Town Square, The (14 page)

“I was studying theater,” her sister responded, her pink–painted mouth tightening a little.

“Cool. Not a lot of that around here,” George said, reminding Harriet again that Maybelline would have to change her concentration if she decided to go to Emmits Merriam. The thought saddened them both.

Arthur helped her with her coat and then shed his own, dropping them on the other empty chairs. “Have you two ever bowled?”

“Of course,” she responded, working off her tan gloves and adding them to the heap of coats. “Our bowling is a bit different though.”

“Right,” Arthur said. “I did some Candlepin bowling when I …”

And then he paused. He had almost said “when I was back East,” but he couldn’t because that’s not where people thought she was from.

“Well, I’m sure you just need a refresher course,” he added, trying to smile through the awkwardness of the moment.

His brother was studying them intently. Her stomach twisted into a sailing knot, and she wondered whether coming here and meeting him had been a bad idea.

“George, why don’t you and I go get sodas for everyone?” Maybelline suggested, giving Harriet a knowing look.

Arthur passed his brother some money. “What do you want, Harriet? They have a pretty good cherry coke here.”

Yeah, he knew she liked that, and with a real cherry too. “Sounds lovely.”

“I’ll have a root beer, George,” Arthur said. “And bring us some popcorn and peanuts too. If we’re going to bowl, we should do it properly.”

George and Maybelline headed off, her sister’s forest green pleated skirt swaying as she walked.

Harriet turned to look at Arthur. “I’m sorry.”

His mouth tipped up, but it couldn’t be mistaken for a smile. “I know. Me too. There just aren’t a lot of places to go in Dare. If it were summertime, I would have suggested the drive–in, but that won’t be open until summertime.”

Harriet hadn’t thought that far ahead. She and Maybelline had agreed to hold off on any decisions for a few more months. Her sister’s schooling wouldn’t start until the fall anyway, and they both wanted to act a little like ostriches right now and bury their heads in the sand.

Both of them had nurtured the hope that it might be easier to return to their old lives as time passed, but neither of them really believed it was true.

Plus where would that leave her and Arthur?

As she looked into those familiar, understanding eyes, she still didn’t know. She liked being with him. Working with him. Okay, and she might be a little in love with him, but this wasn’t her home.

And she’d lied to the whole town. How could she possibly make a life here?

“I feel bad,” she admitted. “About all of it.”

He squeezed her elbow and met her gaze. “Don’t. I’m a grown man, and I agreed to keep quiet. Now, why don’t you let me run you through the differences between the two types of bowling?”

Keeping her mind focused was difficult with all the activity around her. One team was cheering at the top of their lungs when their partner hit a strike, the crack of ball and pin reminding her suddenly of a homerun she’d witnessed at Fenway Park when her father took her and Maybelline to a game.

They’d never attend another Red Sox game with their father, she realized.

Oh Daddy.

“Hey,” Arthur said suddenly, touching her arm. “Where are you?”

In the past, which could never be repeated. Even if she wished on every falling star she saw in the mountains.

“Right here,” she responded. “This is going to be awkward, trying to hurl a larger bowling ball.”

“The holes are supposed to make it easier.” He hefted one of the giant spheres up like Hercules himself. “You want to try it out?”

She looked at the holes, and then her new pink manicure from Miss Ivy’s Beauty Shop. One of her nails was going to break for sure. When she nodded, he put the ball down and gestured toward a different one.

“This is the one the ladies use.”

Well, it was a little smaller, but not much. She gingerly inserted her fingers into the holes and tried to lift it. “Whoa! That’s heavy.” Using her other hand to balance it only helped a little.

“You’re a lightweight,” he joked, taking the ball from her. “Maybe we’ll need to find you a junior ball.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll get the hang of it.” Maybe.

The bowling lane was the same as the ones back home, thankfully, maple surfaced with the embarrassing gutter just waiting for her to make a fool of herself. She’d played when she was younger. Her father had taken them to Perry’s Lanes every once in a blue moon. He’d let them drink too much soda, she remembered, and his laughter had been much freer. Even her father had needed a break from the scientific precision with which he ran their life. Those times at the bowling alley hadn’t been about winning or being excellent. They’d been about fun.

“You went bowling with your father, didn’t you?” Arthur asked by her side.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Are they good memories?”

A smile formed at the corner of her mouth as she turned to him. “Yes.”

“Then hold onto that, Harriet.”

The screams and chatter from the people around her seemed to drop a decibel level as she stared into his eyes. She was glad he hadn’t suggested leaving the bowling alley because of her memories. Another man might have thought she was acting like a girl.

But, then again, Arthur wasn’t like other men.

George and Maybelline returned with drinks and snacks, interrupting the moment. She broke eye contact with Arthur, scanning the rest of the room. Many of the players were watching them. As usual.

Lovely. Another Dare outing with the invisible scarlet letter "O" for Outsider on her and Maybelline’s chests.

“Were you thinking about Dad?” Maybelline asked as George walked up to the lane to start their game.

“Yes. You?” She took her sister’s hand.

“Hard not to. It was one of the few times he ever really relaxed.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I miss him.”

Her sister’s hand tightened around hers. “I do too, but the man we knew is gone, and somehow we have to make peace with that. Otherwise we’ll never be happy.”

Turning, she took in her sister’s ponytail and shining green eyes. “When did you get so wise?”

“I just finished
To Kill a Mockingbird
, that book by the new author, Harper Lee. I told you about it, remember?”

She nodded. Maybelline had raved about it without giving too much of the plot away.

“The main character in the book lost her mother like we did, and it got me to thinking about how we choose to act when we lose someone. Scout—that’s the young girl—doesn’t lose her enjoyment in people or life and can still laugh, but her father sits on the porch swing after she goes to bed and doesn’t laugh anymore. He’s perpetually sad.”

Harriet could feel tears brimming in her eyes, so she blinked fast.

“Daddy became like that when Mom died. He worked harder and laughed less. I don’t want to turn into that.”

Harriet hugged her sister then, not caring that they were in the middle of the bowling alley or that half the bowlers were paying more attention to them than to their own games. “You won’t be, Maybelline. I know you won’t.”

And as she said the words, she said a little prayer for herself too. Perhaps it was time for a new beginning for them both.

They broke apart and laughed, blinking away tears, and walked over to join the Hale boys, who had clearly been watching the scene.

“Who’s up?” she asked, wanting to break the silence.

“You, my dear,” Arthur said, and somehow the endearment was sweet beyond words.

She lugged the ball up to the red line of demarcation on the lane, and yes, she broke a nail as she hurled it as far as she could in her outfit. Her black skirt was too tight, and she couldn’t bend over without thinking about it hiking up a few inches more than was proper. The ball fell into the gutter and rolled and rolled, slowing down until a three–year–old on a tricycle could have passed it with a blur. Then it stopped three–fourths of the way down the lane.

Not reaching
one single pin
.

Her cheeks flamed, and inside, she was sure everyone in the place was watching and judging her incompetence.

Then she heard Arthur’s piercing
I need a taxi
whistle, something he must have picked up in New York.

“Good job, first timer.” He rose and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her playfully. Took her hand and examined her nails. “Well, you’ll have battle scars for sure.”

Then he made a production of getting her ball out of the gutter and staggering like it weighed as much as an elephant.

“Beginner,” he called out to the people watching. “Let’s cheer her on. It’s her first time.”

And the truth was, in this place, with this differently shaped ball and pins, it
was
her first time.

Men whistled then, and the women started cheering too.

“You’ll get the hang of it, Harriet,” Alice from Kemstead’s Bakery called out.

“Just imagine you’re trying to hit your boss’ face,” Herman yelled out from the next lane, making his whole blue–shirted bowling team guffaw with laughter.

Over the next three series, she learned just how much magic Arthur had over people. In one sweet gesture, he’d managed to get the whole town on her side. They cheered as she finally hit one pin finally, then four more in the next pass.

Maybelline somehow did a lot better. Harriet told herself it was the freedom of her skirt, but she knew better. Maybelline had always taken to new things easier than she had.

Because she didn’t have the oldest child’s desire to do everything perfectly running through her head.

Harriet slowly relaxed over the next hour. The two additional nails she broke were badges of honor.

Her hair fell from her bun—another not–so–bright idea—and she was sure her mascara was smudged.

When she bent over to hurl the ball again, determined to hit six pins this time, she heard her tight skirt rip. She dropped the ball and arched her back to look, gasping in horror. The tear exposed a few inches of her inner thighs. Oh no.

Arthur laughed and jumped to his feet. “Can’t see anything, darn it. Maybe if you do that again, Harriet, you’ll give us all a real show.”

Everyone laughed. Including Maybelline.

Grabbing his long coat, Arthur tugged her into it. Her cheeks were on fire now.

“Ah, don’t worry. Herman once split his work pants down to his thighs. Right, Herman?”

“Right,” Herman called out, slapping his knee. “I think Mrs. Hemshaw might have fainted at the sight.”

People continued to laugh, like there was nothing untoward about a lady tearing her skirt bowling.

She couldn’t imagine anyone in Beacon Hill laughing.

Arthur’s coat enveloped her, and he rolled the sleeves up as much as was possible with the wool. His spicy aftershave settled around her, providing a measure of comfort.

“Your coat is too short to hide the tear,” he murmured. “You can bend over in mine without worrying about it.”

She sighed again, and he tapped her on the nose. “Relax, sport. You’re doing great.”

And then he gave her a nudge toward the lane.

Facing it down was like stepping back up to the plate with two hideous strikes on her record. God, she didn’t want to fail at this.

Herman darted forward and grabbed her ball out of the rack, presenting it to her in a courtly fashion. “Just let her rip, Harriet.”

She realized he meant let loose even if it was a terrible pun after what happened to her skirt. Well, it seemed she’d reached a turning point. She could play like a sissy or play with the wild abandon she’d seen in the other players, forgetting about what was proper or presentable.

She did what Herman suggested, or at least what she thought he meant.

She let it rip.

Closing her eyes, she drew her arm back as far as she could and took three steps forward before hurling her arm forward and throwing the ball as hard as she could.

Her shoulder popped.

Her last two nails broke.

But she still didn’t open her eyes.

A resounding
crack
echoed in her ears.

“Yes!” Maybelline yelled.

People cheered.

Whistles pierced her ears from all sides.

“I’ll be darned,” she heard Arthur say.

She opened one eye and then the other and saw her nemeses—those darn pins—scattered along the end of the lane like overturned toy soldiers after a rowdy Christmas party.

All ten of them.

Jumping up and down in rented shoes, she thrust her hands up in the air like she’d just won the World Series. She jogged in front of the lane, and then Arthur spun her around, his hands on her shoulders, and grinned at her.

“Imagining my face when you threw that one, were you?”

Everyone laughed again.

As she stared into his eyes, she realized how different she felt when she with him. How light. How free.

“Always,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened, and his smile dimmed before spreading across his face again. Then he took her in his arms and executed a flawless fox trot down shiny maple lane.

When they danced back to the end of the lane, Arthur whispered into her ear, “I like you this way.”

“Me too.”

And she did.

When they finally broke apart, Herman was standing next to George and Maybelline—all three of them with big grins on their faces.

“Wow, Harriet. When you let her rip, you really let her rip.”

The townspeople of Dare laughed, and standing there in Arthur’s oversized coat, her manicure destroyed, her hair in clumps around her face, she finally felt like she was one of them.

And not like an exiled Wentworth from Beacon Hill.

Chapter 14

A
rthur and George dropped Harriet and Maybelline off at their house. As the motor idled, he studied Harriet as she left the car. She looked mussed and messy, but she was all the more beautiful because of it. George rolled down the passenger window.

“Thanks again for the evening,” Harriet said, tucking her hands in her short winter white wool coat.