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But you have come all this was for nothing. I am so sorry for that. Let me make up for that. Please let me offer you a drink." "Okay. A drink would be...nice." So we headed downstairs to the kitchen. She made vodka martini for the both of us and started talking about her hell and all that. It was a hot day and we were really gulping down those drinks like it was coca-cola. I could see that she was already swaying this way and that. In the middle of all this she stood up and asked, "Don't I look. He remembered her a couple years ago, on the last day of school before break, crying until her face was red and bloated, confessing her love for him in stuttering clichés. He had given her tissues and tried to let her down easy. Ryan had tried to make out like he was a responsible adult with responsible adult desires that didn't include his own students.But he wasn't. He told that lie every time he got up in front of his students looking professional, every time he talked to one of the other. I tried to shake her awake again as I wondered what the hell was the matter with her. Then I saw the light reflecting off something on the floor. It looked like a spill of some sort of liquid. I glanced at the kitchen counter and saw the overturned bottle of cooking oil. I realized that she must have slipped on the oil spilled on the floor and maybe hit her head on something hard, like the edge of the kitchen counter or the floor. I moved my hand around on her head feeling for any bumps and. “Can you bear it that long?” her mother asked.“Sure,” said Jane, trying to smile. But after her parent’s had left the room she sighed to herself. No beach, no television, no record player, and worst of all, still no telephone. Jane’s mother had been going to call Mr. Jameson again but all the errands had been thrown aside in the confusion and the rush to the hospital. Maybe tomorrow. Oh god, she wanted to hear Peter’s voice so badly! She wished she were home so he could come and comfort.
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