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And Anton. Soft, curly dark hair, smooth cheeks, and a smile that made a girl’s eyes glow for hours. It had taken him three minutes to talk Katie into a kiss, his big brown eyes soft and coaxing.
“Katie, Katie, it’s as if a man can’t keep his head around you. Kiss me, hon, so I know you like me back.”
Anton was from Toronto, down visiting Mark Bradshaw for the summer. Katie, having been Mark’s friend since second grade, had heard Mark praising Anton almost from the moment they had first sat down together for lunch back in the second grade. And though Mark had none of Anton’s flair with girls, he had cared for Katie as a brother, friend, and possibly something more ever since that day.
“We just met!” protested Katie.
“Katie, Mark has been telling me about you since he was eight. Every visit he’s made to my house, it’s ‘Katie this’ and ‘Katie that.’ Why, I feel as though I’ve known you forever. And Katie, oh, Katie! I’ve been in love with you forever.”
“Yes,” she had whispered, “It’s the same for me.”
And Mark’s face--he had stepped out onto the porch to call Anton in for supper--Katie would never forget Mark’s face, pale and white in the bug-ridden light from the dangling 40-watt bulb, flushing hotly as he mumbled “Dinner, Anton, whenever you’re ready,” and rapidly turned to go.
And so the summer began. The three youths scrambled from bed each morning eager to call the day their own. Some days they hiked up to the top of Barrows hill; other days they took picnic lunches down to the stream and swam in the muddy water, trying to avoid the reeds. Once they had bicycled over to Sandtown. Some nights Katie was invited to dinner with the Bradshaws; her own parents did not mind. They had been planning her wedding with Mark forever and were thrilled that she was getting better acquainted with the family.
At night, the boys would walk her home; sometimes one, sometimes the other, sometimes both. She could be assured of comradeship either way, but walking with Anton alone held the promise of another sweet kiss two doors before her house. One night they had walked round an extra block, holding hands.
July came, hot, wet, and full of flies. They watched the fireworks together within a mist of bug spray, Katie sitting in the middle with Anton’s hand tickling hers in the grass, sheltered by the darkness, pretending nothing was happening as she matched each of Mark’s exclamations with one of her own.
Anton looked at her once as Mark dashed inside to grab something.
“It isn’t every girl who has two boys fall in love with her the same summer.”
She opened her mouth to respond, not even knowing what she should say, but Mark had burst back onto the porch, knapsack in hand, and they were off.
“I mustn’t hurt Mark,” she whispered to herself that night, “I mustn’t.”
But it was always Anton in her dreams, in her thoughts, in her prayers. And then she brightened.
“Mark can be a groomsman!” Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel left out. She rolled over and dropped into a satisfied slumber.
Katie was always aware that Anton’s kisses grew longer each night, that they walked a bit farther each night, that his hand was a little more tender each night. She wondered, often, if he were thinking of marriage, too, but didn’t know how to ask.
And then in August, on what was to be the last night he would walk he home alone, she finally got up the courage to speak.
“Anton, what’s going to happen to us when the summer is over?”
“You mean, when I leave?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll go back to college, and you and Mark will finish up school, right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Will you write me, hon?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how much I can write back, Katie. It’s different--in college. There’s no time for fun, or games, or letter writing, though I’ll try to squeeze a few minutes out here and there, but don’t hate me if I can’t, Katie.”
“I never would.”
He looked down at her and smiled, the Anton smile she adored so much.
“Want to kiss on it?”
She shook her head no.
“Then, Katie, I’ll make you a promise that we’ll always kiss on.”
He took her hands in his, cradled them gently.
“No matter what, Katie, when I’m through college, I’ll come find you. I can’t live without you, Katie. I love you. Will you wait for me?”
She nodded, and tilted her head for the kiss. At first breath, she whispered, “I promise.”
“I know.” He drew her in close, and she felt him breathe a little harder. His hands slipped down, drawing her closer.
“How long will it be?”
“Wait for me till I come, Katie. Wait for me as long as there are lightning bugs in the summer. That will be my promise to you.”
“But that’ll be forever.”
“I know, and that’s as long as I’ll love you.” He breathed hard, sighed, “Katie, Katie . . . let’s go for a walk. We can go watch the stars and talk about what it’ll be like when I come.”
And there was Mark’s voice, floating softly over the moonlit night.
“I think Katie is late enough, Anton. She ought to be getting home.”
They started, gasped, drew apart. Mark’s face was a blur, and Katie felt her cheeks go crimson. They walked the rest of the way in silence. At her door, Mark wished her good night, and she whispered a reply.
Slowly Katie walked up to her room, undressed, and stood, staring out the window for a long time. It was dark around the window, and between the glimmering lamps and the lit-up windows of neighborhood houses, she watched a thousand lightning bugs flicker on and off.
They all three walked up Barrows hill the next day, had lunch, played hide-and-seek. The boys both walked her home that night, and every night until Anton left to go home. He had forgotten to leave his address, and she could not ask Mark for it. Instead, she sat at the window, watching the lightning bugs, promising herself that they would never leave.
School began. She and Mark studiously avoided any mention of the summer, and it was as if the summer had never occurred, at least outwardly. They studied together, talked at lunch, and occasionally visited each other for summer. And Mark asked her to homecoming.
“I know it won’t be romantic, that you won’t love me like that or even like me like that. But will you go with me as a friend?”
“Of course.”
Afterwards, he did not kiss her. They hugged goodnight, each carefully avoiding the other’s eyes.
At Christmas, Mark went to visit his relatives in Toronto, came back, and informed her at lunch at school, “Anton says hello.”
She wanted to ask if that were all, but Mark would not have left anything out, she knew. And she did not want to hurt him by suggesting there might have been more. She watched his eyes carefully and knew he was still in love with her.
They went to the spring dance together, still as friends, and on the walk home she saw the first lightning bug of the year and gasped quietly.
Mark stopped, spun her around.
“Katie, listen. You’re not the only girl he’s kissed or flattered. He’s forgotten anything romantic ever went on between the two of you. When he asks about you it’s only as ‘Mark’s little friend Katie.’ Listen, Katie, don’t let him hurt you, too.”
She slapped him, spun on her heels, and continued walking. Mark followed. And at the door she turned.
“Mark, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . It’s been an emotional evening.” Her voice caught.
“I know, girl.” He caught her hand, saying, “C’mon now, are you going to let me wish you goodnight?”
“Any way you wish.”
He raised his eyebrows, caught her hand in his, kissed it, and then gave her a very chaste hug.
“Goodnight, my lady.”
“Goodnight, Mark.”
It went on, past the summer, through the fall--another homecoming--and through the next spring. They were seniors, they applied to college, they left for college. And Katie waited. The lightning bugs still glowed that summer, and the next. At home a week after they had both graduated, they went out for coffee, caught up on old times, laughed a lot, and kept talking till the coffee shop closed. He walked her home through swarms of lightning bugs, and stopped on the sidewalk so they wouldn’t wake her parents.
“What are you doing now, Katie?”
“Looking for a job, hopefully in a nice big city somewhere. I was thinking Richmond.”
“Any beaus on the horizon?”
“Not yet,” she laughed, “Why?”
He looked her dead in the eye.
“Because if the position’s open, I’d like to fill it.” Before she could answer he kept on, “I know you don’t think you’re in love with me, and that’s all right. But Katie, I’ve been looking for a girl like you for years. I want a girl I can talk to like this, and I’ve never found another one. I think I’d like to marry my best friend--and you’re that. Will you at least give me a chance?”
“I made a promise once, Mark.”“I know; I heard it. And maybe I’m a cad because I’m asking you to break it. But give me a month, Katie. If I’m not it, I’ll leave you and be just a good old friend forever. But I think I could make you happy. And I think Anton--” he paused “--would forgive you if you had to break it.”
“Do you know that?”
He nodded.
Finally she looked at him.
“Yes Mark, I will.”
It was better than old times. He had grown gentler over the years, and treated her as she’d never imagined a girl could be treated. She adored his companionship, laughed as she’d never known she could laugh, and felt as if she were dreaming every night. He walked her home, still through swarms of lightning bugs, and never kissed her, except twice, lightly, on the hand. Once she asked why.
“I want to win you the way you ought to be won.”
And halfway through their month he came to her with a quieter face than usual and told her they needed to talk.
“Anton’s coming to town for a weekend, Katie. This weekend.” There was a very long pause, then, “Katie, I don’t know how to tell you this. He’s bringing his fiancee to meet my parents.”
“His fiancee?”
“Yes. He suggested we go on a double date. I said I’d have to ask you.”
“How long have you known, Mark?”
“He’s been dating Sheila for five months.”
“And before--?”
Mark looked at her.
“Katie, the reason they’re getting married is because she’s pregnant. The others were luckier.”
She nodded, then finally said, “Dinner might be interesting.”
It was. They sat outdoors on an open porch, surrounded by the flickering light of Bug-Off candles, tring to avoid Anton’s exuberantly ribald humour. Katie took an instant liking to Sheila, and remarked once, “I think we are a lot alike.” Only Mark caught the humour, and he remained poker-faced except for his twinkling eyes.
They took a walk up Barrows hill that night, for old times’ sake, as Mark said. Katie watched the other couple carefully. Sheila swatted off the bugs good-naturedly and Anton finally agreed to help her. Katie, standing silently next to Mark, just listened.
“You must be sweet tonight, Sheila; the mosquitoes are all over you--got one! Oops, that was a lightning bug. Well, one down, four million to go.”
Katie looked at Mark, murmured, “He doesn’t remember.”
“I know.”
“So I gather. You’ve always known, haven’t you?”
“Later,” Mark said.
After Sheila and Anton had tromped off to separate bedrooms, and as Mark was walking Katie back home, she repeated the question.
“You’ve always known, haven’t you?”
He nodded.
“Tell me.”
“He was a flirt long before he met you, Katie. He had the looks and the charm to have a different girl every time I went to visit. I would have warned you before he came, but it didn’t seem relevant; I thought you were mine.”
“And when he came?”
“I knew you wouldn’t listen, Katie, so I just waited. If he walked you home I’d go behind to make sure he wouldn’t hurt you. I knew I’d lose you as a friend if I said anything.”
“That was why you interrupted us that night.”
He nodded again.
Katie slipped her hand into his as they kept walking.
“Thank you, Mark.”
“Anytime, my lady.”
They were at her house. He kissed her on the hand and turned to go; she said goodnight and slipped up to her room. Outside the window, in the dark patches between streetlights, the lightning bugs still glimmered, but Katie, undressing, had never cared less.