He remembered dancing with her two or three times. Now she was heavier and frowsier. She’d taken The World as Will and Idea out of her battered leather bag.
They boarded the shuttle to the Amtrak line. The idling engine sent tremors through the antiquated passenger car. He sat on the left side, she on the right. Two college students. He noticed her noticing him.
“Did we meet somewhere once?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“Where was it?”
“I don’t remember. My name is Liz Marchesi. Yours?”
“Ben Shaeffer.” He had it: He had danced with her at a debutante ball in Philadelphia. The only such event he had ever attended. “At the Bellevue Stratford?” he asked.
“Maybe. That’s around the corner from where I live.”
He remembered dancing with her two or three times and sitting with her in between and finding conversation difficult. Now she was heavier and frowsier, wearing blue jeans and a gray cable knit sweater. Clunky work boots. She’d taken The World as Will and Idea out of her battered leather bag.
“So we both ended up at school here,” he said.
He pictured her sitting al…