Page 59 of One of Them

Her gaze continued to roam the sea of faces and then quite suddenly stopped.

Who was that man off to the side? He looked so much like Drew Gilchrist, it was unsettling.

Thinking about Chartres and Drew must have created a kind of mirage here in the chapel.

But the man was now looking at her . Then he looked down and put a hand on something gray or silvery in his lap.

It was Drew; that was his Leica. When had he gotten to campus? And why?

Anne wanted to jump up and rush down from the stage.

But she had to wait for the W ’s, and watch Virginia Worthington cross the stage.

Anne looked down; she had never made peace with Virginia and never would.

There was an X , and two Y ’s, and the lone Z .

Even then she had to sit through the interminable remarks made by some visiting college president.

Finally, the ceremony was over, and she could make her way down the stairs, along with the other graduates.

She jostled past people offering congratulations, hugging and kissing.

Where was Drew? She’d lost sight of him.

But Betty, Sol, and her cousins had found her; they were joined by Barney and Ida.

Now she was the object of the congratulations and the hugs.

And then, out of nowhere, there was Drew, standing right in front of her.

He wore a dark suit, white shirt, and a tie.

She’d never seen him in such clothes, and he looked unfamiliar, even strange.

But then he smiled, and there was that dimple she’d loved from the start.

“Congratulations, Anne. You did it.” He leaned in a for hug.

She was overwhelmed by the familiar scent of him; it was all she could do not to bury her face in his neck.

She would do no such thing, of course, and simply introduced him to Barney and her family as “a friend from my time in Paris.”

Aunt Betty invited him to join them for lunch, an invitation that he accepted, and for twenty-three minutes she had to sit squeezed in next to him in the back of Uncle Sol’s blue-and-brown station wagon.

She was very aware of his thigh pressing against hers.

Drew didn’t seem affected by it, though, and chatted amiably with her aunt and uncle.

Anne could feel Aunt Betty’s questions hovering in the air as if they were thought bubbles rising from her head.

Is this a boyfriend? How old is he? Is he Jewish?

Anne knew the answers to the last two questions, but as for the first, she was as in the dark as Aunt Betty.

The restaurant was able to fit in another place setting, and fortunately—or was it unfortunately?

—Drew was seated at the other end of the long table.

She could only sneak glances at him in between conversations at her end of the table and spoonfuls of corn chowder.

Finally—finally!—the dessert cart glided over to the table, choices were made, and servings of apple pie and chocolate layer cake devoured before the sticky plates were cleared.

Barney and Ida were headed back to New York, while Uncle Sol and Aunt Betty drove Anne—and now Drew—back to Vassar.

She waved goodbye to them and promised to write from Maine.

And then, at last, she and Drew were alone.

“What are you doing here?” she burst out. “Nothing, not a word, in over a year, and then you show up at my graduation? And how did you even know about it?”

“Nancy graduated from Northeastern last week, and you two were the same year, so I knew you’d be graduating too. It’s a big milestone, and I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you did.” She was aware she sounded a little angry; well, she was angry. Anger was a buffer, protecting her from the cutting silence of those months, from the hurt.

“Anne...” He moved closer, but she stepped back.

He couldn’t just show up and expect her to forget all that had happened between them.

“I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to.

It’s just that I... I missed you.” That disarmed her.

And she had missed him too. So much. But she wasn’t ready to say it yet.

Instead she said, “Let’s take a walk.” She didn’t have a specific place in mind, but most anywhere they went would be better than standing here by Main Gate, where there were still so many people milling around.

She set off toward the New England Building, where the science classes were held.

“This is where we’re going?” He pointed to a building with a semicircular extension at the back.

“No. Here.” She led him behind it, to the entrance of a well-tended garden with brick paths, neatly trimmed shrubs, and tidy beds of flowers. The brass plaque said it was planted with all the flowers and shrubs mentioned in Shakespeare’s canon.

Pansy season was over, but there were several roses in bloom—pink, red, and white.

Anne read the names—Musk, Damask, Eglantine—as Drew stopped to photograph.

The soft clicks of the shutter were familiar; she remembered that day together in Paris—the last time she’d seen him—and how his picture taking had infuriated her.

Today, she didn’t mind; the activity was a distraction from the new awkwardness between them.

All those months of thinking about him, longing for him—and yet now that he was here, there was a barrier.

Who was he, anyway? She no longer felt like she knew.

They came to a stone bench, and when she sat down, he sat down beside her.

“Now that we’re alone, I can ask: Why are you here?”

“I missed you. And I wanted to say I’m sorry for how I behaved back in Paris. I should have understood why you wouldn’t want to meet with a priest or go to church. I should have just respected your religion and left it alone.”

Anne paused before replying; it was important that she get this right.

“It’s not exactly religion. Religious observance wasn’t even a big part of my upbringing.

It’s about my background, my family. My essence.

My father once told me that being Jewish was part of who he was.

He couldn’t change or excise it, even if he wanted to. Well, the same is true for me.”

“I understand,” he said. “I do.” They sat in silence for a moment, and then he asked, “Have you been dating anyone since you got back?”

“No.” So he cared about that. But wait—maybe there was another reason he was asking. “Have you?” When he hesitated, she knew the answer was yes.

“There was someone,” he said. “She worked at the paper.”

Anne had to stop herself from pelting him with questions. “Oh?” was all she said.

“A reporter. Mary Rafferty.”

Irish, Anne thought. And more to the point: Catholic.

“So, are you and Mary still an item?”

“No. If we were, I wouldn’t be here.” He paused. “She’s a nice girl. Very nice. Smart. Pretty. Lots of get-up-and-go. My mother really liked her.”

Of course.

“What went wrong?”

“She wasn’t you.” He reached for her hand.

The words mollified her. Also the gesture. But it wasn’t enough. “If we did start seeing each other again, what would you do about your mother? She’s not going to like me any better the second time around.”

“No, she won’t.”

This was the response she wanted; it was honest, and if they were going to start up again, she couldn’t accept anything less. “And that won’t bother you?”

“I’d be lying if I said no. But not being with you would bother me more. A lot more. I think it’s worth another try. Do you?” Before she could answer, he released her hand and reached into his pocket for a small white box. “For you,” he said.

“Is it—”

“The ring,” he said. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

She undid the white ribbon and saw the simple, elegantly wrought band, the striations and subtle green weave of the stone. “You kept it.” She didn’t add that she was glad he hadn’t given it to Mary Rafferty. “Why?”

“Maybe I hoped you would wear it again.” He paused. “Will you?”

She looked into his eyes and saw just how much he wanted her to say yes. And part of her wanted that too. But somehow she couldn’t. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.

“When?” he said. “When will you know?”

She looked at him and shrugged.