Free Linger by M. E. Kerr Page B

WILL MAKE IT SO!
    Then I saw the reason, under the sign, in a frame on the well.
    It was an old picture of Bobby, in his green and gold Linger waiter’s uniform.
    It said, Linger proudly salutes its own alumnus Robert “Bobby” Peel, serving our country in Desert Storm.
    “I think we owe Bobby this,” said Dunlinger. He was holding a Polaroid.
    He said, “Get over here and let me take your picture next to it. You can send it to Bobby to show him we’re behind him here at Linger.”
    I stood there while he pointed the camera at me, and Mr. Raleigh sang from the next room:
    So linger awhile, let’s see that smile,
    Secrets are mysteries still.
    You’ll have your way, you will.

24
    “I SAW YOUR BROTHER’S picture in The Berryville Record ,” Sloan said. “By the wishing well at Linger?”
    “Yeah.” Mr. D. had never had to hire a public-relations man; he was better than any professional. “That’s Bobby…. Didn’t you ever see him before?”
    “I think he waited on us a few times. My father loves going to Linger when he can afford to. It’s a big deal to him, but not to me.”
    “Why don’t you like it?”
    “I don’t eat that kind of food.”
    “That’s right,” I said.
    Then I finally lunged at her.
    We were in the back of Dave Leonard’s Pontiac while Dave took a walk through the snow with Laura Greer. For his birthday she’d given him a bottle of Old Spice.
    “Go easy,” Sloan said.
    There wasn’t much leg room, so I was on my side, leaning into her, with my coat and gloves still on, even though Dave had left the motor running.
    “Don’t do that with your tongue,” she said.
    “Don’t do what?”
    “Don’t flick your tongue like a snake at my lips.”
    “Forget it!” I said. I sat back and took off my gloves. I said, “Like a snake! Give me a break!”
    “That’s not the way to kiss,” she said.
    “You don’t like someone to use his tongue?”
    “I’m not talking about someone. I’m talking about you, Gary. You kissed me that way the last time, too!”
    “Okay, okay, I won’t use my tongue.”
    “You can use your tongue. Don’t flick it.”
    “I didn’t know I was flicking it.”
    “Let me show you something,” she said. She leaned over and kissed me. She kissed me for a long time, long enough for me to imagine she was Lynn Dunlinger. I kept my eyes closed. I could hear Phil Collins singing “Another Day in Paradise.” I thought, I’ll say.
    She finally said, “See?”
    “Yes. I see,” I said. I didn’t even open my eyes. She was still right next to me. We kept kissing. I thought Ling was a good name. I wished I’d come up with that name for Lynn before he had.
    Sloan finally sat back when we heard Dave and Laura coming toward the car.
    She said, “What do you think about when you kiss me?”
    “About you. What do you think about?”
    “I won’t tell you. I’d lie.”
    “Maybe I’m lying. Maybe I don’t think about you.”
    “You shouldn’t lie.” She laughed.
    I laughed too. There was some moonlight and she looked good. Her black hair fell to her coat collar, and she had on a white silk scarf and these gold loop earrings. Her eyes looked like she was enjoying being with me.
    “You never said what you thought of the movie,” she said.
    We’d gone to see Awakenings , about some mental patients who were like zombies until they took a drug that brought them back to life for a while.
    “I liked it,” I said.
    “That’s the kind of man I’d like to marry,” she said. “The doctor who did all that important research.”
    “I’d like to marry a woman like that,” I said. I got that from Lynn, who was always saying women could do what men could, always making her father say chair people and service people.
    “Wow, Gary! You’re right!” Sloan said. “I should have said I’d like to be that kind of doctor, not that I’d like to marry that kind of doctor.” She gave me this smile. “I didn’t expect to hear that from you.”
    “I’m