a lot more fun if you’d slide up and down my leg as if it were a greased fire pole.”
Ruth laughed.
“You look good,” he told Ruth. “You should wear pink more often.”
“I should wear pink more often? I’m wearing yellow.”
“I said you should drink more often. I like the way it makes you feel. All soft and yielding.”
“What am I wielding?” Ruth said, but she was only pretending not to understand.
He sniffed her hair. She let him. She could tell he was sniffing her hair, because she could feel his puffs of breath on her scalp. He pressed himself against her leg, and she could feel his erection. She let him do that, too. What the hell, she figured. He ground himself against her. He rocked her slowly. He kept his hands low on her back and pulled her tight against him. She let him do all that. What the hell, she kept thinking. It was Old Cal Cooley, but it felt pretty good. He kissed her on the top of the head, and suddenly it was as if she woke up.
It was Cal Cooley!
“Oh, my God, I have to pee,” Ruth said, and pulled herself away from Cal, which wasn’t easy, because he made a fight to hold her. What was she doing dancing with Cal Cooley? Jesus Christ. She weaved her way out of the tent, out of the yard, and walked down the street until the street ended and the woods began. She stepped behind a tree, lifted her dress, and peed on a flat rock, proudly managing to not splatter her legs. She couldn’t believe she had felt Cal Cooley’s penis, even faintly, pressing through his pants. That was disgusting. She made a pact with herself to do anything she had to do for the rest of her life to forget that she had ever felt Cal Cooley’s penis.
When she walked out of the woods, she took a wrong turn and ended up on a street marked FURNACE STREET. They have street signs here? she wondered. Like the other streets on Courne Haven, this one was unpaved. It was dusk. She passed a small white house with a porch; on the porch was an old woman in a flannel shirt. She was holding a fluffy yellow bird. Ruth peered at the bird and at the woman. She was feeling wobbly on her feet.
“I’m looking for Babe Wishnell’s house,” she said. “Can you tell me where it is? I think I’m lost.”
“I’ve been taking care of my sick husband for years,” the woman said, “and my memory’s not what it ought to be.”
“How’s your husband doing, ma’am?”
“He doesn’t have many good days anymore.”
“Really sick, is he?”
“Dead.”
“Oh.” Ruth scratched a mosquito bite on her ankle. “Do you know where Babe Wishnell’s house is? I’m supposed to be at a wedding there.”
“I think it’s right up the next street. After the greenhouse. Take a left,” the woman said. “It’s been some time since I was there.”
“The greenhouse? You guys have a greenhouse on this island?”
“Oh, I don’t think so, love.”
Ruth was confused for a moment; then she figured it out. “Do you mean that I should take a left after the house that’s painted green?”
“I think you should, yes. But my memory’s not what it ought to be.”
“I think your memory’s just fine.”
“Aren’t you a love? Who’s getting married?”
“Babe Wishnell’s daughter.”
“That little girl?”
“I guess so. Excuse me, ma’am, but is that a duckling you’re holding?”
“This is a chick, love. Oh, it’s awful soft.” The woman grinned at Ruth, and Ruth grinned back.
“Well, then, thank you for your help,” Ruth said. She headed up the street to the house that was green and found her way back to the wedding.
As she stepped into the tent, a hot, dry hand caught her by the arm. She said, “Hey!” It was Cal Cooley.
“Mr. Ellis wants to see you,” he said, and before she could protest, Cal led her over to Mr. Ellis. Ruth had forgotten that he was coming to the wedding, but there he was, sitting in his wheelchair. He grinned up at her, and Ruth, who had been doing a lot of grinning lately, grinned back. Good God, he was thin. He couldn’t have weighed a hundred and ten pounds, and he’d once been a tall, strong man. His head was a bald, yellow globe, burnished as the head of a well-used cane. He had no eyebrows. He wore an ancient black suit with silver buttons. Ruth was astonished, as