Free Blessings by Belva Plain

a lollipop.
    After dinner Peter showed her the grounds. Beyond the tennis court lay an oversize pool shaped like an amoeba and seeming as natural as a pond. A pretty, rustic poolhouse faced it. Groups of pink wrought-iron chairs and tables under flowered umbrellas stood about on the perfect grass. Peter turned on some lights so that the pool shone turquoise out of the dusk. Jennie stood quite still, looking into the gleam, past it to the shadowy shrubs, beyond them to the distant black trees, and heard the silence.
    “I didn’t know you lived like this,” she said at last. “I don’t know what to feel, what to think.”
    “Think nothing. Does it matter how I live? Does it?”
    “I suppose not.”
    “Is it important?”
    He was standing so near that she could feel, or imagine that she felt, the warmth of his beloved body. Of course it wasn’t important. What mattered was Peter, not what he owned or didn’t own. Yet there was something …
    “You agreed with them about Vietnam.”
    “I didn’t, really. I just didn’t disagree.”
    “It’s the same thing.”
    “No. Think about it.”
    “I’m thinking.”
    “Well, it’s to keep the peace, and I hate arguments. What would have been the point in starting a long one that would only end as it began? We’d all keep our opinions. And you saw how it was in there.”
    She considered that. Yes, it was true. At home there were subjects better left alone. No quarreling with Pop, for instance, about the old-fashioned custom of separating women from men in the synagogue. Pop knew it was right because it had been ordained, and nobody was going to change his mind, so there was no point in trying.
    Yes, Peter was right. He had peaceable ways, as when he had turned the subject away from Aunt Lee when his father was so angry. It was one of the things she loved about him.
    “I wish we could sleep together,” he said. “The poolhouse would be so great. There’s a sofa.”
    “Peter! We can’t. I wouldn’t dare.”
    “I know. Oh, well, we’ll be back home soon.”
    It pleased her that he spoke of school, the place where they were together, as “home.” Then she thought of something else.
    “You didn’t tell me there was going to be a dance. I would have brought a dress.”
    “I didn’t know. I have this ridiculous cousin… . For God’s sake, who gives formal dances these days?”
    “Apparently people still do.”
    “I hate them.”
    “But what’ll I do? I’ve nothing to wear.”
    Peter looked at her doubtfully. “Nothing?”
    “Only this suit, my good dark blue silk that I always wear, and some skirts and shirts. I don’t even want to go. Do we have to? I suppose we do.” Her voice trailed away.
    “We’ll ask my mother. She might have something to lend you.”
    “I can’t do that.”
    “I’ll ask her. Come inside. Come on in now.”
    “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Mendes, “you’re sure you haven’t brought a thing?”
    Jennie shook her head. As if there were some secret compartment in her suitcase from which, if she looked hard enough, she could turn up a formal gown and slippers!
    “I hate to be such a bother,” she said.
    “No bother at all. Let me go upstairs and see what Sally June has in her closet. Of course, you’re taller than she is, but still— Oh, dear,” she repeated.
    Sally June and her friend were sprawled on the twin beds. Mrs. Mendes opened the closet where hung a long row of clothing and racks of shoes. “We’ll have to borrow one of your dresses, Sally June. Jennie hasn’t brought one.”
    “Not the blue eyelet. I’m wearing that.”
    “Of course not.”
    Mrs. Mendes regarded Jennie with a measuring eye and took a dress from the closet. “This is floor-length on Sally June. It will probably be ankle-length on you. Try it and let’s see.”
    She felt naked, with the three others watching her in silence as she got out of her suit and into the dress. It was white cotton, soft as a handkerchief, with a deep ruffle off the