“No, but seriously, it’s good to see you a little more upbeat. I know the past few months have been”—she makes a clicking noise—“rough.”
I press my lips together, thinking. “A year … It’s been nearly a year since Roy up and left,” I say, more so to myself, that length of time fully sinking in. “And ya know what? That’s long enough.”
A hint of a smile creeps onto Blanche’s face. “Yeah?”
I let out a breath, flick on the faucet. “Yeah. I’m going to make some changes, get myself back on track, starting with school. Tomorrow.” It feels good to say it out loud, even if it reminds me ’bout what I’ve lost: someone to come home to after a long day of teaching. “You know what’s sad, though?”
Blanche strokes my hair. “What’s that?”
I turn my back to her, begin washing the glasses. “I was so high and mighty when you were talking ’bout that tooth analogy and Roy and me.”
“My what analogy?”
I roll my eyes. “You were sayin’ how you wish your relationship with Buck was like mine with Roy: my first and only boyfriend. Like my first and only tooth, since we’re not sharks and we only get one set of ’em.”
“I’m confused.”
I roll my eyes again. “Imagine that.” I set aside a clean glass. “In the end, you were all happy ’cause you said that Buck is your adult tooth and all the other boys you’ve been with were your baby teeth—the ones you’re supposed to lose.”
She laughs. “Okay, now that makes sense. Blanche is pretty smart.”
Suds drip onto my feet. “I want an adult tooth.”
I want someone to share my dreams with, a hand to hold as I take my first steps onto a sandy beach.
“Does this mean you’re done swearing off men?” Blanche asks with a sheepish grin. “I believe your exact words were how they’re the devil and they can all burn in hell.”
I pick up another dirty glass. “Perhaps. I don’t want to be some damsel who needs a man, but—”
Blanche holds up her hand. “Trust me, a damsel couldn’t have survived like you have. You, Bonnelyn, being the A student that you’ll, uh, be once again, are simply graduating from distress to happiness. And I’m a strong believer that necking aids in happiness. It’s proven, scientifically.”
I laugh. “I’d like to see those reports.”
“It’s good to hear you laugh, Bonn.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Hey, I’ve been thinkin’.” She doesn’t give me a chance to object, ’cause when Blanche thinks, it’s never good. “Your birthday is coming up. Nineteen. As in, the very last year before twenty. I think that deserves a li’l hoopla.”
“That makes me nervous.”
“No. No nerves; just fun. We could be one of those crazies.”
I stare at her blankly.
“You know, when people do crazy things for fun. That one man sat on top of a flagpole for days.”
I shake my head.
She twists her lips. “Did you hear how that other man strapped himself to the wing of a plane?”
“Right,” I say. “Let’s use the spare plane I’ve got lying ’round out back.”
Blanche tips a fake hat to acknowledge my sarcasm. “Something less outlandish?”
“Um, yeah,” I say. “But listen, Blanche, I don’t think I’m up for anything crazy.”
She taps her lower lip with her finger. “Of course. I need to think like Bonnelyn, not Alvin ‘Shipwreck’ Kelly.”
“Who?”
She sighs, feigning exasperation. “The fella who sat on the flagpole.”
I snort. “You ain’t going to stop ’til you think of something, are ya?”
She grins, showing her teeth. “Nope.”
“Fine.” I knead the back of my neck with my wet hand, trying to also think like Bonnelyn. Which, frankly, is plain ol’ pathetic. Now that I think ’bout it, fun is exactly what I need. I’ve spent the past year wallowing ’bout one thing or another. And, my God, I reckon I’ve grown tired of myself. I need a renewed pep in my step.
“A dance marathon,” I suggest, and smile at the idea of letting the beat take over my body. Just moving. Not thinkin’.
“Yes,” Blanche says enthusiastically, and claps her hands together once. “That’d be perfect. You know what? Let me talk to Mary. I bet we could do one this weekend. I think the record is three weeks.”
“You’d last three hours, tops.”
“Challenge accepted,” Blanche says with a curt nod. “Okay, I need to find Mary, then get back to the bar. It’ll be hard to pull this together so fast, but I can do it.” She walks to the door that leads back into the main room of Doc’s, then stops, her face devious. “Great idea, Bonn. This is going to be your best birthday yet. I’ll pick you up. And as far as your dance partner … I know the perfect adult tooth for you.”
She winks, and his name passes between Blanche and me in a heartbeat.
Clyde Barrow.
28
Clyde Barrow? The criminal. That ain’t who I need to get my life back on track. I chew my bottom lip, glancing at Buck’s apartment door for what feels like the millionth time.
Beside me on the couch, Blanche lowers her magazine. “Whatever is going on in your pretty head is probably juicer than the goop I’m reading in here.” She taps the cover of Photoplay. “So tell me, why is meeting Clyde so scary when he’s been hitching your breath for years?”
“He hasn’t been…”
Blanche raises her eyebrows, and even I know that’s a fib. I can’t deny Clyde’s got an allure to him. Problem is, I don’t think it’s the right kind.
Instead, I say, “He’s older than me. He’s been arrested, probably more times than I care to know. He doesn’t go to church or school or—”
Blanche narrows her eyes. “Would ya look at that? You’ve gone and described Buck.”
I cringe.
“My ears are ringin’,” Buck says, coming into the living room. “You lassies talking ’bout me?”
Blanche sets her magazine on the coffee table, props up her feet. “Bonn was just mentioning some of your better qualities.”
“Is that so?” Buck laughs, stops behind the couch, and wraps his arms ’round Blanche. He leans in and kisses her neck. “Bonnelyn is blushing,” he says to her. He tilts his head toward me. “I assure ya, Clyde’s a good lad. Like yours truly.” He snorts. “But if ya break his heart, you’re going to have to answer to me.”
There’s a knock at the door. I jump, my hand flying to my chest.
Blanche’s feet clunk to the floor. “And here he is now.” She skips to the door.
I wish I put on plaid today, then I’d blend right into the couch. Then Clyde’s gaze would pass over me. Then I wouldn’t wonder, once more, what those eyes have seen. Then I’ll find a boy unlike Roy and Henry and Clyde, to start anew with.
But no. Clyde strides in and sets his sights on me. Just like that.
My mouth goes dry. I swallow roughly and study the deep red of my nails.
“Bonnelyn,” Blanche says.
She tugs my arm, and I stumble to get my feet under me. My stomach is fluttering—and I hate that it’s fluttering. ’Til now, Clyde’s only existed in my head, where he was a safe distance away, where he ought to stay. But now he’s standing in front of me, his hand stretched out, waiting for me to lay mine in his.