Days at St. Anne's crept by so slowly, Sister Bernadette often wondered if any time were passing at all. Her only priority was rest, so she had plenty of time to dream of other places she would rather be. The serene hour of Compline would have been preferable to the sleepless nights in the sanatorium bed. She would have exchanged a dozen awkward conversations with Nurse Peters for one luncheon with the younger midwives. But she thought most of sunlight streaming through a kitchen window, the smell of tobacco and antiseptic, and his lips, warm and feather-light on her palm.
Her hand was damp and cold – that was his first thought. And small. And though he had offered help in the guise of medical professionalism, now, he realized how long he had been waiting just to hold her hand. It was only after he'd kissed her that he remembered she was not his to love. He would never hold her hand again; the chasm between them was too wide. He apologized, and let her go.
Timothy Turner would never forget his first kiss. Neither would his classmates, since it happened during a school concert.
He'd been assigned a duet with Susan Donoghue, who never came to practices. Tim was prepared for a solo when she appeared, fanned out her red-gold hair and sat next to him on the piano bench.
"I'm ready. Catch up if you can."
She played allegro instead of adagio, but by the end, they were playing in near harmony.
"Not bad," she said, kissing him, quick but soft.
Tim barely heard her next words: "Even if you were two beats behind."
Jane traced her finger around the edge of the goldfish bowl and frowned. Poor fish with no name. She had no name to give it. She'd fallen right into Trixie's teasing about first kisses, when she could have easily lied, and given the goldfish any name, like Tom or George. No one would have been the wiser. Instead, she'd made herself stand out again, when all she wanted was to hide and be normal.
A knock on the door and Sister Bernadette looked in. "Jane? We have a guest for tea, a Reverend Appleby-Thornton. Would you like to join us?"
"Patrick? What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Just checking the door is unlocked for Angela."
"She has a key, dear." Shelagh suppressed a sigh. Patrick hadn't stopped pacing or checking his watch since Angela and her date had left for the pictures.
"You're certain? They've been out on the steps awhile." His hand twitched toward the curtain.
"Patrick Turner, step away from that window." Shelagh took her husband's arm and steered him back to the sitting room.
"Shelagh, I'm just-"
"You're just her father, dearest. And every girl should be able to have her first kiss without her father spying."
