Anthropology of an American Girl: A Novel - By Hilary Thayer Hamann Page 0,272

half key. On the edge of the closet shelf was an opened fireproof box. “For the Blackfoot hunting grounds. If you ever make it out there. Something of Jack’s to bury.”

I’d turned the shoe in my hands. I’d wondered if it was a gift from Jack or from her. No matter, the message was unmistakable—in it I could see the stubborn will to walk.

“Take it,” she’d insisted. “I have the other.”

“Yes, Mrs. Fleming,” I’d said, and we’d embraced for the last time, the shoe in my hand, and my hand resting on her shoulder. When I got to Denny’s car, he and I had waved, both of us. And driving off, we’d waved once more, leaving her alone at the head of the driveway.

Rourke has already said congratulations. He is not far from the end of the receiving line. His suit is a midnight-blue with fine white stitching, cut flat to his body. Beneath is a light-blue dress shirt. Both the blue of the suit and the blue of the shirt have considerable red in them, giving him an electric appearance. He’s laughing with Rob and Denny and Jeff, his head modestly lowered. The right side of his face is bruised black and inflamed. I can’t make out his eye. I wish I could go to him, to them, to my friends, but I can’t. There is still so much to do. Besides, I feel kind of groundless and spinning. Like Mark’s grandparents, grasping blind, one hand for the other.

“Here’s Evie! Evie!” Alicia beckons, and she pulls me to the bridal party side of the line. “Is my makeup okay?” she asks overloudly, her face hovering by mine. “Did you see his eye?” she whispers. “They say it’s never going to be the same.”

I kiss her, then Jonathan. The photographer demands a picture. There is an awkward pause, a flash. Alicia winks at me, then brightens professionally for the next person. I move on to congratulate the others, and finally, Mark.

“It’s been a long week,” he murmurs suggestively as he squeezes me, his hips pushing in, his eyes looking behind me, to see if Rourke notices. Mark says, “We’re going to take a drive to get photos. Meet me over by the limos.” As I walk away, he yells, “Stay out of the sun.”

Rob takes my hand and leads me across the garden, turning the corner by the summer room and going in, standing where Mark can’t see from his position in the receiving line. Rob raises his green aviator glasses to the peak of his head. Beneath the glasses his eyes are green as well, only softer, more receptive. He adjusts the fallen strap of my dress, and gives me a light hug.

“You smell like coconut,” he says.

My chin rests on his shoulder. “My aunt gave me some lotion.”

“Oh,” Rob says. “Lotion. Very nice.”

I push away. I’m crying, and I don’t want to get his suit wet. His suit is cream-colored, a linen ecru, and his shirt is snow-white. His tie is the color of purple irises.

“You look handsome.”

He reaches in his pocket for a tissue, and, taking up a tiny piece, he pats beneath my eyes. “You like the suit, huh? Lorraine picked it out. She’s into fashion now, so I gave her a call. We went to Barneys over in Chelsea. You gotta see her rip through ties. It’s like a special aptitude, like those autistic kids who know Mozart. We went to the Russian Tea Room after. She always wanted to go there, so I figured, What the hell!”

“That’s great, Rob.”

“She’s dating some lawyer now. Short kid—five-eight. He’s got a two-bedroom condo in Jersey City. I go, ‘Rainy, any short guy with a two-bedroom condo is wife hunting.’ And she goes, ‘That’s right, Rob. And any guy living with another guy and a rabid dog in a trailer with no job and a penchant for gambling is not. It took me ten years, but I finally figured it out.’” Rob laughs. “‘Penchant,’ she says. ‘For gambling.’”

“She loves you.”

He looks over my head and sucks one cheek to his teeth. “You all right? You seem shaky. You shaky?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

“Suicide,” Rob says. “That’s rough. But what are you gonna do? You can’t change people. Look at my brother. He’s dead. Practically. Soon, he’ll be dead.”

“Anthony?”

“That’s right, Anthony, in L.A.” Rob reaches for a cigarette, removes his hand, and finds a stick of gum instead. “Tony. All any of us ever heard growing up was how