She put her books down again and came around to Elizabeth’s other side to take hold of her arm, and Elizabeth grabbed for her hand instead and held it tightly so she couldn’t get away. “I took her to the dance because she helped with the Tupperware party. I told her I owed her a favor,” he said, and Elizabeth turned and looked at him.
He was not looking at her really. He was looking past her at the other Elizabeth, who would not answer the phone, who would not come to the window, but he seemed to be looking at her, and on his young remembered face there was a look of such naked, vulnerable love that it was like a blow.
“I told you so,” Tib said. She laid the crutches against the bench.
“I’m sure this lady doesn’t want to hear this,” Elizabeth said.
“I was going to tell you at the party, but that idiot Sharon Oberhausen …”
Tib brought over the crutches. “After I asked him, I thought, ‘What if she thinks I’m trying to steal her boyfriend?’ and I got so worried I was afraid to tell you. I really only asked him to get out of weekend duty. I mean, I don’t like him or anything.”
Tupper grinned at Elizabeth. “I try to pay my debts, and this is the thanks I get. You wouldn’t get mad at me if I took your roommate to a dance, would you?”
“I might,” Elizabeth said. It was cold sitting on the cement. She was starting to shiver. “But I’d forgive you.”
“You see that?” he said.
“I see,” Elizabeth said disgustedly, but she was smiling at him now. “Don’t you think we’d better get this innocent passerby up off the sidewalk before she freezes to death?”
“Upsy-daisy, sweetheart,” Tupper said, and in one easy motion she was up and sitting on the stone bench.
“Thank you,” she said. Her teeth were chattering with the cold.
Tupper knelt in front of her and examined her ankle. “It looks pretty swollen,” he said. “Do you want us to call somebody?”
“No, my husband will be along any minute. I’ll just sit here till he comes.”
Tib fished Elizabeth’s application out of the puddle. “I’m afraid it’s ruined,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Tupper picked up his bag of bowls. “Say,” he said, “you wouldn’t be interested in having a Tupperware party? As hostess, you could earn valuable points toward …”
“Tupper!” Tib said.
“Will you leave this poor lady alone?” Elizabeth said.
He held up the sack. “Only if you’ll go with me to deliver my lettuce crispers to the Sigma Chi house.”
“I’ll go,” Tib said. “There’s this darling Sigma Chi I’ve been wanting to meet.”
“And I’ll go,” Elizabeth said, putting her arm around Tib. “I don’t trust the kind of boyfriend you find on your own. Jim Scates is a real creep. Didn’t Sharon tell you what he did to Marilyn Reed?”
Tupper handed Elizabeth the sack of bowls while he stood his bike up. Elizabeth handed them to Tib.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Tupper said. “It’s cold out here. You could wait for your husband in the student union.”
She wished she could put her hand on his cheek just once. “I’ll be fine,” she said.
The three of them went down the walk toward Frasier, Tupper pushing the bike. When they got even with Carter Hall, they cut across the grass toward Frasier. She watched them until she couldn’t see them anymore, and then sat there a while longer on the cold bench. She had hoped that something might happen, some sign that she had rescued them, but nothing happened. Her ankle didn’t hurt anymore. It had stopped the minute Tupper touched it.
She continued to sit there. It seemed to her to be getting colder, though she had stopped shivering, and after a while she got up and walked home, leaving the crutches where they were.
It was cold in the house. Elizabeth turned the thermostat up and sat down at the kitchen table, still in her coat, waiting for the heat to come on. When it didn’t, she remembered that Paul had turned the furnace off, and she went and got a blanket and wrapped up in it on the couch. Her ankle did not hurt at all, though it felt cold. When the phone rang, she could hardly move it. It took her several rings to make it to the phone.
“I thought you weren’t going to answer,” Paul said. “I made an appointment with a Dr. Jamieson for you this afternoon at three. He’s a psychiatrist.”
“Paul,” she said. She was so cold it was hard to talk. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” he said. “I told Dr. Brubaker you were on muscle relaxants for your ankle. I don’t know whether he bought it or not.” He hung up.
“Too late,” Elizabeth said. She hung up the phone. The back of her hand was covered with ice crystals. “Paul,” she tried to say, but her lips were stiff with cold, and no sound came out.