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  “That’s right,” Gus said, nodding.

  “It’s bigger than it looks in the pictures,” I said, amazed.

  I got closer to the bell so I could read what it said.

  “Can you see that?” Zachary asked.

  “I can’t make out the words.” I squinted (and then of course remembered I didn’t need to squint with my 20/20 vision).

  Proclaim LIBERTY throughout all the Land unto all the Inhabitants thereof

  Lev. XXV X

  By Order of the ASSEMBLY of the Province of PENSYLVANIA for the

  State House in Philada

  Pass and Stow

  Philada

  MDCCLIII

  How apropos for me at that very moment, with all that I had on my mind. The Liberty Bell was the symbol of independence, liberty and independence from myself. It was such a shame I hadn’t seen these words until now—what a waste! I wondered what other landmarks I’d missed all these years.

  We stood in silence and gazed at the bell a bit longer.

  “I don’t know how we got to do this, but thank you for bringing me here,” I said.

  “It’s my pleasure.” He smiled.

  “Thank you, Gus, for allowing us to come in,” I said to the guard as he opened the door for us to leave.

  “Pleasure,” he said.

  As Gus locked the doors behind us, I asked Zachary again, “How did you do that?”

  “I donated a lot of money. They let you do things like that if you’ve donated a lot of money.”

  “Enough said,” I replied, understanding completely. “My boyfriend Howard always got right into the emergency room at Pennsylvania Hospital because he gave a lot for research.”

  “So Howard is from Philly?” He stopped me.

  “Oh, yes, he was, but that was a long time ago. He moved,” I said, thinking quickly. “To Chicago.”

  “How old was he when he gave all this money?” he asked, handing me the helmet.

  “Oh, uh, well, it was his family,” I lied.

  “Oh. What’s his last name? One thing about Philly people, we all know each other.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t know his family,” I replied quickly, putting on my helmet. “They moved, too.”

  “Oh,” he finally conceded. “So, you hungry at all?” Thank goodness he’d changed the subject.

  “I’m famished!” I cried out. “What are you thinking?” I asked him.

  “Well, we could pop into one of the finer restaurants in the city, but I’m thinking you might want some genuine Philadelphia flavor.”

  “A cheesesteak!” I shouted. “Oh, gosh, I haven’t had a cheesesteak in years!”

  How perfect. Of course I’d been to all the restaurants he could have taken me to.

  “You watch your weight?” he asked as he gave me a once-over.

  “No.” I shook my head. “Fear of cholesterol.”

  “Good for you,” he answered with a chuckle. “You’re never too young to start worrying about that stuff.”

  “Well, I do watch my weight, of course. But I’ve got a good metabolism. My . . . my . . . my sister . . . she got my father’s genes. She’s always on a diet, but I think she cheats more than she diets. Not Lucy and me, though. We can pretty much eat what we want.”

  “Your sister must hate that,” he replied.

  I thought about that for a second. “You know what?” I answered. “I bet she does.”

  I was already climbing on a motorcycle for the second time in my life, thinking, If the motorcycle isn’t going to kill me, neither will the cholesterol in a cheesesteak.

  “You’re a girl after my own heart,” he said. “But if you’re going to have your first cheesesteak in years, it better be the best.”

  “JR’s, on Seventeenth Street?” I asked.

  “Pat’s, in South Philly!” he shouted.

  “I’m in!” I shouted back as the motor revved and we were off again.

  A few blocks in, we hit a red light.

  “How are you doing back there?” he asked me.

  “You can go faster if you want!” I shouted.

  “I would like a Philadelphia cheesesteak sandwich, please,” I ordered through the window when we arrived at Pat’s.

  The man behind the partition gave me a quizzical look.

  “She’ll have a Whiz,” Zachary broke in. “Do you want fried onions?”

  “Oh, yes.” My mouth watered.

  “Whiz, wit,” Zachary told the man. “Two Whiz, wit, inside out.”

  “What is that you told him?” I asked as we moved down the line.

  “Cheesesteaks are ordered in a different language here,” he told me. “I ordered us steak sandwiches with Cheeze Whiz and fried onions.”

  “And that’s a Whiz, wit,” I confirmed, enunciating my words, which he chuckled at. “Oh, but I’d rather have Swiss cheese. Can you tell him that?” I turned back to the man at the partition.

  “Oh, no,” he said, taking me aside as if I’d said something off-color. “They won’t serve it with Swiss cheese. They’ll kick us out.”

  “Oh! And what was the inside-out part?”

  “The sandwich is better if they take out the bread from the middle,” he explained.

  “Oh, that’s smart,” I said. “And less calories. I’ll have to tell my sister,” I added, but then again, why get Barbara angry by bringing something like that up?

  I grabbed a whole bunch of napkins from the counter as Zachary secured two seats at one of the picnic tables outside the building. I handed him half of the napkins as I spread one out on the table like a place mat.

  “Wow, you’re really dainty,” he remarked with a chuckle.

  “I guess I am,” I admitted. “But who knows who’s been sitting at this table?”

  “Good point,” he said, putting my cheesesteak in front of me and then taking a napkin and spreading it out, daintily, in front of him.

  As I took the first bite of my cheesesteak, uh, Whiz, wit (which, incidentally, tasted magical), I tried my best not to get any of the onions on me, as they dripped from the other side of the sandwich.

  “Messy, but good,” he said, taking another bite.

  “You said it,” I said.

  “Now you can officially tell your friends back in Chicago that you ate your cheesesteak from the place to eat cheesesteaks. I guess that’s like Giordano’s for you?”

  “It’s what?”

  “Like Giordano’s, for deep-dish pizza. Don’t tell me you live in Chicago and you’ve never eaten at Giordano’s.”

  “Of course I have!” I exclaimed, hoping he wouldn’t ask me any more questions. What the heck was Giordano’s, and what was deep-dish pizza? “So tell me about your Web site,” I said, quickly changing the subject.

  “Well, you know, I’m sure a stylish girl like you has bought things from my site before.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I never buy anything off the Internet. I don’t even have a computer.”

  “You what?” He looked at me like I was living in the Dark Ages (which I was).

  “I don’t have a computer. I don’t believe in typing in my credit card so the world can get ahold of it. Knowing my luck, someone will steal all my money.”

  “You know, most sites have software that protects you from that. Not only that, buying things off the Internet is safer than buying things over the phone.”

  “Oh, come on.” I balked. “I’d rather give my credit card to a live person than type it in blindly over the Internet!” I told him, thinking it made total sense.

  “You really have no idea about my Web site?”

  “No, why?”

  Zachary shook his head. “It’s just that when most women find out that I started couture.com, they get visions of Versace dancing in their eyes. It’s like being a rock star. Girls all want a piece of me. Unfortunately, I have a hard time figuring out which they like better, me or the Web site.”

  “I find that very hard to believe,” I said, taking in all of hi
s handsomeness. “I mean, with those stunning eyes and that gorgeous smile, you mean to tell me that you actually get taken advantage of?”

  “You’d be surprised. Lucy tells me not to give them so much that they’ll just use me for it, but I can’t help it. Call me old-fashioned, but I think that when you take a girl out on a date, you should treat her nicely.”

  “I said the same thing to her earlier!” I exclaimed.

  “I’m glad you think so,” he said.

  “Trust me,” I said, “if a girl is stupid enough to just use a man like you for free clothes or a dinner, she’s not worth it.”

  “I like the way you speak,” he said, taking another bite of his sandwich.

  “Although I might use you to walk up there and order me another one of these sandwiches after I finish this one.”

  “You can use me for that.” He laughed, looking at me a little longer than he should have. He kept on staring as I took another bite.

  “What?” I asked him, covering my mouth, which was full of sandwich.

  “So you’ve really never heard of my site, and you’ve never bought anything off the Internet.”

  “No,” I told him. “I told you: I don’t trust buying anything online. But tell me what the site is all about. I’ve heard of Amazon.com; is it like that?”

  “Well, yes, but Amazon is more like, say, Woolworth’s five-and-ten-cent stores, which you’re probably too young to remember. That was a place that sold everything from goldfish to televisions.”

  “I think I’ve heard of it,” I lied, remembering countless hours I spent in my youth at the Woolworth’s on City Line Avenue.

  “Well, couture.com is more of a department store. It’s a site where you can shop for all the latest styles, from stockings to dresses to gowns and coats, but the thing is, everything is tailored to fit your style.”

  “But how?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Well, there’s a place on the site where you can store all your information, your likes and your dislikes and your size. It takes about twenty minutes to fill out. We’ve got a long, detailed list of questions. And then you get e-mails once a week, or once a month, or every day if you’re a big shopper, with pictures of outfits that have just come in that fit your profile. Whether you’re looking for jeans or a couture gown, the site chooses what you would like according to your taste, price range, and what fits your body.”

  “That’s incredible!” I exclaimed.

  “Oh, it’s really successful,” he went on. “And then, if you download a picture of your full body, we can overlay each outfit onto the picture so you can see what you’d look like in it before you order the merchandise.”

  “So if I go to the site and I see a blouse I like, I can just put it on my picture?” I asked.

  “Well, you’re the model in the picture.”

  “I am?” I was puzzled.

  “Well, on your page. You know when you look at a catalog and you see the model in the outfit?”

  “Sure, sure.”

  “Well, on the site, it’s you wearing the outfit.”

  “But how do you get everyone in the clothes? How does everyone who goes on the site get to see themselves, and not someone else?”

  “That’s the beauty of the Internet,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “That’s ingenious!” I screeched. “That’s the most brilliant thing I’ve ever heard. And you can do it right in your own home?” I was beside myself at this news.

  “Of course. I mean, this is old news. A lot of sites do it now. We were just one of the first. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it before.”

  “No wonder all these ladies clamor for you. You’ve made their dreams come true!” I tried to take it all in. “So let me get this straight. It’s kind of like the olden days, when I was younger and my grandmother used to tell me how all the saleswomen knew what you liked and they’d pick things out for you. Only in this case it’s on the Internet?”

  “Actually”—he paused and took a deep breath—“it’s really funny you should say that. I got the idea from my grandmother, who worked for years at Saks Fifth Avenue, in Bala Cynwyd.” He paused again. “Actually, it was at her funeral that I thought up the idea. And this is the part I’ve been meaning to get to.” He smiled. “See, my grandmother’s best friend’s daughter was giving a eulogy about how my grandmother was the last of the great salesladies, and how she always knew everyone and what their tastes were. I know that’s a bad thing to say, that I thought of my business model at my grandmother’s funeral.” He looked down and smiled, as if he was thinking of her. Then he looked at me. “I’ve never told anyone that. But I have to tell you now, the truth is . . .”

  And I knew exactly what he was going to say, and I suddenly felt my knees give out.

  “The truth is, and I’ve never even told Lucy this—”

  “Then don’t tell me,” I stopped him. I didn’t want to hear what he was about to say next.

  “No, I want to. Actually, I have to, because . . . Actually, it was your grandmother who was making the speech.”

  “Your grandmother was Hester Abromowitz!” I gasped as a shot ran up my spine.

  “Yes,” he admitted, and then looked at me, concerned. “Are you okay?” he asked me, clearly noticing the blood draining from my face.

  My date for the evening was my mother’s best friend’s grandson. I remembered seeing little Zachary when he was born. I think I remember buying him a blue blanket! And Hester had showed me a million pictures of him through the years.

  “I’m sorry, I know this sounds really weird,” he said. “I just really liked what your grandmother had to say.”

  “No, I just . . .” I tried to speak normally and compose myself. “I know my grandmother liked your grandmother very much.” My mouth was suddenly dry, so I sipped my Coke and took a deep breath. “She used to tell me how your grandmother knew all the ladies by name, and all the styles her clients enjoyed.”

  “I don’t know why I never said anything. I guess I was embarrassed that I came up with it at her funeral. Your grandmother’s words, though—they were so poignant. Your grandmother spoke so beautifully that day about my grandmother and the way she loved her job that I couldn’t help but be inspired by it.”

  “So you’re saying that this would never have happened if I—if my grandmother hadn’t given that speech that day?”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “My grandmother’s words were so strong that it made you come up with this idea?”

  He nodded. “Yep, pretty much. Your grandmother is a really cool lady. Lucy never stops talking about her. Maybe when you come back into town, we can all have dinner one night?”

  “I’m sure she’d love that!” I told him.

  “Do you think it’s too late to tell her how much her words moved me that day?”

  “Heck no!” I erupted with a full smile. “You’ll make her day! She’ll get a huge kick out of it!”

  He laughed. “Who says ‘She’ll get a kick out of it’ anymore? Has anyone ever told you that you’re an old soul?”

  “More times than I can even recall,” I told him, smiling and feeling so proud.

  After my second cheesesteak, the fries, and two Cokes, I skipped over to the bike.

  “I don’t even know how you can move with all that food in your belly,” he said, walking toward me.

  “I feel light as a feather!” I jumped in the air.

  “I hope they didn’t slip anything into your cheesesteak when I wasn’t looking.” He laughed.

  “Like a drug?” I asked him.

  “Yes,” he said. “Like a drug.”

  “I don’t care if they did.” I threw my hands in the air. “Zachary?” I asked him.

  He laughed again.

  “What? Did I say something funny?”

  “It’s just that no one ever calls me Zachary except my mother.” He continued laughing.

  “Zachary?” I said again.

  “What?”
he answered, putting his arms around me.

  I looked into his eyes. “Lucy tells me I should play coy, but I can’t help it. I just want to tell you now that I am having the greatest night of my life.”

  “I am, too,” he said, taking me tighter in his arms.

  We looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. I wanted to kiss him so bad I didn’t care if I’d seen pictures of him as a bare-bottomed toddler in the bathtub. The best way I can describe it was that my lips were magnets and I couldn’t keep them back any longer. And then . . . oh, mercy . . . he kissed me.

  So I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him right back.

  I thought of the people around Pat’s, who must have been staring at us and our public display of affection, but I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was keep kissing him as we pulled each other in tighter.

  I was sweating. I was positively sweating with nervousness and adrenaline. My mind was racing a mile a minute, and all I could think of was one thing: I was falling in love.

  I had known Zachary—not Hester’s grandson, but this kind gentleman Zachary—for only a short time, but I knew. This man was my soul mate. He was the single solitary reason I had turned twenty-nine that day. This had to be the reason for everything. I was sure of it, positive. I suddenly knew the question I’d been looking for: Who was my soul mate? Zachary was my answer, and I knew it was true.

  I wanted to keep on kissing him and kissing him. To experience the perfect kiss, the perfect moment—this was what kissing was meant to be, and I didn’t care who saw, and I didn’t care what else was going on around us. We continued to kiss and kiss and kiss.

  At that point, I could feel only the sensation of his lips touching mine. He was the only person I cared about in this world. He was the reason all of this had happened. This was my wish, my question, my answer. It was Zachary all along—of course it was.

  He stopped kissing me for a moment and leaned near my ear.

  “I think you are amazing,” he whispered. “I think you are beautiful and amazing.”

  I had never been kissed this way before, not by the few men I’d dated prior to marrying Howard, and certainly not by Howard. How could I have ever kissed Howard in this way? I never loved Howard. I never loved my husband in the way that I was loving this man. And then I realized something: maybe Howard didn’t love me in this way, either. Maybe Howard had his secret, too. He didn’t love me in the way that I didn’t love him. That was why he had affairs. He was trying to find something that I was just incapable of giving him. Surprisingly, I wasn’t upset about this newfound revelation of how stupid and pointless our life together had been. This was my chance to experience the one thing I never got to feel in my entire life: true love.