Forks, Knives, and Spoons Read online

  “Since you and Eric broke up, such a shame,” she tsked, and plodded on, “I just thought I could help you along.”

  “He cheated on me, Mom. Cheated! Why is it so awful that we broke up when he cheated on me? With someone right down the hall on top of it!” Veronica’s voice was reaching a shriek—the truth would not stay down. She had explained this to her parents, but they searched for reasons to excuse his actions, diluting their sympathy.

  “Oh, sweetie,” her mother said, “maybe he was just confused after not seeing you for so long. You know he’s a good young man from such a nice family. Maybe you could give him another chance.”

  Veronica stirred her coffee with force, spinning it into a tornado. She stared at the storm in her mug and blew out a sigh while Susan Warren rhythmically chopped up the mushrooms and began to hum a tune.

  VERONICA HEARD THE DOORBELL ring and took a deep breath before running the color over her lips and heading downstairs. The sounds of her mother greeting him wafted up the two-story foyer.

  “Oh, Ian, it is so lovely to meet you,” she gushed.

  Veronica rolled her eyes and turned the corner of the steps where her date came into view. Ian Curtis wore a neatly ironed button-down, a navy blazer, and a burgundy patterned bow tie at his throat. His khakis hung on his thin frame, and brand-new boat shoes peeked out from the professionally cuffed and stitched hems. He looked like the debate team champion or the stock sitcom character of a young boy acting too mature for his age. He was Alex P. Keaton from Family Ties, only not Hollywood cute like Michael J. Fox. He was ordinary, his face long and skinny like his body. As she approached him, hand extended to introduce herself, she noticed shaving nicks and a few pimples dappled his narrow face. Veronica felt no sense of attraction for Ian, but she felt an immediate fondness for him.

  Ian opened the car door for her, and when they arrived at The Mooring entrance, after handing the keys to the valet attendant, he helped her out of his father’s Mercedes. He placed a hand on her back as they followed the hostess to their table by the window overlooking the water. Ian made Veronica feel more adult than student, and she straightened her posture.

  They talked easily and naturally, uncommon with the typical freshman guy. Ian carried himself with a confidence that didn’t fit his scrawny body. Veronica couldn’t identify it, but he seemed secure and had a maturity that comforted her. His demeanor commanded her attention, and even in those first moments she knew they would be friends. They talked eagerly, and he entertained her with his quips and observations about the people around them and the events in the news. She laughed at his pithy remarks about Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan, about Phantom winning at the Tony Awards and Cher winning at the Oscars, and about the Hollywood marriage of Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis. Veronica silently thanked her mom for arranging the meeting.

  When she excused herself to use the ladies’ room, he stood with her like her father still always did for her mother, but no date had ever risen for Veronica, not the other well-bred sons of her parents’ friends, not Eric. She smiled gratefully. Alone in the restroom, her mind wandered to Amy’s Utensil Classification System. She tried to ignore it but hearing it endlessly, she found herself entertained with the exercise. He wasn’t quite a spoon; he was interesting and poised, not dull or unsure at all. He definitely wasn’t in the fork category.

  If Ian wasn’t a spoon and wasn’t a fork, then he fit in the knives, but he was softer around the edges. A butter knife. That’s it, Veronica thought, pleased with her placement so she could share it with Amy later. Then again, maybe I won’t tell Amy—it will only encourage her.

  Veronica flushed the toilet and smoothed her dress down. With her bag on her wrist, she reached for the slide lock.

  “Oh well, I’ve tried to talk with him about it, but you wouldn’t believe how stubborn he can be. Just keeps saying she left him . . .” Veronica instantly recognized the voice. She froze in the stall and jerked her hand away from the lock to prevent her body from accidentally releasing it and exposing herself.

  “ . . . his father even tried to talk to her about it at the Warrens’ annual fundraiser Wednesday night, but we got no answers on her end, either,” Mrs. Sheridan continued.

  “Maybe they just need some time,” a voice she didn’t know responded as Veronica heard two clicks. She glanced underneath the stalls, saw four heeled feet safely corralled and she made her escape. After a quick swish of soap and water—unable to skip hand washing even in a situation from which she wanted to flee—Veronica grabbed a paper towel and rushed out of the restroom to the sound of flushing.

  Keeping her head down, Veronica hurriedly returned to her seat. Ian was promptly behind her, pulling out her chair. “Thank you,” she said as she collected her napkin and placed it on her lap.

  She felt him sit back down across from her and she looked up. Eric sat in Ian’s place. Ian was still standing to her right, confused but waiting politely. Before Veronica could arrange words or formulate a thought, Eric leaned across the table toward her.

  “What the hell are you doing out with this geek? And how dare you go out with Scott Mason and never return my calls?” he hissed at her. “You are my girlfriend, I don’t accept this breakup. You’re making me look bad, Roni.”

  Ian pressed his hand to Veronica’s shoulder protectively and stepped toward the small table ready to speak, but Veronica stood up and looked down at Eric. Anger rose within her, his nickname for her stripped of all meaning.

  “It doesn’t matter what you accept. You are a cheater and this is over.” She pointed her finger in his face and her voice didn’t betray the nervousness she felt. “Stop calling me, stop lying, and stay away from me.” Veronica’s strong words and stance attracted nearby eyes, but unaware, she continued: “I am not your girlfriend, that ended when you cheated on me.” Her gaze left Eric and fell on Linda Sheridan, standing three feet away.

  “Cheated?” Mrs. Sheridan exhaled, barely forming the word. She diverted her eyes from Veronica then clutched her son’s sagging shoulder. She marched Eric away, leaving her friend, mouth agape, to follow behind.

  THE WEEKS BETWEEN THANKSGIVING and winter break whirled by as Veronica and Amy studied texts and drafted final papers. At last, exams were over and the campus was emptying for the break. Veronica and Amy ran errands before meeting up for an early dinner. It was Wednesday, December 21. They sat in the dining hall of the student center, among the dwindling students who mingled and ate.

  “Oh my God!” A cry screamed into the quiet of the dining hall as a young woman ran in wailing, not making sense. Veronica and Amy joined the exodus, as everyone streamed out of the dining hall to the nearest television. Tom Brokaw looked out seriously at the gathered students listening in absolute silence.

  “Carnage tonight in the Scotland village of Lockerbie, where a Pan Am 747 headed for New York crashed and exploded. No known survivors on the plane, they are still trying to determine the number of survivors on the ground.”

  Gasps broke the quiet, but no one looked away from the TV mounted in the corner as the NBC news anchor continued: “Pan Am Flight 103 from London’s Heathrow to New York’s Kennedy airport was at 31,000 feet and just 52 minutes into its flight when air traffic controllers suddenly lost contact. A short time later, the 747 crashed into a Scottish village and exploded in a ball of flames . . . It is believed that all 258 people on the plane were killed.”

  Amid the stunned students, someone reached up and changed the channel to ABC, acting on everyone’s urge to know more, to grasp at answers and understanding that would never fully come. A somber Peter Jennings reported, “The simple facts are these: Pan Am’s Flight 103 had been in the air for an hour. The 747 was en route from London to New York and then Detroit. It was after dark. For reasons we do not yet understand, the plane with fifty thousand gallons of fuel on board plunged into a small Scottish market town. Pan American is not aware that any of the passengers or crew have survived.”

  Images of fla
mes and Scottish firefighters, close-ups of airplane debris and more flames, filled the screen before Peter Jennings returned delivering new details.

  “We have been told from a variety of sources that among the people on board were a number of Syracuse University students who were returning from London, where Syracuse University has an overseas program.”

  Strangers hugged each other; sobs stabbed the stillness. People collapsed onto one another; a girl fainted and three peers prevented her from hitting the floor. Pained howls, horrified shrieks, and unguarded weeping replaced the air in the room as the tragedy came closer.

  “Amy Shapiro would be on the flight,” Veronica realized. She was a sorority sister who had been studying abroad during their semester as pledges. A sister they had never met; would never meet.

  “Oh my God, yes.” Amy pictured the girl with the same name, her face smiling from a box on the composite. So many lives gone. The shock was numbing.

  “Andrew. I’ve got to find Andrew before he leaves,” Amy said as tears crept down her cheeks. Veronica understood the compulsion to be with loved ones. “I wonder if anyone’s still at the Kappa house or the administration building. I have to start a story for the D.O.” Veronica watched her leave, already thinking like the journalist she aspired to be.

  Veronica slowly returned to Brewster, taking the long route through the quad and past Hendricks Chapel. The crisis drew her to that building and what it stood for; she longed for something she couldn’t identify. She sat on the chapel steps, letting her head fall into her lap. The chilled limestone made her shiver, or perhaps it was the news as it settled deeper. She heard a sniffle behind her and ignored it as an offer of privacy. The sniffs became sobs, and a male voice whispered words of comfort, their sounds approaching Veronica from behind. In her peripheral vision, she saw bobbed hair beneath a worn woolen cap; the girl’s eyes a fantastic blue, brightened from tears. Veronica noticed that her coat looked shabby, her boots out of date and scuffed, and then she winced as she caught herself making a judgment like her mother might have. Beside the girl, Andrew supported her in a hug, rubbing his hand up and down her arm.

  “Andrew?” Veronica spat, harsher than she’d intended, but more gently than she felt.

  He spun to face her, nearly slipping on the stone steps, dragging the girl in his arm as he pivoted.

  “Veronica. This is Donna, we’re in the same dorm,” he introduced soberly, as if her being from his dorm explained their togetherness. “Horrible news. You’ve heard, right?”

  She nodded and stood to leave. Stepping away, she said, “Amy’s looking for you,” then she turned toward Brewster and away from Andrew and Donna, another sick feeling stirring in her.

  VERONICA WAS PACKED UP and lying on her bed with a book she couldn’t focus on when Amy burst through the door, a dampened notebook tucked beneath her arm.

  “Found him. I had to see him before I left. What are you doing?”

  Veronica had been formulating and editing and deciding what and how to tell Amy, but before she could begin, Amy continued.

  “I talked with someone in Chancellor Eggers’s office—they couldn’t tell me much more than we heard on TV—then I was waiting outside of Flint, not for very long, when he came back up.”

  Veronica hedged. “Was he alone?”

  “No, he was with some girl named Donna. She was really shaken up, like we all are, and so Andrew walked her back to their dorm.”

  Veronica squeezed her eyes closed for one breath, then said, “I saw them, Amy. Donna and Andrew.”

  “He told me he saw you.”

  “No, I saw them. At Hendricks Chapel, they were there together.” She swallowed. “Amy, he had his arm around her.”

  “You sound so serious about it, Veronica, it’s no big deal, we’re all upset. Andrew explained it to me: she was crying hysterically, he was just trying to help a friend. You know he’s a good guy,” Amy insisted as Veronica stared at her, her lips pursed. “Stop worrying, I know you’re thinking about Eric, but Andrew’s just being nice. He’s not cheating. He wouldn’t.”

  Veronica wasn’t sure if she heard conviction or question in Amy’s voice.

  VERONICA ARRIVED HOME LATE for the Christmas break and slept in the next day. She drank her coffee, dismayed and unable to read the front-page story of the New York Times resting beside her. The headline sickened her: “Jetliner Carrying 258 to U.S. Crashes in Scottish Town: All Believed Dead; Syracuse University Had 36 People Aboard—Causes Unknown.” She pushed it aside, her breath catching in her heart, her thoughts and feelings tangled together.

  “Good morning, dear.” Susan Warren floated into the room. “It is just awful, isn’t it?” She touched one hand to the pearls peeking out at the neck of her peachy blouse and the other on the newspaper. “All of those mothers without their babies, I just can’t bear to think about it.”

  Veronica nodded as her mother grabbed her handbag.

  “That polite boy, Ian Curtis, called for you. I have a meeting for the foundation, I’m off.” She handed Veronica a slip of paper with Ian’s phone number written in her neat penmanship and kissed her daughter’s forehead before she whisked out the door.

  Grabbing the cordless phone, Veronica extended the metal antenna and dialed the number.

  “Tonight. Movies. I’m getting you out. We’re seeing Rain Man. I’ll pick you up at seven,” Ian announced. Veronica welcomed the smile that sprang to her mouth; she would feel better being with Ian.

  AFTER THE MOVIE, VERONICA and Ian sat at a corner table sharing a plate of fries. The small pub was dim and smelled of old wood and salt.

  “My favorite line was when Tom Cruise says, ‘I like having you for my big brother,’ to Dustin Hoffman. I don’t know how you didn’t cry at that part,” Veronica said.

  Before Ian could respond, a gust of cold air and a crescendo of voices drew their attention to the entrance of the restaurant. A pack of young guys clad in business suits sauntered and stumbled their way to the bar, leaning against the nicked and carved wood, sticky with age and ale. She recognized a few as friends of her older brother’s from high school—decent guys, she remembered.

  “Looks like they’re having fun. That group of girls they’re surrounding doesn’t have a chance,” Ian said.

  As they observed the drunken interactions with sober eyes, Ian narrated the scene, making Veronica chuckle: “Gray Suit is vying for Big Earrings, see that? He’s in; she rested her hand on his arm, checking out what’s under that suit. Oh, and Red-Tie Guy is going in for Ruffles, but she’s not having it, shooing him away with those long, pointy painted nails. Outta here, fella, she sure gave him the shoulder.”

  Veronica’s smile stilled. She watched as Red-Tie Guy didn’t give up; he moved in closer to the girl with the ruffled top and leaned toward her face. Ian noticed, too. “He’s not getting it. What a jerk! Leave her alone, asshole,” he half hollered across the noisy pub.

  Even from across the room, they could see that the guys were drunk and laying it on heavy, as if working to impress and lure in some girls for the night. Veronica distrusted the gushing attention oozing thick from the group.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Ian suggested.

  Veronica agreed and watched as Ian marched right into the center of the group and said something to Ruffles. Ian returned with the bill and two of the girls who’d taken him up on his offer of a ride home.

  IN THEIR DAILY CALLS, Amy filled Veronica in on the long-distance calls to Andrew and how he wanted to pay for them so he had her call his house, let it ring twice, then hang up. Veronica laughed at Amy’s excitement over their secret code. “What if he doesn’t call you back after the signal?”

  “He does. It’s like we’re in a movie, sending messages only we understand.”

  “No more discussion about Donna?” Veronica asked, still unsettled by what she’d witnessed and by her friend’s bland reaction.

  “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  After coming hom
e from seeing Rain Man, Veronica called Amy.

  “Ian? He’s the butter knife, right?” Amy asked, making Veronica regret sharing that thought with her.

  “You would love the movie,” Veronica continued, “but I’m telling you, these guys at the bar after were so drunk and total jerks.”

  “Pseudo-forks,” Amy explained. “They’re good guys turned jackass. Knives who act like forks when they get drunk.”

  “Amy, this is getting out of hand. You cannot simply label every guy as a kind of utensil,” though as always, the discussion prompted involuntarily thoughts. Tonight Veronica remembered times when some of her guy friends became idiots under the influence, but she couldn’t imagine Ian becoming one of Amy’s pseudo-forks. Then she thought of Eric. Since the fire alarm, Amy had pegged him as a fork, but she challenged his label through the lens of Amy’s new UCS addition.

  “So if that’s true, maybe Eric is only a pseudo-fork since he was drunk when he hooked up with Jenny. Maybe your system doesn’t work after all, and maybe he’s just forky at times but not a complete jerk. He did try to make it up to me for months.”

  Questions darted in her mind with an unexpected spark of hopefulness. She admitted to Amy that she was a tiny bit sad about not seeing Eric at all over the break, which sent Amy into a dissection of whether he was an authentic fork or a pseudo-fork.

  “Even if he were a pseudo-fork, it doesn’t explain away his cheating on you.”

  Whatever Amy called him, Veronica knew Amy was right. In her heart, his infidelity battled against their history, leaving her both angry and longing.

  As winter break progressed, Veronica told Amy about the books she read, the dinners out with her parents, and her movie nights with Ian to see Beaches and Working Girl. Amy told Veronica about seeing her aunt and uncle in Vermont, analyzed her conversations with Andrew, and even relayed the details of her dentist appointment: “No cavities, of course!”