“Yes, Eunice?”
“Did you ever kiss her?”
Her driver looked startled. “Yes. . . Joan Eunice.”
“Meaning Eunice would never ask such a question, she would just do what her heart told her to. I wanted to, Tom—but I was scared. Not yet used to being a girl.” She jumped up, stood by his chair, took his hands, pulled.
Slowly he got to his feet. She put her arms around his shoulders, put up her face—waited.
He sighed and almost scowled, then took her in his arms and kissed her. (Twin, he can do lots better.) (He will. The poor dear is scared.) Joan let him go without forcing it beyond his willingness, whispered, “Thank you, Tom,” and quickly left his arms—went on to Fred, took his hands. Again Fred looked frightened but he got up promptly. (What about Fred, Eunice? Sexy or sisterly?) (Too late, twin!) Fred embraced her with unexpected force, met her mouth so quickly that Joan was caught with her lips open and he at once answered it, savagely. But briefly. He broke from it and both were trembling.
(Eunice! What is this? You didn’t warn me.) (So I goofed. Later, dear. Slow march now and say three Money Hums and be darn sure to be an innocent child with Father Hugo.)
Joan went slowly around the table the long way, stopped by Hugo, waited. He got up from his chair, looked down at her. She moved closer, put her hands on his chest, looked up, face solemn, lips closed, eyes open.
Gently he put his arms around her. (My God, Eunice, if he really hugged us, he ‘ud break us in two!) (He never will, twin; he’s the gentlest man alive.)
Hugo’s lips met hers in soft benediction, unhurried but quickly over. She stayed in his arms a moment. “Hugo?
When you pray for her tonight, will you add a prayer for me? I may not deserve it. But I need it.”
“I will, Eunice.” He seated her with gallant grace, then sat down again. (High, low, jack, and game, twin—what are you going to name him?) (‘Eunice,’ of course!) (Even if he’s a boy?) (If he’s a boy, he’ll be named Jacob E.—for ‘Eunice’—Smith.) (‘Johann E Smith’ is better.) (I won the bet, so shut up. I won’t wish ‘Johann’ on a boy. Now what’s this about Fred?) (You won’t believe it.) (By now I believe anything. All right, later.) “Fred, is there any wine in that bottle? Hugo, will you open the second bottle? I need it, I’m shaky.”
“Certainly, Eunice. Hand me the bottle, Fred.”
“I’m going to eat some more, too, and I hope all of you will. Tom, am I still ‘Eunice’? Or am I a hussy who doesn’t understand how a lady behaves?”
“Yes, Eunice. I mean ‘No, Eunice.’ I—Oh, hell!”
She patted his hand. “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve had yet, Tom. You would never have said ‘Oh, hell’ to Miss Smith . . . but you know that Eunice and Joan Eunice—is human.” She looked around the table. “Do you know how good it is to be touched? Have you ever watched kittens snuggling? For over a quarter of a century no one kissed me. Except for an occasional handshake I don’t think anyone ever touched me. Until nurses and doctors started handling me. Friends—dear friends—you have taken me back into the human race, with your lips. I am so very grateful to Eunice—to Eunice Branca—that she kissed you before I did, and won your friendship—your love? I think so. For it meant that you let me in—treated me as ‘people’! Uh, tell me this, I must know—even if it makes you, Tom, call me ‘Joan Eunice’ again. Did Eunice kiss Anton, too?” (Boss, I’m not going to tell you anything until we’re alone!) (Didn’t ask you, dear.)
“Won’t anyone tell me? Well, I suppose it’s an unfair question.”
Finchley said suddenly, “Teams shift around. I drive with Fred, and Shorty with Ski, and so forth. Been times when 1 rode Shotgun for Ski. Eunice, she treated us all alike. But don’t never think anything bad about it—”
“I don’t!”
“—because there wasn’t any such. She was so warm and friendly—and good—that she could kiss a man friend just for, uh—”