say?” Robin asked anxiously, and Ginger only smiled and said, “Oh, lots of things. Wouldn’t you like to know?” Of course, she was well known for her lying and exaggerating.
She could feel Linda’s eyes on her. Linda was
always
looking at her and talking at her, even in the car, pointing out everything as if Robin had never seen a tree or a cow before. And she was such a rotten driver. A few times, Robin was sure they were going to be killed. Linda sighed and Robin knew she was about to speak again. She often gave little warnings like that: sighs, throat clearing, an introductory cough.
“Are you hungry?”
Robin shrugged.
“Me, too,” Linda said. “Let’s wash up and find a nice place for supper.”
In the tiny bathroom, Linda shut her eyes as she sat down on the toilet. “Please,” she whispered, butwhen she opened her eyes again, her peach-colored bikini panties were still unsoiled.
In the diner, they sat in a booth that had an individual selector of taped music mounted to the wall. Robin kept turning the wheel that flipped the song titles, click, click, until Linda wanted to grab her hand to make her stop. Linda’s need to talk, so as not to have to think about herself, was enormous. Questions demanded answers, and she was determined to provoke some of them and begin a volley of conversation. “Have you ever stayed on a farm before, Robin?” she asked.
“No.”
“I haven’t either,” Linda confessed, “but it sounds nice and healthy, doesn’t it?”
That was definitely a wrong move. She could tell by Robin’s little curling sneer. Health is of no interest to teenagers, anyway. Most of the time they seem bent on
destroying
their health. Right now, Robin was eating a meal almost entirely composed of starches: spaghetti, french fries, and a buttered soft roll. An accompanying salad lay untouched. Well, she wouldn’t compound her error by saying anything about that. She wasn’t the girl’s mother, she wasn’t anyone’s mother. “Ohhhh,” she moaned, remembering, and Robin was so startled she said, “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know,” Linda said. “I guess I must be full.” She looked down at her plate, at the revolting pink edge of her half-eaten hamburger.
Linda excused herself to go to the bathroom. As soon as she left the table, Robin went right to the local telephone books on a stand near the rest rooms. She turned quickly to the R’s: Reich, Reilly, Reinhart. Butthere was no Miriam Reismann listed. She slammed the book shut and hurried back to the booth as Linda came through the door marked with the silhouette of a woman.
They walked a short distance to a small shopping center that reminded Linda of the one in Slatesville. She pointed out the five-and-dime next door to the drugstore, and she gave Robin two dollars in case she wanted to buy something. But Robin trailed just behind her into the drugstore.
There was a lot of junk on the counters, but not what Linda wanted. “Look at this!” she cried, at a display of soap miniatures she hoped would distract Robin while she made discreet inquiries. Robin ignored the soaps and tailed Linda as if she were suddenly scared of being separated. Linda pretended to browse. She even took off her shoes and tried on six pairs of those Japanese rubber beach thongs. The Child’s Large, the Man’s Small, and the Woman’s Medium all fit her. The pharmacist called from behind his counter: “May I help someone?” Linda looked around; they were the only customers in the store. She fixed a smile and ambled up to him, sensing Robin right behind her.
Linda thought that if she were a shy young man buying condoms for the first time, there would probably have been a forbidding matron, the twin of her high-school health teacher, behind the counter.
The pharmacist wore a pristine white coat, and he had gray hair parted in the middle, giving him a paternal/professional aura that confused her. She felt she wanted his approval, which
She could feel Linda’s eyes on her. Linda was
always
looking at her and talking at her, even in the car, pointing out everything as if Robin had never seen a tree or a cow before. And she was such a rotten driver. A few times, Robin was sure they were going to be killed. Linda sighed and Robin knew she was about to speak again. She often gave little warnings like that: sighs, throat clearing, an introductory cough.
“Are you hungry?”
Robin shrugged.
“Me, too,” Linda said. “Let’s wash up and find a nice place for supper.”
In the tiny bathroom, Linda shut her eyes as she sat down on the toilet. “Please,” she whispered, butwhen she opened her eyes again, her peach-colored bikini panties were still unsoiled.
In the diner, they sat in a booth that had an individual selector of taped music mounted to the wall. Robin kept turning the wheel that flipped the song titles, click, click, until Linda wanted to grab her hand to make her stop. Linda’s need to talk, so as not to have to think about herself, was enormous. Questions demanded answers, and she was determined to provoke some of them and begin a volley of conversation. “Have you ever stayed on a farm before, Robin?” she asked.
“No.”
“I haven’t either,” Linda confessed, “but it sounds nice and healthy, doesn’t it?”
That was definitely a wrong move. She could tell by Robin’s little curling sneer. Health is of no interest to teenagers, anyway. Most of the time they seem bent on
destroying
their health. Right now, Robin was eating a meal almost entirely composed of starches: spaghetti, french fries, and a buttered soft roll. An accompanying salad lay untouched. Well, she wouldn’t compound her error by saying anything about that. She wasn’t the girl’s mother, she wasn’t anyone’s mother. “Ohhhh,” she moaned, remembering, and Robin was so startled she said, “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know,” Linda said. “I guess I must be full.” She looked down at her plate, at the revolting pink edge of her half-eaten hamburger.
Linda excused herself to go to the bathroom. As soon as she left the table, Robin went right to the local telephone books on a stand near the rest rooms. She turned quickly to the R’s: Reich, Reilly, Reinhart. Butthere was no Miriam Reismann listed. She slammed the book shut and hurried back to the booth as Linda came through the door marked with the silhouette of a woman.
They walked a short distance to a small shopping center that reminded Linda of the one in Slatesville. She pointed out the five-and-dime next door to the drugstore, and she gave Robin two dollars in case she wanted to buy something. But Robin trailed just behind her into the drugstore.
There was a lot of junk on the counters, but not what Linda wanted. “Look at this!” she cried, at a display of soap miniatures she hoped would distract Robin while she made discreet inquiries. Robin ignored the soaps and tailed Linda as if she were suddenly scared of being separated. Linda pretended to browse. She even took off her shoes and tried on six pairs of those Japanese rubber beach thongs. The Child’s Large, the Man’s Small, and the Woman’s Medium all fit her. The pharmacist called from behind his counter: “May I help someone?” Linda looked around; they were the only customers in the store. She fixed a smile and ambled up to him, sensing Robin right behind her.
Linda thought that if she were a shy young man buying condoms for the first time, there would probably have been a forbidding matron, the twin of her high-school health teacher, behind the counter.
The pharmacist wore a pristine white coat, and he had gray hair parted in the middle, giving him a paternal/professional aura that confused her. She felt she wanted his approval, which
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