Rock Bottom Girl(62)

There was something that sounded like a scuffle, and then Marley’s parents both appeared in the hallway. They got tangled up in their rush to get to us. Her dad tripped and knocked a family photo off the wall, but he recovered quickly.

“Jake, so nice to see you again.” Jessica Cicero and I had crossed paths every once in a while on in-service days when she was still teaching. She was a looker. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a perky ponytail, and her smile reached her bright blue eyes. She held out a hand, and I shook it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Cicero,” I said, holding out the flowers. “These are for you.”

“Oh, my! They’re just beautiful,” she said, sending Marley a what-a-doll look. “And please call me Jessica.”

“I’m Ned,” the man in the canary yellow polo and silvery mustache said, extending his hand. His voice was unusually high.

“Ned, good to meet you.” I shook and let him win the grip war. It was a perfunctory introduction. We’d all known of each other for years. Had probably exchanged pleasantries in the grocery store produce aisle or when one of us was backing out of a parking space as the other one waited patiently. It was Culpepper. Everyone knew everyone.

“Did you bring me anything?” Ned asked, looking hopefully at Marley and Jessica’s flowers.

“Uh, no, sir.”

“Strike one!” he screeched. He put his thumbs into the waistband of his Dockers and yanked them up as if spoiling for a fight.

“Dad, don’t tease him. I already had Dietrich open the door and demand his intentions,” Marley said.

“Ooh! That’s a good one,” Ned said, giving his daughter the double thumbs-up.





“So where are you taking me, Mr. Boyfriend?” Marley asked as I held the passenger door open for her.

“Okay, so check this out. We’re going to Smitty’s for dinner and drinks. Keeping it light, casual, and public.”

I caught her wince.

“What? Is that a bad first date?”

She shook her head. “No. Sorry. That’s just my kneejerk reaction to socializing in Culpepper. It’s a good, solid first date plan for a future girlfriend.”

Smitty’s was always busy on Saturday nights, but I wrangled a small table in front of the window overlooking Main Street. Marley hopped up on the stool, putting her back to the room, and opened the menu.

“So? How am I doing so far?” I asked, taking the seat across from her.

“You picked me up, were nice to my parents, complimented me on my outfit, brought my mom and me flowers, and didn’t run screaming from Dietrich. I’d say you’re nailing this date.”

“When you say nailing—”

She smacked me over the head with her menu. “Funny guy.”

I picked up my own menu and browsed. I wasn’t a “same thing every night” kind of guy. Mixing it up was more fun to me than consistency. One night it was hot wings. Another night it was beef and broccoli. Sometimes, for the hell of it, I went for a salad or threw caution to the wind and ordered the greasiest pizza I could find.

Marley was looking around us at the Saturday night crowd. Tentatively, she raised her hand at someone across the bar and smiled awkwardly. Then looked away just as quickly.

“This is weird. I actually know half of these people,” she whispered, picking up her menu and hiding her face.

“Welcome to small-town America.”

“You know, there’s something to be said for being a stranger to everyone,” she said, dropping the menu again.

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous. I just feel…exposed.”

“Why?” I was intrigued.

“Because most of these people remember my horrible, awkward, humiliating teenage years.”

“What was so horrible, awkward, and humiliating about your high school career?” I wondered.

She gave me a long look. “Homecoming our senior year? Does that ring any bells?”

“I think I remember Homecoming differently than you do. I remember a scrappy senior who had been pushed around one too many times and took things into her own hands by—”

Leaning across the table, she slapped a hand over my mouth.

“You know what? That’s not first date conversation. Make some small talk.” She removed her hand.

Women were strange. Pretty, smooth, fascinating, and strange.

“How ’bout them Steelers?” I asked cheerfully. Marley rolled her eyes.

“Hey, guys.” A waitress materialized next to the table. “Can I get you something to drink?”

We ordered beers, and I threw in an appetizer request for a basket of onion rings. When she left, Marley carefully avoided making eye contact with me and everyone else in the place.

I covered her hand with mine. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry if I did something that hurt you in high school.”

She looked at me like words were clawing their way out of her throat. But she reined it in, kept a lid on it. “We all did incredibly stupid things in high school,” she said quietly.

“Okay.” I waited. She stared at her menu for a solid minute.

“So, on a first date,” she finally said, “you want to focus on getting your date to talk about herself and file as much of the information away as possible. You can tell a lot about a person by how they talk about themselves.”