Free Things Invisible to See by Nancy Willard Page A

was too flustered to say thank you. She managed a quick nod of her head and he disappeared down the hall. For weeks afterward, the sight of him made her tremble. She learned his schedule and looked forward to the few minutes between classes when their paths crossed. She watched him in the cafeteria and remembered what he ate and what he left untouched. She memorized his clothes and fell in love with the way he rolled up his shirt sleeves. Saturdays she watched him play, glad that he did not notice her in the stands. Once she’d stopped at Burney’s to buy a sweatshirt for Davy, and to her alarm Ben came over and asked, “Can I help you?” He looked right at her; he could see she was trembling all over. Help you? She turned and ran out of the store. Whenever she saw him on the street, she lowered her head, afraid he could hear her heart pounding. But always his gaze passed through her. Until this moment.
    The little boy on the I.V. took the coin and studied it.
    “That’s not a medal,” he said. “Gee, what a keen skull.”
    Ben took the coin from the boy and handed it to Clare, who was so nervous she could scarcely hold it.
    “It’s an antique,” he said. “Very rare.”
    He was talking to her just the way he’d talk to anyone. Like we were already friends, she thought. The fluttering in her stomach subsided. In this dingy lounge, it seemed as if they really were friends, and she found herself eager to talk.
    “It’s very unusual,” she said. She handed it back.
    “Don’t you want to wear it?”
    She was dying to wear it. But what good would it do? When he left, he would never come back, and she would look at it fifty times a day and want him to come back. She would tremble and want him all over again, this boy who had spoken to her only twice before: You dropped your wallet. Can I help you?
    “No,” she said, “it’s yours. You keep it.”
    Disappointed, he pocketed the coin. Then he glanced around the room and saw, as if for the first time, the paper turkeys taped to the walls in the corridor.
    “Well, happy Thanksgiving,” he said, turning to go but not going.
    “Today isn’t Thanksgiving,” said the boy. “What’s your name?”
    “Ben.”
    “I’m Toby. Aren’t you going to stay?”
    Ginny put down her torn copy of Beauty Secrets of the Stars ; she hadn’t turned a page since Ben entered the room. Now she leaned across the table and asked, “Who are you here to visit?”
    “My uncle. He’s seriously hurt. He’s got a broken leg.”
    “In this place a broken leg isn’t serious,” said Ginny.
    “How’d he break it?” asked Toby.
    “Hit-and-run accident,” said Ben. “He was left in the road with a broken leg. They never caught the driver.”
    “Just like you, honey,” said Ginny, nodding to Clare.
    “A car hit you?” asked Ben.
    “A baseball,” said Clare.
    “If you ever find the guy that did it,” said Ginny, “I hope you take him to court for every penny he’s worth.”
    “I bet he’s a Nazi,” said Toby.
    “I bet he’s not,” said Clare. “We don’t have Nazis in America.”
    “He could be a Nazi spy,” said Toby.
    “To wreck somebody’s life and get away with it,” said Ginny. “It’s awful.”
    “My life isn’t wrecked,” said Clare. “I’m going to study at home. I got accepted at Michigan for next year. Everybody in our family goes to Michigan.”
    “What are you studying to be?” asked Ben.
    “An artist.”
    “You should get married,” said Ben. “A pretty girl like you.”
    Ginny shot him a look: For God’s sake, shut up. But Clare did not flinch.
    “It takes five minutes to get married,” she said. “And then what? You can’t just be married.”
    “I could,” sighed Ginny. “I—”
    A clatter in the corridor drowned her out.
    “Dinner’s here,” she said and jumped up. “I’ll get the wheelchair.”
    Without a word Toby pushed his I.V. out of the playroom and scooted down the corridor. After Ginny had lifted Clare into