Don't Forget to Write: A Novel(35)

“I know,” I said.

“Why can’t we just talk to your aunt?”

I didn’t respond as Freddy opened the car door for me. When he had shut my door, climbed in his side, and started the engine, I finally said, “It’s complicated with her.”

“What about your parents? Surely they’d approve. I’m going to be a lawyer after all.”

I looked over at him. “Have you decided, then?”

“I believe I have.” He took my hand and brought it to his lips. “New York has a lot of law schools. Some of the best in fact.”

“You wouldn’t stay in Philadelphia?”

He looked at me. “Would you want me to?” My heart was racing. “You sure you want to go to the boardwalk tonight? We could take the Garden State all the way up to the city.”

I looked at the clock on the dash. “And scare my parents half to death. It’d be two in the morning by the time we got there. Not the impression you’d want to make.”

“No,” he said. “But I’m serious. Tell me which dragon to slay and I will.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. “No dragons. Let’s just keep getting to know each other and the rest . . . Well, it’ll work itself out when it needs to.”

He wrapped his arm around me, and the night enveloped us as we crossed the marshes, going south this time on the Parkway to the much closer and more casual Wildwood boardwalk. This wasn’t a place to see and be seen like Atlantic City. Kids ran amok, chased by tired parents, who looked as if they regretted all their choices under the amusement park that loomed over the boards.

“Good clean fun,” Freddy said as we walked past a motel. “Unless you wanted to rent a room.”

“Freddy,” I said warningly.

He threw up his hands. “I’m kidding. I mean, I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to. But no. Our first time should be more special than that.” He pulled me in and kissed the top of my head. “And I would never pressure you.”

I looked up at him warily. “Shirley says you’ve been with practically all her friends.”

“Shirley’s mouth is too big.”

“Is that all this is though?”

Freddy stopped walking. “I’m insulted that you would ask that.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Marilyn.”

I didn’t reply.

He took a deep breath. I hadn’t seen him mad yet, but I could sense he was getting there. “No. That isn’t what this is. If it were, yes, I’d be pressuring you. Is that what you want to hear?”

No. It wasn’t.

“We all have a past,” he continued. “You do too. The first thing you told me about yourself was about that rabbi’s son. I’m not grilling you about whether you’re with me because you’re bored.” He took my hand. “I’m here with you because I like you. You’re not like the Philadelphia girls. I wasn’t kidding when I called you a siren. I don’t understand it. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to settle down yet. And I definitely don’t want an Ada match. But I look at you and . . .” He trailed off.

“And?”

He looked at me imploringly. “Haven’t I subjugated myself enough tonight? I’m yours. Can we just go ride the stupid roller coaster and hold hands and kiss on the Ferris wheel and pretend we don’t have to hide how we feel from your aunt?”

I rose up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You left out the ice cream.”

“I’ll give you the moon if you ask for it.”

“Rocky road will suffice.”

“Marilyn, I—”

I shook my head, pressing a finger to his lips. “Let’s go ride the stupid roller coaster and hold hands. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but then the cloud over his face passed. “Okay. Let’s see if it’s better than Coney Island.”

“Nothing is better than Coney Island.”

“Will you show me someday?”

I nodded, and he pulled me along with him toward the amusement park, where we kissed on the Ferris wheel and spun around and around on the Tilt-A-Whirl until we couldn’t have worried about the future if we’d tried.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


The phone rang unexpectedly during the next morning’s session with prospective clients. Ada jumped. I didn’t know how people knew that they were supposed to call her between two and four in the afternoon to set up a meeting, but it was an unspoken rule that all adhered to.

“Excuse me,” Ada said, rising.

“I can get the phone.”

“Sit,” Ada directed me. I did as I was told, and Ada left the room and went and picked up the receiver in the den.

I desperately wanted to know what was going on, but Mrs. Geller and her daughter, Janice, both turned their heads in the direction Ada had gone and also seemed interested in whatever the phone call was about. And Ada wouldn’t like that.

“Janice,” I said, coming to sit in Ada’s spot. “Tell me about your favorite books.” She looked to her mother uncertainly. “I’m training as Ada’s apprentice,” I lied smoothly. “That’s why I’m taking notes. But I can go down her list of questions easily.”