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“I don’t believe it. Poor Walt,” Maggie groans.
“Shhhh,” The Mouse commands as the door swings open.
Randy Sandler appears again, but this time he’s not alone. Walt comes out behind him, blinking in the light. He and Randy exchange a few words and laugh, then they both get into Randy’s car. The engine roars to life, but before they pull away, Randy leans over and kisses Walt on the mouth. After a minute or so, they separate; then Walt pulls down the vanity mirror and smoothes his hair.
For a moment, there’s silence, save for the thumping of the muffler. Then the car pulls away as we squat, motionless, listening to the sound of the engine until it fades into a low peep.
“Well.” Maggie stands up and brushes herself off. “That’s that, I guess.”
“Hey,” The Mouse says gently. “You know what? It’s all for the best. You’re with Peter, and now Walt is with Randy.”
“It’s like A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” I add hopefully, “where everyone ends up with the person they’re supposed to be with.”
“Uh-huh,” Maggie says blankly as she heads for the car.
“And you have to admit, Randy Sandler is pretty good-looking. He was one of the best-looking guys on the football team.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Think about how many girls would be jealous if they knew that Randy was—”
“Gay?” Maggie suddenly screams. “That Randy and Walt are gay? And they’re lying to everyone about it?” She yanks open the car door. “It’s great. Just great. Thinking for two years that some guy is in love with you and then finding out that he doesn’t even like girls? And all the time you were with him he’s been thinking about”—she pauses, takes a breath, and shrieks—“some other guy!”
“Maggie, take it easy,” The Mouse says.
“I will not take it easy. Why should I?” Maggie starts the engine, then shuts it off and buries her face in her hands. “We were going to move to Vermont. We were going to have an antique store. And a farm stand. And I believed him. And all that time he was lying.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t,” The Mouse says. “He probably had no idea. Then when you guys broke up—”
“He loved you, Mags. He really loved you. Everyone knows that,” I say.
“And now everyone is going to know how stupid I was. Do you have any idea how utterly dumb I feel right now? I mean, could I be any dumber?”
“Maggie.” I shake her arm a little. “How were you supposed to know? I mean, a person’s sexuality is…kind of their own business, right?”
“Not when they hurt other people.”
“Walt would never hurt you on purpose,” I say, trying to reason with her. “And besides, Mag. This is about Walt. It’s not really about you.”
Oops. There’s an expression of fury I’ve never seen on Maggie’s face before. “Oh yeah?” she snarls. “Then why don’t you trying being me for a change?” And she bursts into tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Slippery Slopes
“These are supposed to be the best days of our lives,” I say mournfully.
“Oh, Carrie.” George stretches his lips into a smile. “Where do you get these overly sentimental ideas? If you took a survey, you’d find half the adult population hated their high school years and would never want to go back.”
“But I don’t want to be one of them.”
“No danger of that. You’ve got too much joie de vivre. And you seem to be a great forgiver of human nature.”
“I guess I figured out a while ago that most people can’t help what they do,” I say, encouraged by his interest. “And what they do doesn’t usually have anything to do with you. I mean, people kind of instinctually do what’s best for them at the time and think about the consequences later, right?”
George laughs, but this, I realize with a pang, is a nearly perfect description of my own behavior.
A gust of wind blows a fine dust of snow from the tops of the trees into our faces. I shiver. “You cold?” George slides his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer.
I nod, inhaling the sharp air. I take in the snow and the pine trees and the cute log-hewn lodges and try to pretend I’m someplace far, far away, like Switzerland.
