Later, at the dorm door, she says sincerely, “I’ve really enjoyed the evening. You know so much about so many interesting things.”
“I like the way you laugh at my jokes,” he says. Would she like to try the movie again the next night?
On Saturday, another pesky contact lens falls out onto the carpeted aisle, even before they are seated. Again unruffled, Jack guides her into a row, pops out the other lens, and reaches for his glasses. They laugh throughout the comedy until the house lights come on. When the crowd thins, Saffee insists they again search on hands and knees. This time the lens they find is shattered. Like the night before, Saffee notices that Jack is matter-of-fact, does not get mad or seem embarrassed, does not blame his eye doctor or optician. This is not the way she is used to handling the unexpected.
In the middle of the next week, they go to a Minnesota/Michigan hockey game. She’s never watched a hockey game, or any kind of athletic contest, long enough to catch on to how it’s played. Pleased to be with him, she feigns interest as he explains game strategy; he’s played hockey most of his life.
“On your high school team?” she asks.
“No,” he says, seeming flattered to be asked, “just pickup games.”
“I love to skate,” she tells him, happy there is something to mention that she does fairly well.
He suggests they return to the rink Saturday afternoon during open skating.
On Saturday, in spite of her still-too-large size-nine figure skates, she takes secret satisfaction that she’s more graceful on ice than Jack. Grace obviously isn’t necessary to chase a hockey puck. He compliments her skill.
Later, with two plastic spoons, they share an entire pint of chocolate ice cream in the union lounge, laughing, talking with their heads together. His good humor makes her laugh from a deep place unfamiliar with laughter. It seems even his slightest phrase brings her an overflow of spirit. In return, yet unaware, she gives him a wisp of her heart.
He asks her if she believes in God.
“I do,” she says.
He suggests they go to church together on Sunday.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THE VALENTINE
Saffee’s cheeks flame. She leans against the drugstore card display and reads the simple, romantic words again . . .
When you entered my life
My world became more beautiful.
You gave me your friendship
And now I know what it is like to be truly happy.
Inside . . .
I Think You’re Wonderful!
Happy Valentine’s Day
This is how she feels about Jack. This is the card she wants to give him. But how can she? It seems unbelievable that Kathy might be right, that they are “made for each other.” And these words that coax tears, aren’t they too forward? Jack hasn’t suggested he has a romantic interest in her. All she knows is that she’s never felt more comfortable, or happier, around any other male. Not that she’s been acquainted with that many. Steady, purposeful, so . . . so . . . gentlemanly Jack. All right, he doesn’t dance at all, but his sense of humor, sometimes witty, sometimes dry, makes her laugh. Laugh! What a wonderful thing, in which she has had way too little practice. He has painted her world with beauty.
With her finger she traces the card’s two red intertwining hearts. Is it proper to give a Valentine to someone she’s only known for two weeks? Two weeks, yes, but five dates—if going to church counts. But what if he never asks her out again? And if he does, maybe he won’t give her a card at all. But if he does, shouldn’t she be prepared? With a sigh, she reads the dreamy sentiment again, replaces it on the rack, and searches for something . . . safer.
On the phone, Jack learns that Saffee has never had Chinese food. He says chow mein from a can doesn’t count. He suggests that their next date (“How about Valentine’s Day?”) should be downtown at the Nankin restaurant.
They indulge in generous quantities of crab Rangoon, sweet-and-sour pork, and steamed rice (for a while they fumble with chopsticks), and drink green tea. The unfamiliar exotic flavors, décor, and tonal music spur an adventurous side Saffee didn’t know she had.
Jack tells her about Kenny, an ingenious friend from high school days who has worked for months constructing a hot-air balloon. After sewing silk parachutes together and rigging up a propane burner, he’s spent several weeks perfecting flights, tethered in a meadow behind Jack’s parents’ home.
“So far he’s been carried along beneath the balloon and the burner in a lawn chair,” Jack tells Saffee. “Now he’s working on a basket to hold the burner and he says there will be room for two passengers.”