students, of course, but along with the students. If they want to go. The teachers.”
She was sill staring at him, nodding.
He felt like a stupid teenager. This shouldn't be that hard. Just say it, it's not a big deal. “So, I was wondering if you were around, of course, because I can see where you'll probably be back in Chicago by then. Most likely, right?”
More nodding, with a slight smile. She was doing this on purpose.
“Oh, geez, Kate, I'm trying to ask you to the Homecoming Dance.”
She burst out laughing, clutching his knee, then looked up. “That wasn't so
hard, now, was it?”
“It shouldn't have been, but it was.”
“Oh, but you were so cute.”
“So. You never answered my question,” he said.
A smile. “You never really asked it.”
Peter sighed. “Right.” He got down on one knee and looked up at her, hands
clasped. “Kate Brady, will you extend to me the honor of the pleasure of possibly going to the homecoming dance at Golden Grove High School, which
will actually be in what is now the Community Center, next Saturday night at nine post meridiem?”
“If I'm in town.”
“If you're in town,” he repeated.
“Yes,” she said, beaming.
“Thank you. My knee hurts.” He got up and flopped back in the wicker chair
next to her, rubbing his right knee.
“You're getting old.”
“Not as old as you.”
She swatted him. “Only by four days. We're barely thirty.”
Silence came again. They rocked the wicker chair together, back and forth,
as the streetlights shone through the nearly bare trees. She moved closer to him.
“Peter?” she said softly.
“Yes?”
“What does 'post meridiem' mean?”
* * *
Kate leaned on the railing overlooking Peter's back yard and gazed upward. The
night was clear. The stars were huge and silent and everywhere. It was almost overwhelming. She'd forgotten how many stars there were. The city lights drowned them out in Chicago.
She shivered. “Thanks again for letting me borrow your jacket.” She had his
navy-blue cotton jacket wrapped around her. It was long enough that she could
tuck her hands in the ends of the sleeves. She liked that.
“Certainly. Nights are getting cooler.”
“They are.”
She turned to face him, leaning on the wooden porch railing. “You didn't say
much about the Dixon job yesterday.”
He shrugged. “Not much to say. They have to review my credentials, go over
the interview notes. I'm sure there a lot of other applicants.”
“But you might get it?” she probed.
