but behind the platform there’s the sound of dishes being stacked in the kitchen and one gruntlike laugh. “All right,” Greer says looking over his shoulder with annoyance, “we’ll get to the dancing in a little bit, but before that we’re going to take a stroll down memory lane. If you haven’t submitted a question yet, there are three-by-five cards on the registration table. Write down your memories of the good old days, and do it in the form of a question. We’ll see who has the best memory.”
Jean did, of course, hands down. But she isn’t there to play the game. Paul maneuvers his way to the cardboard table by the entrance and takes a few cards.
When the class president steps to the microphone a half hour later, Paul is standing just a few yards from Simon. When he moves to get a drink or hug an old friend, Paul moves, too, a shadow.
“Okay, folks, give me your attention,” Greer says, “I’m going to read some questions, and if you know the answer, just call it out. I’ll start things off with one of my own: What did Jimmy Doyle ask Mr. Cox on his first day in physics class?”
“Why did the chicken cross the Möbius strip?” comes the call from several directions.
“And the answer?”
“To get to the same side,” the voices reply.
“Right, that was Jimmy for you. Here’s another one: What did Mr. Kerwin say when he picked up the ticking package in chemistry class?”
“Holy shit!” A chorus, everyone joining in, the favorite class moment of senior year.
“Right again. Let’s see if we can’t find a harder one.” Greer shuffles the cards. “What did the National Merit Scholar get away with on graduation night?” He looks puzzled. “We had a National Merit Scholar? I didn’t know that. Who was it—Sherri, Sherri Tate?” He surveys the crowd and keys in on a woman with black hair knotted halfway down her back. She shakes her head regretfully, swishing the hair side to side, her signature move, no doubt. “No?” Greer says. “Then who?”
“Simon was,” comes a call from just a few feet away, the voice of the pretty blond woman standing next to him.
Greer tilts the microphone that way. “Simon Howe, the editor in chief of the finest newspaper in Red Paint, were you a National Merit Scholar?”
Simon leans out of the pocket of people where he’s standing and waves. A self-effacing little gesture. So modest of him.
“Then I guess this question is about you. Want to confess what you …” and here Greer checks the card, “… got away with on graduation night? Something more scandalous than drinking rum and Coke in the bushes?”
Simon shrugs, retreats into his group.
“Okay,” Greer says, “the next card asks, Who sneaked off to the dock during the graduation party, and what did he do there? Another graduation question. Any takers?” There are wondering glances and shaking heads. “That’s a stumper. Moving on: Why didn’t anyone listen when the girl on the dock … All right then,” Greer says, slipping the cards into his jacket, “we’ll stop there. Strike up the music!”
Simon leaves abruptly, weaving past the suddenly swaying bodies in the ballroom and pushing out through the heavy doors. Paul follows at a suitable distance, in the shadows of the path leading to the parking lot. He gets in the Lumina, waits till the other car starts up, then trails the red taillights onto the entrance road. He speeds up, draws closer, and turns on his brights. The car ahead slows, and he does, too. When the car speeds up again, he does also, the bright lights sweeping over it. A little farther and the car stops. After a moment Simon gets out and shakes his fist in some vague threat. Paul dims his lights for a moment, as if in apology, then turns on the brights again. Simon starts for him, but not very fast, not quite sure he should challenge whatever lies in wait for him. Paul revs his engine and hits the accelerator. Are you watching, Jean? Am I doing this right? The car bucks a little, then barrels down the dark, narrow road.
He felt odd walking across the parking lot of the Bays-water Inn without Amy, as if there was an imbalance to him, the lack of a counterweight. And what would his classmates think? Why would he come to the reunion without his wife when they live only a few minutes from the inn?
“Simon?” came the call from