Free Heart of Stone by James W. Ziskin Page B

turned to look at me.
    â€œThat’s rude,” she said.
    â€œSorry about that,” I offered. “I wanted to ask you a question, and you seemed distracted.”
    â€œYes, well, not a good day,” she said. “I’d like to be left alone, if you don’t mind.”
    â€œOf course. I just thought you looked like you wanted to tell someone your troubles. I’ll push off and leave you to yourself.” I didn’t push off.
    She looked up at me from her seat, squinting into the bright sunlight of the day. Her hair was sun-bleached, her nose sunburned. And her eyes were red.
    â€œYou’re not with us. I can tell,” she said. “I’ve never seen you before.”
    â€œI saw you and thought you might like a friendly ear.”
    â€œReally? You’d actually listen to me?” she asked, her eyes darting from side to side, gauging the scrutiny of her fellow crusaders. I nodded. “I can’t talk here,” she said. “Will you meet me at the ice cream parlor in twenty minutes?”

    I ditched Isaac, promising to see him later that evening at Arcadia. He didn’t understand why I needed to talk to that girl, but, in the end, he shrugged and wished me luck.
    The girl was sitting alone at the last table inside Harvey’s Double-Dip ice cream parlor, staring miserably at the floor. I slid into the chair opposite her and noticed her left hand, resting languidly on the white-and-gold Textolite tabletop. She was wearing a friendship ring on her ring finger.
    â€œMy name’s Ellie,” I said. “What’s yours?”
    â€œEmily,” she mumbled. “Emily Grierson from Youngstown, Ohio.”
    â€œAny relation to Tommy Grierson?”
    â€œMy father,” she said, as if a little embarrassed.
    A round lady of a certain age, wearing a colorful apron, appeared and asked what we’d have. Emily said nothing for her, and the waitress’s face pinched. I ordered a scoop of butter pecan for me and a Coke for Emily.
    â€œOh, no,” she said. “I’m not allowed to drink cola.”
    She settled on lemonade instead.
    â€œI’m not allowed to speak to strangers either,” she said. “But I just can’t keep this to myself any longer.”
    She snatched a paper napkin from the tabletop dispenser and wiped her eyes. Then she scanned the room, presumably looking for anyone she might know. I waited. The worst way to get someone to talk is to talk yourself.
    â€œMy father won’t let me breathe,” she whispered across the table. “He won’t let me see my friends, boys, nothing.”
    â€œThat’s tough,” I said. Not much more I could contribute at that point.
    â€œAnd now Jerry doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
    I froze. Jerry. It couldn’t be.
    â€œI’m sure it’s because of my father,” she continued. “It’s awful. He keeps me on a leash. I have to sneak out to meet Jerry. It’s just not fair.”
    â€œJerry doesn’t want to see you anymore?” I asked, fearing her answer. “Are you sure?”
    She shrugged and looked down. “We always meet just before sunrise. He said it was kind of like Romeo and Juliet, only the opposite. You know.”
    â€œYou meet. You don’t part at dawn.”
    â€œRight. So he didn’t come today as he promised. I waited and waited, but he never showed up.”
    â€œOh, God,” I said. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”
    â€œOf course not,” she scoffed. “And please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. Are you a Christian?”
    The waitress reappeared and set down Emily’s lemonade and my ice cream. My appetite was gone.
    â€œWhen did you last see him?” I asked.
    â€œEarly yesterday morning. We spent an hour together. There’s a place halfway between our camps where we meet. It’s in the woods above the lake where no one can see