“It’s an important task.”

“What?”

Poplan smiled.

They set up the blocks on the floor.

“Don’t think I’m going to let you win either,” Poplan said, “just because you had a bad night.”

“I don’t,” Finny said.

“And if I catch a cold from this, you know who I’m coming to.”

“I do.”

When Finny knocked down the tower, Poplan jumped up and performed a little boxing routine in the middle of the floor. “Yahoo!” she screamed, giving the air a final jab with her fist.

Chapter10
The Vacation Begins, a Bit Early

They crept toward spring break, more slowly than Finny had hoped. Her punishment made the days drag. But Judith was a model friend, spending nights in the dorm with Finny while the other girls went out. Finny didn’t mention the story Poplan had told her about Jesse, since she’d promised Poplan she wouldn’t. Finny could see both sides of it—why Poplan was annoyed that Jesse had gotten the brunt of the punishment, but also why Judith was upset over her friend’s moving away. It made sense why Judith didn’t talk about it.

One afternoon, a couple of weeks after the note incident, Finny returned to her dorm room and there was another letter on the door. Delphine Short, it said on the envelope, and inside was Miss Simpkin’s familiar handwriting: Mrs. Barksdale requests that you report immediately to her office. If we do not see you by the end of your lunch period, she will seek you in your next class.

Her faithful secretary,
Miss Filomena Simpkin

·    ·    ·

Today Mrs. Barksdale’s office had an even stronger odor of spoiled milk. It was hot in the room, and when Finny walked in, the principal looked agitated, some sweaty curls of hair adhering to her temples. Mrs. Barksdale had a gnawed pencil in her mouth, and when Finny shut the door behind her, she heard the utensil snap in Mrs. Barksdale’s teeth.

“Tuh,” the principal said, and spit the splintered pencil onto her desk, among the remains of other decimated utensils. “Please have a seat.”

Finny sat down across from Mrs. Barksdale. She glanced at the photo of the principal’s husband. The tiny man’s frightened expression seemed to warn Finny of some impending danger.

“His birthday,” Mrs. Barksdale said about the picture of her husband, noticing Finny was looking at it. “I got him good.”

“I guess you did,” Finny said.

“Surprise party. It took him a few days to recover.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Psh.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’s so excitable.”

“Anyway, what is it?” Finny said, impatient to hear what she’d been dragged here for. Did they figure out she’d snuck a cigarette with Judith during gym class? Or that she’d been the one screaming “boner” in the hall after lights-out?

“Did I do something?” Finny asked.

Mrs. Barksdale shook her head vigorously at Finny’s suggestion, like a dog drying itself after a swim. “No,” the principal said. “No.”

“Did you want to ask me something?” Finny tried.

But Mrs. Barksdale shook her head again, this time more slowly, her lips pressed together.

“I have some bad news, Finny,” Mrs. Barksdale said. “Tragic news, I would say.”

“What is it?” Finny said. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“Let me just say,” Mrs. Barksdale continued, as if Finny hadn’t spoken, “that your mother would have been the one to tell you this, but when she called during your lunch hour and we couldn’t find you—do you not eat in the cafeteria?—she asked us to relay the message to you, since this is going to be a very busy and unpleasant afternoon for her.”

“Please,” Finny said. “Could you please just tell me what you want to say?”

“Your father is dead,” Mrs. Barksdale blurted out. And then seemed to recover herself. She must have realized how abrupt this sounded, because she clapped a hand over her mouth. Finny noticed the tendons tensing in the principal’s neck.

The phone buzzed. “Passed away,” Miss Simpkin’s voice said in the speaker. “Passed away would have been more sensitive.”

“I thank you,” Mrs. Barksdale said, and hung up. She then went on to tell Finny, “The message remains the same. You are to pack a suitcase and return home on a flight at seven forty-five this evening. The funeral will be in a couple days. All of your teachers will be apprised of the unfortunate news, and they will arrange it so you can finish your courses in a comfortable amount of time, without having to repeat any next year.”

Once Mrs. Barksdale had finished this speech, she let out a long breath, like she’d finished climbing a steep set of stairs, or had reached a bus she was running to catch. Her shoulders sagged, and she looked at Finny to see if she had anything to say.

“Do you have any questions?” the principal asked, the way teachers do when they’ve finished a lecture.

But all Finny could think to say was, “What happened?”

Here Mrs. Barksdale seemed confused, and began glancing into corners of the room, as if the answer would appear there. She looked like a trapped mouse. When at last she relinquished the search, she turned her eyes back to Finny. For a moment Finny had the distinct impression that the principal would have liked to reach across the desk and touch her, offer some reassurance in the face of this terrifying news. It was as if Finny had been walking along on a fine, clear day, and all of a sudden came upon a huge dark hole, something mysterious and out of place, and which she’d never be able to cross. She felt more startled than sad.

Mrs. Barksdale pressed her lips together, her eyebrows knitted like she was about to cry. Then she said, “I don’t know.”

Poplan was waiting outside Finny’s door when Finny got back to her room. Finny had begun crying on her way back from the principal’s office, and the sight of Poplan in a bright orange jumpsuit did nothing to calm her. Poplan held out her arms, and Finny collapsed into them. The dorm was empty, since the girls were in class, so Finny just cried and cried, holding on to Poplan, pushing her face into the warm folds of Poplan’s jumpsuit. After a few minutes, Poplan suggested that Finny open the door so that maybe they could go inside and sit down. Like when Finny had come to her room to apologize about the note, Poplan was gentle and kind. She seemed to be able to shed her official manner as easily as her kimonos and wraps.

In the room Finny lay down on the bed. “I don’t understand,” she said, turning on her back, her hands over her eyes, shaking her head like she just couldn’t believe what was happening. “He seemed completely fine when he visited.”

“I’m sorry,” Poplan said. She sat down next to Finny and stroked her arm as Finny cried.

In a little while Poplan suggested, “Maybe you should try calling your mother.”

“That’s another thing I don’t get. Why wouldn’t she tell me herself?”

“Maybe it was too hard right now. Maybe she tried to call you and couldn’t reach you and was just too tired and stressed out to keep trying.”

“Maybe she was being a thoughtless bitch,” Finny offered.

“You don’t know that,” Poplan said.

“You don’t know my mother.”

Poplan stayed in the room while Finny packed, sitting on Finny’s bed. Every once in a while Finny would say, “It’s okay, Poplan. You don’t have to sit here all day.”

“I don’t mind,” Poplan said. “It’s good to have company.”

Soon Finny could hear the girls coming back from their classes, chatting about their scores on quizzes, how much homework they had.

“Karina farted in humanities,” Finny heard Nora say.

“She’s a humanitarian,” Brooke answered. And then some laughing and snorting.

On other days Simone or Jean or Nora might knock and come visit Finny for a little while, but today nobody knocked. The voices seemed to get quieter as they approached Finny’s door, as if the girls were observing some sort of decree. Finny had the sense that word had gotten around about her dad, or at least that the others knew something was wrong with her, since she hadn’t been to any of her afternoon classes. She had an odd feeling of being isolated by her grief, the way Poplan quarantined girls who had caught a cold or the flu. Finny felt sick herself, like no one would want to touch her or be near her. Loss always did this to you, pushed you in a corner where no one wanted to go.

Later Judith came in, after her lacrosse practice. She was sweating, and had a purple bandana tied around her hair. She looked lovely, and for the first time Finny resented her for it.

“I heard,” Judith said. “My God, Finny, I’m so sorry.” Then she noticed Poplan on the bed. “Hi,” Judith said to her.

“Hi, Judith,” Poplan said, and Finny heard the effort Poplan was making to be friendly. “You know, I think Finny might want some time to herself, to get ready now.”

Judith looked at Finny. There was a moment of silent struggle between Poplan and Judith, over who would get to stay with Finny.

Finally Finny said, “If you don’t mind, Judith, I’m just not up for talking now.”

Judith took the hint. “Oh,” she said, and Finny could see she was surprised, and a little offended. Judith hated losing, no matter the circumstances. “Actually, I was planning to head to dinner early anyway. I just needed to grab some clothes.”

Judith gathered an outfit from her closet. Before she left the room, she walked over to Finny, who was standing in front of her own closet.

“I am so sorry,” Judith said, and gave Finny a long hug. “Look, I know you’re not up to discussing anything now, but give me a call when you feel up to it. I hope you can come back soon. I’ll miss you, Shorty Finn.”

Finny felt her eyes fill up again. “I’ll miss you, too,” she said.

Then Judith took her hand like she was going to shake it. But instead Finny felt a cold metal object placed in her palm. She looked at Judith, and Judith smiled sadly. Finny knew it was the black lipstick.

“Thanks,” Finny said.

She didn’t call her mother that afternoon. She knew Laura was too overwhelmed to deal with anything, and she figured she’d get all the information from her brother when she got home. Poplan said she would drive Finny to the airport. When Poplan turned on the car, some lively Irish fiddle music blared through the speakers, and Poplan had to hurry to turn it off. “Sorry,” she said. They fell silent for the rest of the ride. The last thing Poplan mentioned was that she had some cousins in Virginia she visited a lot, and that she’d love to stop by and see Finny in Maryland during a vacation sometime if Finny wouldn’t mind a visitor.

At seven-twenty Finny boarded the plane that would hurtle her back into a very different world from the one she had left only ten weeks before.

Chapter11
A Sad Time

The Haberdasher Funeral Home was just off Reisterstown Road, one of those four-lane commercial havens lined by strip malls and representatives of every chain store under the sun. The funeral home was an olive-green A-frame house with black shutters, nestled between a Target and a John Deere outlet. Inside, the floors were varnished pine, the walls wine-colored. The doors between rooms opened by a latch rather than a knob. The windows were small and square, and the strangled light that pushed through them left the house dim and shadowy, even in the middle of the day.

Which was the time now. Laura had brought Sylvan and Finny along to help her make decisions about the funeral. She’d read an article the night after Stanley died that said a grieving widow must bring people with her to the funeral home with whom she can discuss options, because she won’t be in a condition to make appropriate decisions herself. This proved to be true in Laura’s case, as evidenced by the fact that she’d brought her children here.

The house was lit only by some electric lights that looked like candles, encased in glass jars that were mounted on the walls. The floors creaked as the Shorts toured the facilities. Finny could hardly believe they were getting ready to put Stanley’s body in the ground. She kept thinking of her father’s face completely still, like he was sleeping, and that seemed the closest she could get to accepting he was dead. She remembered him telling his stories, reciting his quotations, and she couldn’t find a way to fit that liveliness into the picture of him lying motionless in a coffin. She remembered the letter he’d written her only a few weeks before, all those feelings he’d never been able to share.

But she stopped herself. He was gone now, drained from the world like bathwater from a tub.

Mrs. Haberdasher was a short and very stout woman in her sixties who walked with a cane and whose nose always seemed to be twitching as though she had an itch there. She wore a green velvet cap like a loose-fitting beret. She walked slowly, and knocked her cane against the floor with every step. Mr. Haberdasher allowed her to lead when they were walking. He was a demure man, tall and with the approximate body type of a string bean. His voice was soft as a whisper, his yellow-gray hair silky as a baby’s.

“Now,” Mrs. Haberdasher said, “there are two basic options for coffins.” She was indicating the two options displayed on tables in front of the Shorts.

But before she was able to explain the options, Mr. Haberdasher let loose a gigantic sneeze that echoed in the small room.

“Holy Christ!” Mrs. Haberdasher yelled, and jumped away from her husband, much more dexterously than you would expect a woman with a cane to jump.

Mr. Haberdasher shrugged and wiped his nose on his shirt cuff.

“Now,” Mrs. Haberdasher said, coming around to the coffins again, “as I was saying, there are two options to consider. The first, to your left, is the standard coffin. Made out of wood, with the tapered shape. And we can offer you a variety of interiors and exteriors for that. The second is a casket: rectangular shape, made of—” She was unable to finish the sentence, though, because her nose began to twitch. She rubbed her finger against it, but it was of no use, and very soon she let out a sneeze that equaled—if not surpassed—her husband’s previous accomplishment. Mrs. Haberdasher’s sneeze was accompanied by a cry—of pain or surprise, one couldn’t tell—as if she’d been struck down by an arrow.

“Mother of God!” Mr. Haberdasher yelped, and jumped away from his wife. It was the first time the Shorts had heard him raise his voice, and they watched to see what he would do. He proceeded to inform his wife that she had taken five years from his life, and that people in China would suffer aftershocks for days.

Laura watched the exchange between husband and wife with a blank expression. It was the look she’d had since Finny had gotten home. Laura had greeted Finny at the airport with a kind of joyless smile on her face, telling Finny how great it was to see her, as if Finny had just come home for a vacation. It seemed that some spell of dreaminess had been cast on her mother. Finny wanted to shake her, tell her to focus.

Mrs. Haberdasher completed her explanation of the difference between a casket and a coffin, and after some deliberation, Finny and Sylvan persuaded their mother that a metal casket would be the best option for Stanley. The shape would allow them to place various items in the ground with their father, such as some of his favorite books and his Bach records. They would even be able to engrave a message on the casket as a memorial to Stanley. They decided it would say: Here lies a great man.

“Now,” Mrs. Haberdasher said, “I think that’s a very sensitive choice.”

“Yes,” Mr. Haberdasher said, and nodded.

“We just need to go over some of the services you would like for the burial.”

“Services?” Sylvan said. He’d taken on the role of spokesman, seeing that Laura wasn’t going to do it.

“Transporting the body, for example,” Mrs. Haberdasher said.

The body, Finny thought.

“Yes,” Mrs. Haberdasher said, “for the—”

But before she was able to finish the statement, Mr. Haberdasher interrupted with a wallop of a sneeze.

This time Mrs. Haberdasher leapt with remarkable agility onto the table where the casket was displayed, seating herself next to it. She put her hands over her ears and began to make various assertions about her physical condition, including the fact that her ears were bleeding and her organs were all “crushed up against each other.”

Mr. Haberdasher shrugged and wiped his nose on his shirt cuff.

Soon options were being tallied. In the main room Mr. and Mrs. Haberdasher stood behind a wooden counter that came up almost to the wife’s head. Mrs. Haberdasher had to keep shuffling to a back room, knocking her cane as she went, in order to check various prices and options. Each time she left the room, she walked past Mr. Haberdasher and said, “Your feet, sir, are in my way.”

“Because you have chosen to walk over them,” Mr. Haberdasher informed her in his whispery voice.

“It would be impossible not to,” Mrs. Haberdasher shot back, “seeing as they take up half the floor.”

At last a final price was settled upon, and handed to Laura on a sort of scroll that the Haberdashers must have preferred using on such an occasion. The scroll lent a solemnity to the proceedings, which a printed receipt might not have carried. Finny had never had such a strange feeling as when her father’s price tag was handed over the counter to her mother. Laura eyed it. Finny suspected she wasn’t even reading the numbers.

“Now, do you want to take care of this today?” Mrs. Haberdasher said.

“Certainly,” Laura blurted out. Then stood there, waiting.

“Mom, your credit card,” Sylvan said.

“Oh,” Laura said, “of course,” and handed the Haberdashers her card.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” Mrs. Haberdasher said to the Shorts as she swiped Laura’s card.

“Thanks,” Sylvan said.

“It’s a tough road, young man,” Mr. Haberdasher said.

“Are you the expert?” Mrs. Haberdasher asked him.

He shrugged and wiped his nose on his shirt cuff.

And then, as if in response, Mrs. Haberdasher released an echoing shriek of a sneeze, which caused Mr. Haberdasher to actually run around the counter, and then half a dozen strides away from his wife.

“My ghost just departed,” he said, when he’d finally come to rest.

The burial was the next morning. Mr. Haberdasher drove the hearse, and he seemed to take great pride in the duty, wearing a black chauffeur’s cap he reserved for the occasion. Mrs. Haberdasher navigated. Finny saw the little woman hop into the cab of the hearse, like a jockey mounting a horse, already informing her husband that he was the last person she would choose to drive for her last ride. She sat on the armrest between the driver’s seat and passenger seat, and as they all pulled out of the funeral home, Finny saw her directing Mr. Haberdasher with her cane, pointing to road signs and passing traffic.

The graveyard was not far from the funeral home, and the Shorts followed the hearse in their car. They stood around the grave. Finny recognized a number of the mourners—faces from her father’s office Christmas parties, her parents’ dinner parties, family reunions. She saw Aunt Louise, rubbing her ball of tissue across her nose. Mr. Hedgwick was there, the farmer who cleared the Shorts’ driveway in the winter with his tractor and who’d let Finny play with his golden retriever puppies. There was Arnold Arnold—a cruel joke by his parents—who used to give Finny rides to soccer games when she played on the Cockeysville rec team. And Kitty Plinket, who always wore red and had shown Laura how to dance the tango.

Earl, of course, was not there. Finny knew he would have wanted to come and that Laura would have objected, so Finny decided she wouldn’t tell him until it was over.

When the priest said the line about “As for man, his days are like grass …,” Finny burst into tears. Sylvan put his hand on her back, and she watched the rest of the service through bleary eyes.

Then they were lowering the casket into the ground. A few symbolic shovelfuls of dirt were tossed into the hole. There was an awful tapping sound when the dirt hit the metal casket, which made Finny erupt into tears again.

And then it was over. The mourners were saying how sorry they were, telling Finny and Laura and Sylvan how much they’d miss Stanley. Aunt Louise offered her condolences, a hand clasped to her breast as she spoke to Finny. There were the sounds of doors clicking, motors starting, a man telling his wife they needed to stop for gas on the way. And finally, Mrs. Haberdasher could be heard informing her husband, as they got back into the hearse, that his feet were very much in the way.

After dinner that night, Finny excused herself and went upstairs. She sat on her bed, staring at the dark window. She knew her brother would come, and in ten minutes he did. She heard a knock on the door, and opened it.

“Hey,” Sylvan said.

“Hey.”

“I want to tell you what happened with Dad, since it doesn’t seem you’ll ever get the full story from Mom.”

Finny nodded. Motioned for him to come in. He shut the door and they sat down together on the bed.

“She’s acting crazy,” Finny said.

“She just can’t handle it. It’s like she’s overloaded.”

“She hauled all Dad’s stuff out. I mean, like, all of it.”

“I had a feeling. I heard her last night banging around. Then she took a bunch of trash bags to the dumpster this morning.”

“Aren’t you pissed off?”

“I’m more sad than pissed, Finny.”

Finny hated when people said her name like that, like a rebuke. She was about to strike back at Sylvan, but instead she said, “Okay. What?”

“Dad died on the toilet.”

“What?” Finny said again, and started to laugh. She felt guilty for it, but she couldn’t help it. “Are you kidding?”

Sylvan shook his head. He explained that he’d gotten the whole story while the paramedics were on their way. It seemed that Stanley had woken up before five and told Laura he was going to the bathroom. “Probably to ‘brush his teeth,’” Sylvan said. When he didn’t return after fifteen minutes, Laura assumed his indigestion was worse than usual and fell back asleep. Stanley must have thought the same thing, because when Laura woke two hours later and went to the bathroom, she found him sitting on the toilet, his chin resting on his chest. The indigestion had been chest pains. He’d had a heart attack.

“I don’t believe it,” Finny said, still laughing. “I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s funny. It’s just so—perfect for Dad.”

“I know,” Sylvan said, and he began to laugh, too.

Then they started to laugh harder. Finny couldn’t have explained it, but soon they were falling back on the bed, gasping for breath. She laughed until her sides hurt, until hot tears sprang to her eyes. She pressed her face against Sylvan’s shoulder, and laughed until she could have puked.

And then at some point the laughter became crying. It was a funny thing. Finny wasn’t sure exactly where the transition was, the two acts felt so similar. But soon she and her brother were hugging each other in the bed, sobbing onto each other’s shoulders because they didn’t want to show their faces. She felt her brother’s breath on her neck, his chest rising and falling, tears on her shirt. She’d never seen him cry before. They stayed like that, holding each other, until at last they fell asleep.

Chapter12
Things Begin to Brighten

It was easier now, during Finny’s spring break, to sneak over and see Earl, since Laura was on another planet. Laura spent most of her day in the bedroom, or else running small, unnecessary errands for the house, such as getting rugs cleaned, or buying new cords for the phones. When Finny said she was going out, Laura said, “Okay, sweetie,” and rarely asked where. Still, it was sad for Finny to see her mother this way. It was as if after Stanley died Laura’s foundations cracked. The façade was the same, but Finny knew the inside was crumbling.

Besides Sylvan, Earl was the only person Finny felt comfortable talking to about her father. When they went for walks, Finny explained to Earl how she felt as if Stanley had been snatched away from her, just as they were beginning to have some understanding of each other, just as they were beginning to get close. She told Earl about the letter Stanley had written her, how he’d said he was proud of her, and when she started to tear up, Earl hugged her and let her cry. Another boy her age would’ve gotten shy around all those feelings.

One day she took Earl to the old vineyard. Their feet scuffed the dirt path. Finny noticed their heads almost reached the top of the green walls on both sides of them. Yet there was a feeling of being sheltered. They stopped, faced each other, half-covered in shadows from the vines. Earl held her hands.

She let Earl lower her onto the dirt. He sat beside her, and they kissed for the second time. She put her arms around his neck. “Oh, Earl,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek, “I missed you so much when I was at school.” His cheek was scratchy. He smelled like oatmeal, and a little like pears.

They fell back on the dusty ground together. She snuggled close to him in the deep shade of the vines, her head burrowing in his neck, in the heat from his skin. He kept his arms around her, holding her like they were sleeping. At first Finny thought they would have to tussle around like she’d seen people do in movies, but neither of them tried to do that. They just lay there. It was what they wanted to do together, to curl up and sleep in each other’s arms. It was the most intimate thing Finny could imagine. Years later, holding Earl like this in a tiny apartment in Paris, Finny would feel just as warm, just as protected as she did now. More than kissing, even more than sex, this holding would always be Finny’s favorite part of love with Earl. It was when she could imagine them growing old together.

Most afternoons they would lie in the vineyard for hours and talk. Finny felt a remarkable freedom during these afternoons. She told Earl things she’d never thought of telling anyone, not because they were particularly private but because they seemed like thoughts you would keep to yourself, thoughts no one would be interested in. She told him about how she used to look at the fuzzy green ribbon of horizon from her bedroom window and imagine walking there one day, finding some magical landscape of mountains and waterfalls. She told him about the day after they’d met, when she’d gone to the pasture and seen that no one was there, and her heart sank because she thought Earl had already forgotten about her. Finny had never spoken so easily about her feelings, but something in her grief had liberated her. She spoke more directly now, and without fear of what people would think.

“Show me your house,” Earl said to her one afternoon, and they walked along the fence to Finny’s backyard. She pointed at her window.

“That’s it,” she said.

“I can imagine you there,” Earl said, “looking out.”

“Sometimes I thought I could see your house. I liked to think that.”

“Maybe I can come over one day. When your mom is feeling better.”

“Maybe,” Finny said.

There was another change in Finny that spring when she was fifteen. It had to do with her outlook on love—or rather, an aspect of love. She’d always thought of sex as silly, a little crude, all that poking and moaning and rolling around. It was hard to take seriously. And though she still saw the comedy in it, there was a part of her now that yearned for it, to be abused in that particular way. Sometimes when she lay with Earl in the vineyard, she felt herself getting warm, a kind of tingly excitement spreading over her body. She had to wrap her legs around Earl and squeeze him in order to push the feeling down in herself. At night, when she was dressing for bed, she noticed her breasts were plumper, the development she’d waited so long for. She felt a heaviness in her nipples, and sometimes she pinched them just for the electric thrill of it.

She was the one who started the touching. Reaching down to rub him, feeling him grow hard beneath her hand. She loved that—his almost instant response. He followed her lead, touching her the way she touched him. At first they felt each other above the clothes, and then just the underwear, then beneath it. Hidden between the green walls of the vineyard, Finny’s desire swelled. She was bolder than she’d ever been.

Once, she reached down to her own underwear and felt they were soaked, she’d become so aroused.

“Oops,” she said to Earl.

“Well, you can always wear mine,” Earl said.

And they laughed together. She didn’t need to hide or explain with him. She wasn’t worried about him judging her. With Earl sex could be funny, and Finny saw how important that was, too. When she got home that day, she looked at her underwear and saw a few dots of blood, he’d reached so far into her.

One day, when they were lying in the vineyard, Finny said to Earl that she thought he’d make a good dad.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Just a way you have. Of making people feel good for the things that make them who they are. The important things. I don’t think you’d make a fuss over test scores and being the best on the soccer team.”

“Well, since my test scores aren’t so good and I can’t kick a ball straight, I don’t think that would make sense.”

“That’s what I mean,” Finny said. “You’re not stuck-up.”

“I’m very proud of my ability to prevent car accidents when my dad falls asleep at the wheel.”

Finny laughed. “That’s important.”

“Especially for me,” Earl said.

“Do you think you’d want to be a dad sometime?” Finny asked.

Earl was silent a moment. Then he said, “Yeah, I think so. It’s just hard to know how your life will turn out.”

Finny wasn’t sure what he was trying to tell her, so she asked him, “How do you want it to turn out, Earl?”

He thought for another moment. “I think I’d like to be a writer.”

And though Finny wasn’t sure what this had to do with the issue of children, she asked him why.

“Because there’s so much stuff you never get to say. Or never take the time to figure out how to say. There’s so much in the world, and I want to get it down somewhere. I just don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

“I think you’d be a great writer, Earl. You’re more sensitive than anyone I’ve ever met. I’d read anything you wrote.”

“Thanks,” Earl said. “Then I know I can sell at least one copy.”

“And it better be signed.”

“I’ll write you a personal letter.”

“Deal,” Finny said.

“Oh, I forgot to mention it,” Laura said to Finny one morning at breakfast, “but we can’t afford Thorndon anymore.”

“Why?” Finny said. Though she’d had a feeling this news was coming. She’d be sad to leave Judith and Poplan, but she’d be closer to Earl and Mr. Henckel. It had to be one group or the other. Sometimes she wished she could just round up all the people she loved and move to a commune.

“You’ll be going back to the Slope School in the fall, with Sylvan. They offered you some assistance.”

“Assistance?”

“We need it,” Laura said.

Judith came to visit Finny the last weekend of Thorndon’s spring break, even though Judith knew Finny wasn’t coming back to school with her. She’d already gotten her tickets, and figured Finny could use the company anyway. Finny, Laura, and Sylvan drove to BWI to pick her up.

Judith stepped off the plane with her hair back in her usual ponytail. She was wearing a black sweater that hugged her well-formed curves, revealing the tiniest sliver of belly when she lifted her arms. She had a brush of makeup on her cheeks. She looked gorgeous, Finny thought, like some starlet, and Finny was struck once again by the thought that she didn’t deserve this beautiful girl’s attention. Finny was about to introduce her friend to her mother and brother, when Judith said, “Hi. I’m Judith Turngate. I’m very pleased to meet you. I was so sorry to hear about your family’s loss. Mr. Short was so wonderful to me when he came to visit Thorndon. I have the nicest memories of him.” She spoke with the poise of a woman twice her age. She held out her hand and shook Laura’s and Sylvan’s hands in turn. Then she stood there with her shoulders back, smiling sympathetically at Finny’s family.

For a moment they were speechless. There was a beat of silent appreciation, until Laura finally said, “We’re pleased to meet you, too, Judith.”

Finny understood they were both a little awed by Judith. She knew what that was like. It was the usual response, and she forgave them for it.

In the car they asked Judith where she was from, and about her family. She spoke about her life in New York in a completely different way from how she had to Finny. She explained that her father traded bonds, how he loved to play bridge and go for jogs in Central Park in the afternoons. “A pretty easygoing guy,” she said. Her mother was “a philanthropist.” Judith said she was working to try to make arts more affordable and accessible in the city, and she’d butted heads with a few politicians as a result. Her mother was tough, “but I know she’s a good person and has everyone’s interests in mind. Everyone but herself, I guess.” Judith laughed.

At dinner that night everyone seemed more animated than they’d been in the last couple weeks, like the colors and sound had been turned up on a television. They ate and talked in the bright dining room, in front of the wide windows that looked across the valley, the constellations of lights from the neighbors’ houses, the stretches of dark fields and trees. Finny laughed at how attentive Sylvan was to Judith, asking her if she needed more salad or bread. She’d never seen her brother so cowed by someone his age. But now he mumbled and blushed, smiled too much, asked awkward questions about the weather in Boston and what Finny and Judith had done on the weekends. Finny knew he was trying to figure out if Judith had a boyfriend. But it felt good to Finny, like her family was coming back to life.

Saturday was a lazy day. Laura made toaster waffles and eggs for brunch. Finny and Judith watched videos and read magazines and ate microwave popcorn. By dinner they were all feeling antsy. They went out for Chinese food, and then ice cream, and the whole family was in bed by ten o’clock.

After Finny and Judith had settled into Finny’s bed, Finny said to Judith, “I heard you were pretty close with your roommate before me. Jesse, right?”

Finny felt the covers rustle. “We had fun,” Judith said. “Actually, I can tell you this now: the reason she left is we got caught drinking together, and my parents bailed me out. But I’m really glad you came, Shorty Finn. You’re the closest friend I’ve ever had.”

On Sunday, Finny woke up before Judith. She knew she had a couple hours before her friend would want to get up. Her brother was already downstairs in the family room, seated on the couch, hunched over a large book, his hair flopping in front of his face. He was working on an English paper about Walt Whitman that was due in two weeks.

“Dork,” she said, pointing to him.

“Argument for birth control,” he said, pointing to her. It was pretty funny, Finny had to admit. Now that Judith wasn’t in the room, Sylvan was free to take up their usual arguments.

“You going to be working the whole day?” Finny asked him.

“Mom went out,” he said.

“Um,” Finny said, not knowing how to make the request she had in mind.

But Sylvan cut her off. “It’s okay,” he said. “Go see your boyfriend.”

“I’ll make a pie for you later,” Finny said, and hugged her brother around the neck.

“How about you just give me the money you’d use to get the ingredients?” Sylvan said. “I’ll tell Judith you’re out.”

“I’ll bet you will.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Just don’t go making kissy faces while she’s asleep.”

“You want me to tell Mom where you went?”

“Okay, okay,” Finny said. “Thanks!” And she ran out of the room.

At Earl’s house, Finny and Earl had a cup of coffee with Mr. Henckel. He told Finny a story about how, after his concert career had collapsed, he’d joined a traveling act.

“A kind of cabaret, shall we say,” he confided to Finny with a half dozen smile-frowns. “But the costumes were very expensive, especially for the ladies. So they came upon this formula. Which is to say they realized the gentlemen patrons would pay more for less costume. A win-win, if you will. So the ladies’ costumes were gradually, shall we say, removed from the budget.” Mr. Henckel was practically drenched by the time he finished this confession. He mopped his face with the yellow handkerchief, but it was like trying to stop a waterfall with a dish sponge.

Finny couldn’t believe that Mr. Henckel was telling her he’d worked in a strip show. “What kind of music did you play?” she asked.

“The classics, mostly,” he said. “It was a rather arty production. There was a grand finale involving the William Tell Overture.”

“How did they dance to that?”

“You see, young lady, the music is of very little consequence in this sort of performance.”

“I guess so.”

“We’d been on the road for nearly three months when I realized that possibly this wasn’t the greatest use of my talents.”

“Of course not, Mr. Henckel. But what did you do?”

“Thus began the long and cold decline into the life of a teacher, my dear.”

“Dad,” Earl said, “I think Finny and I are going for a walk.”

“Okay,” Mr. Henckel said, offering a single smile-frown, like he’d just told them about his first time on a Ferris wheel.

Back at home, Finny went upstairs to meet Judith in their room. She pushed open her door without even thinking to knock. Finny was three steps into the room when she looked up and saw something that made her stop: it was Judith, lying on Finny’s bed, next to Sylvan. They were kissing, and Sylvan had his hand on Judith’s breast.

“I’m sorry,” Finny said. “Oh my God.” And she started out of the room.

“Finny,” Judith said, sitting up.

But Finny wouldn’t stop now. She heard Judith call her again, but she just kept walking, out the door, down the hall, down the stairs, into the kitchen, where Laura was scrubbing some dishes.

“You look like you just saw a ghost, sweetheart,” Laura said.

“No, I didn’t,” Finny said, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

They spent the rest of the day with Finny’s family—whom Finny used as a kind of shield—and Judith left in the evening. She called the next week to try to explain about Sylvan, but Finny said, “Look, I don’t want to get between you and my brother. I just think I’d prefer not to hear about it, if that’s okay with you.”

And when Sylvan broached the subject, Finny said, “You two can do whatever you want. But if you ever ask me for condoms, I’ll kill you.”

Chapter13
Another Visitor

April to June was a busy time for Finny. Since her mother couldn’t afford the room and board at Thorndon, Finny completed her classes by mail, with a few phone calls to teachers and one conversation with Mrs. Barksdale, during which Finny had to hold the phone several inches from her ear. Mrs. Barksdale told Finny again how sorry she was for Finny’s loss, and assured her that everyone had missed her during the final months of classes.

Poplan called. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” she told Finny.

“Where are you?” Finny asked.

“At my cousins’. In Virginia. Remember?”

“What’s that in the background?”

Finny heard some brassy, syncopated music playing, and a squeaky voice saying, “Cha-cha-cha, cha-cha- cha,” to the beat of the song. She couldn’t tell if it was the voice of a woman or a young girl.

Then Poplan said to someone in the room, “Alana! Put down that maraca right now.”

After a brief pause, Poplan said, “Sorry,” to Finny. “They get so wound up when they hear a good mambo.”

“Understandable,” Finny said. She was just so pleased to hear Poplan’s voice on the other end of the line.

“It might be my vacation,” Poplan continued, “but I remain vigilant.”

“Of course.”

Poplan then told Finny she was going to be passing through Maryland on her way back to Thorndon, where she’d be spending the summer. “I thought maybe I would stop by to say hi.”

“That would be great.”

“Of course, it would be impossible to do that without proper directions and an ETA.”

“ETA?”

“What time do you want me to get there?”

“Oh. Sorry,” Finny said. “Noon? But it’s still a little weird here. Maybe we could meet at my friend’s house …”

Finny was at Earl’s house at eleven, and she heard Poplan’s decisive knock at 11:42. Finny started up out of her chair. Mr. Henckel snorted awake.

“No,” Earl said to Finny. “Sit. Let me get it. I’m so excited to meet your friend.”

Finny sat back down, and Earl went to the door.

When he opened it, Poplan was standing there, wearing a bright shawl made from a red and gold fabric that looked Indian. She had on lipstick, and some dangly gold earrings. Earl invited Poplan in, and when she strode into the small living room, Finny heard Mr. Henckel let out a gasp. Finny looked at him, and noted that his face was nearly white, his lips parted and trembly, like he had something important to say. Finally, after several seconds, he gathered himself enough to whisper to Finny, “She … she’s radiant.”

“Who?” Finny said. “Poplan?”

“Poplan,” Mr. Henckel repeated, as if Finny had taught him the name of some rare and delicious fruit. And in truth, Poplan did look striking in her red-gold suit. Her hair was pushed off her forehead from the breeze outside. Her cheeks glowed. Finny could see how with a little imagination someone could even call her “radiant.”

Finny walked over to Poplan, and just as she was about to speak, Poplan said, “Now tell me you’ve washed your hands.”

“Of course!” Finny said.

“Then give me a hug.”

Finny put her arms around Poplan, and the two women held each other for what felt like a full minute. Finny had to check herself from getting teary. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed Poplan, how much this older woman meant to her.

After their hug, they all got down to the business of the visit. What Finny had known about Mr. Henckel but hadn’t quite had the opportunity to observe in full effect was how intensely and painfully shy he was around new people. Earl and Poplan had introduced themselves at the door, and now Poplan looked to Mr. Henckel, who was standing by Finny’s side. Any other adult would have taken the opportunity to introduce himself at this juncture, but Mr. Henckel, who was not like any other adult, was silent.

“I’m Poplan,” Poplan said.

Mr. Henckel nodded and thrust an elbow into Finny’s side. Taking the hint, Finny said, “This is my friend, Mr. Henckel.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Poplan said.

Mr. Henckel nodded again, and offered a quick smile-frown as his only response. They all sat down at the kitchen table.

Then began a long series of proddings and gesturings by Mr. Henckel, for the purpose of getting Finny—who had the bad luck of being seated next to him—to perform various tasks for Poplan. First she was offered a better seat at the kitchen table. Then, when it was observed that she might not be comfortable enough, Finny received an elbow to her side to inform her that a cushion should be brought from one of the living room chairs. Once this was done, the coffeepot was nodded at, and then the cream pitcher and sugar bowl successively. Finny poured the coffee, then added the cream and sugar in turn. After one spoonful was added, Finny received another painful jab from Mr. Henckel to suggest that Finny should ask whether Poplan preferred one spoonful or two.

“Two,” Poplan responded, after Finny asked, and a completely unnecessary jab informed Finny that she would have the honor of adding the spoonful to Poplan’s cup.

Because of Mr. Henckel’s reluctance to speak, conversation was somewhat strained. But Earl and Finny made do, talking about some of the walks they’d taken recently. Then Finny explained how Poplan loved to play Jenga, and was the best player at the school. Mr. Henckel looked impressed, and nodded appreciatively, signaling his admiration with an extended series of smile-frowns.

After several minutes of conversation, Poplan stood up and stated that she had brought a gift for her hosts but had waited for the proper moment to present it. Now was that moment.

Poplan returned to the house carrying a beige tote bag with the words Buloxi Regional Square Dancing Championships in green letters on it. Inside the bag was some round, heavy object, about the size of a human head. Poplan set the bag down on the living room floor. Immediately, a smell of rotting meat filled the room.

“What is that?” Finny said.

“What is what?” Poplan said.

“That smell.”

“It’s our snack.”

“Is it alive?” Finny asked.

“Not anymore,” Poplan said. “I suggest we repair to the kitchen. By the way, Mr. Henckel, do you own an extremely sharp knife?”

Finny and Earl looked at each other. Earl’s forehead was creased, like he was trying to figure out a difficult math problem.

But Mr. Henckel nodded eagerly, and took Poplan by the hand into the kitchen—a very bold move for him—to show her where the knife was.

“Mr. Henckel, have you washed that sweaty hand you’re holding me by?” Poplan asked.

Mr. Henckel nodded, still unable to speak. Finny had warned him to wash his hands before Poplan arrived.

Finny and Earl followed them to the kitchen. By now the scent had filled the entire house. To Finny it was like the smell of a garbage bag that should have been taken out the day before. They saw Poplan examining the knife blade. Approving it, she fetched the tote bag from the living room floor and placed it on the kitchen counter.

“Is this going to be bloody?” Finny asked. She and Earl were standing behind Poplan, a few feet away from her in case anything sprang out of the bag.

“Not if it’s done right,” Poplan said.

Then she opened the bag. The first thing that struck Finny was the smell. It was overpowering, like someone’s old gym socks. She coughed, hardly able to breathe, and covered her nose and mouth with her shirt. She could see that Earl had the same reaction. He didn’t want to seem rude, Finny knew, but he was taking small breaths from his mouth like he was sipping from a straw.

Poplan and Mr. Henckel seemed unaffected by the odor. Or rather, they seemed to enjoy it. Both inhaled deeply through their noses, and Mr. Henckel’s pleasure was intense enough to prompt him at last to speak. “That’s astonishing,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s a durian,” Poplan said. “A kind of fruit. A delicacy in Southeast Asia.”

Poplan explained that she had procured the fruit from friends who shopped at the markets in Chinatown in New York. It was a spiny fruit, actually a bit larger than a human head though with the same oblong shape. When Poplan hacked into it, a cloud of the offensive odor wafted over Finny, and even Earl had to cover his nose to prevent himself from choking.

“Is it rotten?” Finny asked.

“It’s perfect,” Poplan said.

The flesh, Finny saw when she could bring herself to examine it, was yellow-white, like a used undershirt. The texture looked mushy, and a little grainy.

“I can’t eat that,” Finny said.

“You have to try it,” Poplan said, with an assurance Finny was afraid to question.

“It smells rich,” Mr. Henckel said. “Like almonds. Or butter. Or custard, almost.” He seemed to have forgotten his shyness in his enthusiasm about the durian.

“Exactly,” Poplan said. “Some people can’t stand the smell, and they think it looks terrible. But the people who love it would choose it over any fruit in the world. It’s all in your tastes. And how you see it.”

Mr. Henckel looked overjoyed by this explanation, and he offered up several enthusiastic smile-frowns to demonstrate his approval.

Poplan handed pieces of the fruit to Earl, Finny, and Mr. Henckel. Then she took a piece for herself. “Bottoms up,” she said.

They each placed the fruit on their tongues. Mr. Henckel and Poplan had contemplative looks, like they were sampling a fine bottle of wine. Finny squished the weird fruit through her teeth. It had the texture of an apple that had gone completely soft. She and Earl ran to the sink at almost exactly the same moment and spit their helpings into it.

“I’m sorry,” Earl said, looking at Poplan with an expression close to terror. His cheeks were ashen and glistening with perspiration, like he was about to puke. “I just can’t.” He bolted out of the house, forgetting even to shut the door behind him.

Poplan and Mr. Henckel laughed. Finny watched them for a second, unsure what to do. Then she dashed out after Earl, shutting the door behind her.

After she caught up to Earl, they walked around the valley for an hour, until they were sure the fruit had been either eaten or disposed of.

“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted,” Finny said.

“It was nice of her to bring it,” Earl said. “I felt so bad running out like that.”

“Poplan doesn’t mind. She seems tough, but she’s really nice.”

As they approached the house, Finny could already hear the piano music. It was the same piece she’d heard Mr. Henckel playing that day when Earl had first invited her over, that swirling melody, sweet but somehow sad. When they were in front of the door, she grabbed Earl’s arm and held a finger to her lips. They stood and listened. The music was arrestingly beautiful. Almost painful. It brought tears to Finny’s eyes.

Then it was done. Earl opened the door and they walked back into the house. Mr. Henckel was at the piano, and Poplan was standing beside him. The smell of the durian filled the house, but more faintly now. The silver coffee set was on the kitchen table, and Finny saw two drained coffee cups there.

“Welcome back, my young friends,” Mr. Henckel said. He looked in remarkably good spirits. It was only a little after one o’clock, though it seemed the earth had shifted in Finny and Earl’s absence.

“By the way,” Poplan said, “the durian has been finished.”

“It is the perfect accompaniment to coffee,” Mr. Henckel said, and he and Poplan laughed over this for a long time.

Chapter14
The Deal

A tapping on Finny’s window. She was drifting in and out of sleep, and the sound became fingernails on a table in her dream, then crows’ feet on gravel. She heard it again, and this time realized it was something in the real world. She pulled herself up from the depths of sleep, through layers of dreams, into her bedroom, where she was lying with her face against the wall. This was several weeks after Poplan’s visit. It was a little after midnight, she saw by the blue numbers of the alarm clock on her shelf. She got up.

The sound again. Tic. Tic. Tic. She walked to the window and drew the blinds. The yard was dark. She couldn’t see much. The floodlights had been turned off, and everyone in the house was asleep. Maybe she had imagined the sound?

Just to make sure, she opened the window, by a little crank on the windowsill. She stuck her head into the warm night, and as she did it, she felt a sharp poke on her cheek.

“Ow,” she said.

“Sorry,” a voice called from below. It was Earl’s. She looked down and saw he was directly below her window. There were some white pebbles where he was standing that the landscaper had put in. Earl must have been tossing them up at the window.

“You hit me,” Finny said.

“I feel terrible,” Earl said.

“Hold on. I’ll be right down.”

She closed the window. She walked to her closet and opened the door. Put on the fastest outfit she could make: the green reaper and a pair of gray sweatpants. Then she went downstairs to the sliding glass door. Raskal was asleep in the mudroom, his chin resting on the tile floor. Finny tiptoed around him, yet he heard her and raised his head, his collar clinking. She shook her head, held up her hand to tell him to lie still. He stared at her. She opened the sliding door, and backed out slowly. She thought Raskal might bark, but instead he put his head down and went back to sleep. She closed the door.

Earl was standing with his hands in his pockets, even though the temperature must have been in the sixties. It was humid, and Finny could already feel sweat budding on her lip. There was a three-quarter moon, and under its light Finny had a good view of Earl. He looked tense and distracted.

“Hey,” she said.

He turned toward her. “Hey. I remembered which one it was from when you showed me.”

“Hopefully you won’t start tossing knives next time,” Finny said. She walked right up next to him and wrapped her arm in his, kissed him on the cheek. “What is it?” she said.

“I’ve had a crazy night,” Earl said. He was taking deep breaths, and he kept staring at things—the sky, the ground, anything his eyes fell upon—the way Laura did just after Stanley died.

“Bad?” Finny asked.

Earl nodded. “Strange. I found out a lot of things.”

Finny pulled him closer. She nuzzled into the gap between his neck and shoulder. She was several inches taller than him now, and she had to lean down to do it.

“What?” she finally said. “What is it? You look like someone hit you on the head.”

“I feel like that.”

“Is it something with your dad?”

“Sort of.” He moved his lips like he was about to speak, but no sound came out. At last he got around to saying, “He told me some things tonight.”

“What?”

“Can we find somewhere to talk?”

They went to the vineyard. At this time of night, there were no lights from the houses, but they sat beneath a dome of stars, nestled between the walls of their hideout like children in a fort made of sofa cushions. Earl had brought a flashlight, and he led Finny into one of the dirt rows between the vines. They sat. Finny asked him to keep the light on, in case any animals came, so he wedged it into the dirt.

Earl began by explaining that Mr. Henckel had taken a phone call that night, during which he’d asked Earl to go to his bedroom. After an hour Mr. Henckel was still talking, and Earl peeked out and saw that his father’s face was wet, like he’d been sweating or crying. Soon Mr. Henckel called Earl back into the room, and his father said that he had some things to discuss with Earl. Mr. Henckel then promptly fell asleep.

“So I shook my dad until he woke up.”

“What did he say?”

“Let me just explain first that I always thought my mom was dead.”

“Your mom?” Finny said.

“Or maybe not dead. But not available to me. Like she had another life and I would never be part of it. Some of my dad’s relatives had even told me she was dead, and that I shouldn’t think about her. So I guess I listened. I just assumed I was never going to see her. I knew my dad met her through his performing, but I never asked him a lot about her. I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Were they married?”

“They were never married. I found that out tonight. You remember when my dad told you that story about how he was part of a traveling act?”

“Yeah, the strip show, right?”

Earl nodded, the shadows lengthening and shortening on his face. “Well, it turns out my mom was a … performer.”

“A stripper?”

“He never said that. He just said he’d met her there. He told me he was popular because of his piano playing, and that they were all artists and a little crazy. He said that he and my mother had carried on for a while—that’s how he put it—and then stopped. The only thing was, she was pregnant.”

Finny could imagine Mr. Henckel trying to get this story out, the sweat pouring from his brow, the way he dabbed his face with the handkerchief, the nervous smile-frowns.

“So what happened?”

“It was a big mess. It tore the whole group apart. My dad wanted to live with her at first, to raise me, but they weren’t happy together, and she knew it would be the end of her career if she had to take care of a child. So they struck a deal.”

“About you?”

“About me. My dad would quit the act to raise me. He had money at the time, because his family is rich. He didn’t think I would get in the way of his performing career, since he could hire babysitters and maids, and he told me that the bottom line was he didn’t want to part with me, even though I wasn’t born yet. He didn’t know that his parents were going to disown him and he was going to stop getting money, once they found out all the stuff that happened. He said they called him a disgrace and an embarrassment, and that was when he lost his confidence for good.

“Right after I was born, my dad took me away. He even said that my mom asked the nurses not to show her the baby, so she wouldn’t get attached.”

“That’s so sad,” Finny said.

“But the deal was that whenever my mom was ready, they would have to share me. I mean, I’d have to live part of the time with her. It was the only way she would agree to let me go, if there was a chance she could see me later. So my dad agreed to it, thinking it would never happen.”

“But how would he know when she was ready?”

“He promised he would trust her. The trouble started last year, when my mom said she wanted me back. He never told me till now. The problem is, she lives in France.”

“What does she do?” Finny asked.

“She’s a hairdresser now. But the point is, it would be impossible to have me flying back and forth all year.”

Now Finny’s breath came harder. She knew what Earl was going to tell her, and the thought of it was like a weight in her chest. The stars seemed to spin above her. It was like a dream, sitting here surrounded by miles of darkness, hearing this strange and almost unbelievable story. It took all her energy just to keep herself propped up on the ground in the vineyard. She felt dirt and rocks pressing the palm of her hand, leaving marks.

“Are you moving to France?” Finny asked. Her voice was high, breathy, barely audible.

Earl nodded, the shadows moving again on his face. She heard the sound of leaves shaking, an animal scurrying in the bushes. Suddenly she was afraid. They could be eaten, or attacked. There was nothing to protect them.

“I’m sorry, Finny,” Earl said. “I begged my father tonight. We stayed up till after midnight talking. He said he’d done everything he could to keep me with him, that he’d made every possible argument—about how I was comfortable here, about how it wouldn’t be fair to take me away from what I knew. But in the end there was still the deal. He couldn’t get around that. I can come back and visit, but I’m going to be with my mom through high school. She wouldn’t accept anything less.”

“It was a stupid deal,” Finny said, angry now. “How could anyone make a deal like that?”

“My dad knows that. But he said it was the only way. She even made him sign a contract. He didn’t want to give me up. He finally fell asleep tonight, while we were still talking, and that’s when I decided to come over and tell you. I wanted you to know right away.”

Questions twirled like snowflakes in Finny’s mind. She grabbed for one, and then another, and finally settled on: “When are you leaving?”

“That’s the other thing,” Earl said. “My plane’s in a week.”

A lot could be said about how they talked and cried, the plans they made to escape, which they later abandoned. But in the end the sun rose, and they walked back to their houses.

At a little after six the following Friday evening, Earl’s plane took off, headed for France.

Chapter15
An Interlude

Sunlight. A fence shadow printed on the lawn. Grass leaning in the breeze like thousands of tiny arms. A gauze of clouds draped across the sky. Trees waving their leafy limbs. A row of gorgeous days ahead, strung like jewels on a necklace. This was the world after Earl left, as calm and bright as ever, like one of those persistently cheerful party guests who refuse to talk about anything but favorite restaurants and places to vacation.

So the summer bloomed and faded. Fall arrived, bringing school and the old routines. Finny returned to kids she had left nine months before, though some of them seemed changed as well. They’d had braces taken off of or put on their teeth, had grown taller or fatter or skinnier, had longer hair or new outfits or breasts. She was welcomed back to the Slope School with smiles and hugs, though she knew they wouldn’t have thought of her ever again if she hadn’t returned. Since she’d been held back at Thorndon, she had to reenter Slope as a ninth grader, which meant she was in different classes from the students she knew anyway.

High school is not the place to linger in Finny’s story. It wasn’t a place Finny gave much thought to, even though she spent four years there. When she remembered it, she had the feeling she’d glided over that time in her life. It was as if she had done enough living for a while, and so she set the controls to autopilot, put her hat over her eyes, and slept.

But of course there were events. Rarely do four years pass without events. In her memory they appear like a slide show, a parade of snapshots projected on the screen of her mind.

First the move. Laura saying, “It’s time to downsize.” They left the Geist Road house that fall. Boxes, a giant truck, sheets with boot prints on them tossed over the furniture. Laura throwing away and throwing away, until there was hardly anything left. The new house—smaller, on Old Court Road, up the street from the Slope School so that Finny and Sylvan could walk. A sunny kitchen with a skylight. A little backyard in which there was a sculpture of a lion made out of crisscrossing wires. It caught the leaves when they fell that season.

Some lines from Earl’s letters:

Our apartment is one big room. It’s in an apartment building on the border between the 9th and 10th arrondissements in Paris. That means the 9th and 10th districts, which are where a lot of artists live. Our street is called Rue du Faubourg Poissonnière. (Try to say that!) My mom rents the apartment from a rich American lady who lives part of the year in New York. The apartment used to be her maid’s room. We have to walk up five flights of stairs to get there, and the apartment always feels stuffy because there’s only one window and it doesn’t open very far and the steam from the shower comes into the room. The toilet is in the hall, and we share it with the lady next door (who I’ve never seen), but the sink and shower are in a closet in our room. I guess all the bathrooms are like that here. I hate going to the bathroom in the middle of the night because it’s freezing in the hall and really dark, and you have to keep hitting the switch to get the light to stay on….

My mom works just down the street. She’s an assistant to a “master” hairstylist, and one day hopefully she will take over his business. As of now, she washes people’s hair and sometimesdoes the haircuts when it’s a customer the master doesn’t like. It’s been strange getting to know my mom. It’s like we’re not even related. We’re both shy with each other and don’t always have a lot to say. But she’s very nice to me. She buys me loaves of French bread to eat while she’s at work, and once in a while little cans of this stuff called “foie gras,” which is made out of liver and is supposedly a delicacy. It looks and smells disgusting, but actually tastes good when you get used to it. I have to be very thankful when she buys it, because I guess it’s expensive and a treat….

I go to school in an English school, which is good for me because my French is horrible. It sounds like I’m choking when I talk….

Some things I like to do: walk to Montmartre and watch the artists sketch. Go to the Tuileries. Eat crêpes stuffed with Nutella and bananas. (I know how to say that in French: Nutella banane!) Go to the English movies with my mom….

I don’t think I’m coming home for winter. My mom says it’s a very expensive time. Spring is better. Damn….

And in the spring, an announcement from another friend, arriving in the mail: We kindly ask you to reserve the date of July 12th for the observance of matrimonial vows by Menalcus Henckel and Joan Poplan. Finny had some questions about how often Poplan and Mr. Henckel had seen each other, but all she could think was, Joan? when she read the invitation. How could someone as weird as Poplan have a name like Joan? When she called Poplan to ask about it, though, Poplan’s reply was succinct. “We shall never speak of it again,” she said.

The ceremony: held outdoors at Mr. Henckel’s house, under a tent pitched in the yard. Earl was there, as the best man. It turned out this was the first time he could make it home. A few teachers from Thorndon were there, too. Finny was the maid of honor. It was a small party, but lively, helped along by the Irish fiddler Poplan had hired, and the somewhat raucous dancing of her cousins. By the end they were all step dancing together. Earl was Finny’s partner. The night ended when the remaining guests gathered in Mr. Henckel’s living room to listen to him play a song for Poplan.

Earl stayed for a month. He and Finny spent as much time together as they could, but their houses were farther apart now, and their dates depended on Sylvan or Mr. Henckel acting as chauffeur, since neither Finny nor Earl could drive. Earl wanted to spend time with his dad, too. Mr. Henckel had delayed his honeymoon so that he could be with Earl as much as possible during Earl’s time in the States. Finny tried to get over to see them both, but it wasn’t always easy.

Then Earl left. More promises of visits and letters. Tears. A kiss goodbye.

Phone calls from Judith. Sylvan handing the phone to Finny every time. Sometimes it didn’t even ring, and Finny knew that Sylvan had been the one to call. Judith seemed even brasher than when they’d been at school together. Every other sentence was about someone fucking someone else. Oh, they fucked a long time ago. She used to fuck him. Fucking is overrated. Like a role she was trying to play, some jaded New York socialite.

A weekend when Judith came to visit, and Finny was pretty sure she and Sylvan had sex after Finny went to sleep, because they were acting so strange in the morning. Another time: Sylvan coming into the den in the new house, telling Finny he was going to New York for the weekend. Finny saying okay, okay, not letting him tell her why.

A line from one of Earl’s letters: It was so great to see you this summer, Finny. It feels so long ago now! I haven’t talked to you in forever.

A winter night. Finny waking up and hearing Raskal whimpering in the kitchen. The wind whistling around the house. Waking Laura and Sylvan. Raskal lying down, squealing, shivering, vomiting. A seizure, the vet said in the morning. They buried him next to the lion. He was so big they needed to ask their neighbor the UPS man to help dig.

Afternoons with Poplan and Mr. Henckel. Coffee. The silver pot, the little silver spoons. Piano music when Finny was lucky. Every Asian snack food imaginable: sheets of beef jerky sprinkled with chili flakes, cakes made out of sweetened rice with salty peanuts on top, little doughy balls covered in sesame seeds with a paste inside made from mung beans. Married, and having left her job at Thorndon, Poplan seemed to have become a new person. She still required hand washings and Jenga games, but she was less rigid, less severe than she used to be. She wiped crumbs from Mr. Henckel’s sleeve, which seemed to Finny the tenderest act in the world. Poplan was the one who drove with Mr. Henckel to his lessons on Mondays now, in case he fell asleep at the wheel. It was one of the great joys of Finny’s early life to see them together. She felt an intense, disproportionate sadness whenever she left the little brown house, as if she’d never visit again.

Phone calls from Judith tapered off. A last one, telling Finny that Judith was pretty sure she would be going to college in New York, at Columbia. Her parents had influence there, too. Asking Finny where she thought she would go, and Finny saying, “To tell you the truth, I don’t really care.”

Not so many letters from Earl. Most of them full of the kind of news you’d tell a stranger: taking tests, a trip to Italy, a cold he just got over.

A boy in Finny’s math class named Gregory Bundt sitting next to her almost every day. They scribbled notes to each other, drew pictures of the teacher and laughed behind their notebooks. He was thin, pale. His hands left sweaty marks on her desk. He asked her to a dance. He leaned forward, kissed her in a clumsy hard way. The next time, they sat apart in math class. A mutual decision.

A picture of Sylvan on the front steps of Widener Library. He’d been accepted to Harvard. He wrote Finny, Cambridge isnice, except for the Harvard students. It’s kind of a know-it-all group. Meaning, Finny knew, that he was afraid they were smarter than him. Finny wrote back, You should fit right in. And when she visited him, it seemed he did.

“And what do you hear lately from my globe-trotting son?” Mr. Henckel asked one Sunday afternoon.

“Nothing,” Finny said.

“He’s had quite a semester.”

“Why?”

“Take a guess.”

She couldn’t help thinking: a girlfriend, an engagement. Her stomach churned. “I really have no idea,” Finny said.

“A straight-A student,” Mr. Henckel announced, to Finny’s great relief. “Finally, the Henckel genes are kicking in. He showed me the report card when he visited last month.”

“He visited last month?”

Mr. Henckel must have realized his mistake, because he had to pass through many smile-frowns before he was able to say, “It was a brief trip, Finny. I’m sorry.” And in a short time he fell asleep.

After that the landscape of Finny’s school days flattens out. She graduates. She’s leaving for college, arriving at college, saying goodbye to her mother. She stands there, waving, waving, perched on the edge of a whole new set of adventures.

Book Two
Reunions and New Friends

Chapter16
Judith Has a Party

It was a cold and rainy November evening, two months into Finny’s freshman year at Stradler College in Pennsylvania, and Finny was in a taxi, racing toward the Upper West Side of Manhattan. She was on her way to visit her old friend Judith Turngate, at Judith’s parents’ apartment on West Eighty-First Street, near the park. Finny was nineteen. This was her first time in New York alone—she’d been several times with her parents, when her father was alive—and so she’d decided to spring for a cab, uncertain of her ability to navigate the unfamiliar letters and numbers of the subway.

Though, on another occasion Finny would have been the first down the subway steps in a new city. She wasn’t the type to get intimidated by foreign places. It was just that she wasn’t quite herself tonight. Hearing Judith’s instructions on the phone, she’d felt suddenly small, like she was fourteen again, marveling at the mysterious life of more mature, more beautiful Judith. Finny knew she wasn’t bad-looking herself. In her long wool coat, she cut a slim, attractive figure. She still had the apple cheeks, the freckles and red hair of her childhood, though the freckles were fainter, the hair not so stridently red. Only, next to Judith, Finny knew she’d appear awkward and bumbling, a plain and flat-chested girl.

Judith, now a sophomore at Columbia, was the one who’d initiated the contact. She’d written Finny a long letter just after Finny had left for Stradler. She addressed the letter in care of Laura, and asked Finny’s mother to forward the letter to Finny, since Judith didn’t know where Finny was going to school. In the letter Judith said many kind things about the memories she had of Finny, and their time together at Thorndon. She brought up some of the old nicknames Finny hadn’t thought of in years: Old Yeller, Pits of Death, the Jackhammer. They still made Finny laugh. She had such a good time reading the letter, reliving those old memories, that she’d almost forgotten it had been nearly two years since she’d talked to Judith. At the end of the letter Judith wrote, I’ve just been thinking about all the fun we had, and how sad it is that we don’t even talk anymore. I was hoping that maybe we could reestablish the contact a little bit. What do you say, Shorty Finn? I miss you.

Finny was touched. She wrote Judith back the next day, and in the letter she said, I’m so glad you took the time to write, Judith. You’ve always had the balls in this relationship. (Excuse the expression.) I love you for it. I’m looking forward to getting back in touch.

Soon phone calls started. Long, giggly conversations that went on late into the night. Talking to Judith, Finny felt like they were back in their dorm room together, after lights-out, nestled in their private space between the hall and the black windows. She could still make Judith laugh, sometimes so hard her friend dropped the phone. Like when they were in school, Finny waited for that decisive clunk. She told Judith about the sweet Midwestern girl who danced like a stripper at parties, whom Finny called the Moving Violation, and about the drunk boy whom Finny made out with at a rugby party who then pretended he didn’t know her when they were introduced the next day in the dining hall. Finny’s conversations with Judith got her through the first awkward months of college, made her feel solid enough to raise her hand in class, eat in the dining hall alone. Her phone bill was astronomical in October. She bought a phone card.

Then, a few days ago, Judith had called and told Finny, “I’m having a party this weekend. My parents are out of town. You should come.”

For a moment Finny couldn’t speak. She was suddenly, desperately nervous. Somehow, she hadn’t imagined taking this relationship beyond the phone. “I have a midterm on Monday,” she got out at last.

Judith laughed. Then she said, “Oh, you’re serious. Well, you could just come up for the night. Actually, New York is only an hour and a half from Philly.”

“Okay,” Finny said.

“When you get off at Penn Station, just grab a cab. It’ll save you time.”

“Okay,” Finny said again. She didn’t really have the extra money to grab a cab, but she felt Judith’s old confident grip on her, like she was leading her through a crowded room.

“Well then I’ll see you Saturday.”

“See you Saturday,” Finny repeated.

Now, in the cab, the taxi driver said to Finny, “North side. South side.”

“What?” Finny said.

“You want north side of street? South side of street?”

“Oh, I don’t know which side,” Finny said. “The Beresford.”

“Oh,” the taxi driver said. “Very snobby.”

The cab pulled over. Finny paid and got out. She gripped the package she’d brought for Judith under her left arm. Inside was a purple T-shirt with the name Shorty Finn stenciled on the back, in the same pea-soup-green letters that had been printed on Finny’s shirt when she was fourteen. She thought the present would make Judith laugh.

When Finny got to the door of the Beresford, it swung open. The lobby was everything Judith had said it would be: a chandelier the size of a dining table, ornate rugs so plush you could hide in them, an elegant-looking wooden chair parked next to an end table with spindly legs, huge mirrors with gold-plated frames, old-fashioned molding around the ceiling. Finny froze for a minute in the doorway, afraid to go farther. What was she doing here? How could she even think of fitting in in a place like this? The door was still open, and cold air streamed into the lobby. Then a timid voice said “Miss?” and Finny realized that a small man in a red coat and hat was holding the door.

“Oh, sorry. Sorry,” Finny said.

The man nodded, and made a little bowing gesture with his head.

Finny bowed back.

“You’re here for 15J, miss?” the man in the red hat said, once the door had swung shut. He had a thin mustache, black hair and dark eyes, and he spoke in what seemed a studied English.

“Turngate,” Finny said.

“Yes, miss,” the man said. “Could I have your name, please?”

“Finny,” Finny said.

He gave her a puzzled look, as if waiting for more, then picked up a small phone from the wall and pressed a few buttons. In a moment he said, “Yes. We have a Finny here for you.” There must have been some noise in the background, because the man was forced to repeat, “A Finny for you, Miss Turngate. A Finny!”

The man cleared his throat. Finny felt a little embarrassed having her name shouted in the lobby of the Beresford. But Judith must have caught it the third time the man said it, because even Finny could hear the scream on the other end of the line. The man held the phone an inch away from his ear, blinked twice, then said, “I’ll send her right up, Miss Turngate.”

“Finny!” Judith screamed again when she opened the door to the apartment. Her face was flushed, and she leaned across the doorway at an odd angle, as if she’d had to lunge to open it. Somewhere in the apartment some bassy dance music was playing, making the walls of the old building vibrate, and there were loud voices in the background. Judith looked almost the way she had at Thorndon except, somehow, completely different. Her features were more defined now, her cheeks sculpted in the way beautiful women’s often are. Even her somewhat wide jaw was alluring, like a canvas for the glossed lips and white teeth she loved to display. Her hair seemed darker, styled in a more fashionable way, with bangs and a deliberately tousled look. She wore a fitted black button-down shirt, with the cuffs flared, and some gray wool pants that hugged her form. The outfit would have been conservative on someone else, but on Judith’s body it had a calculated sexiness. She was exactly the woman Finny had imagined she would turn out to be.

“It’s so good to see you,” Finny said, trying to keep up the excited tone of their meeting. She felt the way she had when she’d just met Judith, as if this gorgeous young woman had handed her a heavy tray of glasses and Finny had to make sure not a single one dropped.

“Come in, come in,” Judith said, waving Finny in from the hall.

Finny came through the door, and Judith shut it, then gave Finny a long tight hug.

“I brought you a present,” Finny said, and handed Judith the package she’d been gripping in her sweaty hand.

“A present? You didn’t have to bring anything,” Judith said, smacking Finny with an open hand on the shoulder. Then she began untying the bag.

“Oh my God!” Judith screamed. “I don’t believe you. Shorty Finn!” She was hugging Finny again. “This shirt is hilarious. I’m going to change into it right now.” Then she padded off to a room directly in front of Finny and closed the door.

Finny took the opportunity to look around the apartment. The floors were parquet, and beside the door in front of Finny, there was another door to her right. The door to her right was also closed, and Finny heard voices and music behind it. To her left was an enormous living room, with a wraparound couch that could have seated twenty people. Though at the moment it held only eight. Everyone was holding drinks in real glasses with some silver cross-hatching and gold rims—not the plastic cups Finny was used to from college parties. Behind the couch was a large wooden dining table, and a grand piano that must have been as big as Mr. Henckel’s. There was a window that took up the whole far wall of the apartment, and since Judith had the shutters open, Finny got a sparkling view of the city at nighttime, like the stars outside her window when she was a kid. To the right of the city lights was a dark swatch that must have been Central Park.

“Hey there,” one of the boys on the big couch said to Finny, and held his glass up to her like a toast.

“Hey,” Finny said, and because she was still frazzled from the whole scene in the lobby, she gave a small bow.

The boy began to laugh hysterically, so hard that he spilled some of his brown drink onto the sofa. “Oh shit,” he said, and then got down on his hands and knees and put his mouth on the sofa cushion, trying to suck the stain off. The curly-haired girl next to him started to laugh. “You’re good at that,” she said.

Then Judith emerged from the room. “How do I look?” she said, hands on hips, modeling the shirt for Finny the way Finny had modeled hers at Thorndon.

“Beautiful,” Finny said, and it was true. The shirt was supposed to be a nightshirt, but it fit Judith as snugly as the black shirt she’d been wearing a minute before.

“Your coat,” Judith said, and began helping Finny out of her coat. When it was off, Judith placed it on the coat rack by the door. Finny tried to straighten herself—Shoulders back, boobies up, she’d once heard a model advise on television—but she found herself retreating into a comfortable slouch. The shirt she’d picked out—a blue sleeveless with brown polka dots, which a girl at Stradler had told her looked “hot”—felt clownish now.

“Let’s meet people,” Judith said, and took Finny by the arm into the living room. The music was softer here, a faint throbbing. Judith picked up a glass off an end table and pressed it into Finny’s hand, saying she was drinking it before but decided she didn’t want it.

“This is Carter,” Judith said now, holding a palm out to the boy who had a moment ago been sucking on her couch. He stood at attention, not even saying Excuse me to the curly-haired girl he’d been talking to, though she didn’t seem to mind. His dark hair was long for a guy’s, and tousled like Judith’s. He was frighteningly skinny, his eyes dark around the lids like he was wearing eyeliner, the veins in his arms plump as electrical cords. His clothes fit tightly—faded blue jeans and a bright yellow shirt that said Ship Shape across the front and showed a stick figure lifting a dumbbell on the deck of a boat.

“This is my very old and dear friend Finny,” Judith said to Carter.

“Pleasure, darling,” Carter said.

Finny held out her hand, but Carter leaned forward and smacked a kiss right on Finny’s lips. For a moment she could hardly believe he’d done it. She stood there, stunned, lips tingling. The curly-haired girl watched them impassively. The nerve, Finny thought.

But before she could say anything, Judith told Carter, “Finny got me this shirt. Tell me what you think of it.” Judith did a quick spin in front of Carter.

“Look at you,” Carter said. “Gorgeous.” He put a hand on one of Judith’s breasts and squeezed. “I could eat you alive.”

Finny was speechless, scandalized by Carter’s boldness. She took a long sip of the brown liquid in Judith’s glass, which burnt her throat and made her cough. Judith must have noticed Finny’s discomfort, because she quickly told her, “Don’t worry. Carter’s gay.”

“As your shirt is purple,” Carter said. He sat back down on the couch, falling almost immediately into conversation with the girl next to him, as if she’d been waiting for him to finish a point.

“He’s an actor,” Judith went on. “Very dramatic. He actually had a small part in Cats.”

“The second-greatest play in the world,” Carter piped up from the couch.

“And what’s the first?” Judith asked.

“Phantom, of course!” Carter said. He told something to the curly-haired girl that Finny didn’t catch, but the girl laughed and nodded vigorously.

“Then Carter was, um, replaced in the play,” Judith explained, “which was very sad.”

“Tragic!” Carter said, and then immediately began talking to the girl again.

“That’s too bad,” Finny was starting to say, but before the words were even out of her mouth, a very muscular set of arms wrapped themselves around Judith’s waist. The boy they belonged to must have been several inches over six feet. He was wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt, and the sleeves looked stuffed like potato sacks. It took Finny a few seconds to get around to his face, but when she did, she noticed he had a particularly wide jaw, as if to complement Judith’s. His face was all straight lines and hard angles, like some masculine appliance, a drill or a big-screen TV. His wide eyes didn’t just glance at, but took hold of, everything they saw. Finny knew these were qualities a lot of women would have found attractive—the intensity, the assurance, the muscles and chiseled jaw—though Finny couldn’t help feeling a little threatened by them.

“Oh, hey,” Judith said, warmed by the boy’s touch. She looked up at him, like a young girl at a favorite uncle. “This is my friend Finny. Remember I told you about Finny? We went to boarding school together. Only for a few months, but she was my best friend.”

The boy released Judith, and Judith took a step to the side—a routine they’d obviously practiced: they were as proficient as ice dancers.

“Finny, this is Prince,” Judith said.

“Huh?” Finny said, thinking she hadn’t caught the second half of his name.

“Prince,” Judith said.

“Oh,” Finny said. “I’m Prime Minister.” When the boy just stood there, staring, Finny went on, “Sorry. Bad joke. It’s nice to meet you.”

She shook Prince’s hand, which enveloped hers. He shook amiably, though he squeezed a bit harder than Finny thought a guy should squeeze a girl’s hand, as if to prove the strength he held in reserve. He was wearing cologne. A musky-sweet cloud drifted from his body. At college she’d realized she was allergic to cologne. She let go of Prince’s hand.

“Great to meet you,” Prince said, and Finny could almost feel the vibration of his deep voice.

Finny sniffed again, then sipped the brown liquid in her glass. When she was done, she rubbed her nose with her knuckle, trying to get it to stop itching.

“Are you all right?” Prince asked.

“Yeah,” Finny said, “I’m just—” And then she sneezed on him. It came so quickly she couldn’t even put her hand up to muffle it. She felt the spray of it, and she knew he must have, too. Her sneeze was accompanied by a sound— yak—like a cat throwing up a hair ball.

“Oh God. I’m sorry,” Finny said.

But Prince offered a friendly smile and said, “‘Renunciation is not getting rid of the things of this world but accepting that they pass away.’” He wiped his hand on his pants.

“Huh?” Finny said again.

“Prince is into Eastern philosophy,” Judith explained.

“Buddhism in particular,” Prince said. “I used to be a very angry person. But I’ve figured out how to renounce. I’ve found equilibrium.”

“He was recruited for football,” Judith continued, “but now he’s honors in English!”

“‘But, soft,’” Prince began to quote, “‘what light through yonder window breaks?’” He spoke the words competently, though there was something chantlike about them. “‘It is the east, and Judith is the sun.’” He concluded the quotation, smiling in a way that could have been either self-deprecating or prideful, Finny wasn’t sure. She felt a pang of sadness, thinking of her father, who quoted much more convincingly than Prince.

Then Carter began to sing his own quote, “‘Mid-niiight, not a sound from the paaaave-ment. Has the moon lost her memmm-ryyyy?’”

The curly-haired girl seemed transfixed.

“Webber,” Carter said to Prince, as if he’d asked.

“Okay, Carter,” Prince said. He smiled again in that practiced, good-humored way—it seemed to be his response to a fork in the road of any conversation—though Finny noticed a vein pulsing in his temple, almost to the beat of the bassy music in the background.

“Don’t get upset,” Judith said to Prince.

“I’m not,” Prince said. He leaned over and kissed Judith on the temple. As he did it, Finny saw one of his large hands gather into a fist, then relax, like he was trying to pump the last dregs out of a tube of toothpaste. Finny sipped her drink.

Then Prince said to Carter, “‘Your worst enemy cannot harm you as much as your own unguarded thoughts.’”

“Am I really your worst enemy?” Carter asked.

“Jesus, Carter,” Prince said. “Let’s give it a rest. Have you ever heard the saying ‘Do not speak unless it improves on silence’?”

“Oh, it always improves,” Carter said, and turned back to the curly-haired girl.

“Listen, though,” Prince said now to Judith, wrapping one of his substantial arms around her waist, “I have to head out.”

“Okay,” Judith said, leaning into him.

“Bye, babe,” Prince said, sliding his hand onto Judith’s hip, giving her a peck on the lips.

“Bye,” Judith said.

Prince walked out of the apartment, forgetting to say anything to Finny.

“By the way, your boyfriend is a douche,” Carter said to Judith now. “And that anger management program is not working.”

“He’s just kidding around with you,” Judith said.

“He seems nice,” Finny said to Judith, balancing that heavy tray.

“Just so you know, his real name is Milton,” Carter told Finny. “But now he’s Prince, the football player formerly known as Milton. He got into Columbia because he’s a Hollibrand, which is basically as good as a Kennedy around here. And incidentally, Mr. and Mrs. Hollibrand are very good friends with the Turngates. Did I miss anything, Judith?”

“I think that’s about it, Carter.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Carter went on. “If you ask me, he’s a closet homo.”

Finny was laughing. She was starting to like Carter.

“Well, no one asked you,” Judith said, and took Finny by the arm, leading her back toward the entryway where Finny had come in.

“So, you ever talk to Sylvan anymore?” Finny asked. The question had just popped out. It was the first time she’d ever asked Judith about Sylvan.

“Um. A little,” Judith said. “I saw him one weekend. He came down. We hung out.”

“Oh,” Finny said. She tried to catch Judith’s eye, but Judith looked away.

“Let’s go see what they’re doing in there,” Judith said, and took Finny toward the closed door on the other side of the entryway. As they walked, Finny placed her glass on the end table from which Judith had plucked it earlier. The music was loud behind the door—some kind of electronic music, echoing chords and a persistent, rhythmic static. The voices were nearly shouting. Finny wasn’t sure if some kind of argument was going on.

Judith opened the door. It was a moment Finny would think about for many years to come, a moment when her life seemed to change course, like a car pulling off a highway.

At first there was nothing terribly surprising about the room. Four disheveled-looking boys in different variations of black-on-black wardrobes were seated in a circle next to a large canopy bed with a pink comforter, which Finny guessed was Judith’s. The boys were all drinking from coffee mugs, and talking heatedly about something intellectual. “It’s not an issue of pragmatism,” one of them said. The room smelled faintly of smoke.

Behind the bed there was a couple making out on a hard-backed chair. The girl had an ample backside, which was pretty much all Finny could see of her, because she was straddling the boy, who looked skinny and had a large tattoo of something like an anteater on his neck. The boy had his hands pushed up under the girl’s shirt, and she kept making exaggerated sounds of surprise. They didn’t even pause when Judith and Finny came in.

Then Finny looked into the back corner of the room. What she saw there made her stop in the doorway. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. Sitting by himself, his chin propped on his hand, nodding off in a cushioned chair, was Earl Henckel.

Chapter17
The Party, After Finny’s Discovery

“I didn’t know it was the Earl,” Judith was saying a minute later when the three of them had congregated in the study next to Judith’s bedroom. It was a small room, with a desk that wrapped around three of the four walls, and a rolling desk chair behind Finny. There were some built-in bookshelves above the desk. A message in bubbly letters floated across a computer’s black screen: Judith’s Computer, Don’t Touch. The windows of the study were shuttered, the door closed, and in this quiet space Finny felt almost completely removed from the world, suspended above the music and conversation of the party, the horns blaring and trucks rumbling on the streets.

“I guess we were introduced when you came in,” Judith went on. “But how would I know it was you?”

“You guys never met, did you?” Finny said. Earl was just staring at her, speechless.

“No,” Judith said. “Remember, it was that time I came to visit you in Maryland, and I stayed in with your brother when you went to see Earl.”

“Oh my God,” Finny said to Earl now, staring at him again in disbelief. “I just can’t believe it’s you.” And she hugged him, put her arm around his shoulder, brushed his stubbly face with her fingers—anything just to touch him, to make sure he was real.

“It’s me, Fin,” Earl said, shaking his head. “This is unbelievable.”

When she stood back and looked at him, she was amazed at the transformation. It was still Earl—the manly face and torso, the slight blush in his cheeks, the pudgy fingers, the adorably stubby legs—but he looked like he’d aged so much. His skin seemed darker, weathered, and his sandy hair longer, flopping on his forehead, so that sometimes he had to brush it away with his hand. He had the faint shadow of a beard, and he seemed to stand a little straighter, his chest puffed out like he was being challenged to a fight.

“Who’d you come with?” Judith asked. “Not that I’m not thrilled you’re here. I’m ecstatic. I’m just wondering how this all happened.”

“It’s weird,” Earl said. “I didn’t even realize where I was going. I was just having a drink with a friend, and he said he wanted to stop by this party. He told me your name was Judith, but I guess I didn’t catch your last name. His name is Paul Lilly.”

“Sure. Paul,” Judith said. “He’s an English major at NYU,” she explained to Finny.

“I actually don’t know where he is,” Earl said. “He was talking to some people, and I just got in from France so I’m ridiculously jet-lagged. I decided to go off and close my eyes for a minute.”

“I saw you sleeping,” Finny said, smiling at him.

Earl laughed. “Did I snort when I woke up?”

“It was hard to hear over the music,” Finny said, “but I think so.”

Judith seemed thrilled by everything Finny and Earl said to each other. She watched them like they were the most entertaining movie in the world, a budding smile on her lips.

“You know what?” Judith said. “This is silly. Why am I standing here getting in the way? I’m going to leave you two alone to catch up.”

“It’s okay,” Finny and Earl both said at the same time.

But Judith shook her head. She pulled Finny and Earl into a three-way hug. When they let go, Judith said goodbye and blew a kiss to them both. She walked out of the study, and Finny heard the music and voices swell for a moment. Then Judith shut the door behind her, and they were alone again in their quiet space.

Finny turned to Earl. “This is strange,” she said.

Earl nodded.

“I feel like when you’re a teenager and your friends lock you in a closet with a boy you like. Not that that ever happened to me. But I’ve heard about it happening.”

Earl smiled. Even though he was exhausted, Finny could see the effort he was making with her, how much he wanted to please her. They stood there for a minute, looking each other over, marveling at what they saw. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, more like the hush in a museum when people are looking at beautiful paintings. She didn’t feel shy; she knew he understood. There was so much to say, and she couldn’t think of where to start.

At last, though, and without speaking, they fell into each other’s arms. This time they held each other tightly, with more conviction than they had in front of Judith. Finny started to cry. Earl smoothed his hand over her back. He kissed her neck, her cheek, her forehead, her lips. His mouth against hers was like some longed-for taste, a food she remembered from childhood, a feeling that had been part of her so long she couldn’t remember a time before it.

“My God,” Finny said again, pulling her lips away from his, her hands still holding his face. She felt quivery and strangely light. “Why are you here?”

“I’m trying to be a writer,” Earl said. “I’m still figuring out the best way to do it. But I thought New York would be the place to start. I took some time off work. I wanted to come here for a few weeks and see if I could make it.”

He explained that he’d met some Americans last winter in Paris, after he’d finished school and was deciding whether to come back to the States, whether to go to college. Earl had a job in a restaurant, cleaning chickens and stocking the bar and washing dishes. He wasn’t sure if he really needed college to do what he wanted to do. The friends said he could come to New York anytime, crash at their apartment in the Village. They were NYU students, and had cheap student housing. They loved to argue about books and French movies. They’d all grown up in the city, attended Fieldston or Horace Mann or Bronx Science. Earl decided to take them up on the offer this year. He needed to get away from home for a bit, to look around and see what was out there for him. He’d flown into New York the night before.

“So here I am,” Earl said.

“And for how long?”

“Maybe a few weeks. A month. Longer. It depends.”

“On what?”

“On what I see, I guess.”

“Well, what do you think so far?” Finny said, standing back from him, striking one of her silly hand-on-hip poses.

But Earl simply said, “What I see is great, Finny.”

She kissed him then, put her arms around him and squeezed like she used to. “Oh, Earl,” she said, feeling those familiar gears begin to turn.

After a little while, Earl said, “Do you think we should go back to the party?”

“I don’t want to,” Finny said, “but maybe we should.”

“I’d love to just go get coffee with you somewhere and talk.”

Finny hesitated. “Me, too,” she said. “I’d just feel bad, since I came all the way up here to spend time with Judith. I wouldn’t want her to think I was ditching her.”

“That was really nice of her, leaving us alone to catch up. She seems like a thoughtful person. A good friend.”

“She is,” Finny said. And she realized Earl had done it again, built someone up from the scraps of her personality, into a beautiful shape.

“You have a good sense for people,” he said. “I think my dad is as happy as he’s ever been.”

She laughed. “They’re adorable together, Earl. When I go over, he pours the coffee, and she tells him to wash his hands before he touches hers. Then when he falls asleep, Poplan brushes the crumbs off his sleeves and shakes her head in this severe way, but you really know she loves him. And then he plays the piano for her, or tells stories and she never interrupts him. It’s exactly the way a marriage should be.”

Finny was going to say more, but a prickly thought snagged her.

“Earl,” she said, steadying herself, “there’s something I need to ask you.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to know what happened. Why’d you stop writing and calling? I found out from your dad you’d been in town and didn’t even tell me. It really hurt me when I heard that. And then tonight again. You’re sitting there in my friend’s bedroom, and I didn’t even know you were in the country. Couldn’t you have written? Your dad knows my address.”

“Finny,” Earl said, but for a moment he couldn’t say more. He stood there, with a look of such pain that Finny began to feel sorry for him. Yet the splinter of his betrayal was still lodged in her.

“When I heard that from your dad, I almost died,” Finny said. It was dramatic, she knew. And yet the words conveyed something of the horrible, sick feeling she’d had, like she’d been on top of a high building that was beginning to crumble. She’d never forget that moment; at the time, it had seemed the start of some awful, irrevocable decline.

“You have to understand,” Earl said now. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“Then why—” Finny began.

“I just thought—” Earl interrupted, then stopped to look at her. “I just thought it would be better. I didn’t want us to go through high school waiting for something that might or might not happen. I wanted more than anything to write you, to pick up the phone and call you every day. But I couldn’t bear to think I was messing up your life. I wanted you to be able to live your life, not wait for it. That’s not the way you should be spending your time. You’re too good for that. And I didn’t know what was going on with you now, so I didn’t want to just barge in assuming you’d want to see me. I figured I’d take my time, find out from my dad and Poplan what you were up to. You have to understand, I didn’t know what the right thing was. You were the first person I’d loved like that.”

Finny tried to let herself absorb this. She imagined Earl, taking his lonely walks through Paris, eating his banana crêpes, sitting in his tiny apartment with the one high window, thinking of her. It was a sad picture. And her own wasn’t much brighter: four years scooped out of her life. She felt the hole they’d left, the drafty cave of Earl’s absence. But the word that stuck in her head was the one he’d just said: loved. Not love.

“So you waited for me?” Finny said.

“I guess so,” Earl said, blushing a little. “Do you think you can forgive me, Finny? Can you understand?”

“I think so,” Finny said, and took his hand in hers. His palm was moist, cold, and she understood how nervous this confession must have made him. She squeezed his hand harder. “Only next time,” she said to Earl, as gently as she could, “please consult me before you take my interests in mind. If I wanted to spend my time waiting, that was my choice.”

“I know. I can see that now. I didn’t think of how it would seem to you. I just thought it would be easier, that you’d forget about me.”

“I’ll never forget about you, Earl,” Finny said, and when she looked at him, she knew somehow it was true.

“So, what do you think?” Earl said. “Should we go back?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Finny said. “I guess so.”

“How long are you in New York?”

“I just came for the night. I mean, I was supposed to head back tonight.”

“Can you stay till tomorrow? Maybe we could have brunch together.”

“The thing is,” Finny said, “I have this midterm on Monday. I’ll definitely stay if it’s the best time to see you. But are you going to be around next weekend?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you have plans?”

“My plans are to spend as much time as humanly possible with Finny Short.”

“Deal,” Finny said. “Then shall we go back and make our appearance?”

“We shall,” Earl said, and took Finny by the arm, escorting her back to the party.

Chapter18
A True First Date

The midterm, which was in philosophy, went well. Finny handed in the test, sweating and red-faced, as she always was after exams, and went back to sleep in her dorm room.

Her roommate wasn’t there. She hardly ever was. Her name was Dorrie Kibler, and she was on the swim team. She was tall and broad-shouldered for a girl, though with a gentle voice, a thin nose like some invisible fingers were pinching it. She was exceedingly polite, always asking Finny if she needed anything when Dorrie went to the co-op in town, or if Finny minded if Dorrie kept her light on at night to study. Dorrie was in the campus Christian fellowship, and her social life revolved around that group. Friday nights were spent in prayer group, Saturdays baking cookies and breads for charity, Sundays at church, and then the church brunch. Dorrie had a boyfriend in the group, a nice and very dull junior named Steven Bench whose only mark of rebellion was a small silver hoop earring in his left ear. Dorrie spent a lot of nights in Steven’s room—Finny hadn’t realized what a time commitment not having sex was—and often the only trace of her in their room was a faint odor of chlorine.

So Finny had the room to herself that week, to her thoughts and worries and hopes about Earl. Her night with him in New York already felt like a dream, something you wish for so much your mind makes it true. And then that awful feeling of waking up, knowing it was all in your head. It was especially tough because she hadn’t gotten any word from Earl since the night of the party. She’d told him she would be busy studying, so it was perfectly reasonable that he wouldn’t call. But still, she wanted him to. Just to say Hi, I’m here. What a mess I am, Finny thought.

It was during this time that Finny went to the music library to look for the piece Earl’s father had played that first day she met him, when Earl took Finny to the little brown house. It was an odd thing: now that Earl was so close, the distance and the time apart were almost unbearable. She needed some part of him to be close to her.

Finny sat there, going through album after album of piano music. Earl had mentioned Brahms once, so she tried Brahms. Then Chopin. But she couldn’t get the piece. She asked the music librarian, a man with a goatee who stroked his facial hair in a creepy way as you talked, but her descriptions didn’t help. She could hear it, but when the music librarian asked her to sing a little portion, she faltered. She’d always been a terrible singer. So the music stayed inside of Finny. She gave up on her search. She could have called Mr. Henckel, but she didn’t want to have to talk about Earl.

Then, on Wednesday, the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“So, what do you feel like doing this weekend?” It was Earl’s voice. Relief washed over her.

“Whatever. I just want to spend time with you.”

“But we have to do something, don’t we? It would be boring just sitting around the apartment.”

“What do you like to do?”

“Um,” Earl said, “just walk around mostly.”

“Walking around sounds good.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Anywhere you want,” Finny said. “I’ll let you choose.”

“Then how about Central Park?”

It was the week before Thanksgiving, though it felt like September in the city. The afternoon was warm, the light on the buildings golden, the sky a gemstone blue. Finny walked out of Penn Station, into the tide of shoppers and commuters, feeling as if she were being swept up in the energy of the place, a powerful wave guiding her to shore. She smelled smoke from the man cooking kebabs on the corner, heard a woman speaking into a megaphone, “Jesus Christ is your savior, honey. Let me ask you a question: If ya don’t trust Jesus, who can ya trust?” And a man, in torn canvas pants and an overcoat, with a scraggly beard and a mane of frazzled hair, yelling back at the woman, “Ma toes is itchin’! Ma toes is itchin’!”

She decided to walk uptown; she’d only brought a backpack with her. She was meeting Earl at three at the southeast corner of Central Park, and she had time.

She passed Times Square, walked under the hot lights of the theaters, past the windows with displays of women in lingerie, the video shops with dirty movies, the pizza parlors, the jewelry stores, the clothing racks, the blankets spread on the sidewalk paved with scarves and hats and purses. She crossed Sixth Avenue at Fiftieth Street, peeked in at the ice skaters doing laps at Rockefeller Center, some of them wearing only T-shirts. She walked up Fifth Avenue, past the doormen in caps and jackets, the Bergdorf Goodman window displaying an elaborate crime scene enacted by mannequins, the Paris Theatre. She stood at the corner of the park, waiting, smelling the barnyard smell of the horse carriages, watching tourists have their portraits sketched, the cabs swinging around the bend onto Fifty-ninth Street.

Then Earl was coming out of the park, a thick book in his hand, saying, “It was so beautiful, I spent the day reading. How long have you been waiting?” It was 3:45. His face was clean-shaven now, his eyes wide and excited.

“I just got here,” Finny said. “What are you reading?”

“Dickens. David Copperfield. It’s the funniest book I’ve ever read.”

They slipped into each other’s arms, like they’d been meeting here every week. He kissed her. He took her backpack and strapped it on his shoulders. They held hands, walked into the park.

“I saw the skaters at Rockefeller Center,” Finny said. “Isn’t it early for that? It’s so strange in this weather. But it looked fun.”

“Do you like to skate?”

“I like it, but I’m terrible at it. I’ve only done it a few times.”

“Let’s go skating,” Earl said. “I know another place. It’s less crowded.”

She was happy to be led by Earl, to give herself up to the flow of his intentions. She didn’t want to make decisions today. She was content to watch the world, the shafts of sunlight through the tree branches, the startlingly green lawns, the fat golden leaves dropping from the trees.

They went to Wollman rink, which was less crowded than Rockefeller Center, as Earl had predicted. They rented skates and a locker for Finny’s bag, then set out on the ice. Big band music was playing on the speakers, and Earl did a little dance step to the rhythm, crossing his right skate over his left. He was a good skater, Finny noticed with surprise. For some reason she’d expected him to be clumsy, timid, but instead he turned effortlessly, backward and forward, his feet swishing along the ice.

Meanwhile, she was the one with ankles turned, feet shuffling and slipping. Earl took her by the hands, and he skated backward while she went forward, like they were dancing. She warned him when there was someone in the way—a slow skater like herself, or a fallen child. Finny flinched every time she heard someone fall— whup! whoa!—as if the unfortunate skater were going to pull her down with him. But Earl didn’t let her fall. He always had a hand on her, an arm around her, keeping her balanced.

“Where did you learn to skate?” she asked him.

“In Paris,” Earl said. “My mom and I would go a lot of weekends every winter, outside the Hôtel de Ville. It’s free, and my mom is actually a great skater. Since she’d been a dancer, she’s very graceful. She can even do some figure skating, pulling her body in and spinning on one skate. That kind of thing.”

“So you did a lot together?”

“That was the most fun thing we did. Or the most natural, I mean. The other times it was forced. There was always this barrier. I guess it’s like that when you don’t meet your parent until you’re a teenager. There are always these questions. Why did you do that? Why didn’t you want me? Even though I tried not to think those things, I couldn’t help it. When we were ice skating, we could just enjoy each other’s company, and we only had to think about getting around the rink.”

“But you think she loves you, right?”

“I do. And I care about her a lot. She has such a lonely life in Paris. She only half-speaks the language, after all this time. But she’s also really hard to get to know. You’ll see one day, when you meet her.”

“You think I’ll meet her?” Finny said.

“I hope so,” Earl said.

“You know,” Finny said, “I used to imagine the way your life was in Paris, what you were doing at that exact moment, that kind of thing.”

“Really?”

“I wondered things. Like, did you have other girlfriends?”

“Well,” Earl said, and Finny noticed he had a brush of color on his cheeks, “not really girlfriends.”

She realized then that she didn’t want to hear about it, no matter how many or few girls he’d dated. She’d had her own dark little tussles with boys on her campus, understood the fuzzy embarrassment surrounding them. So she was glad when Earl started on a new topic. “By the way, how’s your mom?” he asked.

“We hardly talk,” Finny said. “In a way, I think it was a relief for both of us when I went to school. But I think she’s good. Same as always.”

“It’s so funny that I’ve never met her.”

“It is.”

“And your brother.”

“And my brother. I know. But you should still be mad at him for turning us in that time. He’s the reason I got sent to Thorndon.”

“But you wouldn’t have met Judith if you didn’t go to Thorndon. Then we wouldn’t have met in Judith’s bedroom. Everything has different sides.”

“That’s true,” Finny said. “It’s crazy. All of this.”

“Are you going home for Thanksgiving?” Earl asked.

“I am. Are you?”

“At least for a couple days. I have to see my dad and Poplan. I promised them. So we’ll spend some time when we’re both at home?”

“Sure,” Finny said.

After they’d taken a couple more laps, Finny had to stop because her feet hurt—though she would have liked to go round and round the rink all night. They returned their skates. It was evening now—darkness at five o’clock, a reminder that the warm weather wouldn’t last. The temperature was dropping, and Finny got an extra sweatshirt out of her bag.

“Hey,” Earl said when she put it on.

“What?”

“That sweatshirt. What do you call it?”

“Oh. The green reaper. It’s pretty torn up now. But I just can’t seem to part with it.”

“I love it,” Earl said. “Don’t ever part with it.”

They decided to take the subway back to the Village, near where Earl was staying. They walked to an Italian restaurant Earl knew, several blocks south of Washington Square Park. He seemed to know a lot of the restaurants in the neighborhood, and he pointed some out to Finny, saying that they’d have to try this one or that one together sometime. It was as if he were building up a future for them—dinners in the city, trips to France—the way he built people up, out of moments, glances, words. The world was gleaming with possibilities.

At dinner—in their private nook next to the waiters’ station, where Finny could hear one waiter complaining about a customer “dicking” him—she said to Earl, “I want to read something you’ve written.” The idea had just occurred to her. They were sitting over nearly finished bowls of pasta, both of them having been hungry from the skating.

“Sometime,” he said. “When I have something good enough to show you.”

“It doesn’t have to be good,” Finny said. “I’m just interested.”

She realized she’d said the wrong thing when she saw Earl’s expression, the way his lips tightened.

“What I mean is, I just want to know you. To know that part of you.” And it was true. She felt as if Earl were some great expanse of land, like that green ribbon of horizon she’d watched as a child, and she wanted to walk every inch of his terrain.

“But I know it will be good,” she told him.

“Thanks,” he said, and they didn’t talk any more about it.

The apartment where Earl was staying was on Tenth Street, near University Place—an odd-shaped building, one of its four corners jutting out so that two of the walls were longer than the others. There were four rooms in the apartment: a common room and three bedrooms. The rooms were small and stuffy, cluttered with textbooks and soda bottles and ragged furniture. There were dishes in the sink, a little puddle of something that looked like ketchup on the counter, turning brown, which no one had thought to wipe up. Earl was sharing a room with one of his friends, a guy named Eric, but he mentioned that his roommate wouldn’t be coming back tonight. In fact, at this hour—a little after eight—none of his friends were home.

So Finny and Earl decided to watch a movie in Earl’s bedroom, on the small TV Eric kept on the window ledge, in front of the window fan. Finny could see flashes and glimmers of the busy street below, through the fan’s plastic case. Earl rifled through Eric’s movies, saying to Finny, “I’m sorry. The selection’s not great. They’re a little snobby about movies.”

“Well, I’m a little snobby about clean kitchens,” Finny said. “So we’re even.”

Earl laughed and put in a cassette: Jules and Jim. He said he remembered watching it with his mom once and liking it. He and Finny sat on the bed, backs to the wall, knees at their chests, their legs and arms pressed against each other but not linked.

It turned out not to matter what they were watching, because soon Finny and Earl were kissing. Actually, Finny had liked the movie—the doomed energy of the characters—but she liked kissing Earl more. She found herself closing her eyes, her mind floating off as he pressed against her. They lay down. He touched her stomach, her back, her breasts. It startled her, the sudden closeness.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m just—this all feels so strange. But in a good way.”

“I’m really happy I found you, Finny.”

She smiled at that, and let him go on, touching, stroking, kissing. He took her shirt off, then his own. He still had a strong chest, square shoulders, but a lip of skin hung over his belt. She thought it was adorable: a place to rest her hands. His skin was pale, etched with dark hairs like pencil marks. He took off her bra, with surprising competence, like when he’d dashed onto the ice in his skates earlier. He put his mouth on Finny’s nipple, and she felt a shock of excitement. She sighed.

He was gentle with her. Each time he’d start something new, he would ask her, “Is this okay? Do you like this?” And she would nod, too feverish to speak. He guided her hand down his stomach, beneath his belt, and she felt his erection.

“Do you want to have sex?” she finally got out, through heavy breaths. She remembered the time she’d returned from one of their sessions in the old vineyard, and her underwear had been dotted with blood from their investigations. She felt as if he’d made a promise to her then, begun something he needed to finish.

“If you do,” he said.

“I do.”

“I have a condom.”

“I do, too,” she told him, just so he’d know.

They ended up using his. She watched him roll it on. Thinking of what he’d said before while they were skating: Not really girlfriends.

But she loved this. Every part of this. Not just the rushes of tingly warmth but these funny unsexy moments, like when they had to stop to get their pants off, or put the condom on. You never saw those parts in movies. Though to Finny they were just as much a piece of the experience as the panting and the moaning.

When he pushed into her, she felt a pinch, like from a thumbtack. Then a surge of quivery heat passed through her body. Her leg trembled. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh God,” she said, realizing she’d come. She tilted her head back, let her mouth fall open, and moaned. She felt him plunging, plunging. It wasn’t painful, as she’d feared it might be. When he came, his mouth dropped open, too. She pulled him to her, wanting to protect him, and also to feel him thrust inside her one more time.

Afterward, he wrapped the condom—which was only slightly bloody, a not unpleasant pink—in tissues, and dabbed himself off. She laughed at his fastidiousness.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing. Just you. I love you.”

“You can have it as a present,” he said, holding the ball of tissues up for her, then kissing her on the ear. “And by the way, I love you, too.”

Chapter19
A Potential Conflict Arises over Eggs and French Toast

The next morning they had brunch with Judith and Carter at a restaurant Judith picked in the East Village. They stood in line for an hour, waiting to have their names called. Everyone outside seemed to be in their twenties, attractive and dressed in a consciously haphazard way, with carefully mussed hair, spotless tennis shoes. Finally they were seated at what seemed to Finny a perfectly good table, in the quiet back of the restaurant. Though for some reason Judith didn’t seem pleased.

“She’s just sore because she heard they seat all the good-looking people in front,” Carter said when they sat down.

“That’s not true,” Judith said, turning red.

“I knew I should have taken more time with my hair,” Earl joked.

“And I should have worn my good dentures,” Finny added. “These chompers are not what they used to be.”

Carter was laughing. Judith scowled at him.

Actually, it was a pretty place inside, a row of windows in the front with little square panes letting in a wash of sunlight. A large oak bar in the center of the room. Some very green plants next to the windows along the side walls. A lot of funky artwork featuring animals depicted in colorful blocky forms.

The menu was simple, and inexpensive: eggs, bagels, pancakes. They ordered a lot, all of them starved from the long wait outside.

“So, what did you guys do last night?” Carter asked, after the food arrived.

“We just stayed in,” Finny said. “Watched a movie.”

“A little alone time?” Carter prodded.

“You need to learn when to zip it,” Judith told him. Finny could see her friend was still smarting over Carter’s comment about the table.

“You’re wrong on two counts, darling,” Carter countered, stuffing a hash brown into his mouth. “First, you will never find out anything interesting without asking. Second, your friend Finny is perfectly capable of deciding whether or not she wants to tell me which sexual positions she has mastered in the past twenty-four hours.”

Finny felt herself blushing now. She didn’t dare look at Earl, who must have been the color of the ketchup bottle.

“Listen,” Carter said to Finny, “I’m just teasing. I’m bitter because I spent my Friday night catering on Park Avenue at some retirement home they call an apartment building.”

“I didn’t know you catered,” Finny said.

“If someone in New York tells you he’s an actor,” Carter said, “you better believe he knows how to pass a tray of salmon croquettes.”

Earl laughed at that. “Yeah, you know that writer and waiter are only one letter apart.”

“I’ve never heard that,” Carter said. “That’s golden.”

Finny wasn’t sure if she liked this kind of joking. It was true, they were both struggling. But they were doing what they loved. She had no idea what that would be for herself.

So she said, “Well, you two are only one seat apart, so if you want to make out at any time, just let us know and we’ll turn our heads.”

“To vomit,” Judith added, though Finny could see she was having a good time now that her food had arrived. She’d ordered French toast, and was stacking it on her fork, dousing it with maple syrup the way she used to in the Thorndon dining hall. That was the thing about Judith: she had these little pretensions, like about the table, but after a minute she would drop them and just have fun.

“So how about you?” Finny asked Judith. “What did you do last night?”

“Prince and I went out for dinner.”

“Oh,” Finny said. She wasn’t quite sure what to say about Prince, since she knew Carter didn’t like him. She took a bite of her omelet.

“And you should tell her who’s coming to visit after the holiday,” Carter said to Judith. “Because that’s an important piece, too.”

Judith rolled her eyes. “He’s talking about your brother.” Then to Carter, “The reason I didn’t tell her was that she told me a million years ago not to talk about what I did with her brother. Isn’t that right, Fin?”

“Yeah,” Finny said. “But I guess it’s different now. I guess it’s okay if you tell me.”

“Well, then,” Judith said. “Actually, Sylvan is coming the Saturday after Thanksgiving, on his way back up to Boston.”

“Does he know about Prince?” Finny asked. She couldn’t help it.

“That’s the other other piece,” Carter said, then stuffed another hash brown in his mouth.

Chapter20
A Difficult Thanksgiving

Finny spent the rest of the weekend with Earl, meeting Judith once more for a quick cup of coffee on Sunday before she went back to Stradler. She told Judith she would be coming up to the city a lot, so there would be no tearful goodbyes.

Then three days of classes at Stradler, and Finny was on the train to Baltimore Wednesday evening.

In Baltimore, Laura was waiting for Finny outside the train station. She still drove the green Oldsmobile Stanley used to drive. She got out when she saw Finny, and they hugged each other.

“So good to see you, sweetie,” Laura said.

“You too, Mom,” Finny said. Though she’d only been away three months, for the first time Finny noticed how much her mother had aged. Her neck looked thin, and her skin was loose around her jaw. Her hair looked drier, and was a white-blond color in front, where it used to be a honey-brown. She still had it cut short like she had just after Stanley died.

They got in the car and started driving. Coming home had such an odd feeling for Finny, since she didn’t really think of Laura’s house as her home anymore. And her mother—she was more like a distant aunt or an old teacher than a parent.

Hard as she tried, Laura was not what you’d call a superb driver. Some other words you might not use to describe her driving included: smooth, safe, or within any reasonable range of accepted driving codes. She’d gotten by without having to drive much while Stanley was alive, but now she was full captain of the Oldsmobile, and Finny and Sylvan suffered the consequences whenever they came home to visit. Finny especially, because she’d never learned how to drive; she just hadn’t wanted the responsibility.

So now, when Laura merged onto the Jones Falls Expressway by cutting across two lanes of traffic without using her blinker, Finny was not surprised to hear the horns of angry drivers sounding behind them. In fact, a chorus of horns followed Laura wherever she drove. Though rather than taking the honking as a sign of people’s aggravation with her, Laura seemed to believe they were offering some kind of greeting or helpful encouragement. Her universal response, whenever anyone honked at her, was to wave. Sometimes the wave was accompanied by a small, pleased grin, or even a playful tap on her own horn. Any automotive difficulty—from a near-collision to a tailpipe spewing smoke like a chimney—could be solved with a wave. Watching Laura drive, you might have believed that world peace and a cure for cancer were only a wave and a smile away.

“So tell me about you,” Laura said now to Finny, applying a curious combination of brake and accelerator, as if in rhythm to a song. The car behind her honked and flashed its headlights. Laura waved and kept up her rhythm.

“I was in New York last weekend,” Finny said.

“Really? Why?”

“To visit my friend Judith Turngate. You remember Judith, Mom?”

“Oh,” Laura said. “Oh sure. She’s lovely.” Laura was speaking in the distant way she sometimes did when Finny approached a topic that might reference Stanley.

“Well, anyway, I saw her. And also another old friend who’s in the city.” She was still debating whether to tell her mother about Earl. It had been so long since Laura had gotten angry about him. Another era. What harm could it do?

“Actually,” Finny went on, channeling Judith’s confidence, “it was Earl Henckel. The boy from next door. You remember him? The one Sylvan caught me kissing a long time ago?” Finny laughed, trying to strike a pose where she could joke around over old battles and grudges.

The funny thing was that Laura seemed just as unsure about their relationship as Finny. She smiled hesitantly. “Well,” she said to Finny, “that’s interesting. What’s he up to?”

“He’s trying to be a writer. He’s living with some friends in New York.”

“How is he making money?” Laura asked, and it was at that moment that Finny decided not to introduce Earl to her on this trip.

“I think he has some saved up,” Finny said.

“By the way,” Laura said, “we’ll have an extra guest at Thanksgiving this year.”

“Who’s that?” Finny asked.

“A man named Gerald. A friend of mine.”

They were coming up on Greenspring Station, where the expressway funneled into Falls Road, the country road they used to take all the way out to the Geist Road house. The three-lane road narrowed to a single lane here, and now Laura put on the brakes, with the ostensibly helpful purpose of letting others go ahead of her. It’s not often that someone comes to a full stop in the middle of a forty-mile-per-hour road, and it must have thrown some of the other drivers for a loop, because one man sped past and yelled through an open window, “Take a fucking driving class!”

For a moment Laura appeared shocked. She put her hand to her mouth and widened her eyes, as if she’d seen something extraterrestrial. But soon her politeness got the best of her, and she waved.

·    ·    ·

On Thanksgiving day, while Laura and Sylvan were cooking, Finny decided to give Earl’s house a call.

“Hello,” said Poplan’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey,” Finny said. “What’s that in the background?”

There was some loud synthesizer music playing, and Finny heard the squeaky voice of Poplan’s cousin saying: “All the ladies in the house, can ya hear me?” And then some other voices—presumably the other cousins—answering, “Yeah!”

“Oh, the cousins. They’re into this dancehall music now,” Poplan said. “Hold on one second.” Then Finny heard Poplan calling, “Alana! Take that salad bowl off your head and do not use the tongs as percussion instruments!”

“Sorry,” Poplan said to Finny when she got back on the line. “How are you?”

Finny said she was good, enjoying the break from school. They wished each other a happy Thanksgiving. Then Finny asked about coming over on Friday.

“I’d love it,” Poplan said. “The only thing is, Menalcus has a show.”

“A show?”

“I’m his manager now,” Poplan said.

“Manager for what?”

“Why don’t you come and see? I know Earl is planning to come. And I need to get away from the cousins for a night. If I hear the word breakdown one more time, I might take it literally.”

“All right. Where am I going?”

“It’s called the Tender Crab.”

“Sounds lovely,” Finny said.

Gerald Kramp was a darkly suntanned man in his sixties, with silver hair that looked wind-blown, as if he’d just come in from a walk on the beach. His teeth were impressively white, small, and sharp, and against his tanned skin, they looked a bit like the teeth of a jack-o’-lantern. From what Finny gathered, her mother had been “seeing” him since September, just after Finny left for college. They had met at a movie at the Baltimore Museum of Art, talked all through the reception, then gone out for a drink afterward and talked some more.

Gerald seemed perfectly nice. When he came in, he gave Laura a restrained peck on the cheek, then shook Finny’s and Sylvan’s hands with his own very clean and manicured hand. Sylvan—who now wore his hair parted, pushed back off his face with his fingertips—asked Gerald if he’d like a glass of wine, and when Gerald said sure, Sylvan asked if he’d prefer red or white.

“Whatever you want,” Gerald said.

“How about red?” Sylvan offered.

“That would be great,” Gerald said, then seemed to hesitate. “Except,” he went on, “there are some advantages to starting with white. Your teeth won’t get stained, for one. Not that I care. I only mention it because I thought you’d want to know.”

Laura smiled.

“Then how about white?” Sylvan suggested.

“That’s fine with me,” Gerald said. “If you’d prefer. Really, I’m very flexible.”

Sylvan poured the white wine for everyone, and they sat around the dining room table, which was separated from the kitchen by only a small island where Laura kept pots and pans. The meal was nearly ready. The turkey was resting on the stove top, and the side dishes were warming in the oven. They were eating early. It was only four-thirty. Since it was windy outside, leaves kept falling onto the skylight above them. The lion sculpture looked like it was dressed in a colorful cloak.

“Should we eat now?” Laura asked everyone. “Or should we enjoy our wine for a few minutes?”

“Whatever,” Gerald said, a wide grin displaying his white teeth.

“I’m not that hungry yet,” Finny said. “So maybe let’s wait.”

“That’s absolutely fine with me,” Gerald said. “I actually haven’t eaten anything all day. So it doesn’t hurt me one bit to wait another hour. It doesn’t get me riled up the way it does some people.”

“Well, if you haven’t eaten all day,” Finny offered, “maybe we should start soon.”

“If that’s what you’d honestly prefer,” Gerald said. “This is not my house, so I don’t aim to alter your routines in the slightest. I want you to do just as you would if I weren’t here.”

So they ate. They set up the turkey and side dishes on the island and everyone helped themselves to a plate, then sat back down again. Sylvan asked Gerald what he did for a living, and Gerald said that he was a businessman.

“What kind of business?” Sylvan asked.

“Spices,” Gerald said. “It’s the future of cooking.”

“What do you mean?”

“Smoked paprika. Wild oregano. You name it. Actually, I provided the spices your mother used in this dinner. We wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“So you sell the spices?”

“Not yet,” Gerald said, “but I’m working on it. I’d say it’s my current project.” He grinned, and his bronze skin seemed to redden slightly, as if he were being warmed under the broiler.

Laura nodded supportively.

“I don’t need to bore you with the details,” Gerald said, “but it’s going to be very interesting, isn’t it?” He looked to Laura.

She nodded again.

As at every Thanksgiving, Laura went through the process of naming every dish on the table and saying how delicious it was. Sylvan and Finny offered their agreement where they could.

“How about the spices?” Gerald added. “Very important. Spices.”

Finny said yes, she agreed that spices were important.

“Aha,” Gerald said. “You see?”

“Would you like to open another bottle of wine?” Laura asked Gerald.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gerald said.

“I’m fine,” Finny said.

“Me, too,” Sylvan said.

“Only,” Gerald said, “I’ve heard that at least two glasses of wine every evening is very beneficial for your heart. A weak heart runs in my family. So, for example, at my house, I would move toward opening a second bottle—only because I don’t want to die tragically of a major heart attack. But that’s my house. In your house, you should do whatever you want.”

They opened a second bottle.

“To heart health,” Gerald said, raising his glass.

And if two glasses of wine were beneficial for the heart, Gerald must have believed that each successive glass increased the benefits. He drank the majority of the second bottle, replenishing his glass almost as soon as he’d drained it, and by the time they got around to proposing a third bottle, Gerald accepted on behalf of all their hearts, and then sought to spare their livers by inflicting the brunt of the bottle on his own.

Laura wore her impenetrable smile the whole evening. For Finny, who had felt the gap between herself and her mother widening ever since her father’s death, it was as if a canyon had opened up between them. Laura seemed so small and far away that Finny hardly saw the point in reaching toward her. She made faces across the table at Sylvan, who laughed and shook his head.

When they had finally finished and the plates were cleared, leftovers sealed in Ziploc bags, Laura said to Gerald, “You can’t drive home.”

“I’m fine,” Gerald said, though he was leaning like a tree in a heavy wind. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll stay.” It was only seven o’clock, though already Gerald’s eyelids looked heavy.

“Yes, honey,” Laura said. “It would.”

They were all in bed by nine. Finny’s room was next to Laura’s, and that night Finny heard a thumping against her bedroom wall. The sound lasted for only a couple minutes, but it was enough to gross Finny out.

Chapter21
The Tender Crab

The Tender Crab was, as one might guess, a seafood restaurant, and it was located in the ring of waterfront shops at Harborplace in Baltimore. Finny had convinced Sylvan to drive her, and to attend the performance—which was not difficult, since Gerald Kramp had spent the day at the house, and both Finny and Sylvan were happy to leave him and Laura alone for a while.

When they got to the restaurant, Earl was waiting in front. Finny heard the water sloshing beside them, some boats knocking into one another in the marina.

“Hey,” Earl said, and gave Finny a kiss on the cheek.

“This is Sylvan, my brother,” Finny said. “Sylvan, this is Earl.”

She could see that they were both looking each other over as they shook hands.

“It’s great to finally meet you,” Earl said.