picnic?”

“Right.” He laughed. “What time?”

“Shall we leave at eleven?” I felt happy anticipation spiraling all the way to my toes.

“I’ll be ready.”

* * *

We biked on the greenway to the Museum of Art and followed it past the buildings as it wound through their outdoor garden of artwork. We continued up a hill and down into a valley, swallowed by a lovely forest. Once we crested the next hill, we left the pavement and locked our bikes.

Mark carried the basket with one hand and clasped mine with the other. We found the perfect spot high on the ridge, cool and fragrant with pine. Glimpses of the museum’s manicured grounds stretched below us.

“I think it’s great you’re wearing pants.”