Dorothy is staring at her. "Dear, I'm concerned about what you said downstairs. About last night."

"I couldn't stay a virgin forever."

Dorothy rubs her face wearily, and Ruby almost feels bad about the sarcasm.

"I don't want to be lectured, Mom."

"Yes, you've made it clear. You're not taking advice from divorcees-" She offers a tight smile. "But if you'd tell me even a little something about Chris-"

"Why should I?"

"-I'll listen."

"You never do-"

"Give me a chance! For G.o.d's sake, give me a G.o.dd.a.m.n chance." Dorothy shouts these words, and the surprise of this-because she never raises her voice, she relies on measured condescension to do the job-has its effect. Ruby takes a deep breath. Feels herself retreat from the argument. She's aware all over again of her ongoing physical discomfort-her stomach, her sunburn, a new, bloated feeling that she imagines for a wild moment to be some early warning of pregnancy-and then she does what she can to banish all this irritation, to concentrate.

"I don't know," she mumbles.

"Please," Dorothy says. "I don't want your life to be a mystery to me."

"I met him a long time ago," Ruby begins. "Do you remember Crossroads?" She talks, haltingly at first, about the retreat weekend, about the phone calls that followed and then ended without warning. "I kind of made myself forget him," she says. "But I never really did, you know?" She says it was a surprise that he was there at the party, that he recognized her first. She tells her that she thinks he's good looking, that she likes his style, that she already feels things for him she never felt for Calvin. Dorothy seems to be holding up her part of this-staying quiet, receptive-so Ruby says something she's never said aloud before-that Chris is the first person to understand all the confusion in her head about G.o.d. She doesn't mention cocaine or suicide or condoms slipping off-this is obviously not what you tell your mother, no matter how much she wants to be close to you-and anyway, these things don't seem important compared to the overwhelming sense of fate and certainty that her feelings for Chris are wrapped in.

"Was he respectful?" Dorothy asks. "Of your s.e.xuality?"

"Yeah."

"And you did actually have s.e.xual intercourse with him?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"It was major."

"Major?"

Even though Dorothy keeps pressing on, Ruby senses that she's nearing the limit of what she can tell her mother, what her mother can hear. She says, "I think it's what people mean when they say 'making love,' instead of 'having s.e.x.'"

Dorothy brushes her hand lightly along Ruby's hair. "Well, dear, that sounds like pa.s.sion. That's the word for what you're describing."

Ruby wrinkles her nose. "That's something out of a romance novel. I mean-he gave me an o.r.g.a.s.m."

"I see."

So that was the point where she went over the edge-she can see it in Dorothy's face, in her body language, the way she's rubbing her hands together now, as if smoothing in lotion. "Sorry, Mom."

"No. Don't be. Pa.s.sion is physical. Romance is all the trappings, which you can whip up without real pa.s.sion. You know, Clark was very romantic when we were first together, a million years ago. But when I look back on it, I don't think that we ever felt pa.s.sionate about each other."

"But you married him."

"I didn't have much of a choice, dear. You know that."

"You could have gotten an abortion."

Dorothy blinks, an almost bewildered look on her face. "You can't imagine how frightening an idea that was."

"Right," Ruby says. "The coat-hanger days. But if you really wanted to-we learned all about these women's collectives in the sixties that were doing almost like an Underground Railroad for pregnant women."

"Just because you learned it in school," Dorothy says, and then swallows hard. Something pa.s.ses over her face. Dorothy rubs her hands on her thighs and then stands. Ruby senses that the limit has been reached. Of course. There's always a limit.

Dorothy says, "I'd like to get on the road before it's too late. Perhaps we can continue this conversation in the car?'

"I'm not coming with you."

"Why not?" Dorothy blurts.

"I told you, I gave him this number. I need to wait for this phone call now."

"If that's what you want," she says, her voice cool-the same old Dorothy again.

"I can get back to the city by bus."

As they hug good-bye-wrapping stiff arms around each other, their cheeks brushing-the familiar smell of her mother's powdery-spicy perfume is suddenly everywhere, and Ruby almost changes her mind. It would be easy to get in the car and go back to Manhattan and sleep in her real bedroom tonight. It would be nice to imagine that the drive home would allow them to keep talking things through, and that this would be a watershed moment. They'd end the night huddled over the New York Times New York Times crossword puzzle, something that had once been part of their Sunday ritual. They'd eat the food Dorothy had cooked, and even sip a little wine, something Dorothy only does in moderation now. It would feel like a special occasion, and tomorrow she'd wake up refreshed, ready to start her life over again, free of Calvin, and move ahead with Chris. crossword puzzle, something that had once been part of their Sunday ritual. They'd eat the food Dorothy had cooked, and even sip a little wine, something Dorothy only does in moderation now. It would feel like a special occasion, and tomorrow she'd wake up refreshed, ready to start her life over again, free of Calvin, and move ahead with Chris.

But Dorothy's embrace is brief, and the awkwardness magnifies as they pull apart with nothing more to say.

The door shuts behind Dorothy and Ruby is left staring at its blank back side-wood painted white, gone dingy, full of tiny pushpin holes and sc.r.a.ps of Scotch tape, remnants from the teen-magazine posters that used to hang there. She's newly aware of the bloated feeling in her gut, the way her abdominal muscles ache, and above all her desire to sleep.

Lying in bed, she runs through everything she just told her mother and sees the conversation for what it is-a surprising level of honesty wrapped in a lot of avoidance. Selective details. A lack of trust in her mother's ability to respond. Dorothy isn't going to warm up to Chris, a.s.suming she ever meets him, which is something Ruby would actually like to put off for as long as possible. And Chris might be in danger, and she couldn't tell her mother about it. So what does that say about fantasies of being close close?

She hears Dorothy across the hall, saying good-bye to Robin, their voices m.u.f.fled and conspiratorial, intimate in tone. There's a bit of light laughter between them. That's just the way it is. It's always seemed unfair that Robin has always been, will always be, the favorite. Now it strikes Ruby as a relief. A kind of freedom. She can do what she wants, and if her mother doesn't like it, well, too bad, because her influence can only go so far. If there's anything that's been made perfectly clear this weekend, it is this: no one is ready for her to grow up, to be a woman, and make her own choices. No one except Ruby herself. She is done waiting for their permission.

After a while she knocks on Robin's door. He calls her in, and there, amid all that loud wallpaper, he lies on his bed. He's flipping through a notebook-one of those speckled composition books, black-and-white, like something from middle school-but as she comes into the room, he closes it quickly and turns it facedown. She says, "I'm not going back to the city with Dorothy."

"So I heard."

"Was she p.i.s.sed?"

"You know Mom. She takes everything personally."

She points to his notebook. "What's that?"

"An old diary. From high school. I used to get myself quite worked up."

"Used to?"

He smiles. He really does have a great smile-she thinks for the millionth time how Robin's life has gone the way it has because people have wanted to get closer to that face of his. If she didn't love him, she would probably hate him.

He says, "There are things in here I sort of forgot about."

"I never keep a diary. What if someone else reads it?"

"Apparently, I'm an exhibitionist." He thrusts out an arm theatrically. "When I die a famous actor, you can sell these to the tabloids. I promise to leave a beautiful corpse."

He means it as a joke, but hearing his words is like being forced to swallow more alcohol. Her stomach flips. There's just too much talk about death this weekend. It's gotten under her skin. Maybe there's no avoiding it, given what day it is. But with Chris still missing she feels the sourness of the very thought-she feels a sudden resolve.

"OK," she begins. "I guess I'm on some kind of honesty kick tonight, so-it was nice of you to come and find me, because you thought something bad had happened. I do get get that." that."

"But?"

"But I'm worried that you ruined my chance to be with Chris. You came too soon."

"I'm suspicious of him, Ruby. When I met him, he was kind of in a state."

"He's just emotional."

Robin nods reluctantly. Emotional Emotional he seems to understand. he seems to understand.

"I like like him. A lot. I him. A lot. I care care about him. With Calvin-I always thought Calvin was cool and unique, but I never felt, you know, about him. With Calvin-I always thought Calvin was cool and unique, but I never felt, you know, pa.s.sion. pa.s.sion." She can't stop the word from coming out. Score one for Dorothy. "You understand."

"I guess."

"I want a real lover lover."

"Only one? Having just one is so pa.s.se-"

"Be serious, you queen."

This makes him smile again, and then he sits up, adjusting his posture, and announces, still smiling, though it now seems a little forced, that Peter broke off their relationship. And there's more to it than that, he starts to explain-which is when Ruby flashes to the car ride up the Parkway, and then to the cemetery, and she knows what he's going to tell her. "Does this have to do with George?"

"Yes." He grabs the notebook and reads, "Too bad George isn't my boyfriend. That's from high school, before I even knew he was gay." He begins to tell her about his weekend. She listens with a kind of amazement about a near fistfight in an alley, about hiding from the cops, about the two of them going back to their apartment and having s.e.x for the first time. It's not the details that surprise her-nothing that happens to her brother really comes as a surprise, given all that she knows about who he is and what he's capable of-but rather it's the fact that their lives seem, for the first time ever, to be made up of the same material. Maybe separate from each other, but at least parallel, which is something. He tells her that it's not just the s.e.xual connection that has been the revelation with George, but the fact that he actually possesses all the qualities Robin wanted Peter to have: stability, trustworthiness, s.e.xual safety. He asks, "Do you think that's weird?" That's from high school, before I even knew he was gay." He begins to tell her about his weekend. She listens with a kind of amazement about a near fistfight in an alley, about hiding from the cops, about the two of them going back to their apartment and having s.e.x for the first time. It's not the details that surprise her-nothing that happens to her brother really comes as a surprise, given all that she knows about who he is and what he's capable of-but rather it's the fact that their lives seem, for the first time ever, to be made up of the same material. Maybe separate from each other, but at least parallel, which is something. He tells her that it's not just the s.e.xual connection that has been the revelation with George, but the fact that he actually possesses all the qualities Robin wanted Peter to have: stability, trustworthiness, s.e.xual safety. He asks, "Do you think that's weird?"

"No, because you can fall in love with someone slowly, or it can hit you hard, right away. With Chris, it just was like-" She snaps her fingers.

"I've fallen in love at first sight many times. I was so into Peter when he first walked into our seminar. But that kind of thing never seems to last. Do you remember Alton?"

"How could I forget? You used to go on and on about him."

"That wasn't love. It was just, I don't know. Hormones." Robin points to the notebook and flips through a few pages. He seems to scan them as he frowns and says, "I have no idea if George is feeling it. Did it seem like that to you? Did you notice anything?"

"I noticed that George seemed, like, less sheltered?"

"He's turning into like, I don't know, an activist. But he still doesn't have a lot of experience. With guys."

She tells him, "When I saw you two you at the cemetery, I thought, I don't think I've ever seen you holding hands with a guy before."

He looks back at the notebook and says, "I guess that's probably true." He seems to drift into thought, memory-she can only guess where he's just gone.

She had been amazed by the sight of them with their hands intertwined, by its out-in-the-openness, and by how it seemed perfectly normal to her-or rather, a perfect fit for Robin. A natural expression. And even though she was sad that Chris wasn't there with her-that she had left him behind instead of figuring out a better plan than I'll call you I'll call you-she still felt like there was some possibility for them. For her and Chris. If Robin could have this connection with George, more romantic than their usual friendship allowed, then she could find some way to fit Chris into her life, even though there were all these strikes against them.

She moves to sit down on the bed. And then she's. .h.i.t by a rush. She thinks it must be the turbulence in her stomach threatening to come forth. Then she thinks, no, not my stomach, something else, lower down-it feels like her period, but it's too early for that. Then she feels the warmth, and excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

She touches herself, looks at her fingertips. Yes. There it is. She's started to bleed. She must have calculated her cycle wrong. Or maybe it's just come early-perfectly, joyously early.

She thinks, I should always have faith.

Back in her room, she lies down again, and she feels fifty pounds lighter. Cleansed. (The fact that that Clark has a girlfriend has worked in her favor. Tucked under the sink, she found what she needed. Never before has a box of Tampax seemed like such a gift.) At last she is able to rest, to sleep. She even dreams, wild images of the ocean that are both scary and beautiful, as she floats on the surface in the sun and then dives into blue depths. There's a far-off landscape, a lush green sh.o.r.e, Chris is in the water with her, swimming ahead, and he's telling her, "We've got to get to the place." He keeps saying it, "That's our place," but she can't quite keep him in her sights and then he's gone and there are birds circling overhead, their calls becoming louder and menacing, mechanical. The sound of machines grinding away.

She awakes, but the dream carries noisily into the room with her. Quickly she understands that the phone is ringing. She finds it, tangled up in the blanket with her.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"It's me."

It's him.

"Are you OK?" she asks.

"I'm OK," Chris says.

"I called the motel, you weren't there."

"Sorry."

"Did they give you my message?"

"I got it when I was checking out, so I had to wait to get to a phone and didn't have any change, and I couldn't find my phone card. I couldn't find my wallet."

"You lost your wallet."

"Yeah. My driver's license and my money and, well, everything."

"That sucks."

"I didn't want to call collect."

"I thought-" She's not sure she should say it. "I was starting to freak out."

"Sorry. You probably had a lot of dark thoughts. Why wouldn't you?"