A Shiver of Wonder (10 page)

“How did you know you’d see me today?”

Her head tilted. “How do you mean?”

“You whispered to me on Friday that you’d
see me today. Maybe. Just before you left with Mrs. Rushen.”

This time it was Clair’s eyes that
constricted as she thought about the question. “Don’t I usually see
you on Sundays?”

“Sometimes. Not always.”

“I said ‘maybe,’ though. Maybe I was just
hoping to see you today. I like talking with you, David. You know
that.”

David was learning nothing here. If there
was anything to learn, that is. “How about Genevieve’s name?” he
said quietly. “When we first met. You’ve never told me where you
heard it. How you knew it was pronounced that way.”

Her feet slowed and then stopped. After the
constant motion of the past few minutes, it was almost
disconcerting to David. “Why do you want to know?” she asked. She
appeared confused. “That was so long ago.”

And for a girl her age, it probably
would
have seemed like years ago, he realized.

Johnson cantered by on his way to his
favorite peeing spot, and both David and Clair followed his
progress: surveying the ground, lifting his leg, checking
afterwards to ensure that he’d marked his territory properly. He
glanced around briefly, spotted another insect, and was off
again.

“You would like Mrs. Jenkins,” Clair
stated.

His eyes returned to her. “Would I?”

“She’s nice, like you. She’s lost things,
too.”

“See?” David sat up. “That’s what I mean!
How do you
know
I’ve lost things? And Mrs. Jenkins – how do
you know that about her?”

Clair’s gaze was steady. “Am I wrong,
David?”

“No! But how do you… It’s the way you say
these things, Clair, with such confidence.
Yes,
I’ve lost
things. But… I don’t know how you know this.”

“Mrs. Jenkins says that everybody loses
things they care about. Parents, or friends, or jobs, or pets. She
says that time takes away everything, but that the pain goes away
with time, too. She read us a poem about it.”

“That seems like an odd subject for a first
grade class.”

“Wally Smith’s grandfather was in that
accident in March. The bad one, out on the state highway.”

“Oh. Yeah, I read about it. Okay, that gives
it a better perspective.”

Clair brightened. “See? That’s the same word
Mrs. Jenkins used. And she didn’t even make us spell it.” She rose
from her bench and approached David. Her hair lifted slightly in
the breeze.

And then her hand reached out to take hold
of his. It was warm, shockingly warm. “You will know yourself,
David,” she said. “One day. Soon.”

That was it. Her hand had been retracted as
soon as the last word was spoken. But for those few seconds, David
had been mesmerized, utterly under the spell of this odd child who
spoke so simply and yet with such wisdom, if wisdom was what this
was called.

“Wha – ” he began to say.

But Clair had leaned forward to whisper into
his ear. “
Now
are you going to tell me Genevieve’s last
name?” she asked.

“No,” David replied in a gentle voice. “But
I’ll trade you. Your last name for hers. An even swap. I’ve given
up on guessing the first letter; I can’t even remember which ones
I’ve tried.”

Clair had stepped back as he spoke. Her
smile had returned, and she was shaking her head slowly. “I have to
go now,” she announced. “I’ll see you again. Soon.”

“Don’t you know which day? Perhaps the
time?”

Her smile widened. “Maybe I do. But maybe
not. I don’t know everything, David.”

“But you know some things.” He scrutinized
her countenance for clues, for a hint to
anything
that could
explain this.

“I know I like you. Not many people deserve
to be liked.”

David had been aware of that latter
sentiment for quite some time now.

Clair had begun moving backwards toward the
gate. “Goodbye,” she said tenderly.

And then she reached up to open the latch,
pulled the gate toward her, and departed the courtyard.

It wasn’t until their fourth date that
Genevieve began to open herself up to David. The first three times
they’d gone out had been cautious forays for both of them: feeling
their way, trying not to delve too deeply into the past, attempting
not to invest too much hope in the possibility of a future.

One of the many benefits of living in a
small town, as David had discovered, was that to pick up his date,
all he had to navigate were the six and a half blocks between the
Rainbow Arms and Genevieve’s house.

“So how long have you lived here?” he asked
as she closed and locked her front door behind her. Once again,
they were going to stroll to Shady Grove’s business district. This
time, however, no reservation had been made. The vagaries of chance
were being allowed some sway, now that a foundation for their
relationship had been established.

“Most of my life,” she replied. “We moved to
this house when I was five.”

David knew that Genevieve’s parents had
died. He wasn’t sure how far he could probe without hitting a
sinkhole. “What did they do?”

She smiled at him, and he could see sadness
lurking in her eyes. “My father was a cabinetmaker. A craftsman. He
had his own business in town, right at the corner of Willow and
Sixth. He built the glass-fronted cabinets and shelves in the
dining room that you were admiring a few minutes ago.” Her hand
rose to ensure that her hair, done up in a bun again, was still
perfectly in place. “My mother was a housewife. She could have been
anything – she spoke three languages, and had degrees in both
Mathematics and Applied Sciences – but she wanted to be there as I
grew up. She wanted to raise me herself.”

They turned onto Fifth Street, heading
toward Gum Avenue. “She did all right,” David said sincerely. “With
you, I mean. You… turned out pretty amazingly.”

She didn’t glance over at him, though, and
he wondered if it was his poorly worded compliment, or if the
subject just needed to be changed.

Genevieve continued to look directly ahead
of them. “I don’t know if I turned out the way they’d hoped. French
mother, Scottish father, each well-educated and well-read. I wanted
to be like both of them. Funny and creative like him, exacting yet
happy like she was. I certainly got the creative and the exacting,
but funny I’m not. And happiness? Well, it’s been elusive. But
perhaps it’s that way for everyone.”

David almost guffawed, thinking of his own
recent failures at being happy. But he didn’t. “They had a good
marriage?” he asked instead.

She nodded. “Yes. They fought occasionally,
tremendous, ear-bending fights that had me running to hide in my
bed, but they loved each other. A lot. They were good for each
other, they… I’m glad they died together. That’s a horrible thing
to say, I know, but I’ve had many years to think about it, and I
don’t believe that either one of them would have enjoyed living
without the other.”

“But wouldn’t they – ” Her hand had jerked
up, and David halted in mid-question.

“Wouldn’t whichever one that survived have
me? Yes. But I wouldn’t have been enough, for either of them.
That’s what I meant when I said I don’t know if I was entirely the
daughter they’d wanted. For my mother, I was too independent, too…
No, that’s not even the right word, it implies that I roamed free.
I just didn’t
need
her enough once I hit a certain age, say
eleven or so. And she loved it best when I needed her. And as for
my father? I know that he loved me more than anyone in the world
outside of my mother, but I never could have replaced her. Ever.
When I was in high school, I would sometimes catch him looking at
me with this touch of disappointment. I don’t think it was anything
I said or did, or the person I was becoming. Only now, nearly
fifteen years later, can I understand what that most likely was: he
couldn’t comprehend why I wasn’t turning out exactly like her,
which is how I think he saw me as a child, who he
wanted
me
to become. A miniature version of Hélène Beaumont MacGuffie.”

Genevieve stopped walking. She grasped hold
of David’s hand. “Can we not talk about this all night? And yes, I
know that it’s
me
doing all the talking. Please, David?”

And then David did the unthinkable. He took
hold of her and kissed her. Roughly, almost violently. Genevieve
was too shocked to respond at first, but then she did, eagerly,
joining him in a heated embrace that lasted for what felt like
minutes, like hours.

And then he pulled back, slowly. “I… I’m
sorry. About that. I didn’t – ”

“I liked it. A lot.” Her countenance was
flushed. “And it’s about time, too. Fourth date, you know. I was
starting to worry.”

He laughed. “And you say you’re not
funny.”

“I’m not!” She began swinging their hands,
still clasped together. “Let’s go somewhere quick to eat tonight. I
want to have food that’s bad for me, and then walk some more and
talk. Or listen to you talk, about happier subjects. Would that be
okay with you, David?”

This was more than okay with David. And so
they ate at Rocky’s Sandwiches, not the sandwich shop adjacent to
Gâteaupia, but one out in the netherworld between Shady Grove’s
business district and its farmland. Neither one of them saw a soul
they knew.

“Lydia’s certainly become more taken with
you the last couple of weeks,” Genevieve said as they slurped split
pea soup and munched on BLTs with extra bacon.

“Feast or famine,” he replied with a grin.
“And while we’re on the subject of Lydia, what’s with all the
things she keeps saying to me? Screwy cake names that just sound
awful?”

This time it was Genevieve who laughed. “I
told her how you said she made every cake sound incredible. She’s…
oh, tell me one of them! She’s just seeing if she can make the most
terrible cake in the world sound good to you.”

“Yesterday, it was apple dumpling Bundt
fantasy, with a tunnel of peanut butter and Maraschino cherries. A
few days before, it was a gooey molasses-garbanzo bean layer cake,
or something completely insane like that.” David set down his
sandwich, still grinning. “Is she making fun of me?”

Genevieve shook her head, trying not to
burst into the kind of laughter that would draw the attention of
every patron at the diner. “She’s… It’s totally, totally my fault,
but she’s been making hay out of that counter girl thing, too.”

“You told her I said that? Oh!” David’s palm
slapped his forehead. “
That’s
embarrassing!”

She reached forward to place her hand atop
his. “No. Not at all. All of us actually found it hilarious,
especially the fact that you didn’t know it was my business. I
think… it helped. With how they feel, I mean. The girls might be a
little scared of me sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” David smirked. “You’re a
one-woman phenomenon, creating fantastical cakes out of the air and
running the business besides. I’d be scared of you, too!”

Her fingers tightened on his hand.
“
Are
you scared of me, David?”

He thought about it, and then moved his head
from side to side. “No. Yes.” And then he rolled his eyes. “Okay,
maybe a little. But just a little.”

Genevieve’s eyes, though, were twinkling.
“You shouldn’t be. I’m… far from perfect. And you should have tried
some of the five thousand cakes I attempted that
didn’t
make
the store’s lineup.”

“I would have loved to. I bet not one of
them was a total clunker.”

Her hand returned to her side of the table.
“Oh, a few of them were. Some tasted good, looked bad. Others
tasted bad, looked good. The best ones I worried, worried, and
worried over until they were just right.”

“Let me build you a website.”

“Huh? Why?”

“It’s what I do. I won’t charge you for it,
even if…” He motioned briskly between the two of them. “…even if
this doesn’t work out.”

“But... why would you do that? And what
could a website do for Gâteaupia? We’re pretty well-established in
Shady Grove.”

David sat back in his chair. “A website
could garner you business from all the towns within a hundred
miles, further even. Trust me, no one in the
state
can do
what you do! And just to be fair, I
will
charge you for it.
My price will be cake. Lots of cake. Any time I want a piece.”

Genevieve appeared disconcerted. “It’s not
worth it. That’s hundreds of hours of your time, most likely. In
exchange for something that I would probably offer you for free,
anyway.”

“Not if we break up. You wouldn’t give me
free cake if we broke up.”

“But we’re not even together!”

“Then what was that back on the street
there?”

“I welcome
all
newcomers to Shady
Grove like that!”

“Then I want to be welcomed again. I enjoyed
being welcomed to your town like that.”

“I’ll see what I can manage after dinner.
Eat up, your soup is getting cold.”

It was a special evening for both David and
Genevieve, ripe with banter and affection, underlined with a
burgeoning sexual tension. By the conclusion of their meal, her
hair had started to slip out of its tightly wound bun, and David
had begun to see her as far less forbidding than he had before.

They strolled hand-in-hand down Willow
toward the public square. She pointed out the building where her
father’s woodworking shop had been, and David showed her the auto
repair business where Grandpa Wilcott had worked for most of his
adult life.

“He and my Grandma got married right down
there. In the Episcopal Church just past the library.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful inside. Have you seen
it?”

“No, I’ve never been in.”