Journey, The (22 page)

"Not to my knowledge. But then I'm a Jennings by marriage. I was raised a Jones."

Michelle glanced at Robert and saw a puzzled look on his face. She realized that he had just learned something new about his fiancée.

Add Jones to the resume.

"The reason I ask is that I'm a principal at one of the middle schools there and work with a teacher named Bart Jennings. He's in his forties. I thought he might be a brother or a cousin."

"Bellevue's a big town, Jerry. There are a lot of folks named Jennings and Jones."

"Indeed there are," he said. "Did you like living there?"

"I did," Michelle said, wishing she could change the subject to Olympic hockey. "I liked it a lot. But the city's not what it used to be. Seattle has gobbled it up."

"That's what I say," Janet said. "I keep telling Jerry that I want to move to a small town when he retires. I admire what you did. That takes guts."

Michelle looked at the fortyish woman with the bottle blonde hair, chandelier earrings, and overdone skin and smiled. She liked Janet Nelson. Better yet, she liked where she was steering the conversation.

"Thank you. It was a little scary at first, but I've adapted. I really like my job at the school, and I've grown quite attached to the faculty."

Robert chuckled.

"Did you go to high school in Bellevue?" Jerry asked.

No, you nosey man, I went to school in Kazakhstan. Look
that
up.

"I did."

"Which school?"

"East Shore," she said. "Class of 1949. Go, Eagles."

Jerry laughed.

"Yeah, go Eagles. They still mop up in football. Our kids went to Meadowbrook."

"Meadowbrook is a good school too."

"Forty-nine, huh? I graduated in forty-eight. You're still a spring chicken."

Michelle smiled.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Jerry."

Jerry raised his glass in a toast.

"To spring chickens!"

Four glasses clinked.

The waiter returned to the table just as Michelle finished her wine. He began to explain the options for dessert but stopped when a college-age man burst into the dining area and walked briskly in his direction. The waiter stepped aside to let the newcomer pass and join another man at a nearby table.

"Sorry I'm late," the man said to his acquaintance. "I stayed in the car to hear the news."

"News? News about what?"

"The hockey game, doofus. We won, four to three. We actually beat the Russians."

CHAPTER 41: SHELLY

Saturday, February 23, 1980

Shelly Preston noticed several things from the curved wooden bench that accommodated bowlers in lanes seven and eight. The first was that it was noisier in the pits than up in the lobby. From her usual perch at the front desk, she could not hear the shouts and the screams that accompanied the toppling of colored pins on Monte Carlo night. She noticed as well that people at Holiday Lanes really let themselves go. They cheered, they cried, they swore. They took gutter balls personally. Bowling was not a leisure activity; it was an emotional release.

She usually saw the retail side of bowling. In her job as a desk clerk, she handled cash, distributed funny looking shoes, and restarted the arcade machines when obnoxious grade school boys turned them off. She also filled in for the concessionaires on their breaks and occasionally picked up garbage in the lobby. But she rarely participated in the very thing that brought people of all ages to the large, nondescript building on the west end of town.

"Having a good time?" Nick Bender asked.

"I'm having a great time. I'm glad I came tonight."

Nick flashed Shelly a "see, I told you so" grin before picking up a hideous-looking green bowling ball and stepping onto the approach. He lined his feet against square markers on the hardwood floor and threw a strike, which prompted yet another grin.

Shelly considered his smug reaction a little over the top, but she didn't hold it against him. Nick had been a surprisingly thoughtful and entertaining date. He had allowed her to be herself and truly relax for the first time in weeks, maybe even months. Whatever resulted from this friendly evening, one thing was clear: Nick Bender had earned the benefit of the doubt.

When Nick returned to the bench, he settled in and threw an arm around his friendly date. Dressed in Levis and a crisp Oxford button-down, he wasn't quite as dashing as the boy with the loosened tie on Retake Day, but he was a vast improvement over the scraggly-haired youth who had turned motorcycle jackets into high fashion.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"I'm thinking about the last time I let you put an arm around me."

"You mean when you drove my car?"

"No. I mean when we dated in the ninth grade. That seems like a long time ago."

"It
was
a long time ago."

They scooted down the bench a few feet to accommodate another couple. They were done bowling for the night but not done talking.

"Do you ever wish you could go back and do high school over?"

"You mean as in retake every class that I barely passed the first time? No, thank you. I am more than content to grab my diploma in May and never give school another thought."

"You're not going to college?"

"I'm going to try to get certified in automotive engineering. UCC has a two-year program that should help me find a job in Portland. That's where I want to go."

"Why not stay here?"

"What's here besides grocery stores, two theaters, and this place?"

"There's more here than that, Nick. Don't be silly."

"You're one to talk. You're leaving this town for the big city. Something tells me you won't be back when you do."

"I'm not sure I'm going anywhere right now, at least not to Yale or New York. I'm still about twenty thousand dollars short of the good life. You'll see me again. I'll be the girl who comes home from Eugene every other weekend because I miss my mom's cooking."

Shelly smiled and laughed to herself. Yes, she was throwing a pity party. She had already milked the sympathy vote several times since Valentine's Day with family and friends. If she couldn't be known as the girl who went to Yale, she wanted to be remembered as the girl who
could
have gone to Yale. Maybe that's all she was meant to be. She knew that a girl who struggled with story problems had no business walking the halls of the Ivy League. She knew, too, that she was more attached to her Popsicle stand of a hometown than she would ever freely admit. She was getting used to the idea of settling and sadly no longer found it disturbing.

"At least you have a mom who knows how to cook. Mine puts TV dinners on the table three nights a week," Nick said. He looked away for a moment as a kid with a box of popcorn walked by. "Speaking of food, do you want something to eat?"

"Yeah, I do. But let me get it. The wage slaves here get free concessions, even when we're not working. It's a serious perk," Shelly said, eyes rolling. "What do you want?"

"Get me a Coke and a hot dog. I want a good one too, like the one that's been riding the rotisserie since Thursday."

Shelly smiled and shook her head.

"I'll see what I can do."

She stepped out of the pit and walked past racks of bowling balls to an opening and a few steps that led to the carpeted lobby. When she reached the public area, she maneuvered through a small crowd, turned right toward the concession stand, and ran headlong into an unsmiling Scott Richardson.

"Your mom said I could find you here."

Shelly ignored the comment.

"I thought you were at the science competition."

"I was. We got back early. What are you doing here? More to the point, what are you doing here with Bender?"

"We're bowling, Scott. What does it look like?"

"Is that why he had his arm around you?"

Shelly immediately realized she had a decision to make. She could walk past Scott to the concession stand and save their differences for another day or she could argue with him all night. She studied the not-so-uninterested faces of several schoolmates at nearby tables and decided that this was neither the time nor the place for another domestic dispute.

"I don't want to talk about this. Not now. Excuse me."

She stepped toward the concessions but didn't get far. Scott grabbed her arm as she walked by and yanked her back toward him.

"I'm not done, Shelly. I want to know what you're doing. Is this a date?"

"Yes. It's a bowling date. Now, let me go."

"What's the problem?" Nick asked as he approached the scene.

"It's none of your business, Bender."

Nick walked past Scott to Shelly and stood behind her. More than a dozen others gathered nearby in apparent anticipation of a coming storm.

"It's very much my business. She came with me and obviously doesn't want to be with you. I'd say it's time for you to get lost."

"Nick," Shelly said, "you're not helping."

"I asked you a question, Shelly. Tell me what's going on."

"I don't have to tell you a thing, Scott. I'm not your property."

"Let's go, Shelly," Nick said, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Get your hands off her, Bender, or I'll kick your ass right now."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Scott, that's enough! I think you should go. We'll talk about this later."

"No, Shelly, I think we should talk about it now."

Shelly tried to contain her growing anger. She glanced at more than twenty others who had decided that a Saturday night soap opera beat Monte Carlo bowling. This exchange was spinning out of control. She grabbed Nick's hand and glared at Scott.

"We're leaving now. Let's go, Nick."

"Don't do this, Shelly. You're making a big mistake."

"The only mistake I made was letting you control my life."

Scott shook off a couple of friends who tried to pull him away. With a crimson face and focused eyes, the six-foot, 190-pound quarterback fired back at the petite gymnast who stood her ground.

"So this is it, huh? You want to dump me for some scum who drives a fast car."

"Scum? Scum? He's twice the man you are, Scott Richardson," Shelly said.

She released Nick's hand, took a few steps forward, and got into Scott's face.

"You know what else, big guy? He's a better
lay
too."

She poked a finger in his chest.

"How do you like them apples?"

CHAPTER 42: MICHELLE

Monday, March 10, 1980

The self-appointed mother hen looked at her chicks and smiled. The girls gave new meaning to the words enthusiastic and helpful. Then again, who wouldn't be enthusiastic and helpful if asked to turn the kitchen of a studio apartment into Hershey, Pennsylvania?

Michelle pulled a small cake from her oven and carefully carried it past her assistants to the dining area. She placed it on a table next to three dozen cookies and two pans of brownies, treats intended for a school fundraiser.

"I have to tell you, Miss Jennings, that this is an idea whose time has come. Chocolate Night definitely works for me," April Burke said as she licked frosting off a rubber spatula.

Michelle laughed.

"I thought it would."

"She's just trying to make us fat so that boys won't look at us again," Shelly said.

Shelly smiled and gave her host a sidelong glance as she stirred a bowl of batter.

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Michelle asked.

Michelle chose her words carefully. She had heard about a big blowup at the bowling alley and heard from Shelly herself that she was dating Nick Bender, but she didn't know whether Shelly was happy with that change or whether her rift with Scott Richardson was permanent.

"Not now it wouldn't."

"Things aren't going well with Nick?"

Shelly sighed.

"They're going OK, but he's already pressuring me to have sex. We've gone on five dates. Five dates! If that's what boys think of me, I might as well put a red light in my window."

Michelle and April laughed.

"Why would Nick think you're ready for sex?" Michelle asked. "You just started dating."

Shelly turned red.

"Because I told a million people that he was a good lay."

"Shelly!"

"I know, I know. It was stupid. But I was angry with Scott when he came to the bowling alley, insanely angry. He was a jerk. I wanted to stick a fork in him and add some ketchup."

"Did you know about this?" Michelle asked April.

"I most certainly did," April said as she worked on another spatula. "Of course, everyone in town knows now. Irene wasn't very diplomatic, but I have to give her style points. If you're going to break up with the most popular guy in school, that's the way to do it."

"Have you talked to Scott at all since that night?" Michelle asked Shelly.

"No, I have not, and no, I will not."

Michelle paused to digest all that she had heard. Shelly had broken up with Scott in a way that left little chance for reconciliation. It was one thing to dump a guy. It was another to humiliate him publicly. The two were done. They would not finish the year as a couple and almost certainly would never marry. They were headed down different roads. Was that a good thing? Michelle did not know, but she guessed that it probably was.

"So where do things stand between you and Nick?"

"I don't know," Shelly said. "I still like him. He treats me a lot better than Scott, but I'm not sure I want to get into another serious relationship. Why can't guys just like us as friends?"

"Because they're boys," April said, "and boys, like most primitive creatures found in the wild, have one-track minds. They won't keep their hands off of us unless we tell them that it's the wrong time of the month. Then they never call us again."

"Are you talking about Tony?" Michelle asked.

"I'm talking about Tony. He's said only a few words to me since we fooled around in the parking lot. He wanted more and I wasn't ready to give him more. Now, he's moved on to Janice Perry. From what I hear, she's a very giving person."