“You remember the hockey game? I mean, after the game.”

Josh was nervous. More than a week had passed, and he was afraid that the golden moment would slip away. Right after their date he was ready to bare his soul the first chance he got; now he was like a swimmer out of the pool too long and reluctant to dive into the cold water again.

“Of course,” Eden replied without a moment’s hesitation.

They were seated facing each other across a table in the school cafeteria, with time to kill.

“I started talking about something and then broke off because it was late—”

“Oh, Josh, I was so rude, I shouldn’t have laughed at you.”

“You weren’t rude. I asked for it. It’ll teach me not to open my mouth till I know what’s going to come out. Anyway, I don’t know if this’ll interest you.”

She leaned toward him across the table. “Of course it will. It’s important to you. Don’t you want to share it with me? I’m serious now.” It was written on her face.

“It is important. I used to be your typical teenager. Smart-alecky, never wrong, cynical as you can be. As if I didn’t know older folks are more experienced than I. Only I’m not about to admit it. So I make fun of them. If I do what they say, I’m humoring them. If they say something worthwhile, I already knew it. That way I’m in charge, see?”

He looked at her expectantly. She said, “I follow you.”

“And it spills over into how I act toward Debbie ― and maybe you too. To appreciate something, to suggest you don’t hold the world in contempt, is not macho. But I really like my parents, and I like my sister.” Eden held her breath. “So when I’m acting like that I’m not comfortable. And it’s a trap. Once you announce your stupidity, you can’t just take it back.”

“Am I the first you’re telling this to?”

“This much, yes.”

She looked right into his eyes. “I think you’re very brave,” she whispered.

“You know what started it? Thinking about myself? We were at one of those overlooks on the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. One moment I was razzing Debbie about something or other. The next moment I felt paralyzed. I just stood there and stared.”

“At the landscape?” The word “paralyze” didn’t alarm her. She sensed what he meant.

“Yes, and the colors. It was the strangest feeling. ‘Paralyzed’ is wrong. It’s not that I couldn’t move. I had no desire to do anything but stand there and lap it up. But that isn’t it either. I was being lapped up. I started off looking at the scenery like at a picture. Then slowly it became three-dimensional and I was inside it. No, that’s not it either. God, it’s hard to put my finger on it. ‘Inside’ is wrong because it still means separate. Being inside a room doesn’t make you a part of it. But there I felt as if I was a part of what I was looking at. I must have looked like a total idiot. Mom had to come and get me. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

Eden didn’t answer. She had started out looking at him across the table. As he described the transformation of the landscape, she saw the image of him engulfing her until she was part of him. She heard his last question from a far distance, not knowing whether it was addressed to her or even concerned her. She was paralyzed.

“Are you OK, Edie?” The change in his tone shocked her back to the here and now.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She swept her hand over her face. “And no, God, no! You’re not crazy. I’m fascinated.” She wanted to reach across and pull more out of him, but they weren’t alone.

“Now that’s where you should be using it, Rabinowitz,” said the mountainous student with the ear-to-ear smile who joined them.

“Use what?” Eden asked, looking from Josh to the newcomer and back.

“Never mind. This is Truck Rogers, linebacker and filthy mind extraordinaire.” The reference was to an encounter in which Josh had poked Truck in the chest and Truck had suggested a better use of Josh’s finger. It was not a fit subject for Eden’s ears.

“Like you to meet Eden Avery, a friend of the family.”

“Of the family, eh?” His smile stretched almost to the bursting point. “Nice to meet you, Eden. I’ve been hoping young Josh here would meet a nice family friend, so he’d stop poking me in the ribs. May I join you?”

“No,” Josh answered. “This table isn’t big enough for you.”

“Ah,” Truck answered, with no sign of taking offense. “Three’s a crowd, I understand completely. I’ll go and sit all alone. Maybe I’ll be lucky too and find a ― er ― family friend.”

He turned on his heel, then stopped. “By the way, Joshie boy, I saw the Germantown game. I know you don’t appreciate real football, but I’m big-minded and even soccer doesn’t offend me. Maybe someday you can explain why you don’t wear helmets. Think how much farther the ball would bounce if it didn’t get stuck in your hair. But that’s beside the point—”

“Do you have a point?” Josh asked wearily.

“My life is dedicated to points. This one concerns that diving catch. One of my many skills is talent scouting, and I think you should try out for wide receiver. That is, if you don’t mind getting roughed up a bit now and then ― and wearing a helmet.”

“There are those who say it was my fault we lost. Pumped them up and deflated us.”

“Don’t listen to ’em. You did what you had to. That shot was a sure goal. Now you, Miss Eden Family Friend, don’t you let him brood over it. He’s too good for that.” Saying over his shoulder, “And watch that finger!” he walked over to a nearby table, where he sat down to suffer his solitude in the company of four girls.

“Wow,” Eden said when Truck’s back was turned, “what was that?”

“Don’t mind him. His only problem’s his size. So they grabbed him for football—”

“A man’s sport?” Her eyes lit up.

“Let’s say, a jock’s sport. He’s a damn good athlete whose talents are being wasted. . . . Hey, I’m starting to talk to you the way I do to him!”

“I don’t mind at all! It’s fun listening to the two of you.”

“We enjoy needling each other. Like me and Debbie. Anyway, where were we?”

“Your mom coming to get you.”

“Oh yes. They were waiting for me and I was rooted like a tree on the overlook. But she was tactful. She sensed something was going on in my head, and she didn’t push it.”

Eden remembered Karen catching her with the lights out. “Then what happened?”

“I was doing a science project on leaves changing color. Remember? Dad mentioned it. Then I had that dream about the planetarium. I must’ve been pretty quiet the rest of the trip.”

“Did you ever talk about it later ― after you got home?”

“You mean, being swallowed up in the scenery? I talked about it in the car, but it never came up again. No one asked. I think the word’s out not to provoke that crazy kid.”

“They don’t know what they’re missing.” Eden looked deep into his eyes and shook her head slowly. “You know something, Josh? I’m not surprised by anything you said. You may feel different, but you’ve been like that for a long time. Remember the spider? The maggots?”

“Don’t remind me. I thought I was in big-time trouble over those maggots.”

“At first I was pretty disgusted. But after you explained about larvae, I asked Dad—”

“Didn’t trust me?”

“That was then.” Both were silent for several seconds. “But let’s not talk about me. What I wanted to say was, you were into nature long ago, but you weren’t so self-conscious.”

“Not only nature—”

“Oh, yes!” she shouted. “Remember going on about the Verrazano Narrows Bridge?”

“How could I forget? And it’s getting worse—”

“Better!”

He pondered. “Maybe better, especially if that’s the way you feel.”

“I do. And I keep on interrupting, when I really want to hear more. So go on!”

“It’s more of the same. Look at cars. A car used to be a vehicle with so-and-so many horsepower, transmission, and whatnot. Now it’s still all of that, but it’s also God knows how many people’s ideas; a marvel of design and manufacturing; the incredible properties of metal, glass, rubber, gasoline. I could go on and on. . . .” On and on he went — strength and pliability, chemistry and energy, lubrication and friction — and Eden, her attention darting back and forth between his enthusiasm and what he was enthusiastic about; her eyes on each of his in turn, his nose, his mouth, his chin; trying to stay up with him. “. . . Pick anything,” he was saying, “take people, . . . babies with big heads, . . . adults with long legs, . . . amazing! Dandelion seeds on parachutes, squirrels burying acorns.” He paused for breath. “Am I making sense?”

Eden too needed time to breathe, and the delay cost her the chance to answer.

“And Debbie ― get this ― after all these years I realize she’s a pretty nice person ― I’m even tempted to say beautiful person, although you have to understand how I mean that—”

“I understand exactly how you mean that.” Eden got a brief toehold. She thought about her own plain features and dared to hope that she, too, might be beautiful in the way he’d most appreciate. But her thoughts were swept away by the next wave.

“ . . . and I’m lucky to have her for a sister. A month ago I wouldn’t have believed I’d ever say anything like that. Isn’t it strange?”

Suddenly he was waiting for an answer. The silence caught her off guard. “Nothing you’ve said is strange. . . . I’m so glad you’ve shared your thoughts with me. I feel that you trust me.”

He swallowed and lowered his eyes. “Thanks for not laughing at me.”

“Laugh at you, Josh? No, never. Never again.”

“I don’t know what it’s like having a sister,” she continued, “but if I did I’d want her to be like Debbie.”

Josh, sensing firmer ground, said, “Neither you nor I have any experience with brothers.”

“I sometimes had fantasies of you being my brother.” Josh looked at her. “But not any more,” she went on quietly, playing with a spoon.

Josh did not take his eyes off her face. She took a deep breath and rose from her chair. Regret and relief mingled in her voice. “I have to go. See you later.”

He followed her with his eyes until she reached the door. His mind arrested by the motion of her skirt as she walked, he almost failed to see her turn in the doorway and smile at him.

He was about to leave when Truck stopped by again. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I was out of line the way I talked. She looks like a nice girl.” He sat down.

“Truck, you have a loose tongue.”

“Maybe yours ought to be too,” Truck said, raising a defensive arm in front of his face. Josh got up and started to walk away.

“I’m sorry, Josh, I really am.” Truck held out a hand to stop him. “Sometimes I don’t know when to stop. You know me, I don’t mean any harm.” Josh glared at him. “You take that girl pretty serious, don’t you?”

“She’s my sister’s friend. I don’t want her exposed to your bathroom humor.”

“You’re right, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

“OK, Truck.” Josh relaxed. “Let it be.”

Truck got up and walked alongside Josh. “Just between you and me, and not a word to Eden or anyone else, and I’m not trying to be a smart-ass, but can I put in a bid for best man ― just in case?” Off he went.

“Damn you, Rogers!” Josh yelled, throwing a plastic fork at the departing hulk.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the cold of January, every drop of surface water not in vigorous motion fell into the embrace of the nearest ice crystal. The accretions thus formed slowed the flow of water even more till none was left to flow. Even while the icy crust on the Schuylkill River still contained gaping seams, bodies of stagnant water had become natural skating rinks. The pond in Pastorius Park beckoned, and the neighborhood skaters were ready for the call.

At any time half of the venturesome, better endowed with enthusiasm than skill, were sprawled hilariously on the uneven ice. It was the perfect setting for tolerance, it was the perfect setting for Josh, whose prowess on ice lagged far behind his sister’s.

“It’ll be fun,” Eden assured him on the phone. “The ice is bumpy; you’re supposed to be on your rear end most of the time. But a soccer player knows how to fall without getting hurt, doesn’t he?”

He smiled into the receiver. “When you put it that way, I don’t see how I can say no.”

“That was the idea.”

“Do we have to invite—?”

“I don’t think we have any obligation. She’s too good for a lumpy pond.”

He wasn’t sure Debbie would agree with Eden’s logic, especially since Eden was as good a skater as she. Still, he had to admire the way she had simultaneously uncoupled Debbie and neutralized his self-consciousness.

Few skaters were on the ice that cold afternoon. The surface was indeed treacherous, giving Josh all the excuse he needed to be cautious. Eden seemed content to stay with his pace and soon they were holding hands. Across the pond a couple was dancing.

“Don’t they look romantic?” she said. “Let’s try.”

Their legs became entangled and they sat down, laughing. On their second try they stayed on their feet a full five minutes, but a chill wind sprang up and they called it a day.

“Take me home,” Eden asked, “I’ll make hot chocolate.”

Eden’s parents weren’t home. “Looks like we have the place to ourselves,” she said.

He stood with one glove on and one off. “Maybe I shouldn’t stay.”

“I can’t let you go without something hot to drink. What can be wrong with that?”

He considered for two seconds. “Nothing, I guess. It is cold out there.”

“Good. Take off your things ― your coat, I mean,” she said with an in impish smile.

She started to gather the needed supplies. “What’re you looking at?”

“You.”

“Did you never see a woman making hot chocolate?”

“A woman, yes, but not you.”

“Am I different?” She poured milk into a saucepan and lit the stove.

“Yes.”

“I mean, do I make hot chocolate differently?” She added cocoa mix and started stirring.

“I wasn’t thinking of the chocolate.”

She turned from the stove and leaned against the counter. “What were you thinking of?”

“It’s pretty complicated. I mean, obviously I was looking at you.”

“You’ve already told me. What’s the complicated part?”

“You’re not going to laugh?”

“No, I’m not going to laugh!” She feigned exasperation.

“It’s the way you stand, the way you stir the pot. I can’t help looking. Are you laughing?”

She wasn’t. “The way I stir the pot. I thought you weren’t thinking about the chocolate?”

“Now you’ve got me confused,” Josh said. “I don’t seem to know what I’m saying.”

“All right, I’ll stop interrupting. You talk, I stir.” But she stopped the moment he spoke.

“I just want to look at you. You’re different. That’s it, I guess.”

“Everybody’s different, aren’t they?”

“Sure, but the differences are different.”

“Huh? Come again?” She was leaning on the counter again, facing him.

“It’s like this. Dad would say Mom’s different, but not the way Aunt Shirley’s different.”

“You mean it depends on who’s looking at whom?” Steam was rising from the pot.

“Yes, that’s it! You know, ‘Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.’ Keats, I think.”

“Would you be offended if I corrected you?” she asked gently.

“Of course not. Set me straight.”

“It was Margaret Wolfe Hungerford, not John Keats, and it’s the eye, singular.”

“I’m not much on English Lit, am I? Are you going to put up with me?”

“You have redeeming qualities. Besides, the only reason I know is, a couple of months ago we had to look up famous quotations.”

“You didn’t have to tell me. You could have let me believe you’d read all that poetry.”

“Why should I? I hope I don’t need to deceive you. I’d rather be honest. But your mother’s attractive and I’m plain, so I don’t think that stuff about beauty applies.”

“Didn’t I just answer that? . . . Or didn’t Whatsername Hungerford?”

The odor from the stove interrupted their conversation. Eden laughed in horror.

“Oh my God!” She turned off the gas and reached for the pot. In an instant Josh was at her side grabbing her arm.

“The handle could be hot. Use a pot holder.” He held on a little longer than necessary.

“So,” she said with a sigh. “Shall I scrub out the pot and start again?”

“I don’t mind sitting here talking while you do that.”

“Oh no,” she warned. “Either cook or talk, not both. Else it’ll be the same all over again.”

Ten minutes later they were seated, enjoying the fruits of her labor in silence.

“I have to ask you something,” he said. “You look like you’re in perfect health — the way you skate and all. But you were real sick a couple of years back. I remember Debbie and me coming over because you weren’t allowed to do anything. We were scared because of what happened to Uncle Milt. But Mom said rheumatic fever’s different. Is it OK to ask?”

“I don’t mind talking about it. I did have rheumatic fever, and it affected my heart. They gave me oxygen, and injections, and God knows what. I was in intensive care. They must have sedated me because that part’s pretty foggy. I do remember a birthday cake with one candle, as if I had a new life or something. After I got better, they wouldn’t let me do anything for months. Obviously I didn’t die, like your uncle, but I don’t know what he had — it must’ve been different. I feel great now, but I still have to have a shot every month to keep me from getting strep again, and I have to have a checkup every three months. That’s the story.”

“What’re they looking for after all this time? If you got sick, wouldn’t you know it?”

“I would if the joints swelled up and hurt like the first time. But they’re afraid my heart valves were damaged and it could take years to show up.”

“What kind of damage?”

“You really want to know the details?”

He was hurt ― and feeling guilty for not knowing. “Edie, I have visions of you being a cardiac patient, and it’s scary. Of course I want to know.”

“OK. Finish your chocolate, I’ll explain.” She took his hand and led him to the study.

“I’m going to use visual aids. A little anatomy and a little electrocardiography. It took me a while to learn that word, but I’ve become quite an expert. Sit over there on the couch.”

The books she was looking for were on the top shelf. As she reached for them, perched on a stepstool, he saw her in profile. She was wearing a thick, loose-fitting green wool sweater, a pleated gray skirt, and black knee socks, clothes designed purely for warmth. But their very shapelessness amplified the effect of her posture. Her back was hyperextended, accentuating the curve of her rump. Above the slender waist, her bust was thrust forward by the upward reach of her arms. No posture could have done more to flatter her figure. Josh was transfixed. Eden, oblivious to the effect she had created, took down the books and turned toward him.

She found him with his mouth open, looking strangely absent. He remained immobile as she approached. It was Eden’s turn to be transfixed.

“Josh, what’s wrong? Aren’t you feeling well?” She hardly recognized her own voice. Tossing the books on the couch, she took his hands in hers. Suddenly he was back on earth.

“No, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“You scared me,” she said, relieved but still skeptical.

“It’s OK,” he said, “nothing’s wrong.” He picked up the books to make room for her. “Sit down and explain your heart to me.”

She sat next to him. His breathing was heavy. “Josh, if something’s wrong, please don’t cover it up. Seeing you like that really upset me.”

“My mind was wandering. But I really am OK.”

“All right then,” she answered, not quite convinced. She wanted to ask where his mind had wandered, but she was afraid he was covering up a more serious problem. He could have relieved her anxiety easily enough, but to tell her the truth at that point was out of the question. First he had to digest his unnerving experience, and that would have to wait till he was alone. So for the next half hour, avoiding physical contact without making the effort obvious, he learned about rheumatic fever, electrocardiograms, and heart valves.

“You really know this stuff, don’t you?” he said, relieved to have his attention diverted.

“You would too. But I also had two great teachers, my dad and Doctor Harmon, so I’d have no excuse for not knowing.”

“How do you get rheumatic fever? Does it run in the family?”

“I don’t think it’s a family thing. It starts with a strep throat. That’s what the shots are for, to prevent strep throat.”

“Can’t you treat strep throat and stop it from turning into rheumatic fever?”

“I never asked Dad. He’s a doctor and I’m sure if something could have been done he’d have done it. There are some things you just can’t prevent. I was unlucky.”

“I’ve had strep. First the doctor swabs your throat, then, wham! you get a penicillin shot. A couple of days later you find out it was a virus. Half the time you didn’t need the shot.”

“I’m pretty vague about what happened to me. Dad did swab my throat, and a few days later he swabbed it again, but I don’t remember getting a shot.” She shrugged.

“What happens if there is some of this delayed damage?”

“It’s been three years and there isn’t any, so I think I’m OK. They tell me if a valve were damaged, they’d hear a murmur. If it gets bad enough I might need open-heart surgery, but they do those all the time, and I don’t worry about it. In any case, it would be years off.”

Josh felt a lump in his throat. She shrugs off heart surgery, but the way I looked scared the daylights out of her.

“I hope it never happens,” was all he could say. He needed to get away. “I guess I should go home. Mom’ll think we fell through the ice. Can I use your phone?”

“You don’t need to ask. But can’t you stay for supper? I bet Mom and Dad’ll bring pizza or something like that. She won’t cook this late.”

“Another time maybe.” He drove home and made sure not to linger in the garage.

He spread a few books on his desk, in case someone came in. What a day! First dancing on the ice. What had he felt as he held her? He couldn’t remember. Then the vision of her on the step stool, and the explanation of her heart condition. Her fright over his state and lack of concern over her own. God, the damage could show up any time! Apparently there was no stopping it, since all they seemed able to do was prevent another strep throat. She’d have to have repairs, and who knew whether she’d survive the operation? Or how well the patched-up heart would work? “Good as new,” they’d say, but it was never good as new. He didn’t have to be a doctor to know that. Even appendectomies leave scars. How could she be so casual? Obviously she knew more than he, but that didn’t allay his anxiety. Every three months he’d be in a cold sweat, awaiting the bad news.

Why hadn’t he known how serious her condition was? At least, how serious it might be. He tried to make excuses: it’s bad manners to ask personal questions. Besides, she’s healthy and active, so what reason is there to think anything’s wrong? Still, he felt guilty.

Then the other image entered his mental field of vision. Behind closed eyes he relived the sensation of seeing her profile in the study. He marveled at his reaction. Objectively she was a girl in shapeless winter clothes reaching for a couple of books; through his eyes she was an exquisite sylph, poised on a pedestal.

And then he again saw the heart, now superimposed on the image of Eden at the bookshelf. Through her clothes he saw her breast and behind it her heart, and inside it he saw shriveled valves that made a mockery of the orderly flow of blood. The body, the soul, and the threat hanging over their union. He tried to think of the last without the first getting in the way.

Why was that so important? His interest in the shape of the female body was well established, and he regularly entertained himself mentally undressing the girls he saw around him. He had also learned how certain forbidden parts felt ― learning acquired at the bargain price of a few slaps on his hands and some fingernail impressions on his wrists. But he had never thought of Eden in those terms, nor did he want to. What drew him to her was a sense, which he would have had trouble articulating, that a precious aspect of his inner life resonated with something in her. He had discovered a different kind of beauty. This discovery could be embarrassing for a teenage boy, but Eden welcomed his confidences. Theirs had been a relationship of the spirit ― notwithstanding handholding. Until today. Now his peace was shattered by the sight of a figure on a stepstool. He chided himself for being taken by surprise: Was she not a girl, after all? What had he expected, all soul and no body? If so, reality was knocking on his door, and it found him unprepared.

The truth was that his mind could never be purged of today’s experiences. He had some serious integrating to do.