It wasn’t that long, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of kiss you see in movies these days, but it was wonderful in its own way, and all I can remember about the moment is that when our lips first touched, I knew the memory would last forever.
Chapter 11
“You’re the first boy I’ve ever kissed,” she said to me.
It was a few days before the new year, and Jamie and I were standing at the Iron Steamer Pier in Pine Knoll Shores. To get there, we’d had to cross the bridge that spans the Intracoastal Waterway and drive a little way down the island. Nowadays the place has some of the most expensive beachfront property in the entire state, but back then it was mainly sand dunes nestled against the Maritime National Forest.
“I figured I might have been,” I said.
“Why?” she asked innocently. “Did I do it wrong?” She didn’t look like she’d be too upset if I’d said yes, but it wouldn’t have been the truth.
“You’re a great kisser,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze.
She nodded and turned toward the ocean, her eyes getting that far-off look again. She’d been doing that a lot lately. I let it go on for a while before the silence sort of got to me.
“Are you okay, Jamie?” I finally asked.
Instead of answering, she changed the subject.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asked me.
I ran my hand through my hair and gave her one of those looks. “You mean before now?”
I said it like James Dean would have, the way Eric had told me to say it if a girl ever asked me that question. Eric was pretty slick with girls.
“I’m serious, Landon,” she said, tossing me a sidelong glance.
I guess Jamie had seen those movies, too. With Jamie, I’d come to realize, I always seemed to be going from high to low and back to high again in less time than it takes to swat a mosquito. I wasn’t quite sure if I liked that part of our relationship yet, though to be honest, it kept me on my toes. I was still feeling off balance as I thought about her question.
“Actually, I have,” I said finally.
Her eyes were still fixed on the ocean. I think she thought I was talking about Angela, but looking back, I’d realized that what I’d felt for Angela was totally different from what I was feeling right now.
“How did you know it was love?” she asked me.
I watched the breeze gently moving her hair, and I knew that it was no time to pretend I was something that I actually wasn’t.
“Well,” I said seriously, “you know it’s love when all you want to do is spend time with the other person, and you sort of know that the other person feels the same way.”
Jamie thought about my answer before smiling faintly.
“I see,” she said softly. I waited for her to add something else, but she didn’t, and I came to another sudden realization.
Jamie may not have been all that experienced with boys, but to tell you the truth, she was playing me like a harp.
During the next two days, for instance, she wore her hair in a bun again.
On New Year’s Eve I took Jamie out to dinner. It was the very first real date she’d ever been on, and we went to a small waterfront restaurant in Morehead City, a place called Flauvin’s. Flauvin’s was the kind of restaurant with tablecloths and candles and five different pieces of silverware per setting. The waiters wore black and white, like butlers, and when you looked out the giant windows that completely lined the wall, you could watch moonlight reflecting off the slowly moving water.
There was a pianist and a singer, too, not every night or even every weekend, but on holidays when they thought the place would be full. I had to make reservations, and the first time I called they said they were filled, but I had my mom call them, and the next thing you knew, something had opened up. I guess the owner needed a favor from my father or something, or maybe he just didn’t want to make him angry, knowing that my grandfather was still alive and all.
It was actually my mom’s idea to take Jamie out someplace special. A couple of days before, on one of those days Jamie was wearing her hair in a bun, I talked to my mom about the things I was going through.
“She’s all I think about, Mom,” I confessed. “I mean, I know she likes me, but I don’t know if she feels the same way that I do.”
“Does she mean that much to you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“Well, what have you tried so far?”
“What do you mean?”
My mom smiled. “I mean that young girls, even Jamie, like to be made to feel special.”
I thought about that for a moment, a little confused. Wasn’t that what I was trying to do?
“Well, I’ve been going to her house every day to visit,” I said.
My mom put her hand on my knee. Even though she wasn’t a great homemaker and sometimes stuck it to me, like I said earlier, she really was a sweet lady.
“Going to her house is a nice thing to do, but it’s not the most romantic thing there is. You should do something that will really let her know how you feel about her.”
My mom suggested buying some perfume, and though I knew that Jamie would probably be happy to receive it, it didn’t sound right to me. For one thing, since Hegbert didn’t allow her to wear makeup—with the single exception being the Christmas play—I was sure she couldn’t wear perfume. I told my mom as much, and that was when she’d suggested taking her out to dinner.
“I don’t have any money left,” I said to her dejectedly. Though my family was wealthy and gave me an allowance, they never gave me more if I ran through it too quickly. “It builds responsibility,” my father said, explaining it once.
“What happened to your money in the bank?”
I sighed, and my mom sat in silence while I explained what I had done. When I finished, a look of quiet satisfaction crossed her face, as if she, too, knew I was finally growing up.
“Let me worry about that,” she said softly. “You just find out if she’d like to go and if Reverend Sullivan will allow it. If she can, we’ll find a way to make it happen. I promise.”
The following day I went to the church. I knew that Hegbert would be in his office. I hadn’t asked Jamie yet because I figured she would need his permission, and for some reason I wanted to be the one who asked. I guess it had to do with the fact that Hegbert hadn’t exactly been welcoming me with open arms when I visited. Whenever he’d see me coming up the walkway—like Jamie, he had a sixth sense about it—he’d peek out the curtains, then quickly pull his head back behind them, thinking that I hadn’t seen him. When I knocked, it would take a long time for him to answer the door, as if he had to come from the kitchen. He’d look at me for a long moment, then sigh deeply and shake his head before finally saying hello.