"Did you hurt yourself, Fran?"
"Only my pride," she said, letting him help her up. "And I bit my tongue. See?" She ran it out for him, expecting to get a smile as a reward, but he frowned.
"Jesus, Fran, you're really bleeding." He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and looked at it doubtfully. Then he put it back. The image of the two of them walking hand in hand back to the parking lot came to her, young lovers under a summer sun, her with his handkerchief stuffed in her mouth. She raises her hand to the smiling, benevolent attendant and says: Hung-huh-Guth.
She began to giggle again, even though her tongue did hurt and there was a bloody taste in her mouth that was a little nauseating.
"Look the other way," she said primly. "I'm going to be unladylike."
Smiling a little, he theatrically covered his eyes. Propped on one arm, she stuck her head off the side of the pier and spat - bright red. Uck. Again. And again. At last her mouth seemed to clear and she looked around to see him peeking through his fingers.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm such an ass**le."
"No," Jesse said, obviously meaning yes.
"Could we go get ice cream?" she asked. "You drive. I'll buy."
"That's a deal." He got to his feet and helped her up. She spat over the side again. Bright red.
Apprehensively, Fran asked him: "I didn't bite any of it off, did I?"
"I don't know," Jess answered pleasantly. "Did you swallow a lump?"
She put a revolted hand to her mouth. "That's not funny."
"No. I'm sorry. You just bit it, Frannie."
"Are there any arteries in a person's tongue?"
They were walking back along the pier now, hand in hand. She paused every now and then to spit over the side. Bright red. She wasn't going to swallow any of that stuff, uh-uh, no way.
"Nope."
"Good." She squeezed his hand and smiled at him reassuringly. "I'm pregnant."
"Really? That's good. Do you know who I saw in Port - "
He stopped and looked at her, his face suddenly inflexible and very, very careful. It broke her heart a little to see the wariness there.
"What did you say?"
"I'm pregnant." She smiled at him brightly and then spat over the side of the pier. Bright red.
"Big joke, Frannie," he said uncertainly.
"No joke."
He kept looking at her. After a while they started walking again. As they crossed the parking lot, Gus came out and waved to them. Frannie waved back. So did Jess.
They stopped at the Dairy Queen on US 1. Jess got a Coke and sat sipping it thoughtfully behind the Volvo's wheel. Fran made him get her a Banana Boat Supreme and she sat against her door, two feet of seat between them, spooning up nuts and pineapple sauce and ersatz Dairy Queen ice cream.
"You know," she said, "D.Q. ice cream is mostly bubbles. Did you know that? Lots of people don't."
Jess looked at her and said nothing.
"Truth," she said. "Those ice cream machines are really nothing but giant bubble machines. That's how Dairy Queen can sell their ice cream so cheap. We had an offprint about it in Business Theory. There are many ways to defur a feline."
Jess looked at her and said nothing.
"Now if you want real ice cream, you have to go to some place like a Deering Ice Cream Shop, and that's - "
She burst into tears.
He slid across the seat to her and put his arms around her neck. "Frannie, don't do that. Please."
"My Banana Boat is dripping on me," she said, still weeping.
His handkerchief came out again and he mopped her off. By then her tears had trailed off to sniffles.
"Banana Boat Supreme with Blood Sauce," she said, looking at him with red eyes. "I guess I can't eat any more. I'm sorry, Jess. Would you throw it away?"
"Sure," he said stiffly.
He took it from her, got out, and tossed it in the waste can. He was walking funny, Fran thought, as if he had been hit hard down low where it hurts boys. In a way she supposed that was just where he had been hit. But if you wanted to look at it another way, well, that was just about the way she had walked after he had taken her virginity on the beach. She had felt like she had a bad case of diaper rash. Only diaper rash didn't make you preggers.
He came back and got in.
"Are you really, Fran?" he asked abruptly.
"I am really."
"How did - it happen? I thought you were on the pill."
"Well, what I figure is one, somebody in the quality control department of the jolly old Ovril factory was asleep at the switch when my batch of pills went by on the conveyor belt, or two, they are feeding you boys something in the UNH messhall that builds up sperm, or three, I forgot to take a pill and have since forgotten that I forgot."
She offered him a hard, thin, sunny smile that he recoiled from just a bit.
"What are you mad about, Fran? I just asked."
"Well, to answer your question in a different way, on a warm night in April, it must have been the twelfth, thirteenth, or fourteenth, you put your penis into my vagina and had an orgasm, thus ejaculating sperm by the millions - "