Джанет Скеслин Чарльз - The Paris Library

In the master bedroom, in my mother’s rocking chair, Ellie darned my father’s socks. “Finished with your hissy fit?” she asked.

“Sorry I ran off,” I said, the fight gone out of me. “It wasn’t very mature.”

“Hon, I just want the best for you.”

“I know.” I went to her, and she hugged me.

TO CELEBRATE MY driver’s license, Odile invited Ellie and me to the Husky House for a sundae. In the orange booth, Odile set a gift on the table. “Ordered from Chicago.” Gently I removed the velvet ribbon and opened the box. Inside was a beret, gray and downy like a dove.

“J’adore!” I lunged across the table to kiss her on either cheek. “I’ll never take it off!”

She straightened the beret over my brows.

“You look French,” Ellie said, the best possible compliment she could have paid me.

At home in my room, beret on my head, I took out the Josephine Baker record Odile had lent me and ran my fingers along Josephine’s face, jealous of her easy grin, her dewy skin, her confidence. I kicked off my shoes and yanked off my shirt and pants. In my white bra and panties, I stared at my scrawny reflection, wondering what it would be like to be a sex symbol in silk stockings. I grabbed a black marker and drew circles around my thighs, where I imagined the tops would reach. It wasn’t enough. I wanted to draw myself a whole new life.

THAT SUMMER BEFORE our senior year, Mary Louise and I worked at the O’Haire motel. We vacuumed and made beds, cleaned toilets and scrubbed tubs. It paid better than babysitting, and Mrs. Vandersloot gave us a Coke during our break.

The first week of August, the motel was full of custom cutters. The men worked from sunup to sundown and were old and grizzled for the most part, though we always hoped some would be young and good-looking. From Texas to the panhandle of Oklahoma, through South Dakota to us in Montana, they helped harvest America. The men weren’t tied to a town, not like we were. They were free, and we envied them.

Their compliments made us blush. They looked at us like we were women. Last night, under a watchful crescent moon, Mary Louise snuck out to be with one. They guzzled booze and made out in the bed of his truck. She said Johnny knew what he was doing, more than her boyfriend, Keith, did.

The cutters were moving on today, taking their machinery and the promise of adventure with them. Hauling the vacuum down the hall, I ran smack-dab into one. He grabbed the Hoover with one hand and steadied me with the other. I could smell the wheat on his worn cotton shirt. I straightened my beret and peered up at his face. Lord, he was handsome. Tanned from his time in the sun. Twenty-one or twenty-two years old. Eyes that had seen entire states, long stretches of road, and green lights, plenty of green lights. A man.

“What’s a pretty girl like you luggin’ this old thing around for? You work here?”

“Yes.”

“Where should I put it?”

“Room four.”

“No need to whisper, darlin’. We ain’t in church.”

I unlocked the door. He set the vacuum in front of the TV. The sheets were in a heap on the floor. Mary Louise would have whistled and said, “People had fun in here last night!” But I wasn’t Mary Louise.

“I like your little hat.” He walked over, until we were an inch apart. I knew he could feel my heart pound. “You’re as pretty as a doe.”

My eyes closed with the shock of his lips on mine. Nothing had ever felt so good.

“Come on, Mike,” a cutter hollered from the lobby.

We moved apart. I held my breath. His calloused hand caressed my cheek. “You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. He’d forget me the minute he hit the highway, but I would remember our kiss forever. The rest of the morning, my fingers moved to my mouth.

After work, Mary Louise and I stopped by my house to fill Mom’s hummingbird feeder. We continued on, past the Girl Scouts in the park. Right outside town limits, she and I lay on the prairie, its grass stiff like hay. A few feet away, a gopher poked his head out of a hole. It was hot and dry, it was always hot and dry. In the distance, we heard a combine grumbling over the field. I clasped my hands behind my head. Mary Louise sucked on a piece of grass. Clouds rolled past, never staying long. The rest of the world watched MTV while we lived reruns of Little House on the Prairie . School was a week away. I thought we would die from the peace and quiet.

“Promise we’ll get out of here,” she said.

ON MY LAST first day of school, I wore a skirt that matched my beret, and everyone gawked—in Froid, people who didn’t wear jeans were mutants. Mary Louise and I didn’t have any of the same classes. Every time I caught a glimpse of her, she was down the hall with Keith. I waded through confused freshmen but never reached her. Robby and I had the same schedule. He was an aisle away, just like in church, just like always. Somewhere deep down, I knew he liked me. But I didn’t trust deep down.

After school, chez Odile, I drank café au lait and contemplated her wedding photo. Would a man ever look at me the way Buck had looked at her? The way Keith ogled Mary Louise?

“I barely see Mary Louise anymore,” I said, hurt she’d dropped me as easily as AP Math.

“The thing about friendship is that you won’t always be at the same place at the same time,” Odile said. “Remember when you had your hands full with Ellie and the boys? It’s Mary Louise’s turn to be busy. First love is like that. It takes all your time.”

“You make love sound like a leech.”

She laughed. “Well, it is.”

“No it’s not!” I said hotly.

“She’ll be back. Give her time.”

I thought of the way Mary Louise flushed when Keith slung his arm around her. When I drew near, he tugged at her waist and said, “Let’s go.” She followed because they wanted to be alone together. Mary Louise got everything first. First kiss. First base. First love.

“It’s normal to be jealous,” Odile said.

“I’m not!”

“It’s normal,” she repeated. “Only…”

“Only what?”

“Try to remember your day will come,” she finished lamely.

Yeah, right.

At home, Ellie made my favorite dinner, steak and french fries served with a green salad. Everyone else had their salads first, but I ate mine last, followed by a piece of cheese like a Parisienne .

“Do you have to wear that hat all the time?” Dad asked.

“It’s a beret. C’est chic .”

“You haven’t taken it off in months. Is it chic to stink?”

I ignored him. “Le steak est délicieux!”

“Can’t you get her to speak English?” Dad asked Ellie.

She smiled. I think she liked it when I spoke French.

“Have you considered what I said about applying to college?” Dad asked.

“I told you, I’m going to be a writer.”

“Writing isn’t a profession,” he said.

“Tell that to Danielle Steel,” Ellie said. “She’s richer than Jonas Ivers!”

“You’ll study accounting,” Dad said. “You need a backup plan.”

“A backup plan? You think I’ll fail? Anyway, it’s none of your business what I study.”

He poked his fork in my direction. “It is if I pay the tab.”

“With you, everything comes down to money.”

“One of the jobs of a banker,” he said, “is making sure that everyone has a plan.”

I had no idea how we’d gone from a nice dinner to a fight about college.

“I think,” Ellie said, “your father’s trying to say that he’s seen people lose their homes, entrepreneurs lose their businesses, and he doesn’t want you to suffer the way they have.”

After dinner, I went to Odile’s. “When you were my age, did you know what you wanted to be?”