“And took a cab back? Business must be booming.”
I blanched. “Silly of me, right?”
Would he tell my mother? Would he take his business elsewhere? I spun the key, the door unlocked, and he stepped aside to let me out of the rain first. “Are you here to order choir packets?” I asked.
“New year, new packets.” He took only a few steps inside the door, peering around the store as if examining it. “Next time you might put up a sign, ‘back at one’ perhaps. Because I would have preferred to return later, rather than stand in the wet.”
“That is a great suggestion, sir,” I tossed my coat on the office desk and hurried back with a notebook to take his order. “Really great.”
He eyeballed me the same way he had just been scrutinizing the store.
Nights were harder, but Chris always had a plan. I’d say I was going to one friend or another’s, my mother would remark about how very social I was being lately, and I’d say something snippy: I’m twenty years old and don’t need to sit at Mommy’s knee every night. She might roll her eyes, but that would end the inquisition and out I’d go.
On the afternoon two days before Chris was due to leave, Greta called.
“How is everything?” I asked her, feeling my mother’s antenna switch on in the next room. “How’s Brian?”
“The greatest, Brenda. The best.” She sighed. “Today he said that he loves me.”
“Yikes, Greta. He loves you?”
“I know. I know.”
“How did that feel? What did you say?”
“I burst out crying.” She laughed. “It made me feel so good, Brenda. He sees me, you know? He sees big-boned old me, and he loves me anyway.”
I heard my mother rise from her chair and go upstairs. “Do you love him?”
“I think so. What do I know, right? But I think I really do.” She huffed a couple of shallow breaths. “My mother said I need a night apart from him. For perspective. She says I need to pace myself.”
“Agony. What does your father say?”
“He says a girl must guard her reputation.” Greta giggled. “Right now I wouldn’t mind getting a reputation at all, as long as Brian was involved.”
We laughed together, easy as ever. I could have told her then. I could have been a true friend. Instead I checked the clock, counting the minutes till I would see Chris.
“So look, Brenda.” Greta was done laughing. “What say we go out tonight, maybe see a movie, or get a late coffee somewhere?”
I clenched, knowing Chris would already have left his house. Two more nights.
“I need to spill my guts about Brian to someone,” she continued. “We’ve been having a magical time. It is all so huge.”
“Greta, I would love that.” I twisted the phone cord around my finger. “Really I would.” I lowered my voice. “The thing is, I’ve been laid up with a stomach bug. That’s why I haven’t been in touch.”
“Aw, honey. I’m sure sorry to hear that.”
“It’s almost better,” I said, half-convincing myself. “But you know my mother the dictator. No going out till I’m one hundred and ten percent.”
“She and my parents ought to take a vacation together.”
“To the North Pole.”
Greta chuckled. “Bye-bye. Bon voyage. Don’t forget to write.” I pictured her waving at their imaginary departure.
“Maybe in a few days?”
“You bet, best pal. And if you need anything . . .”
“Thanks,” I said. My mother sidled down the stairs and opened the fridge about two feet away from me. “Congratulations about Brian.”
We hung up and my mother kept her head in the fridge. “Greta’s engaged?”
“No, but a serious beau. Until he ships out in six days.”
My mother straightened to look at me. “Lucky thing you have Charlie.”
“You bet,” I said. “Lucky.”
Half an hour later, Greta’s invitation was my excuse for meeting Chris. No chance my mother would object. He’d planned a picnic dinner at Rainbow Beach. I would have loved to bring the food, but that would have been too much to manage and conceal. Besides, our picnic basket was somewhere in New Mexico. Chris had his father’s Oldsmobile, and we held hands while he drove. It felt grown up. Without his sling he moved more easily, athletically. At red lights he tried to kiss me but I dodged him.
After sunset we stood at the edge of the sand, the beach surprisingly uncrowded. I realized I had always taken Lake Michigan for granted. Now I saw how special it made the city, to sit beside a huge body of fresh water, the sun gone down with the thinnest grin of a moon close behind.
Chris carried grocery bags from the car, while I followed with a blanket from the trunk. After folding the blanket double on the ground, so we would not feel the little rocks too much, I sat with my knees to one side, demure as a saint. He unloaded a jar of pickles, a wedge of cheese, a long summer sausage.
“Do you have a cutting board?” I asked.
That took the wind out of his sails. “I am an idiot.”
“That’s all right,” I replied. “I bet we can find a flat spot on the rocks. Did you bring a knife?”
He burst out laughing. “Brenda, I am the worst picnic planner in human history.”
I smiled at him. “At least you brought this blanket.”
He shook his head, still chuckling. “It’s my father’s. For some reason, he always keeps it in the trunk.”
“Well, good thing I’m not hungry. Do you have anything to drink?”
“I sure do,” he said, pulling out bottles of beer. “And car keys can pop the top off.”
So that was our picnic: pickles and beer. We tried biting off pieces of cheese, but it felt more like gnawing and after a first try I declined his further offers.
Chris told me things every other soldier had insisted he was forbidden to reveal: where he was stationed (a Second Division airbase in Lowestoft, England), what kinds of missions he flew (at first mostly supply flights, but now bombing sorties at night). He told me his crash was due to equipment failure, a landing gear strut that buckled, and while he broke his arm in five places, two men were killed. As he spoke, I remembered girls in high school fawning over the quarterback, and wondered if I had become one of their kind. I considered myself awfully lucky to have the attention of a guy like Chris.
“You know,” I interjected at last. “I’ve never dated a pilot before, so maybe it’s different, but most boys keep mum about their military things.”
He smiled. It wasn’t just his teeth and lips. It was his eyes, his whole face. “See, I don’t have to worry with you like with other girls, Brenda, because one day you’ll be my wife and we’ll share all of our secrets, so today is . . . I don’t know, practice?”
I picked at the label of my beer. “How are you so sure?”
“Brenda.” Chris put his things aside, not hurrying, calm as could be while my insides were fluttering, then inched forward. “I’m sure because I love you.”
I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. Greta had burst into tears. Why did I want to run away up the beach?