They walked slowly down the midway together, scuffing through the sawdust, passing tents that had been closed up and snugged down for the night. A shadow glided up behind them and Johnny glanced around sharply, perhaps aware of how much money he had in his pocket.
It was one of the teenagers—about fifteen years old. He smiled shyly at them. “I hope you feel better,” he said to Sarah. “It’s those hot dogs, I bet. You can get a bad one pretty easy.”
“Ag, don’t talk about it,” Sarah said.
“You need a hand getting her to the car?” he asked Johnny.
“No, thanks. We’re fine.”
“Okay. I gotta cut out anyway.” But he paused a moment longer, his shy smile widening into a grin “I love to see that guy take a beatin.”
He trotted off into the dark.
Sarah’s small, white station wagon was the only car left in the dark parking lot; it crouched under a sodium light like a forlorn, forgotten pup. Johnny opened the passenger door for Sarah and she folded herself carefully in. He slipped in behind the wheel and started it up.
“It’ll take a few minutes for the heater,” he said.
“Never mind. I’m hot now.”
He looked at her and saw the sweat breaking on her face. “Maybe we ought to trundle you up to the emergency room at Eastern Maine Medical,” he said. “If it’s salmonella, it could be serious.”
“No, I’m okay. I just want to go home and go to sleep, I’m going to get up just long enough tomorrow morning to call in sick at school and then go back to sleep again.”
“Don’t even bother to get up that long. I’ll call you in, Sarah.”
She looked at him gratefully. “Would you?”
“Sure.”
They were headed back to the main highway now.
“I’m sorry I can’t come back to your place with you,” Sarah said. “Really and truly.”
“Not your fault.”
“Sure it is. I ate the bad hot dog. Unlucky Sarah.”
“I love you, Sarah,” Johnny said. So it was out, it couldn’t be called back, it hung between them in the moving car waiting for someone to do something about it.
She did what she could. “Thank you, Johnny.”
They drove on in a comfortable silence.
Chapter 2
1
It was nearly midnight when Johnny turned the wagon into her driveway. Sarah was dozing.
“Hey,” he said, cutting the motor and shaking her gently. “We’re here.”
“Oh ... okay.” She sat up and drew her coat more tightly about her.
“How do you feel?”
“Better. My stomach’s sore and my back hurts, but better. Johnny, you take the car back to Cleaves with you.”
“No, I better not,” he said. “Someone would see it parked in front of the apartment house all night. That kind of talk we don’t need.”
“But I was going to come back with you...”
Johnny smiled. “And that would have made it worth the risk, even if we had to walk three blocks. Besides, I want you to have the car in case you change your mind about the emergency room.”
“I won’t.”
“You might. Can I come in and call a cab?”
“You sure can.”
They went in and Sarah turned on the lights before being attacked by a fresh bout of the shivers.
“The phone’s in the living room. I’m going to lie down and cover up with a quilt.”
The living room was small and functional, saved from a barracks flavor only by the splashy curtains—flowers in a psychedelic pattern and color—and a series of posters along one wall: Dylan at Forest Hills, Baez at Carnegie Hall, Jefferson Airplane at Berkeley, the Byrds in Cleveland.
Sarah lay down on the couch and pulled a quilt up to her chin. Johnny looked at her with real concern. Her face was paper-white except for the dark circles under her eyes. She looked about as sick as a person can get.
“Maybe I ought to spend the night here,” he said. “Just in case something happens, like ...”
“Like a hairline fracture at the top of my spine?” She looked at him with rueful humor.
“Well, you know. Whatever.”
The ominous rumbling in her nether regions decided her. She had fully intended to finish this night by sleeping with John Smith. It wasn’t going to work out that way. But that didn’t mean she had to end the evening with him in attendance while she threw up, dashed for the w.c., and chugged most of a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “It was just a bad carnival hot dog, Johnny. You could have just as easily gotten it yourself. Give me a