Powers of Arrest - страница 2
“So, Mr. Portland, how did you like the Northwest?”
“It was amped. I really liked it. They say it rains a lot but it doesn’t rain that much. It’s not like here, where you don’t see the sun for a month at a time. There’s so much to do, like all these indie movie theaters and a real local music scene. They have light rail and trains…” He felt as if he was running on.
“So you’re going back to Portland State? What does your mom think about that?”
“She hates it.”
“She’s thinking, ‘Why did we spend all that money sending him to Summit Country Day and he’s not already finishing Harvard?’ ”
Her laugh was a magical sound, making him laugh, too. She was right, of course. His mother was impatient with him and didn’t understand the Portland adventure at all. He had only spent a semester in college and didn’t do well. But looking at Heather, and beyond to the limitless blue Midwestern sky and electric green of the trees along the river, it was easy to put those worries away.
“I was accepted at Yale and Princeton and Stanford and, oh, Northwestern,” Heather said, ticking them off on slender fingers. By this time they were relaxing on the top steps, watching the people and the river. The sun gave her hair a rich, dark copper glow.
She said, “So it’s Yale for me and I start in the fall.”
“Very good.”
But something sank inside him. He was building a life around her in his fantasy world. She was two years younger but he had a crush on her that went back to the elite prep school they had both attended. They both sang in the choir. He never even thought she noticed him until he got back to Cincinnati and she called out to him one day when he was at the Kenwood Towne Center mall. Since then, they had been to a movie and a concert. He had sent her roses from Jones florist. And she had let him kiss her. Something about him was traditional and romantic.
She was smart, creative, and interesting. She read books as he did, and somehow she seemed different: maybe she was an outcast like him. Her looks did not carry the perfection of many of their classmates. Her mouth was wide and her features were beautifully off-center. That imperfection drew him. Now his brain calculated: perhaps he could go to Yale, too, or she would stay in Cincinnati, even though he hated Cincinnati and hated living off his mom.
He had the kind of rich fantasy life peculiar to young men. He watched the curve of her cheeks, but it could not save him from the growing angst. He already knew she wanted to become a doctor. Her announcement should not be a surprise. Now…well, maybe they could have a summer together. He bargained in his own mind, trying to find the words.
“Heather!”
The shout was a girl’s voice, calling from a boat as it made a dramatic curve, cut a frothy wake, and came to a stop at the foot of the Serpentine Wall. One young man and two teenage girls were aboard.
Heather stood and ran gracefully down the wide concrete slabs, almost as if they didn’t exist. John enjoyed the view of her svelte legs and hips as she moved down to the embankment. Her bottom nicely filled out the shorts. He saw other men watch her, too.
“It’s Zack Miller!”
Her voice sounded different. He looked longingly at the picnic basket, stared at the little plastic ants, counting them until she returned.
“Come on, John. Bring the basket.”
He didn’t even think of keeping the disappointment out of his face as he saw her beckoning him. He packed up, taking time to replace each plastic ant into the Ziploc bag, hooked the hasps of the picnic basket, and rose. He went over to the steps, moving carefully and down, with none of Heather’s easy agility. He had never been well coordinated.
