Page 49 of The Treasure House

“Is it?” Marly wrinkled her nose.

He laughed. “You don’t like romance, do you, kid?” To annoy her, he started singing along. “Somewhere there’s music, how faint the tune…”

“Do girls actually fall for that?” Marly scoffed.

“They fall for me, kid.” He dipped her without warning and she squealed.

“Why are you hanging out here with me?” Marly asked as he righted her again. “When you could be in there dancing with Cilla?”

“I’m being blackmailed, remember?” He caught her skepticism and shrugged. “Maybe because I also think it’s snoresville in there.”

“You said it wouldn’t be snoresville if there was someone you wanted to dance with. Don’t you want to dance with Cilla?”

“I did dance with her. A heap of times.”

“Too many times?” Marly hazarded.

“Enough with the twenty questions, half-pint. Just enjoy the dance.”

“You’ve got a high opinion of your dancing.”

“Yeah, I do,” Freddie said, giving her a spin.

He was a good dancer. It was different from the lessons at school with the boys, who held hands like they were being forced to hold slimy dead fish. Freddie de Marche, meanwhile, was a grown man and he didn’t act like touching a girl would give him cooties. He spun her about on the lawn like dancing was a fun thing to do.

The band broke into a cover of “My Funny Valentine” and Freddie twirled her again, like he was Fred Astaire and she was Ginger Rogers.

“Now this is a good song,” Freddie declared.

“If you say so.” Marly was a bit giddy from all the spinning.

“I do say so.” And he started singing again, his voice going all whispery. “Sweet comic valentine, you make me smile…”

“You’re such a turkey.” Marly laughed. He was no Mario Lanza or Frank Sinatra—he missed as many notes as he hit.

He dipped her again, this time slow and lazy, like he was in an old movie.

Marly had never gotten the appeal of those old films her mother loved. Not until this moment. But as the moonlight splashed through the maples and the faint strains of the band drifted over the blue lawns, Marly thought of all those silvery films and all those shimmery couples, looking like they’d been coated in moonlight. And when Freddie de Marche dipped her, she got the queerest feeling, like she was filling up with shimmery moonlight too. It was a tingly, magical feeling—a midnight feeling.

Maybe she’d give dances another shot. Maybe this feeling was worth wearing too much tulle and painful shoes for…

Somehow, as the song unfurled through the fragrant June evening and she stared up at Freddie de Marche, the shivery moonlight feeling became something more. It was like standing too close to the fire after coming in from the cold, when your body couldn’t quite decide if it was frosty or toasty. Parts of her were blazing, parts shivering. Freddie was oblivious, twirling her as if she were a little kid. He gave her a playful bow when the song ended and actually chucked her under the chin like she was five years old.

But she wasn’t five years old. And Marly was head over heels in a confusing, tumbled-up feeling that was going to ruin her life for many years to come.

Twelve

“It’s like the whole town just went to sleep,” Flo marveled. She was sitting on the narrow little sill on one of the dormer windows in my room, staring at the street, which had emptied out for the summer. All the vacation houses were shuttered for the end of the season; the bright beach towels were gone from the fences, there were no children shrieking, and no baseball commentary or pop music drifting through the still air. The picnic tables at the lobster shack were empty, even though it was the middle of the day, and there was only a single lonely yacht slicing across the water.

“I guess it kind of did go to sleep,” I said absently as I opened a box of books. I’d found a little teak bookshelf in the stack of furniture out under the tent and moved it up to my room. I wouldn’t feel at home till I had my books around me. “It’s hibernating until next summer.”

“The campground was nearly empty when we left too.” Flo sighed. “Are we going to be the only people here for the rest of the year? Won’t that be weird?”

We’d waved the Overbecks off that morning, watching as the rental truck turned the corner of Tinker Street and disappeared down Beach Road, heading home to Pittsburgh. I missed them already. This all seemed powerfully real now that Flo and I were alone in the house. And apart from Elton next door and Jake down on the corner, we did seem to be the only people left on our street.

Flo sighed again, the sound heavier. “I hope I like my new school.”

She was sliding into the doldrums, I could feel it. I’d taken her into Rockport earlier to buy school supplies, spoiling her with money I didn’t really have, letting her choose an expensive tin of colored pencils and a new backpack. I had a tight ball of anxiety in my chest, remembering all the new schools I’d attended as a kid, all the first days and being introduced to walls of judgmental faces, knowing I wasn’t like the other kids, knowing they’d find me weird, knowing I’d be sitting alone at lunch.