Authors: Rosemary Fifield
Connie
took the opportunity to check out the muscled curve of his back and the thick chestnut
hair curling softly over his collar. Was he fishing for information by making
that remark about a boyfriend? What should she say? Tell him the truth or leave
him wondering?
“How
was your day?” he asked as he sat upright once more. “How was genetics?”
Connie
turned the key in the ignition, then put the car in gear and backed out of the
parking space, keeping her attention on the rear view mirror. “Okay. Looking at
eye color in
Drosophila
has its limitations. Did your headache finally
go away?”
“Yeah,
around noon. I’m just hoping it’s not mono. My girlfriend has the same
thing—tired and a headache.”
Connie
nodded as she shifted into first and drove the car out of the lot onto the
street. Her questions had just been answered.
“I
hope you don’t get it,” he said.
“I
think you get a sore throat and a fever with mono. At least, that’s what I’ve
heard. Anyway, you’re not at risk of passing it to me. ”
Greg
grinned at her. “I don’t think kissing’s the only way to spread it.”
Connie
kept her eyes on the traffic around them. “No, but you have to share stuff,
like glasses in a dorm. It’s not airborne.”
“One
more reason not to live in a dorm.”
“That
won’t help much if your girlfriend does.”
They
rode silently for a few minutes, and Connie’s thoughts went back to the bouquet
on the seat beside her. How was she going to explain the flowers to her family?
They had no idea Greg was riding with her.
“Does
your boyfriend?” he asked.
Connie
glanced at him. “What?”
“Live
in a dorm?”
Connie
returned her attention to the car in front of her. “No.”
And that’s not even
a lie
.
She
could feel Greg watching her as he said, “You’re not much of a talker, are
you?”
Connie
laughed, remembering David Thomas’s remark about Gianna not being able to get a
word in edgewise. “I can be. Why? What do you want to talk about?”
“You.
If we’re going to ride together, we should probably know something about each
other.”
“Why?”
“Why
not? I’m not asking for family secrets, just conversation. Have you lived in Stoneham
your whole life?”
“Yes.”
“And
you have two sisters. Names?”
“Gianna
and Angie.”
“My
brothers are Garrett and Glenn, and my sister is Georgianne.”
“Lots
of Gs.”
“You
got it. Pets?” he asked.
“Nope.
My dad doesn’t like animals in the house.”
“We
have dogs. Two of them. Black Labs.”
When
Connie didn’t answer, he said, “I’m boring you to tears, aren’t I?”
She
laughed. “No, not at all.”
“Okay,
then I’m going to keep it up. Tell me about your boyfriend.”
Connie
drew a deep breath. She considered using Nino as her cover, with a story about how
he was about to go into the marines. Or maybe Paul Cefalu, whom she’d known
since kindergarten. But while there was little chance that he actually knew
either one of them, they did all live in the same Vermont town.
“I
don’t have one right now. I’m concentrating on school.”
“You’re
kidding, right?”
Connie
glanced at him. “Why do you say that? Some of us actually do care about
school.”
“I
care about school.” He appeared offended. “I meant you’re kidding about not
having a boyfriend.”
“Oh.
Sorry.” She turned back to the road, flustered. “I guess I’m just a little
distracted.”
“By
what?”
“Um,
well, my parents don’t know that we’re riding together, so I‘m … trying to figure
out how to explain the flowers.”
“They
don’t know? Why not?”
Connie
let out a sigh. “Because my mother wanted to meet you first. She’s pretty
old-fashioned.”
“So?”
“I
thought it was a little over the top.”
Greg
shrugged and pursed his lips to show he didn’t care. “I’ll stop in and meet
them today, if you want.”
Connie
raised her eyebrows and gave him a smile. “Really?”
“Yeah.
Why not?” He leaned forward and switched on the radio. Gary Puckett and the
Union Gap were half-way through “Young Girl.”
“Oh,
wow, I love that song,” Connie said.
Greg
snorted. “Girly stuff. Steppenwolf ‘Magic Carpet Ride.’
That’s
a great
song.”
“No
argument. They’re not as good as Creedence Clearwater, though.”
They
talked music for the rest of the trip, arguing good-naturedly about everything
from folk to rock to country. They learned they both liked Joan Baez but
couldn’t agree on Bob Dylan.
“He
writes great songs, but he shouldn’t sing,” Connie said. “He sounds like a duck
with a stomach ache.”
“He
is the new
King
,” Greg countered while Connie made gagging noises, and
they finally had to agree to disagree.
When
they reached the Park and Ride, Greg got into his car and followed Connie home.
Two empty spaces waited at the curb in front of the store, and he parked
directly behind her. Connie glanced at the bouquet on the seat. If he wasn’t
there, she would have left it behind, but now he was waiting for her to leave
her car. She tucked her books and three-ring-binder into her left arm, then
grabbed the bouquet and slid out of the driver’s seat.
No
customers were in sight, and Papa was loading the last of his produce into
cardboard boxes to carry it inside.
“Papa,
I’d like you to meet a friend from college,” Connie said as she and Greg
approached him. Papa, his arms around a box of cucumbers and squash,
straightened up to his full height and raised his chin to meet the taller man
eye to eye. The stance made Connie smile. “This is Greg Fairchild. He lives
here in Stoneham. Greg, my father, Pietro Balestra.”
Greg
nodded to Papa. “It’s nice to meet you, sir. I’d shake your hand, but …” He glanced
at the box of vegetables.
Papa
didn’t smile as he nodded in return. His gaze traveled over Greg’s face then shifted
to Connie’s. “You go out?”
Connie
let out a short, self-conscious laugh. “No, no. We just ride together, but Greg
wanted to meet you.”
Papa
gazed intently into Greg’s eyes, as though trying to read his mind—or, perhaps,
send him a message.
“Well.”
Greg cleared his throat as he glanced at Connie, then lifted his hand in a good-bye
wave, and turned away. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time, same station.” He
hurried to his car.
A
frown creased Papa’s forehead as he watched him leave. “This means?”
“It’s
like on the radio—same time, same place tomorrow.” Connie’s textbooks and
binders slid in her one-armed grip, and she brought her right hand up to
readjust them. Papa’s gaze rested on the bouquet of flowers she had been
holding out of sight.
“They’re
a thank-you,” Connie said. “For giving him a ride.”
Papa
said nothing. He carried his vegetables inside the store’s front door, and
Connie climbed the stairs to the second floor, cursing Greg’s flowers as she
went. Angie waited at the kitchen door, an impish grin on her face, her eyes
dancing with fun. “Who’s the hunky guy? With flowers and everything!”
“Cool
your jets. He’s just a friend. What were you doing—spying out the window?”
Connie crossed the room to lay the flowers in the sink. As she had suspected,
they were going to be more trouble than they were worth.
Angie
followed close behind her. “You’re darn right! What’s his name?”
“Oscar
Himmelshmitt.”
Angie
hooted. “You liar! Plus he drives a red Mustang! I mean, really, Connie, could
it get any better?”
Gianna
came into the room with a white bath towel wrapped around her head and a frown on
her face. “What’s she talking about?”
“Nothing.”
Connie looked around the kitchen, then peered into the dining room. “Where’s
Mamma?”
“Downstairs,
closing up the store. Who drives a red Mustang?”
Connie
put her hands over her ears and let out a wail. “Stop! He’s the guy I ride to
school with! He’s nobody!”
“That’s
the guy? What took you so long?” Angie wasn’t ready to stop. “He’s really
cute—no, handsome. He’s handsome. Better than cute.”
Connie
rolled her eyes. “He’s taken. So, let it go, okay? I’m starving. What’s for
supper?” She bent to rummage through the collection of glass jars below the
sink, looking for one deep enough to hold the flowers.
“
Coniglio
e funghi
,” Gianna answered, her voice indicating her disgust. She was no
fan of rabbit.
Connie
reached to the back of the storage space, her eye on a half-gallon Ball jar. “Mr.
LaCroix was here again?”
“Unfortunately.
He brought the mushrooms, too.”
Connie
straightened up with the jar in her hands in time to see Angie turn away from
Gianna. A look of anger darkened the girl’s previously jovial expression, but,
in typical Angie style, she kept her thoughts to herself.
Connie
was about to speak up in support of Mr. LaCroix’s generosity when Mamma called
from outside for someone to open the kitchen door. Angie went to help her
mother bring in the laundry, and Gianna went down the hall to finish drying her
hair. Connie filled the glass jar with water and dropped the flowers into it,
taking a moment to fluff them out before carrying them into the dining room and
setting them on the sideboard for everyone to enjoy.
Chapter Eight
Thursday,
September 19
Connie
arrived at the Park and Ride the following morning to find Greg’s red Mustang
already there. He stood outside, leaning against his car’s passenger door,
waiting to open it and let her in.
She
sank down onto the low, cushy bucket seat with a satisfied grin and looked
around the interior with delight. But when he settled next to her in the
driver’s seat, their shoulders were practically touching, making the car feel
disturbingly small and intimate compared to the vastness of her Plymouth
station wagon. An uncomfortable tightness gripped her insides when he turned
toward her, his face so close, she felt compelled to look away.
“Are
you okay?” His hand was poised at the ignition as he watched her.
“I’m
fine.” She gave him a glancing smile, then concentrated on straightening the
pile of books and notebooks on her lap. Her red miniskirt had ridden well up
her thighs, but the books helped to cover what suddenly felt like an
inappropriate amount of exposed skin.
His
gaze shifted from her face to her thighs to her white knee-high go-gos. “Cool
boots.”
“Thanks.”
He
started the car, then paused with his hand on the floor shift beside her leg. “You’re
sure you’re all right?”
Connie
forced herself to look into his eyes just inches from her own. Striations of
dark blue marked the light gray irises, and the blackness of his pupils drew
her in as their eyes met.
“I’m
sure.” She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
He
put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space, and Connie turned to
look out the side window.
“Tomorrow
I won’t be riding with you,” he said. “I’m staying over with friends.”
Connie
kept her face to the window as the tightness of her insides increased. The
sensation surprised her. Why should she care what he did? “Okay.”
“You
doing anything special this weekend?”
She
turned toward the windshield to watch the traffic on Forest Avenue, focusing on
the line of cars ahead of them. “Two of my friends are going into the marines,
so there’s a going-away party.”
“Bummer.”
He glanced at her. “Good friends?”
“Uh-huh.
We went to school together since kindergarten. Our families are friends.”
Connie bit her lower lip at the reminder of how imminent Nino’s departure was.
“Boyfriend?”
“Sort
of. For a while. Not anymore.”
They
rode in silence for several minutes until Connie said, “Do you worry about
getting drafted? After you graduate?”
Greg’s
voice was brusque. “I’m 4-F.”
“Oh.
How come?” She realized the impropriety of her words the moment she uttered
them and immediately put her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my
business.” Even so, she was surprised to find herself concerned, as well as
curious, about the state of his health.
“Heart
murmur.”
A
rush of relief replaced her concern. “Ah. Well, maybe that’s not so bad
compared to being drafted.”
“It’s
not going to feel that way if my friends go.”
Somehow,
she doubted that his friends would be at risk. All they had to do was remain in
college. “What are the chances of that?”
“I
don’t know. A couple of them might go to grad school just to keep their deferments,
but one’s ROTC. He’ll go on active duty for sure.”
Connie
cleared her throat and kept her eyes on the road ahead. “Your girlfriend must
be relieved.”
Greg
didn’t answer. When she turned to look at him, his face was without expression.
“I’m sorry. That’s really none of my business either.”
Would she ever figure
out when to keep her mouth shut?
“We’ve
actually never talked about it.” He sounded annoyed, as though he were
admitting a lack of concern on his girlfriend’s part.
“Well,
she knows you have a student deferment.”
Greg
glanced at her. “Not like your friends, huh?”
Connie
didn’t resent him for his status, if that’s what he meant. But she did resent
his inference that Nino and Frankie were victims to be pitied. “They chose
their path,” she said.
“Did
they? Some people might say they never had a choice.”
“Why?
Because they’re not rich?” Connie frowned at him. “My family’s not rich—obviously.
But I’m the second one going to college.”
“I’m
just saying that not everybody has the means, whether it’s financial or
something else.”
“Like
brains?” She knew she was being defensive, but she didn’t care.
“No,
more like circumstances. My mother says a lot of families believe the kids
should go to work and help out as soon as possible. Going to college isn’t even
an option. Some don’t even let the kids finish high school.”
“My
friends finished high school.”
Greg
glanced at her, then looked away, pursing his lips in irritation. “My mistake. Let’s
talk about something else.”
Connie
sighed and turned toward the passenger side window. Why did they always seem to
be at odds with each other? She felt as though they had a natural tendency to
push each other’s buttons without even trying. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a
little uptight about the whole thing.”
“No
problem.” His words came out clipped and angry.
Connie
watched the browning foliage go by. The leaves were beginning to thin, exposing
more and more of the stark tree skeletons that would be the norm for months to
come. Before long, the rawness of November would be upon them, and another long
Vermont winter would begin. The thought of navigating snow storms alone
depressed her, and she realized the last thing she wanted to do was alienate Greg.
“No, it
is
a problem, and I’m sorry. You were just trying to be sympathetic,
and I took it in a different direction. I didn’t mean to do that.” Connie
sighed in frustration with herself. “Actually, I do that a lot. To lots of
people, not just you.”
“At
least you’re real.”
Connie
turned to look at him. He was staring out at the road ahead of them, his brow
furrowed and his jaw tight. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning
you say what’s on your mind. You don’t mess around.”
She
let out a derisive laugh. “Ha! That’s not always a plus.”
“Maybe
not. But at least a person knows where they stand with you. You’re upfront
about it.”
“I
guess.”
“Candy’s
not like that.”
That
made no sense to her. “Say what?”
“Candy
Wellbourne. My girlfriend.”
“Oh.”
Connie smiled to herself. She couldn’t imagine being called Candy.
“You
can count on her to say the right thing,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean she
means it.”
“I
see. Maybe she’s just more well-bred than I am.”
Greg
glanced at her, a small smile playing about his lips. “Or maybe she’s got a
stick up her butt.”
Connie
widened her eyes in feigned shock. “What a mean thing to say about your
girlfriend.”
Greg’s
eyes moved from her face to her legs before he turned back to watch the road. Connie
glanced down at her bare thighs. A wave of intense heat traveled up from her
chest to her cheeks. She’d have to be more careful around him.
A
Nixon for President sign stabbed into the ground beside the road started them
talking about the upcoming presidential election. To neither one’s surprise,
they occupied opposite ends of the political spectrum, he being an ardent
Republican while she was a faithful Democrat, and they soon dropped the
subject.
They
were almost to the outskirts of Burlington when he said, “What night is your
friends’ going-away party?”
“Saturday.
Why?”
“Oh…
a couple I know like to have different people over on Saturday nights and…” He
shrugged dismissively. “If you were free, I was going to ask if you wanted to go.
I think you’d like them. They’re a little out there. But cool.”
Connie
smiled. “Out there?”
“Sort
of hippy. You know, psychedelic posters and black lights and—“
“Pot?”
“Maybe.”
Just
as she had suspected. “And how do I fit in? I mean, with Candy and all?”
“Well,
these parties aren’t exactly her thing. Plus, it’s just.. you know… kind of a
big open deal. People bring people.”
“Not
a date, you mean.”
Greg
glanced at her. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
Connie
nodded. “I see. Well, I wish I could say yes. But not this time. Maybe another
time?”
“Yeah,
maybe another time.”
Connie
stared out the side window. Was that testosterone talking to her bare thighs,
or was he actually interested in being with her? Did he see her as someone he
might care about, or did he think a pot party with Connie might gain him a
little action he couldn’t get from his stick-up-her-butt girlfriend? If it was
the latter, he was underestimating Connie’s Catholic upbringing. And overestimating
her interest in him.
***
The
basement of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Church was alive with balloons, banners, and
decorations in honor of Nino and Frankie. Long church tables covered with red
and white checked tablecloths sat end to end in multiple rows, each laden with
sturdy white china, mismatched glasses, and carefully laid out silverware and
cloth napkins. Three generations of women from the Scarpa and Fiorello families
moved from table to table, setting down baskets of Italian bread and rolls,
bowls of grated Romano cheese, and large containers of tossed salad to be
served family-style.
Familiar
faces dominated the noisy crowd already gathered in small groups around the
hall when Connie and her family arrived; most of the invitees were families
from Stoneham’s Italian north end. Cousin Tony’s band was setting up on the small
stage at the far end of the room, testing their mikes and tuning up their
instruments.
Connie
followed her parents and sisters to a table near the middle of the room. Nonna
and The Aunts, plus their next-door neighbors, Gaetano and Nina Cefalu, were
already seated and had saved five chairs for them.
Connie
draped her coat over the back of a chair and leaned toward Gianna who was
claiming the chair beside hers. “You should have invited David.”
Gianna
gave her a prim smile. “You should have invited Red Mustang.”
“I
don’t go out with Red Mustang.”
“So?
Aren’t you all about women’s lib and stuff? Ask him first.”
“What
makes you think I want to?”
“Gimme
a break.”
Connie
smiled at her. “You
do
go out with David. So why didn’t you invite him?”
“Because
he wouldn’t know anybody.”
“And
how is that going to change by leaving him out?”
Gianna
cocked her head to one side, and Connie noted with satisfaction how the
flattering swing of her sister’s new haircut softened her otherwise stern
expression. Now, if she would only ditch the horn-rimmed glasses for something
more becoming.
Gianna’s
dark eyes drilled into hers. “You know why he’s not here.”
“
Concetta!
Cara mia!
” Maria Elena Scarpa set a basket of bread on the end of their
table, then hurried up to Connie with her bony hands outstretched and a smile
on her small brown face. Arthritic fingers came up to pinch Connie’s cheeks in
a traditional greeting that only members of Nonna’s generation used anymore. “I
haven’t seen you for so long!” the old woman said in Italian. “Ah, if only you
were here as the sweetheart. But then, my Nino wouldn’t be going away.”
Angie
stood behind
Signora
Scarpa, rolling her eyes.
Connie
shifted her attention back to Nino’s grandmother before Angie could make her
laugh. “It’s nice to see you, Nonna. You look good. How’s your health?”