Feeling For Bones by Bethany Pierce

Author:Bethany Pierce [Pierce, Bethany]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8024-7970-9
Publisher: Moody Publishers
Published: 2007-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

We drove to the dance in a joke of a car that made me feel a little better about the Cheese Wagon.

“Sorry about the smell,” Matthew said.

I wondered if he referred to the greasy pizza box on the floor or the cologne that soaked the air between us.

“I don’t smell anything,” I lied, kicking the pizza box aside.

Mr. Burns hosted Bingo Swing Dance Night in the basement of his store. For the evening, pink and blue crepe paper had been hung in parallel loops. Beneath, bright balloons bounced across the dusty floor. There was a long table with triangle-cut finger sandwiches and Dixie cups filled with snack mix and red punch. Aside from Matthew and me, everyone was either gray or balding. Except for the librarian, whose perm looked suspiciously purple when she stood directly beneath the fluorescent ceiling lights.

“Where are the bingo tables?” I asked.

“Oh, that was over an hour ago,” Matthew answered. “We’d have had to come at four for that. But I didn’t think you’d miss it.”

“Not really,” I agreed.

Someone called my name. Ruby waved at me from across the room. She clunked to our side of the room in a pair of cumbersome white heels. She held a cup of punch in one hand, the arm of a gentleman in the other.

“Olivia, meet Harold. My dancing partner.”

Harold worked his dentures to manage a somewhat wet but equally congenial, “Nice to meet you.”

“It’s a surprise to see you here,” Ruby said to me.

I tried to shrug it off. “Oh, Matthew has to be here to clean up—so I came with him … to help,” I finished lamely.

I glanced at Matthew, but he’d looked away as if sensing my embarrassment.

“Well, glad to have you, whatever the case,” Ruby said. “Go get yourselves some punch and sandwiches. Music’s gonna start soon.”

Matthew walked away mumbling something about drinks. I stood along the back wall. The ladies in their pastel skirts and white blouses sat in a row on metal folding chairs, trying to look interested and interesting. The men stood on the opposite wall, thick in talk about the new road behind the hardware store and the details of their latest operations. They eyed the women and moved their sweaty hands in and out of their pockets. It was like junior high all over again.

Matthew returned and handed me a cup of punch. “I saw your last drawings hanging up in the hallway at school,” he said. “I don’t remember seeing them in class.”

“That’s because I did them at home.”

“Well. They’re real good.”

“Thanks.”

There was a slight pause.

“I think”—he cleared his throat—“you did a good job getting the texture of the flowers in that one still life. Real subtle.”

“Yeah, I spent a lot of time on it.”

Matthew shuffled his feet. I sipped my punch. We managed to produce, prod, and efficiently butcher three other subjects of conversation. I almost wished I were home playing Barbie Jeopardy with Callapher.

The music began. Couples took to the floor. To my surprise, they danced with a quick, easy rhythm that seemed to come to them as natural as breathing.

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