Chapter 39

The warm spring faded into a humid summer.

Newly graduated from high school, but with no jobs available to them, Gwen and her friends whiled away the steamy summer on Coney Island’s hot beach, splashing about in the salty blue Atlantic Ocean, gorging themselves on Coca-Cola, Nathan’s Famous hot dogs, and fried shrimp on a stick.

At Steeplechase Park, they rode the Lindy Loop and Roll-O-Plane with their hands stretched high above their heads, screaming themselves hoarse.

On the Coney Island Cyclone, they favored the first or last car of the coaster because that’s where they felt, most intensely, the blossoming sensation in the pit of their stomachs when the coaster dove over the camel humps in the tracks. The girls didn’t know what to call it, how to label that thing that felt so good, they just knew that they longed for it, and worked to recreate that unnameable thing in the dead of night while hidden beneath bedsheets, fingers between their legs, prodding and stroking.

The effort left them damp; the reward, however, was so much more than the amusement park ride could ever bring.

When there was no more money for hot dogs, pretzels, and ice cream, they trolled the boardwalk in search of lost coins.

Gwen’s friends wouldn’t touch the pennies they found tails up. “It’s bad luck,” they warned her.

“That’s silly,” she said, plucking up the pennies and dropping them into her pocket.

“You’ll see,” her friends hummed.

And yes, Gwen would.

* * *

By the end of the summer, Harlan was little more than a cobweb in Gwen’s memory. The last time she had seen him was at the final rehearsal before the recital.

He’d followed her to the subway station as usual, asked for her telephone number for the hundredth time, and Gwen had replied, just as she had so many times before, “I told you, we don’t have a telephone, and even if we did, the answer would still be no.”

“Well, good luck this weekend,” he said as Gwen started down the steps of the station.

Gwen had looked over her shoulder. “Won’t you be there?” she heard herself ask before she was even aware the question had formed in her mind.

“Nah,” Harlan replied, “the house band will be playing for you.”

Gwen had tried to cloak her disappointment with a smile, but Harlan seemed to see through the screen. Grinning, he tipped an invisible hat and wished her well.

“Break a leg.”