It Burns a Lovely Light (18 page)

"Huh-uh." He shook his head.

"It suits you; it makes you look reckless."

"That went well," said Farley as she and Joe continued up to their seats.

"Shut up."

"Where have you been?" William never took his eyes off the football field. He gave his penis a few quick squeezes. "I've been perspiring at a disturbing rate. I think I might be dehydrated."

Mr. Winston helped settle William with his hot dog and
lemonade, then he clapped his hands together. "Who's going to win tonight?"

"Those nice boys from Pittsburgh, that's who!" cried William.

Seventy degrees and a blue suede autumn sky for Freeman's opening night. Cocktails were served in the garden area. Resa tended bar while Dion, September and Farley mingled among the crowd, encouraging guests to
stroll among the raised beds of vibrant flowers and tour the greenhouse. At the end of the hour Henry welcomed everyone and thanked them for coming, then directed them inside. Waiters and waitresses, sharp in their crisp navy shirts
and khaki pants and skirts, led the diners to their tables.

The Bridge Manor party was seated at the largest table, along with Ryan, Paddy, Joe, Ham, Billie, and Henry's mother, Mary. A tastefully engraved sign on the table read:

Reserved for

Special Guests of the Chef

Father Ryan rose before the first course. He thanked God for the glorious weather and asked Him to bless the bounty, the guests, the
restaurant, and the staff. As he prayed, Farley was struck by the unfamiliar look of pure joy on his face. It occurred to her that her uncle was a tremendously unhappy man.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet the mother of such a
delightful child," said Mr. Winston.

Smiling modestly, Billie draped her napkin across her lap. "Eileen is my stepdaughter, but I do go out of my way to treat her as if she were my own."

"Hello, Mrs. Kane," said Farley, helping a
waitress unload a full tray of appetizers.

"Hello, Ferber."

"Her name is Farley," said Mr. Winston, once she was out of earshot.

Billie shrugged. "Tall girls shouldn't try to pull off unusual names." She raised her vodka glass to beckon a waiter, tapping it with her freshly French-manicured fingernail. She winked at Mr. Winston. "I swear by the 'Vodkin's Diet. Whoever said losing weight couldn't be
fun?"

For the next ten minutes, she managed to endorse her realtor skills while simultaneously ordering another double-vodka.

"Quite impressive," said Mr. Winston. "And I
hear your husband is a talented attorney."

"Just between you and me," said Billie, "he spends too much time on his charity clients." She pretended to stick a finger down her throat. "Suddenly, he wants to save the world."

As their guests enjoyed coffee and dessert, Henry and Colette emerged from the kitchen. Wholehearted applause and cries of 'Bravo!' filled the room. While Henry introduced his staff, each diner was presented
with a gift bag containing a small bouquet of herbs and flowers from the garden, along with a jar of preserved tomatoes bearing the Freeman's label.

After the guests went home, Henry opened the bar for the
staff. Farley and Dion tucked themselves into a table, slipped off their shoes, and quietly polished off a half bottle of scotch.

Dion leaned in, conspiratorially. "Did you notice the
man at table six?"

"Table six." Farley squinted. "You mean the guy with the hair?"

Dion grinned. "He asked me out."

"He asked you out while he was on a date?"

"Give the man some credit; he waited until she went to the ladies room."

That set them off. They laughed - in that happy, exhausted, relieved, inebriated belly laugh way that you wish would never end. Finally,
wiping her eyes, Dion leaned back in her chair. Across the room, Henry and Colette shared stories with a group of waiters.

"Don't you love seeing him so happy?"

"I sure do," said Farley, her tongue thick.

"Be right back." Dion stood. "I think we need some water."

Sighing, Farley rested her chin on her fist.

"Happy, happy, happy Henry," she mumbled.
"With your very own restaurant...and your name on the menu...and on a big sign you can see from the highway." She closed her eyes.

Let's do it. I'll have my restaurant. You'll go out and
capture all of the beauty of the world. And we won't let anything stand in our way. No matter what.

Farley pulled a baby blue dress from her closet and handed it to Dion.

"Try this one," she said. "We have to hurry,
though. I told Veda Marie I would bring some cookies to Resa's dance class."

Slipping on the dress, Dion admired the fine linen fabric and the cool feel of the lining. "It's beautiful."

"It looks great on you."

"Thank you. I'll take good care of it."

"You can have it; I can't remember the last time I put
on a dress."

"That's because all you do is work." Dion spun away from the mirror. "Hey, why don't we double date? I could ask Duncan to bring a friend."

"No thanks; I can get my own dates."

"They why don't you?"

On the way to the carriage house, Dion couldn't let it go. "Seriously, wouldn't you like to have a real relationship?"

"Right. It's going to be hard enough to leave as it is. The last thing I need is for some romance to make matters worse."

"That's the spirit, Farley. Ever the optimist."

They arrived just as Resa was excusing the class. While the
rest of the dancers crowded around the cookie tin, Eileen sulked in the far corner, arms crossed self-consciously over her belly.

"Eileen is growing up so fast," said Dion. "I
used to think she was Resa's daughter."

"She should be," said Farley, biting into a cookie. "She practically lives here."

The doorbell rang as Dion was brushing her teeth. She
grinned a toothpaste grin into the mirror. Duncan Kennedy, the most beautiful man she had ever seen, was downstairs. Standing on her doorstep. Ringing her bell.

"Dionna!" her mother yelled from the bottom of the
stairs. "Door!"

She spit toothpaste into the sink. Her mother could not be more than four steps from the front door. "Can't you get it, Ma? Please?"

"Excuse me, Your Highness," said her mother,
sarcasm oozing from her mocking, singsong voice. "Oooh, look at me. I have on a fancy dress. I'm too good to get the door."

"Shut up," Dion whispered, her hands shaking as
she turned off the faucet.

She prayed that the traffic from the street would block out her mother's taunting. Running her fingers through her hair, she hurried down the stairs.

Dion plopped down on Farley's bed. "Wake up!"

Farley opened one eye. "What time is it?"

"Who cares, it's our day off. Guess where I slept last night?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I can't go home yet. Ma thinks I spent the night with you."

"How old are you?"

"Back off; I can't afford to move out
and
pay
for nursing school." Dion hugged a pillow to her chest. "So guess."

"Give me a hint."

"Duncan Kennedy."

Farley raised herself up on her elbows, smiling.
"Jezebel."

"I know!" Dion bounced excitedly on the bed. "I wanted to call you last night, after he fell asleep. But I figured it's rude to talk about someone in their own apartment."

"By all means, have a little class. Wait until you get home to talk about him."

"He wants to take me to dinner at Freeman's on my next day off!"

"Really? How romantic for you, dining where you
work."

"Sorry I'm late," said Farley, tossing her purse in the office. "Veda Marie had to tell me something she heard from the girl who cuts her hair."

"Also known as gossip," said Henry. He checked a pot on the front burner as he stirred the rosemary potato stew.

Farley never got tired of watching Henry cook. There was a definite rhythm to his movements; his own sort of culinary choreography as he
flowed from sauté to sear to blanch and back again.

"It's about Duncan Kennedy," she said.

"Who?"

"Duncan Kennedy...Dion's Duncan? She hasn't gone five
minutes all week without working his name into every conversation. He's bringing her here for dinner tonight, by the way."

"So, what did our Miss Tattletale find out this
time?"

"Apparently the man has a nasty habit of forgetting his wallet on dates."

Colette, Farley and Henry peeked through the kitchen door as a waiter led Dion and Duncan to their table.

"There's no way that man could fit a wallet into those skin-tight pants," said Colette. "Which look sharp on him, I must admit."

"The man can wear a pair of pants," agreed Farley.

Duncan removed his jacket and placed it over the back of his chair.

Henry lowered his voice as a waiter hurried by. "Maybe the wallet is in his jacket pocket."

Farley straightened. "Let's find out."

Duncan sat with his chair pushed away from the table, leaning back, legs spread. Dion had to lean almost all the way across the table
just to hear him talk. Farley took her time bussing a nearby table so she could listen in.

"So tell me, Dion," said Duncan, looking around the room, "are you planning to go to school full-time?"

"I can't afford to go full-time for a while. But I don't mind; I love working here."

Dion stared as he used one finger to push his hair aside.

He smiled. "What?"

"I love your hair."

"Really?" Tossing his head, his hair flipped and cascaded back into place. "The girls at the office think it makes me look like Robert Redford. I think they're just saying that..."

"No, they're right! You
do
look like Robert Redford."

Farley complimented Dion on how lovely she looked and insisted on hanging up Duncan's jacket for him. Henry shook hands with Duncan,
who remained seated.

"I'm impressed with what you've done to the place, Freeman," said Duncan, in a not-so-subtle superior tone.

Henry presented the couple with a bottle of wine,
compliments of the house. Duncan ceremoniously sniffed the cork, wrinkling his brow as he examined it, and then sniffed again. Henry snuck a glance at Farley.

She shook her head. No wallet.

Back in the kitchen, Farley and Henry argued over how to handle the situation.

"We have to tell her," said Farley.

"Not here. You can tell her anything you want tomorrow,
but tonight they're in my restaurant. That makes them my guests. Please tell them that dinner is on the house."

"You're really going to help that sleazy cheapskate out?"

Henry put on a fresh apron.

"What I'm doing is avoiding a scene," he said. "Let me know when they're ready to leave."

After dinner Duncan had three on-the-house cognacs and two slices of apple pie, 'to go.' Finally, the waiter informed Henry that the
couple was preparing to leave.

"Thanks for giving the old piggy bank a break. I won't forget it." Checking to be sure Dion was out of earshot, Duncan winked at Henry and held out his hand. "And that, my friend, is a promise from yours
truly."

Henry gripped Duncan's hand and squeezed - hard.

Duncan gasped, knees buckling. "What the fuck..."

"You ever try pull that stunt on her again," Henry
squeezed harder, grinding Duncan's knuckles together, "and I'll break more than your piggy bank. Got it?"

Squeaking in pain, Duncan nodded frantically.

"Good." Henry winked and patted Duncan's arm. "And
that
, my friend, is a promise."

Farley unlocked the petty cash drawer and counted out five
one-dollar bills.

"Here you go, kiddo," she said, handing the money to William. "I'm proud of you, earning your own money."

"Thank you." William folded the bills and pushed
them deep into his pocket. "I'm proud of me, too."

"Thanks again for the present. What a surprise."

"You're welcome."

He'd gotten the idea a while ago, after watching Farley blow
out the candles on her twenty-third birthday. For the next few months he secretly researched aging, sun damage, and average weight gain. On her way out the door that morning, he had presented her with an intricate drawing of what
her face would look like when she was fifty.

William bought two scoops of rainbow sherbet at Rosemary's Market. The rest of his money would go straight into his ticket jar. One of these days he was going to treat everyone to the cheap seats, the way Joe did. Eating slowly to avoid an ice cream headache, he started up the hill.

He still wasn't over his fear of riding in cars. If anything it had gotten worse. But he rarely had to ride in one; he took the bus or a
streetcar from the square to the library, or to school and back. Everything else - Freeman's, Rosemary's Market, Joe's hockey rink - was within walking distance.

On the path between the steps and Bridge Manor he found a
shiny black, perfectly round pebble. He polished it with his shirt and put it in his pocket.

"This is a
positive
thing," he whispered.

September told him that positive thoughts helped push
negative thoughts aside. Lately though, the negatives were winning.

William knew he was different. And until recently he'd been fine with his uniqueness. Proud of it, even. Not having many friends was
something he understood and accepted. After all, a superhero must bear the burden of loneliness. But lately a dark feeling had begun to creep over him, invading his happiness. His body, forever small, had begun to seem less extraordinary...more peculiar.