Whisper to Me(53)

I thought about that. “I don’t know,” I said.

“Seriously? That Pete guy? And Finn? Those guys love you; you can see it.”

“Hmm.”

“And what was that woman’s name? The one who let us on the Accelerator?”

“Sweet Sarah?”

“You’re kidding me? That’s her name?”

“Yeah.”

“She hugged you. She was smiling like she just won the lottery, just because you turned up at the ride.”

I shrugged. “They’re just people who know my dad. Who eat at the restaurant.”

“The restaurant?”

Oh.

“Yeah … ,” I said. “My dad has an Italian place. On the boardwalk—up by Pier Two.”

“Donato’s?”

“You know it?”

“Oh, come on. It’s like the best pizza in the state. Your dad owns it?”

“Donato was my grandfather.”

“Holy ****,” said Paris. “You’re, like, New Jersey mob. I mean, you’re like a Soprano.”

“It’s just a restaurant. It’s not a gang.”

“Yeah, right. I figure there are fridges in back full of coke and heroin in big white bricks. Does your dad keep a gun under the counter? I bet he keeps a gun under the counter.”

“No,” I said, my voice flat; hard. I must have flinched, bodily.

“Whatever, moody,” said Paris. “So your dad isn’t some kind of mob boss. But, still, must have been cool growing up with your own pizza restaurant.”

I shrugged. I wanted this conversation to be over. “It was okay.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“It was fine,” I said, frustrated and not totally sure why I was so frustrated. “I used to hang out there after school. Do my assignments at one of the small tables, you know? All the waiters knew me of course, and they’d help me out sometimes. Frank was good at math. I had my own pizza on the menu—it was, like, a ham and mushroom with artichoke and egg.” As I spoke, I realized how much I missed the place, how much a small part of me missed it anyway. “It was … it was an extension of home, I guess. I’d walk in there and I was like a mascot. It was great.”

Paris looked at me. “I think that’s the longest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s more like you, yep.” Then she touched her stomach. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get pizza at your dad’s place.”

“No,” I said, too quickly.

“Why not?”

“I … It was great when I was a kid. Now it’s not.”

“Ri-i-i-ght,” said Paris, in that there’s a story here and I want to know what it is but I’m not going to pry for now tone.

“It’s my family restaurant, you know?” I said, trying to cover myself. “Boring.”

“Okay. I get that. Well, I see a hot dog stand. You can eat those, right? I mean, with your peanut thing?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Processed meat. Kind of an issue.”

“Just the bun, then.”

“Have to be careful with bread too.”

“You’re that allergic?”

“I’m oh, she’s not breathing allergic. I’m the funeral is on Saturday, no flowers allergic.” I held up my ugly purse with the insulating sides.

“Fries then?”

“The oil is often unrefined peanut oil.”

“Jesus. The world is full of peril for you, huh?”

She didn’t know how right she was.





We rode the Spin-Dry.

We rode the Barrel Roll.

We rode the Spraymaker, our little boat crashing into the water at the bottom, soaking us from head to waist, the drops shimmering in the neon lights of the fair on our Danny Dolphin ponchos.

The Elevator, the Ferris wheel, we left for last. It was on Pier Two so we had to cut back to the boardwalk and keep walking. We passed the stalls lined up on the ocean side of the boardwalk—the Pro Basketball Challenge, the T-Rex Ring Toss. Now, when I saw these places, I noticed the stacks of plush toys on the back walls. The prizes—all delivered by you. The thought of you gave me a strange feeling inside, something unfolding in my stomach, some delicate carapace turning to wings.

He might be close by, I thought. Driving his truck. His arm resting on the door …

“Control yourself, slut,” said the voice. “You’re like a ***** in heat.”

“After six,” I said automatically.

“It is,” said the voice.

Dammit.

Paris and I kept going toward the wheel. As we walked, we could hear the patter of the kid running the basketball game.

“Come on by,

Give it a try,

We’ve got prizes money can’t buy …”

Paris was looking around like someone transported from the seventeenth century.

“This is amazing,” she said.

“You haven’t been before?”

“No.”

“Never? But you live, like, one block away.”

“I know.”

“Your parents never took you? In the summer or—”