In the Unlikely Event (11 page)

Christina needed another Midol. She needed to get to the ladies’ room to change her pads.

Daisy

Daisy had three thoughts on the train coming back from New York.

One:
She could see plain as day that to Christina, the holiday outing was a chore, something to get through without appearing to be suffering. She understood her discomfort around the Osner family. What did Christina have in common with any of them? She and Steve might be the same age, but they’d never gone to school
together and didn’t share the same friends. And to Christina, Natalie was a child. She didn’t seem smitten by little Fern, either, though personally, Daisy found Fern irresistible.

But she appreciated the effort Christina was making, going overboard in telling Corinne and Dr. O how much she’d enjoyed the movie, how Doris Day was her all-time favorite movie star, how the songs in the movie were so beautiful she’d be humming them in the shower for years to come. When she compared the ice cream at Hanson’s to the homemade ice cream at Schutt’s in Elizabeth, Daisy put an arm around her shoulder to gently shut her up.

In all her years with Dr. O, Daisy had never allowed herself to grow emotionally attached to the young assistants who came and went, working a few years before marrying, having babies, then sending pictures of their growing families every Christmas. But she had to admit, she felt maternal toward Christina. She could not imagine having a better daughter. Kind, loyal, bright, hardworking. She had to hand it to her parents for raising such a fine young lady. She knew Christina’s father from his restaurant. Most days she’d go down to Three Brothers to get Dr. O a sandwich and coffee for lunch. He’d eat in his tiny lab, sitting on a high stool, thumbing through the lastest issue of
Esquire
or one of the other magazines he subscribed to. She brought her lunch from home and ate at her desk, between patients.

Recently, Dr. O had asked her about Christina’s boyfriend. She told him Jack McKittrick struck her as a fine young man, an electrician with a good future. He was responsible and mature for his years.

“But they’re so young,” Dr. O had said.

That was certainly true. Christina just turning eighteen, Jack, what, maybe twenty-one? Daisy liked Jack. She sensed something different about him. And she liked the way he’d treated Christina the few times she’d seen them together.

Daisy so wanted the younger generation to enjoy themselves today, for Dr. O’s sake. The annual holiday outing was his idea, and because it was important to him, Daisy did her best to organize the
events and tickets. Dr. O needed a good day right now, a day to celebrate life and family and friends, a day without death.
So follow Christina’s example, kids, and show some enthusiasm!

Two:
She should be pleased Steve was reading
The Catcher in the Rye
, and she would be if she hadn’t selected the same title for his Hanukkah gift, wrapped and waiting in her car. She’d planned to hand the bag with their holiday books to Corinne when they said goodbye at the train station in Elizabeth, so Corinne could put them under the Hanukkah bush. Steve could take it back to the bookshop and exchange it for another book, not that there was another as perfect for him as
Catcher
. She wondered who had given it to him, or had he taken it out of the library? If so, she should be doubly pleased. But she wasn’t.

Three:
She needed a stiff drink, the sooner, the better.

Christina

When they got back to Elizabeth, Daisy offered Christina a ride home from the train station. It was already dark and Christina was grateful she wouldn’t have to take the bus. When Daisy dropped Christina off at her house, she handed her a wrapped gift. “You might not want to put this one under the tree. It could be too personal.”

Christina thanked Daisy and tucked it under her coat. As soon as she was safely in her room, with her back to the door, she ripped the paper off Daisy’s gift. No surprise that it was a book. Daisy bought all her gifts at the Ritz Book Shop, just up the street from the office. Christina didn’t know anyone who bought books the way Daisy did. Once, Christina had asked Daisy why she didn’t use the public library. Daisy said, “Oh, but I do. The bookshop is for books I just have to own.” Daisy didn’t buy just any book. She gave a lot of thought to each of them. Christina had never heard of this one,
Love Without Fear
. Daisy’s note said,

Dearest Christina,

I wish someone had given me this book when I was your age. I had so many questions but I was too afraid to ask them.
Merry Christmas to a special young woman. It’s a pleasure to work with you.

Daisy

There was also a small separate package with a key to the office in a purple leather key holder. Her own key to the office. That meant they trusted her. It meant they thought she was mature enough to handle emergencies and to lock up after hours if she was last to leave. The key meant more than the book. Until she looked at the book. The book shocked her. And it made her wet down there. She’d have to keep it hidden under her mattress and read it only at night before she went to sleep.

She would write a friendly thank-you note to Daisy, making a big deal out of the key and a smaller deal out of the book.

Elizabeth Daily Post

LITTLE THINGS SAY A LOT

By Henry Ammerman

DEC. 21—When Elizabeth firemen hacked their way through the underbelly of the wrecked C-46, they piled the shoes, gloves, eyeglasses and other salvage into boxes that were carried into the Elizabethtown Water Company’s garage.

The items revealed stories that for a moment made the victims seem alive. A set of medical records told of a soldier who had survived the Korean battlefield, only to perish here. A pile of press clippings and photographs of a man described as a “212-pound Brooklyn wrestler” reminded us that the strong fall with the weak.

Other pieces of salvage, though anonymous, told their own stories. A pair of high-powered binoculars, the carrying case burned off, would never be used at a Florida racetrack. A child’s twisted bicycle would never be ridden in the warm afternoons. An anticipated Merry Christmas was evidenced by the gay holiday wrapping on a set of men’s pajamas.

“Handle with care” was the admonition scrawled on the remains of a photo album.

If only it could have been.

6

Miri

Was it wrong to go to a holiday dance just a week after something horrible had happened in their town? None of her friends thought
so. They hardly talked about the crash anymore. They wanted to dress up and dance and have a good time. There might be boys from the Weequahic section of Newark at the Y, older boys who wouldn’t necessarily know they were just ninth graders.

Miri wore her favorite dress, red wool with a full skirt and metallic buttons down the front that either were or weren’t made of old coins. Rusty thought they were. Her boss’s wife saved their daughter’s best things for Miri. Miri used to think Rusty bought them at a snazzy shop, Bonwit Teller, because that’s what the labels inside said. But last year Miri met Mrs. Whitten, the boss’s wife, at an office party, and when Mrs. Whitten admired Miri’s dress, Miri jumped at the chance to say it came from Bonwit Teller. Mrs. Whitten said, “Yes, dear, I know. We get almost all of Charlotte’s good clothes at Bonwit’s.”

How embarrassing that until then she’d had no idea Rusty was bringing her hand-me-downs from Charlotte Whitten. What must Mrs. Whitten have thought? But when she’d confronted Rusty about Charlotte’s dresses, expecting, she wasn’t sure what, Rusty said, cheerfully, “I never said I
bought
them, honey.”

“You never said you didn’t.”

“They’re beautiful dresses. What’s the difference if Charlotte wore them half a dozen times?”

So Miri learned to adjust, to be grateful to Charlotte Whitten for being her size, for having good taste, for taking care of her clothes. But she didn’t tell her friends. She wasn’t sure she ever would.

Some of the girls wore Cuban heels to the dance and others wore saddle shoes or ballet flats, but Miri carried Rusty’s black pumps with heels and changed into them in the coatroom at the Y.

“Just don’t get them wet,” Rusty had said, before Miri left the house.

“Don’t worry. I’m not walking outside.”

“Even from the car to the Y, wear your flats.”

“Okay.”

They weren’t Rusty’s best shoes. These were leather and scuffed around the heel, though Rusty kept them polished. Miri was hoping
to attract the attention of the older boys with her heels, and she did, for a minute—until they realized she was just in ninth grade and was friends with Steve Osner’s younger sister.

At first the boys stood around surveying the room. The girls stood around talking to one another and pretending not to notice the boys. Then someone put on the first slow dance of the night—Nat King Cole singing “Unforgettable.” That was the moment Miri would always remember, the moment she thought of as changing her life, because
he
was there, the mystery boy from Natalie’s party, and he was heading her way. When he put his arms around her to dance, she melted into him, praying the song would never end.

Unforgettable, that’s what you are

Unforgettable, though near or far…

But like all songs, it did end, and when it did, he took a step away from her and looked deep into her eyes. His were blue. Miri held her breath. “You’re taller than I remembered,” he said.

“It’s the shoes.”

“Oh, the shoes.” He smiled at her, a smile so disarming she melted on the spot.

She smiled back. “I’m Miri.”

“I know.”

He knew?

“I’m Mason.” His voice was gravelly, as if maybe he had a sore throat.

“Mason.” She tried it out. She’d never known anyone named Mason.

“Mason McKittrick.”

McKittrick
. Miri tried to hide her disappointment. He wasn’t Jewish. Irene wouldn’t approve. Okay, she wouldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t tell anyone. He would be another of her secrets. She was beginning to enjoy having secrets from her family.

While Natalie danced to every song with Winky Herkovitz, the best dancer in ninth grade, who dipped her, flipped her from knee to knee and twirled her, while Suzanne, the shiksa the Jewish boys
loved, danced to every song with a different partner, while Eleanor, who still had braces on her teeth and refused to smile for photos, had a deep conversation with a chaperone, a teacher Uncle Henry’s age and Robo, well developed and athletic, made out in the cloakroom with Pete Wolf, who believed in Martians, Miri danced only with Mason.

After a while he led her outside so he could have a smoke. She’d been right. He did smoke, and his brand was Luckies.
Lucky Strike Means Fine Tobacco
. He offered one to her. She shook her head. She’d tried it once and had almost choked to death. Almost vomited in front of everyone. But she liked the way he held the cigarette between his teeth. When he’d had enough he tossed it to the ground and stepped on it, crushing it like a bug.

He kissed her then, outside the Y in the freezing-cold December night air, with neither of them wearing a coat. Her teeth were chattering but she wasn’t going to suggest they go back inside, not as long as he was holding her that way, not as long as he was kissing her that way and she was kissing him back. They kissed a second time and her legs turned to jelly. She’d heard that expression a million times, but until now she hadn’t understood it. She’d never been kissed by a boy like Mason. No sloppy tongue shoved halfway down her throat, no washing out her ear. Just perfect kisses. Two, three, four—she lost count. If she died then she was sure she’d die happy.

They went back inside for the last dance. The lights had been dimmed and she and Mason danced cheek to cheek, thanks to her mother’s heels, their arms wrapped around one another.
In the meadow we can build a snowman…
She was glad it wasn’t “Goodnight, Irene,” often the last song at a dance. She loved her grandmother but she didn’t want to think about her tonight.

“Can I walk you home?” Mason asked while they, and everyone else, scrambled for their coats.

Miri nodded. “I just have to tell my friends.”

Outside, Robo’s father was waiting for them. The girls had already piled into the car. “I’m walking home with Mason,” she told them.

“Who’s Mason?” Natalie asked.

“The boy I’ve been dancing with, the one from your party…remember?”

“Yeah, but
who
is he?” Natalie said while the other girls hung on every word.

“Mason McKittrick. He goes to Jefferson,” Miri said. “He knows Steve.”