Sally nodded, as if she’d figured as much. “She’s always been such a pretty girl. Ever since she was little.”
“It’s a fluke.” Liz added the obligatory disclaimer: “God knows she didn’t get it from her mother.”
They stopped to peek into the cafeteria, half of which had been cleared to make a dance floor. A mob of kids were out there, most of them moving with a confidence Liz could only have dreamed about at their age. A few looked like trained professionals, or at least like they’d spent a lot of time practicing in front of their bedroom mirror.
“I’m glad it’s finally picking up,” Sally said. “When the DJ started, the boys were hiding out in the gym, shooting hoops and beating up on one another. The girls had to drag them over here.”
“Well, it looks like they’re having fun.”
Liz would have liked to stick around, but Sally was in no mood to linger. Her shift was over; she just wanted to get Liz settled, then go home and get some sleep.
“I saw Dana’s prom pictures on Facebook,” Sally said, as they rounded the corner onto a corridor lined with cardboard cutouts of Hollywood stars, Meryl Streep sandwiched by Dirty Harry and Homer Simpson, Jeff Bridges with an eyepatch. “She and Chris looked really happy together. Such a perfect couple.”
“I guess,” Liz agreed without enthusiasm. “I just wish they weren’t so serious.”
“They’ve been together for a while, right?”
“Ever since freshman year.”
Sally hesitated, shooting Liz an apologetic sidelong glance before venturing the inevitable question.
“I know it’s none of my business, but are they… ?”
Liz shrugged, trying to hide her discomfort. It was weird how many other parents felt that it was okay to inquire about her daughter’s sex life just because she’d been dating the same boy for the past couple of years.
“I don’t know,” she said. “We don’t really talk about it.”
TECHNICALLY SPEAKING, this wasn’t a lie. The one time Liz had asked her daughter straight out if she and Chris had gone all the way, Dana just rolled her eyes and said, Mom, I’m really not comfortable with this conversation, and that was where they’d left it.
Of course, this exchange had taken place over a year ago, and a lot had happened since then. But what was Liz supposed to do? Tell Sally the truth, which was that Chris sometimes spent the night in Dana’s bedroom and, in fact, was doing so that very night? Because Liz knew exactly how that would go. Sally would pretend not to be shocked and then say, Really? And you’re all right with that? And then Liz would either have to lie and say yes or admit that she hated the situation, but felt powerless to change it.
It was a fait accompli, she would have had to explain. Nobody asked my permission.
Ever since freshman year, Dana had been spending the occasional weekend with Chris’s family at their vacation house in Vermont. It was a lovely second home, by all accounts, just twenty minutes from Killington, and Chris’s parents were lovely people. The dad, Warren, was a financial guy, and the mom, Jodie, a working artist with her own studio and a gallery in Boston, the kind of limber, fresh-faced woman who could let herself go gray and seem all the more youthful and attractive as a result. Both parents thought the world of Dana, repeatedly telling Liz what a pleasure it was to have her as a houseguest, such a polite girl, always helping with the dishes — something she rarely did at home, Liz always wanted to interject, though she never did — and so beautiful, too, such a graceful, fearless skier.
This past winter, Jodie had phoned Liz after Presidents’ Day weekend. She started by reciting the usual compliments, but then her tone changed, turned solemn and careful.
“I thought you should know,” she said. “The kids have been sharing a bedroom. At the ski house.”
“What?”
“Dana said you were okay with it, but I wanted to double-check.”
“She said I was okay with it?”
“More or less. She said you wouldn’t care.”
“Of course, I care.” Liz was glad Jodie couldn’t see the color spreading across her cheeks. “They’re just so young to be—”
“I know.” Jodie’s voice was dreamy and forgiving. “But they love each other. And they seem really responsible. To tell you the truth, Liz, I think they’ve been sneaking around for a while now, playing musical beds in the middle of the night. At least this way it’s out in the open. I just don’t want them to think there’s anything to be ashamed of. As long as you’re all right with it.”
Liz knew the moment had arrived to state her objections. The problem was, she wasn’t quite sure what she was objecting to. She’d slept with college boyfriends when she was just a little older than Dana, guys she’d known for a lot less time than Dana had known Chris, guys who didn’t even pretend to be nice to her, let alone love her. And besides, she knew it wasn’t Dana’s age or the sex itself that bothered her. It was more that she resented her daughter for getting everything all at once, for being so pretty and happy and lucky, skiing all day and then slipping under the warm covers with her ridiculously cute, totally adoring boyfriend. But how could you even begin to talk about that?
“Liz? Are you there?”
“No, you’re right, Jodie. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just as long as they’re being careful.”
“That’s exactly what I told them.”
At the time, Liz had consoled herself with the knowledge that winter was almost over, that there wouldn’t be many more Vermont getaways before the snow melted and club soccer started up. Pretty soon everything would be back to normal.
The trouble was, Dana and Chris liked sleeping together, and it didn’t make sense to them that they could share a bed in Vermont, but not in Gifford. Before long, Dana was heading out on Friday night and not coming home until Sunday afternoon. Liz made a belated effort to put a stop to the sleepovers, telling her daughter that she missed her and needed to spend time with her on the weekends, but the only result of this intervention was that the lovebirds started switching off, spending one night with Chris’s parents, and the next with Liz, like newlyweds trying to keep both sets of in-laws happy.
It was actually kind of fun to have them around. Sometimes the three of them would watch a movie together or play Scrabble or go out for ice cream; Dana and Chris were less self-centered, a lot more available to Liz, now that they knew they’d have all the alone time they wanted once they went to bed. The only real awkwardness came after lights out, when Liz had nothing to do but lie awake and listen for the telltale sounds of passion coming from down the hall, wondering how two teenagers managed to be so utterly silent, making it seem like the only sex in the house was taking place inside her own muddled, dirty-minded head.
THE CHILLING Station was a smart concept, a makeshift living-room/rest area that glowed like a mirage at the end of a deserted corridor, a cozy, lamplit oasis. It was equipped with a motley array of furniture — couches and chairs, two army cots, even a freestanding hammock — along with a stack of board games and some rickety card tables to play them on. The only thing missing was the kids.
“It’s been dead,” grumbled Craig Waters, the volunteer on the eight-to-midnight shift. He’d been napping on the recliner when Liz and Sally arrived and still looked a little out of it. “There were a couple of chess nerds early on, but nothing for the past two hours.”
“It’ll pick up,” Sally said. “The kids get pretty tired around four in the morning.”