My Last Innocent Year(32)

“You know, I heard from someone who knew someone in her seminar last year that she was pregnant,” Whitney said. “Then one day, she just didn’t show up for the rest of the semester. When we saw her that summer, no baby.” She swiped her hands together.

At that, Roxanne turned her head and I saw she had a birthmark on her cheek near her jawline. It was red, about the size of a quarter, and it stood out against her skin like a drop of wine on a tablecloth. That she made no effort to hide it, either by wearing her hair long or with makeup, struck me, and I wondered what kind of woman would be so unselfconscious about the way she looked.

Just then, Connelly turned and saw us looking at him. He raised a hand in greeting, and I waved back, blushing furiously, as Whitney giggled.

“Shut up.” I stood up and wiggled my empty wineglass. “You want anything?”

Whitney shook her head. “Have fun with your boyfriend!”

I headed back to the bar, past Ginny and Linus, who were sitting together on a window seat. Ginny had a flower in her hair; Linus was wearing a bolo tie. Everyone looked nice, the girls in dresses and makeup, the boys, mostly, in button-down shirts and khaki pants. As I looked around the room, I could see a hint of the grown-ups they would become—the same way I would, when I was older, be able to see the young person inside their middle-aged avatar. I still hadn’t seen Tom, but there were signs of him: the leather satchel by the front door, a pair of men’s slippers near the kitchen. Joanna was still making her rounds, Igraine trailing her. The little girl looked pale and stricken; I wanted to scoop her up and put her to bed.

I refilled my glass and wandered down the narrow hallway that led to the back of the house. The wall there was covered with family photos. I’d seen similar collections at friends’ houses; Kelsey had one lining the stairwell in her apartment. But unlike hers, which included photographs of extended family going back generations—Granny and Poppy on their wedding day, a gaggle of cousins gathered on a wide green lawn—the photos here were only of Joanna, Tom, and Igraine. There was one of Tom standing alone on a beach, his long hair blowing in the wind; another of Joanna cradling her round belly. But other than that, every photo was of the three of them, as though nothing and no one else existed.

There was one photo at the end of the hall, of Tom and Joanna sitting with another couple on Adirondack chairs. I leaned in closer and saw it was Connelly and Roxanne. In the background was Connelly’s cabin, the one I’d seen in Time magazine. It hadn’t occurred to me that it was somewhere he brought people. I’d imagined it as austere, holy, the kind of place my mother always said she wanted, where she could go for peace and quiet, to hear herself think. The kind of retreat I sensed even then belonged only to men. I thought again about the girl I’d read about, the one who’d driven up there to profess her love. I wondered how she’d known she would find him alone.

There was a bustle at the front door. Andy and Kara had arrived, their tardiness intentional. Andy had his hand on the small of Kara’s back and was steering her across the living room like a shopping cart. Kara was wearing a knee-length dress and fishnet stockings. Her dark hair hung down her back like a beaded curtain. As they headed toward the bar, I noticed Andy was wearing my hat.

Andy and I hadn’t spoken much lately, not since Connelly had criticized his story and praised mine. Last week, he’d printed some financial aid documents at the information desk, but I’d been on the phone when he came to pick them up and he hadn’t waited to say hello. And just last night I’d stopped by his carrel, thinking he might be amused by a French assignment I was working on, but he didn’t invite me in. “Deadline,” he grunted, before closing the door in my face. Maybe it had something to do with Kara, whom he was most definitely dating now. Maybe she was being weird about our friendship, or whatever it was, although she didn’t strike me as the jealous type. But I didn’t know what else it could be; he couldn’t be mad about the story.

I saw Kara give him a kiss on the cheek before slipping into the bathroom. I sidled up and knocked him playfully with my elbow. “Nice hat.”

“Is this the one you made me?” He pulled it off. “It’s nice. Itchy, but nice.”

Andy had his hair in a smooth ponytail, and he was wearing a checkered shirt with deep creases, as though he’d just unwrapped it.

“Did you finish your grad school applications?” I asked.

“Yup.”

“Have your parents finally come around?”

“I mean, they still don’t understand why I can’t be a teacher who writes over the summers.” Andy’s parents were gym teachers in upstate New York. They didn’t know what to do with a son who wanted to be a poet, and they worried about how he would support himself through grad school and beyond. One of the things Andy and I had in common was that we were both poor. In fact, he might have been even poorer than I was.

Andy turned to face the bathroom door, waiting, it seemed, for Kara to come out. Whatever had been between us lately was definitely still there, and it annoyed me that he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He was still holding the hat in his hands, stroking it absentmindedly, and I thought about all the time I’d spent making it. Maybe it had been too much, I thought, had given him the wrong idea. My mother always told me never to knit something for a boyfriend because the affair would be over before you finished, but Andy wasn’t my boyfriend, so I thought I’d be okay.