Penelope's Suitors

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Spring, 2006

Ted wasn't hungry yet, but said to hell with it and mixed himself a gin and tonic from the mini-bar. He drank it quickly, while watching the view from his hotel window, and felt a little better. Closing his eyes, he was back with Joan in the homey kitchen at the Stone House, looking at the delightful freckles on Mary Lou's face, and still tasting Laurie's kiss. Clean lawns and tall trees, and the smell of pine needles.

His cell phone rang and he looked at the number—Miranda. That should rouse him.

"My darling. I was going to call you."

"I've been very busy today. I have all kinds of things for you." He heard the shuffle of paper.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Sitting in the middle of my bed surrounded by all the notes I made."

Ted kicked off his sneakers and sat down in the room's easy chair. "What are you wearing?"

"Wearing? Oh! You want me to tell you I'm wearing red bikini panties and a sleeveless tee-shirt."

"You got it," he replied.

"And not those stained but really comfortable blue sweatpants I've had since high school and my favorite flannel shirt?"

"Doesn't do much for me, frankly."

She became sharp. "It's one thing to be your unpaid assistant. To submit to your sexual harassment is really too much."

He replied in a wounded tone. "I told you I'd buy you dinner."

"Which is getting more expensive by the minute. Now do you want my report or not? Because if you want phone sex, I'll need to recharge my cell."

"Okay, report." More crunching of paper.

"Zelnick Construction. Privately held. Had offers over the years for a buyout, but the family held onto it. Hit a bad patch about 15 years ago but survived. The son, Henry Zelnick, took over when he got out of college and really pulled it together. He's supposed to be sharp, and ruthless, but no legal troubles I could find."

Ted pursued his lips in thought. "Any connection with Tolford interests?"

"Just one job, more than 20 years ago, like you said. It went well, but they never worked together again. I grabbed one analyst who said that wasn't a usual Tolford job anyway. Maybe it was something new they ultimately decided not to pursue. But that's all I could find that quickly."

"Nice work. What about Matthew Roebling?" He got up and started poking through the mini bar, and helped himself to a jar of Macadamia nuts.

"I have stuff on him too. And don't eat minibar food while you're talking to me." More shuffling of paper. "Here we go. Matthew Roebling, CFP. Series 7 and Series 65 securities licenses. Works as a rep for Axion. Squeaky clean record. Member of the president's circle. Married. Two sons. I don't know if you expected me to find anything on this guy, but he's a regular boy scout, contributes to every charity, member of the board of education, chair of the finance subcommittee of the hospital fundraising committee blah, blah, blah."

"Did you talk to the firm's compliance guy?"

"Of course," she said. "He said all their reps displayed the highest ethical and regulatory standards, all that stuff. He's president's circle, open only to the top 10% of producers, and you have to be squeaky clean." Ted let his mind wander. Matthew, covered in grease, pounding away by himself on ancient engines in that ancient machine shop. He pictured him taking a break, sliding a cold soda can across his forehead and stealing looks at Penelope as she swam off the long dock. Matthew, the financial wizard of the Adirondacks?

"Are you there?"

"Hmm? Sorry. Trying to compare that Matthew with the one I knew."

"Are you the same as you were when you were 18? Anyway, now we come to Nick Jayston, former teacher, and—I am guessing—the lover of Penelope Tolford."

"You should never assume," said Ted.

"It’s just us," she retorted. "Anyway, I couldn't find much on him—at first. Eventually, I found a brief reference to a teacher named Nick Jayston in suburban Chicago. Just a short piece about how he was coach of the local Math Olympics team. They did rather well."

"Is that it?" He was disappointed.

"Ahh. I called the school and got the school secretary. I asked to speak with him, but of course, he wasn't available. Teachers never are. I went out on a limb and told the secretary I was an old college friend of his wife's trying to look her up. I said, 'She is so sweet.' And the secretary said, 'Yes, isn't she? And those three kids of hers really keep her running.' I said she must be proud of her husband—I knew what a good teacher he was, and the secretary said, 'Yes, he was popular with the students, but it became annoying because parents were writing notes requesting him in particular, which Miss Gregson—the principal—found especially irritating. So," she said, with pride creeping into her voice. "He's apparently happily married, with children, and apparently no scandal connected with him."

"You did a great job, honey, many thanks."

"I'm sorry I didn't turn up anything juicy on any of these."

"I didn't expect anything. But I had to be sure."

"It sounds like you're getting closer."

"Perhaps. I can tell you more when I get back." He finished the macadamia nuts.

"I miss you," she said.

"I miss you too. I'll see you Thursday."

"Are you sure you'll be done by then?"

"I'll be done." There was a silence for a few moments. "Are you really wearing the stained sweatpants and flannel shirt?"

"No. I've been completely naked the whole time."

"Really?"

"If you want to live in your fantasy, does the reality matter at all?" she said lightly. "Sleep tight."

He poured himself another drink and thought about dinner.



The next morning, Ted drove to the North Lake School, a solid 1950s stone edifice with a tall central tower and two long wings stretching to the sides. He parked behind the school in the visitors' lot, near the gridiron where Matthew once played.

At the main office, a few students were trying to resolve problems with various secretaries and administrators—a boy in a blue oxford shirt, with a clarinet case tucked under his arm, another wearing a track team jacket and a girl playing with her long blond hair. Ted waited his turn.

"Excuse me. Are you a parent?" asked a middle-aged secretary, with a smile reserved for adults.

"No, I'm a sort of guest lecturer. I have an appointment with Mr. Simone. My name is Ted Jellinek." At that moment, Phil walked into the office. He was wearing a white button-down, just like yesterday, but his tie was neatly knotted.

"Ted—good to see you again. I'm glad you could come. Selma, I'll be taking Mr. Jellinek to my office. He's going to give a little talk to Ms. Quiller's class. Ted, come on to my office. We've got a few minutes before the bell."

Phil's office overlooked the athletic fields. His desk was strategically placed between him and three hard-backed visitors' chairs. They took their seats, and Ted looked around—a few framed posters urging children to spend more time reading and to avoid illegal drugs. On the bookshelf he could see a framed 8x10 of Phil, Mary-Lou and their children.

"I understand you dated Mary-Lou a good many years ago," he said.

"A good many years ago indeed," he said, smiling back. Phil waved his hands in dismissal.

"Don't misunderstand me. I'm not a jealous man. I just wanted you to know I knew. Maybe you will want to visit Mary-Lou again for your investigation, and I didn't want you to feel awkward." He studied Ted through his round glasses, as if searching every muscle tic for a possible reaction. "Besides, we'd look ridiculous dueling on the football field."

Ted laughed. "I'm glad Mary-Lou found you," he said, and realized he meant it.

It looked like Phil was about to respond, but the bell rang, and he slapped his hands on his desk. "It's showtime," he said. "Come with me."

The halls were filling with students, some racing to the next class, boys yelling after others boys, girls exchanging quick whispers. Lockers opening and slamming. Phil strode down the hall, and a few students said hello, which he acknowledged with a smile and a nod. Ted followed in his wake until they reached the right classroom. Students were pouring in, and some were seated taking out notebooks and pens, and shoving multicolored backpacks under their chairs.

Ms. Quiller greeted students as they walked in, and then strode briskly up and down the rows to have words with a few students before the starting bell. Her loafers clicked on the linoleum floor. She was short—not much over five feet, Ted estimated—but radiated energy and cheerfulness. She wore a denim skirt and a patterned silk blouse, with an old-fashioned cameo brooch at the throat that nicely complemented her short silver hair. Reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck.

Phil introduced them. "Mr. Jellinek, it is so nice of you to take some time to talk to my students. Class!" The teacher voice brought everyone to order. "We have a special guest today. Mr. Jellinek is a friend of the assistant principal's. He is a well-known business journalist from New York City, and will be talking to you about business journalism."

Phil briefly grabbed Ted's hand. "Good luck," he said, and slipped out the door. And Ted faced 25 curious teenagers.

Actually, looking back at it later, he had to admit it went better than expected. He talked a little about his work. Some of the more eager students asked questions: Have you ever been on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange ("yes"), have you ever been invited to the White House ("no"), and how much money do you make ("none of your business"). Ms. Quiller asked questions herself when the going was slow and showed no compunction about cutting him off when he began to ramble. Before he knew it, the bell rang again, and the racing started anew.

A plump girl with short brown hair thanked him, blushed furiously, and ran out.

"Thank you so much," said Ms. Quiller.

"Was I a reasonable success?" asked Ted.

"No one fell asleep, so that's quite an achievement. Now, Phil tells me the free lecture was payment in advance to grill me—I'm at your service."

"Let's say it's more of a gossip session than a grilling. And the free lecture was just that—free. But if you have time to leave the building, I'll buy you lunch as payment for your memories."

"Nicely put, Mr. Jellinek. You must've been an English major." Ted laughed.

"Guilty. But please call me Ted."

"Then you must call me Esther. Even if I'm an old as your mother—please, no false gallantries. Let me get my jacket, and you can take me to the Green Mountain Diner."

They walked out the front door of the school and along the sidewalks in the cool spring sunshine.

"I remember when one didn't dare go to the Green Mountain," said Ted. Esther gave him a sidelong glance.

"All Phil told me was that you were a journalist friend from New York City on a research project. I didn't know you were familiar with this place."

"My parents vacationed here. And I worked for a couple of summers at Twelve Pines."

"Oh, the Tolford place." She gave a knowing smile. "You're here about Maxwell Tolford, aren't you?"

"Obliquely," he said.

"Oh, not just an English major, but one who did exceptionally well on his SATs," she said.

"You're not a native, Esther, are you?" he asked, to deflect her curiosity for now.

"After more than 20 years here, I never lost my accent, have I? No, originally I'm from Philadelphia, then relocated to New York, where I married. My husband is a journalist too—he wrote for the N.Y. Daily News. And then we bought the local newspaper, the Tribune, and he became editor and publisher. I got a job teaching and we raised our children here. I was so glad you showed up—it was nice to be able to introduce the students to a reporter who did something besides local news."

"You might have a very interesting perspective," said Ted, suddenly realizing this woman was likely going to be a font of information and insight.

They arrived at the half-full Green Mountain Diner, and the waitress gave them a table for two by the window. Ted ordered a tuna wrap and diet Coke, and Esther a turkey wrap and unsweetened ice tea. They talked about how the town had changed, until their food arrived, and Esther could contain herself no longer.

"So—I assume you want to ask me then about the Tolford girls, our most famous graduates? They were both my students." Esther cocked her head at him. Ted shook his head.

"Actually, I'd first like to ask you about a teacher who worked here years ago. I don't know if you knew him—he was a math teacher. His name was Nicholas Jayston." He looked at her closely for a reaction. She smiled broadly and tossed her head back.

"Nick! Oh my. That's a name I haven't thought of for years. Yes, I did know him. He wasn't in my department, of course, but we're a small school and I was on a sort of orientation committee, helping new teachers get acclimated and so forth."

"What was he like?"

She looked at him with real curiosity. "Are you investigating him? Is he in some sort of trouble?

"None that I know of."

"But you expect me to tell you all about him in a vacuum?"

"I'll make the connection."

"Hmmph. You sound like a lawyer." She munched on her wrap and looked doubtful. "Phil does vouch for you, and that speaks in your favor. How do you know him anyway? College friends?"

"No. I used to date his wife when we worked together at Twelve Pines."

"Mary-Lou? Really? I always thought— but never mind." She gave a quick schoolgirl smile. "Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, Nick Jayston. He came here pretty much right out of grad school. He was from the Midwest but went to school in New York, I believe. He thought it would be fun to teach here for a while. He was a very nice young man, and the math chair at the time said he was a good teacher. I don't know if he meant to settle here long-term—he seemed happy, and it can be hard to attract young single teachers here." She sighed.

"At any rate, I think there was some family trouble back home—sick father or something. He left after, oh, maybe three years here. He sent all of us a Christmas letter saying he found a teaching job in some Chicago suburb. That's about it really—a pleasant young man and an intelligent and gifted teacher." She fixed her teacher eye on him. "Now tell me what's this all about."

"Would you think— did you ever hear— about Nick having an affair with a student?"

Esther smiled grimly. "Okay, now I see what this is about. Yes, he was young and good-looking, closer in age to the students than to most of the other teachers. But no, you're wrong. Nick never had an affair with a student." She shook her head and said no more.

"You seem awfully sure," said Ted. "Did you know him that well?"

"I didn't know him well at all. But it's impossible for him to have done that. It took me a while to get used to living in a small town, but one thing I learned right away, is that you can't hide something that big here. If he innocently sat next to a student in a movie theater it would be all over town. If there had been a whisper, I would've heard. And I didn't." Ted digested this for a few moments.

"Besides," said Esther. "I know it's not evidence, but he never struck me as that kind of guy anyway. He was really closer to the boys."

"You mean the love that dare not speak its name?"

"Very good—I didn't think anyone read Oscar Wilde anymore. However, that's not what I meant at all. He was heterosexual, or straight, as they say. I just meant that he seemed more comfortable with the boys. He was athletic—assistant coach of the track team, if I remember right. And he was a bicyclist, with those stretch pants and fancy helmet, and it was a pretty exotic sport back then. So he cut a rather dashing figure, and there was a bit of hero worship. But he wasn't gay—I saw him at a faculty Christmas party flirting shamelessly with a rather pretty French teacher we had back then."

Ted pursed his lips, then took a drink. He didn't know what to say—she was so sure.

"Why did you think that about Nick—having an affair with a student?" she asked.

Ted shook his head. "I got the wrong story somewhere," he said. "But anyway, as you correctly inferred, I am interested in your famous students, Penelope and Ariadne Tolford—particularly Penelope. I've known them since we were little kids together."

"Ted, you have an alarming habit of jumping around." Then an understanding lit her eyes. "But you're not, are you. You suspected Nick had an affair with Penelope Tolford—and you're not even really interested in him. If you worked with Penelope, then you must've been there that summer…I remember it. They still talk about it around here, the 'tragic accident at the Tolford place.' That's what this is about, isn't it?"

She didn't look angry. A bit triumphant. But oddly, sympathetic.

"I'm right, aren't I? You were there, weren't you? It must've been hard for you. And now you're revisiting it. It must be 20 years."

"Yes, I was there. With Mary-Lou—my girlfriend then. And Penelope was there that night, too. And Matthew Roebling—was he one of yours too?"

Esther nodded. "I teach 'advanced English,' what we call the English class for college-bound students."

"I kept up with Penelope—we both found ourselves back in New York City after college." It felt good finding someone he could talk to about it. "I told her I'd look into this, when her father died. I just don't know…" His voice trailed off, and he leaned forward across the table. "Please Esther—tell me about her."

She sighed. "It was a long time ago. I don't want you to think I remember everything about every student. But as I said, the Tolford girls were more than a little unusual around here. And it was clear to any teacher that Penelope didn't even try to fit in. Didn't seem to connect well with the other students. An exceptionally bright girl who kept very much to herself."

"She was friends with Matthew, wasn't she?"

Esther nodded. "Again, you're going to think I have an astounding memory, but I remember him mostly because of her. Of course, he became quite successful later on. I'd like to say I knew that then—I always thought he'd do well in life but…" She didn't continue, and tried to catch the waitress's eye for more iced tea.

"But," reminded Ted. Esther gathered her thoughts.

"This is going to sound unkind. Matthew was not a genius. He would not normally be the kind of boy I'd expect to find in college-bound classes. I expected boys like him to graduate from high school, maybe take a few courses at the community college, and go to work at some trade. But he had drive and focus, and that makes up for a lot. He got into the college prep classes, then went to a four-year school and came back after graduation. I see him every now and then, as he runs the 403(b) retirement program, and has become a real pillar of the community." She shook her head. "I was wrong about him. But you were asking why I remembered him. It was because he was infatuated with Penelope." She smiled at the memory.

"Was it very obvious?"

Esther gave him a severe look. "Please, Ted. Teenaged boys are not known for their subtlety. He was always grabbing the chair next to her, trying to engage her in conversation as class was dismissed. When I assigned a project that required teaming up, he asked her right away. It was sad. And funny."

"Why funny?"

"Oh, because Matthew was so popular. He was good looking and a football star. The girls swooned over him. Do people still use that word—swoon? But at least as far as my class was concerned, he only had eyes for Penelope. Still, he had no competition there."

Ted raised an eyebrow at this. "Really?"

"Yes, really." There was a tone in Esther's voice he couldn't place. Disdain? Amusement? "She was not a very pretty girl, not like her sister. She had a rather arrogant attitude, and did not show a lot of sympathy for those less capable than herself. I've known plain girls who had the boys flocking around them because they were kind and warm. But not Penelope. I think the only one she cared about in that school was her sister. And that led to the one blot on Penelope's sterling record."

"That's one more than I expected," said Ted.

"I didn't witness it, but I can give you a second-hand account. As I said, there was a certain amount of teasing because her father was so rich. Penelope could just walk away, but not Ariadne, who really did want to fit in. Anyway, I guess it was when Ariadne was around 13 and Penelope 15 that some loutish boys grabbed Ariadne's book bag and began tossing it to each other over her head. One of them said something like, can't your rich daddy just by you a new one? She apparently was crying with frustration when Penelope came upon them. She told them to give her sister back her book bag. They taunted her, words went back and forth. And Penelope hauled off and slugged the one holding the bag."

Ted just stared at her. "She punched him?" he asked, stupefied.

"Oh yes. And I don't mean a slap. A full-fisted hit. He ended up in the nurse's office with a bloody nose. The boy—I can't remember his name—was horribly humiliated, which served him right. You'd think Penelope might have become something of a hero for doing that, and she might've—if she had been someone else. But the other students concluded Penelope was not only strange but a little dangerous as well. As for Ariadne—well, I can't be sure. She didn't come into my class until later, of course. But it can't have improved her social standing to have a big sister with a vicious right hook."

"How did it end up?"

"It was pretty much covered up. God knows the boy didn't want to make an issue of it. Old Principal Garrity wanted to make a big deal of it. I set myself up as sort of her lawyer. So she, Mr. Garrity and I ended up in his office finally connecting with Maxwell Tolford on the phone. He was traveling. Penelope was pale, and frightened—she was actually trembling, but she never cried. Mr. Tolford was all reasonable and logical, never sounded angry or threatening, and you could feel the heat dissipate. He would've been a great diplomat. He asked for a few moments to speak with her daughter alone, and we gave it to him." Ted tried to imagine Penelope, enraged, and disappointed with her own loss of self-control, embarrassed in front of a favorite teacher, and her father.

"She was almost comical in her self-poise after the event. Stood up and said she'd take her punishment without complaint. Well, Mr. Garrity had calmed down by then. And I am proud of my small part in the event: I told him that Penelope was shoe-in for one of the top colleges some day, and how much luster that would lend to the school, and did he really want to jeopardize that by adding an assault to her record? We gave her something like a week or two of after-school detention and that was the end of that."

"That's something." Ted shook his head in disbelief. "She never told me that. Nor did Ariadne. Probably something neither wanted to pass around." Esther shrugged.

"Everyone wanted to forget about it—both the girls and the boy Penelope hit. The event got forgotten as soon as they next fight or football injury or whatever. I often wondered later if Matthew would look up that boy and pound him into a pulp. He was physically capable of it. But he didn't. He had enough sense to realize that wouldn't get him anywhere with Penelope, although I feared he might."

Ted nodded. "The urge to be knight in shining armor."

"At any rate, he controlled himself, but it didn’t make a difference at prom time. That's a very big deal in a small town. Matthew asked her and she turned him down flat. He was talking about it with a friend in the hallway and I overheard them. The friend was telling him there were plenty of other girls who'd go with him, and Matthew said something like it was pointless to hope for Penelope anyway, she had some rich boyfriend in New York." Esther looked intently at Ted. He found her stare difficult to bear.

"And that was you, wasn't it?" she asked, with a triumphant gleam in her eye.

"I wasn't her boyfriend, and we weren't rich."

"Hmmm." She looked at him speculatively. "Not her boyfriend? Another unsuccessful suitor? Perhaps. But don't tell me about being rich. Let me guess: Upper East Side, private prep school, private college. Am I right?" Ted was taken aback for a few moments.

"Absolutely," he admitted.

"Well, Matthew's father ran a gas station," she said. "Surely you have not been covering Wall Street wealth so long you forgot how relative money can be." Ted was chastened.

"Point taken," he said. They finished their drinks in silence.

"I hope I gave you enough information to pay for lunch," she finally said.

"More than I had expected."

"I don't know what you're looking for," she said, slowly. "I don't know if you even know what you're looking for. But I hope you find it, and that it's what you want."



Summer, 1986

The season was ending. A few birches, always the first to turn, were already showing yellow leaves. The evening fires were now for warmth as well as beauty. Ted stared forlornly at the Greyhound Bus ticket that would take him back to the city, then shoved it into the back of his dresser drawer.

"I looked at the woodpile," said Vic, scrounging through the fridge for something to eat. "Enough for one more fire. That's about it. Stanislaus was passing by on his way to fix a clogged cabin sink, he couldn't believe it, muttered something about when he was a boy that would would've kept them warm all winter—blah blah blah. Well, what the hell."

William was stretched out in bed, absently picking away at his guitar.

"They say it might rain tonight," said Ted.

"If it does, it does," said Vic, philosophically, coming up with a package of Kraft American Cheese Singles. "We'll just open the Hall. A last night for fun. A last night for Laurie." He grinned at Ted. "And a last night for Mary-Lou. Did you give her the earrings yet?"

"Last night," said Ted. "She cried."

"No kidding. Laurie loved her necklace. Didn't take it off at all."

"Why should she?" asked Ted, perplexed.

"I mean not at all. Never," said Vic, and he grinned again. Ted got it.

"William! Any plans for tonight?" asked Vic.

"Hmm? I'll be down. At least until it starts raining."

"That's not what I meant," said Vic, exasperated. "I mean with Deady Reddy—Denise. She's been following you around like a puppy. She's really weird but if she washed her face and hair she'd be pretty. Anyway, three of us, three cabins." William didn't respond, just continued playing, and they couldn't see his face from their little kitchen. "Suit yourself," Vic said, grumbling. "Come on Ted, let's start piling wood. I want a roaring fire before the girls get there." The boys grabbed sweatshirts and made their way down to the beach, then up the rock ledge to the woodpile.

They had it down to a science by this point, and soon the fire was sending smoke and sparks into the cloudy sky. They had sprung for a few six-packs of beer, as well as cold cans of soda from the Hall fridge, stored in an old metal washtub filled with ice and cold water. Each popped a can of Bud as a few teen guests came down, taking chairs at the periphery. Vic kept looking up for Laurie, but the first non-guests were Matthew and Ariadne.

"He stopped by and gave me a ride down," said Ariadne, flopping into a chair. No, he stopped to see if he could talk Penelope into coming down, thought Ted. It obviously didn't work. "Her Excellency is in the middle of a good book," she continued. "Dad's traveling, and Mrs. Bretton has a favorite movie on TV, so she's happily by herself."

"She said she might come later, if it doesn't rain," Matthew.

"Don't bet on it," shot back Ariadne. She looked up to smile at William, who slipped into his usual chair, with his guitar. "Well we're all glad you're here," she said. "We're going to really miss your playing," and he gave a mock bow. He launched into some plaintive James Taylor. Ariadne reached for a beer, and caught Ted's eye. He shook his head. She smiled, shrugged, and reached for a diet soda instead.

William hadn't finished his first song when Denise showed up, a black sweatshirt over black jeans, and black high-top Keds sneakers. She said nothing, but grabbed a chair at the far end of the semicircle, not near William, but with a good view of him. Ted could see her face as she watched William, a face filled with hurt and aching desire.

Laurie and Mary-Lou finally came, looking much the same as the first night at the summer's start, when it was the end of spring rather than the beginning of fall, in jeans and sweatshirts.

"We met in the parking lot," said Laurie, "and took a few minutes to compare jewelry." Laurie flashed her necklace, a silver chain with a garnet charm at the end, from the local mines.

Mary-Lou settled herself comfortably into Ted's lap. She self-consciously cocked her head to show her earrings, little silver hearts.

"Let me see!" said Ariadne, who darted out of her chair to examine both necklace and earrings. "That is so pretty…and those hearts are so sweet," she said. "I never get jewelry."

"You will," said Laurie, with absolute certainty. William continued to play.

"Thank you again," said Mary-Lou, whispering in Ted's ear. "My mother noticed them when I put them on this evening."

Ted smiled. "What did she say?"

"In her day you didn't accept jewelry from men you weren't engaged to." She blushed. "Anyway, Dad didn't notice. And you can be grateful my brothers didn't find out some guy is giving me jewelry."

"I guess I'm lucky I made it through the summer in one piece," he said. Mary-Lou giggled, and no one spoke for a while. Ted looked around the fire, at the guests, most of whom he knew slightly. Denise still in the corner, still giving lovelorn looks at William. Vic was right—one word and she was his.

Ariadne, despite a professed jealousy over jewelry, looked cheerful. She called out requests to William, who nodded and acceded. She'll miss all of us, thought Ted. She's in for a dull winter, with Penelope off to college, alone as the odd girl out in school.

Matthew was impassive, fully settled into his chair, staring into the fire and absently sipping his beer. If he's disappointed at Penelope's absence, he's hiding it. Maybe he just shrugged it off. Soon, they'd be off to different colleges. Maybe he was just thinking about the future.

Vic was completely satisfied, drinking his beer and holding his girlfriend. Laurie's lovely eyes drooped—late nights with her boyfriend and early mornings at the diner had taken their toll. She kissed Vic on his cheek. He turned to look at her, and, she casually flicked his hair off his forehead.

She really loves him, thought Ted.

And Mary-Lou. He looked at her, at her damp eyes, and she snuggled tightly against him.

The wind blew off the lake and you could feel the moisture in it. It was going to rain.

Others came down, to sit around the fire, listen to William, and grab some liquid refreshment. They ebbed and flowed, some returning reluctantly to cabins to meet parental curfews, a few disappearing into the shadows at the end of the beach near the trees. William pausing, with his "renting beer" comment, to visit the bathroom in the Hall. Laurie and Mary-Lou, going to together. Ariadne asking Matthew to go with her to get more cans of soda, Vic disappearing for a few minutes and returning with a blanket from the Hall, which he used to wrap around himself and Laurie.

Low murmurs were drowned out by the crackle of the fire. Ariadne had moved up to the rock to huddle with a few other girls. Denise still looked miserable and spoke with no one.

"Have you ever seen fall up here?" asked Mary-Lou. Ted shook his head. "You wouldn't believe what the mountains look like. They turn red and gold. But I won't see them this year."

"They have fall at college," said Ted.

Mary-Lou shook her head. "But not like this. You need to see what Longwood looks like."

"I'd like to see it. With you." She leaned against him and squeezed. They watched the fire in silence.

And then Penelope was standing next to them. She slipped up quietly, from the dark side between the beach and the forest. With the hood of her sweatshirt up, she had gone unnoticed by the others, even by Matthew, who had started talking about fishing with a guest. She stood by them until Ted was aware she was there. He and Mary-Lou looked up at her. Usually, when she saw them together, Ted noticed a trace of amusement in her eyes. But tonight she looked somber—perhaps, he thought, even haunted.