14

During the night the fog rolled in. Outside, a bird shrieked, confused, perhaps, by the swirling grayness. Fex sat up in bed the next morning and listened to the buzzing sound Jerry made when he snored. Like a mosquito looking for a square meal.

Fex got up and peered out the window. Maybe he’d died during the night and the spirits waited out there, ready to claim him.

No such luck. He got dressed, left a note on the kitchen table to say where he’d gone, and rode his bike to church. Once there, he locked his bike, went inside, and sat in the back pew. Sometimes he derived a sense of peace and contentment from church. Not today. When the collection plate was passed, he stared stonily down at his hands. He had no money to give. Afterward he rode around the quiet streets and eventually wound up at the general store. Thick stacks of Sunday papers lay on the sidewalk where the driver had dumped them. The store was locked. On the spur of the moment Fex decided to ride over to Angie’s. She’d told him to drop in when he was in the neighborhood. He only had to make a slight detour to get to her neighborhood.

Angie’s house was thin and dark, like Angie herself. She and her husband owned it, had paid off the mortgage last year, she’d told Fex. They lived on the top floor and rented out the ground floor to a family with a bunch of kids. The yard was dotted with tricycles and skateboards and mounds of plastic soldiers, much like Charlie’s, lying in a trench someone had carved out of the packed-down dirt around the porch. Again Fex locked his bike. He took the outside stairs two at a time.

In answer to his knock a voice called, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Fex O’Toole,” he said.

The door opened a crack. “Come on in,” Angie said. He followed her into the kitchen. She had on a long pink bathrobe and fuzzy purple slippers that looked like miniature dust mops.

“I’m making bacon,” she said. “Sit yourself down and make yourself homely.

“It’s a good thing you stopped by,” she told him as he sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m making pancakes, and I always make too much batter and have to toss it out. My husband watches what he eats.”

Fex didn’t know how to start, how to say what he wanted to say.

“Get the butter out of the refrigerator, O.K.?” she said. “And pour out some syrup. There’s a pitcher right there. My husband’s still in the sack. He needs a lot of rest since his attack.” She piled two plates high with pancakes and decorated the edges of the plates with strips of bacon.

“Looks good enough to eat, eh?” she said, setting the plates down. In the center of the table, which was covered with a red-and-white-checked cloth, she put a container of milk, as if it were a bowl of flowers.

“O.K., we’re set,” and they ate in a companionable silence. When he’d eaten all he could manage, Fex said, “How come you’re not at the store by now?”

Angie shrugged. “I hired a guy to come in Sundays, to take charge until I get there. I’m wearing myself to a frazzle. My husband gives me a hard time, says we should sell out, retire to Florida. Can you see me in Florida? Me in my bikini?” She hooted with laughter.

“Who wants to retire to Florida? Not me. In Florida you got yourself a bunch of senior citizens playing shuffleboard and talking about all those ailments you see on TV. Irregularity, dentures, indigestion. How to make yourself old before your time.

“And anyway, who thought up that senior citizen bit? What does that make you?” She pointed at Fex. “Are you a junior citizen? Or maybe a kid citizen. I think they got their nerve. I’m no senior citizen. What’s more, I don’t ever plan on being one. Not if I live to be a hundred. It’s insulting, that’s what it is. They’re not lumping me in with the rest of ’em. I’m the type that has to keep going. The type that dies with her boots on. You take my job away, that’s it. Fini. The end.” She drew her finger across her throat. “I got to keep moving to stay alive.”

The sound of running water came from a room off the kitchen. “That means he’s up and at ’em,” Angie said. “My husband probably hears me out here talking up a storm, and he wants to see if I finally lost my marbles and I’m talking to myself.”

Fex didn’t have much time. He had to get it off his chest before Angie’s husband came out for his breakfast.

“Angie, I’ve got this friend,” he began.

She nodded. “The same one can’t resist the double-dare?” she asked.

“Yeah. The same one.” Fex chose his words with care. “Anyway, this kid did a jerky thing. He has a friend. A girl. He likes her a lot. They’re good friends. You know, nothing romantic, just friends.”

“That’s good,” Angie said. “Kids your age should have lots of friends, both sexes. Makes for a good time.”

“Anyway,” Fex went on, “this kid decides he’s going to put the moves on this girl. Just to see what it’s like. Only he doesn’t tell her, ask her or anything. He just goes ahead. And she gets mad.”

“What’s this ‘put the moves on’ mean?” Angie said. “You mean like he’s gonna make a pass?”

“Yeah. A pass. He tries to kiss her.”

Angie nodded. “That’s a pass, all right. No matter what they call it, it all boils down to the same thing.”

Fex could hear Angie’s husband opening and closing drawers in the bedroom.

“Anyway, this girl gets mad and she tells the kid he must be cuckoo. What I want to know is, what does the kid do to make friends again with the girl?”

“Well, I think he oughta tell her he’s sorry. I mean”—Angie studied his face—“he shouldn’t have done that. He had no right. Right? But boys been trying to kiss girls as long as I been around. Probably before too. Sometimes girls like to be kissed. Other times they figure it’s not the right time yet. But this kid didn’t mean any harm. If this girl’s really a friend,” Angie said, very serious, “it’ll be all right. She’ll understand. And maybe next time your friend gets the urge to put the moves on a girl, just to see what all the fuss is about, why, maybe he oughta find some older girl, somebody who’s ready, who knows the score. Know what I mean? That way she doesn’t get sore, and your friend, maybe he picks up a coupla pointers along the way. A little practice never hurt anybody.”

“Thanks a lot.” Fex jumped up. He felt he couldn’t sit still another minute. “For everything, Angie. I have to go.”

“O.K. Glad you stopped by, like I said. You’re a good kid, Fex.” Angie put her arm around his shoulders. “You’re all right. One thing before you go. I think you oughta tell your friend he shouldn’t rush things. He’s got lots of time. Maybe if he took it slow, it might work better.”

They exchanged a long look. “I’ll tell him,” Fex said. “Thanks again.” He raced down the stairs with a light heart.