lessening, but there was an ache in my eyes and my
stomach felt as if I had been punched a dozen times.
The good thing was that the spinning had stopped. "How did you find us?" I asked, starting to
realize all that had happened.
"I followed you. I had a suspicion you were
going to meet that creep," he said. "He has trouble
keeping his bragging tied at the dock. He was telling
some of his friends that he was going to have a good
time tonight on the beach and he would have a big
story for them tomorrow. He didn't mention your
name, but I was afraid it was you, and then, when you
told me you couldn't go to town with me because you
had made other promises, I was even more suspicious.
That lie you told at dinner clinched it. I knew you
wouldn't go to Janet Parker's house to study." "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry I made trouble for
you."
"No trouble for me," he said with a laugh.
"Trouble for Mr. Perfect."
"He threatened you."
"He'll be too embarrassed to tell anyone what
really happened. Don't worry."
I tried to sit up.
"Think you can walk?" Cary asked.
"Yes," I said. He had pulled the zipper of my
dress up, but my bra was still undone. For the moment
it didn't matter. I started to stand. He came around
behind me and lifted me at the elbows until I was on
my feet, but I wobbled and fell against him.
"Whoa," he said. "Steady as she goes. Seas are
a bit rough tonight."
"Maybe I should be wearing a life jacket," I
said and he laughed. We started away. "What about
the blanket and the radio and all?"
"Leave them to the ocean. She has a way of
cleaning up the messes left on her beaches," he said.
He held my right arm as we continued walking. "I must look like a mess," I said. "My stomach
feels as if I swallowed a beehive."
"We'll get you home and to bed, but you'll
probably feel crummy in the morning."
"Your mother will be very upset with me, and if
your father sees me--"
"He won't," Cary promised.
"It's too soon. Your mother will wonder why
I'm back from studying already."
"We'll smuggle you in," he promised.
I walked with my eyes shut, my head against
his shoulder, feeling heavy with the burden of shame I
carried. He held me as if I were made of spun glass
and any second I'd break. When I stumbled, he held
me even tighter and more firmly. It seemed to take
forever to go back over the hill, and then when we
started to descend the second one, he abruptly
stopped. "Wait."
I opened my eyes.
"What?"
He squinted at the darkness.
"My father," he whispered. "He's coming back
from the dock."
"Great. Now all I'll hear is how this proves I'm
my mother's daughter. He'll have me reading the Bible
all night."
"Shh! Just don't move for a moment." Cary was
quiet a long moment. "All right, he's just about to the
house. Let's go to the boat for a little while," he said.
"You'll clean up and straighten up and then we'll go
in. Come on. You'll be all right," he promised. His
words spread a magic shawl of comfort about my
shoulders. I relaxed and followed his direction. He turned me right and we moved down the hill toward the ocean again. Moments later, we were at the dock. He helped me onto the lobster boat. It bobbed gently in the water, but I was still too unsure of
myself to walk without Cary's support.
"Easy." He guided me into the cabin, leading
me to a cushioned bench. He turned on a small oil
lamp. "How are you doing?"
"I feel as if I'm stuck on a runaway roller
coaster. My ribs ache, my head feels like a hunk of
coal, my stomach wants to resign from my body. . .
I've never been drunk before. Lucky you were there
for me," I said. "Thanks."
He stared at me. "I hate guys like Adam
Jackson. They think everything's coming to them
because they were born with silver spoons in their
mouths. They all oughta be harpooned, or taken out to
sea and left there floating on their egos."
I laughed, but it hurt and I moaned.
Instinctively, he reached for my hand. "You
want a drink of water?"
"Yes, please," I said and he rose to get it. That
was when I looked down and saw the mess I had
made on the front of my dress. "Oh, Cary, look. Aunt
Sara will be devastated. One of Laura's dresses. It will
be stained."
He turned and gazed at me. He thought a
moment. "I got a tub on deck, and some soap. We'll
scrub it clean and then I'll put it on the kerosene
heater for a half hour and that'll dry it enough." He
poured me a glass of water and handed it to me. "In
the meantime," he took a rubber raincoat off a hook,
"you can wear this."
I drank the water.
"I'll go fill the tub and get a brush."
"I'll wash it," I said. "You don't have to do
that."
"It's all right. If I can wash smelly fish guts off
the deck, I can wash off some used vodka." "Ugh," I said, laughing.
He left, and I took off the dress, fastened my
bra and put on the raincoat.
"All set," he called out.
"I'll do it," I insisted.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
He took me to the tub and I scrubbed the dress
clean while he lit the kerosene heater in the cabin.
When I thought the dress was clean enough, I brought
it in and he draped it carefully over the heater. "Shouldn't take too long," he said. I sat on the bench. He went to a closet and took out a pillow. "Here," he said placing it on the corner of the bench.
"Lie back, close your eyes, and rest."
"Thank you. You're a regular rescue service," I
told him.
He sat at the base of the bench, his back against
it, his arms around his legs. The small flame in the oil
lamp flickered, making the shadows dance on the
walls of the cabin. I could hear the water licking at the
sides of the boat. The pungent odor of seaweed and
salt water was as refreshing as mint at the moment. I
took a deep breath and sighed.
"I'm a mess," I said.
"You're not. You're bright and pretty.
Everything is going to be all right." He said it with
such assurance, wondered if everyone else could see
my future clearer than I could. "Don't feel bad about
what happened. Guys like that fool girls every day,"
he added bitterly.
I thought about Laura and Robert Royce and
imagined that was what Cary meant.
"I read a letter Robert Royce wrote to Laura," I
confessed.
"That garbage?" Even in the dim light, I could
see his frown.
"It didn't seem like garbage, Cary. I read only
one, but I thought he was sincere."
"He knew how to use sincerity to get what he
wanted," Cary said sharply. "He was a conniving,
; sneaky--"
"How can you be so sure?"
"I can," he said firmly.
"I'm not even confident about people I've
known all my life, people I've seen on a daily basis.
You can't possibly know what things Laura and
Robert said to each other, what they told and
promised each other, and from what I've learned about
her, she must have been a very bright person, Cary.
Maybe you were just--"
"Just what?"
"Overly worried. It's only natural, I suppose.
Tell me about the accident."
"There's nothing to tell. They went sailing, a
storm came, and they got caught in it."
"They had no warning?"
"They were out there too long. He was
probably. . ."
"Probably what?" He didn't answer. "Cary?" "Probably trying to do to her what Adam
Jackson tried to do to you tonight. She resisted and he kept her out there and they got caught in the stoi in. He's responsible for what happened. He's lucky he died too, otherwise, I would have killed him with my bare hands. In fact I wish he hadn't died. I wish I
could have been the one to kill him."
I was quiet for a moment. His shoulders,
hunched up with rage, relaxed a bit.
"Don't you think that if Robert Royce were that
sort of a boy, Laura wouldn't have continued seeing
him, Cary?" I asked softly. "I certainly don't want to
be alone with Adam Jackson again."
He didn't reply for a while. Then he sighed,
lowered his head and shook it. "She was confused, is
all. She was in a rush to have a boyfriend."
"Why?"
"Because of those. . . busybodies in school
always teasing her about not having one, saying nasty
things to her about . . ."
"About what?" I held my breath.
"About us. They spread dirty stories about us
and she thought it was because she didn't have a
boyfriend. So you see, she didn't really like Robert
that much. She was just trying to please everyone and
get them to stop. She thought it was bothering me and
she blamed herself."
"That's terrible," I said. He nodded. "Why did
they make up those stories about you two?" "Why? Because they're dirty, mean, selfish.
They couldn't understand why Laura and I were so
close, why we did so much together and for each
other. They were jealous so they made up stories.
They're as responsible for her death as Robert was,"
he concluded.
"I'm sorry, Cary." I touched his shoulder. He nodded. "Don't bother reading any more of
those phony letters. They're full of lies. He wrote and
said whatever he thought would get him what he
wanted," Cary assured me.
"Why doesn't your mother throw them out,
then?"
"She wouldn't touch anything in that room. For
a long time afterward, she refused to believe Laura
wasn't coming back. They've never found her body, so
she refused to accept her death. And then, my father
had the gravestone put in and forced her to go there
with him. Finally, she accepted that much, but she still
clings to the room, to her things, her clothes. I was
surprised she wanted to take you in and let you stay in
Laura's room, but it's almost as if she thinks . . ." "What?"
"Laura's come back through you. That's another
reason why my father hasn't been the most hospitable
person. It's not that he dislikes you for any reason." "There's a reason," I said prophetically.
"Something happened that has made him so bitter
about my mother, and I want to know what it was. Do
you know anything else?" I asked.
"No," he said quickly. Too quickly, I thought.
"Then, I'll just have to ask our grandparents to tell me
everything."
He turned, a look of disbelief on his face. "You wouldn't just come out and ask them?" "Why not?"
"Grandma Olivia can be. . . tough."
"So can I," I said firmly. "When I have to be."
He laughed.
"Maybe you shouldn't, Melody," he said after a
moment, his smile gone. "Maybe some things are
better left below deck."
"Secrets fester like infections. After a while
they make you deathly sick, Cary. That's the way I
feel. It's the way you felt when people were making
up stories about you and Laura," I said searching for a
way to make him understand how important it was to
me.
"I tell you what," he said, reaching for my hand.
"I'll make you a promise. I promise to try to find out
as much as I can about your parents, too."
"Will you? Oh thank you, Cary."
He held on to my hand. "It's okay," he said.
"You're probably right. You probably should know
everything there is to know about the Logan family." I smiled at him. "When I first came here, I
thought you hated me."
"I did," he confessed. "I knew why my mother
wanted you here and I felt bad about it, but. . ." "But?"
"You're very nice," he said. "And the only
cousin I have, so I have to put up with you."
"Thanks a lot."
"Let's check the dress," he said and got up. "It's
not completely dry, but it's dry enough. You'll get by
with it."
"Thanks," I said rising. He handed me the dress
and I started to take off the raincoat.
"I'll wait outside," he said.
I changed, hung up the raincoat, and joined him
on the deck.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Tired and wobbly, but a hundred percent better
than I did, thanks to you."
"Let's go home," he said taking my hand. He
didn't let go until we were at the house.
"How do I look?" I asked him, brushing back
my hair.
"Fine," he said gazing at me in the glow of the
porch light.
Uncle Jacob was in the hallway when we
entered. He was heading for the living room with a
mug of tea in his hand. He paused and looked at us,
his eyes growing small and dark.
"Where were you two?" he asked.
"I met Melody coming back from studying with
her friend," Cary said quickly.
Uncle Jacob's gaze shifted from Cary to me and
then back to Cary before he continued toward the
living room.
"Get home as soon as you can tomorrow," he
said. "Lots to do."
"Okay," Cary said.
Aunt Sara appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Oh, hi. Is everything all right?"
"Yes, Aunt Sara," I said. "I'm tired and going to
sleep."
"Good night, dear," she said.
Cary followed me up the stairs.
"I'm sorry you had to tell your father a lie,
Cary," I told him at my door.
"It was only half a lie," he said. "You were on
the way home." He smiled.
"Good night and thanks again," I said. I leaned
over and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed. I
flashed the best smile I could and retreated to my
room. He was still standing in the hallway when I
closed the door. I heard him pull down his attic steps
and go upstairs.
&nb
sp; I changed and dressed for bed. I hated the sight
of myself in the mirror and wondered if those
shadows under my eyes would be gone by morning.
Nothing felt as good as the mattress and covers. My
eyelids were like two steel doors slamming shut. The
last thing I remembered was wishing Cary hadn't lied
for me. It all starts with little half lies and then it
grows until, until.. . you become like Mommy and
lose track of the difference.
It won't happen to me, I vowed.
It won't.
The chant worked like a lullaby. The next thing
I knew, I was fluttering my eyelids at the flood of
sunlight penetrating the window curtains and nudging me to start another day.
14
A Helpless Creature
.
Unfortunately, Cary wasn't right about Adam
Jackson. It was true that his ego had been bruised, but his embarrassment over my rejecting him turned into something uglier. By the time Cary and I had arrived at school, Adam's lies had spread like a brush fire in a drought. The moment I saw the expressions on the faces of girls like Lorraine, Janet, and Betty, I knew something mean and vicious had been poured into their ears and would soon be poured into mine.
As soon as we entered the building, Cary sensed the negative electricity in the air. He hovered about me like a nervous grizzly bear. Usually, when we arrived at school, he would scamper away to join his few friends, but today Cary lingered at my side while I organized my things at my locker. Nearby, the girls watched us, giggling. Other boys walking by held smirks on their faces and twisted their lips as they whispered. I marveled at how completely Cary could ignore everyone when he wanted to. For him, they didn't exist at the moment. He heard no evil and saw no evil. If he looked in their direction, he gazed right through them.
"Good morning, Cary," Betty said as she passed us with Lorraine and Janet.
"Good morning, Cary," Lorraine echoed.
"Good morning, Cary," Janet mimicked.
Something slippery and ugly obviously was hidden beneath their wide smiles. Cary didn't respond. He escorted me to my homeroom and was there at the sound of the bell to walk with me to my next class.
"You don't have to be worried about me," I told Cary after I found him waiting in the hallway outside my first period classroom.
"Oh, I'm. . . not," he fumbled. "I was just nearby and thought I might as well walk along with you as with anyone."
"Thanks a lot," I said, smiling at his clumsy effort to explain his presence.
"I mean, I like walking with you, it's just that-- "
"You're usually too busy?"
"Yes," he said, grateful for my suggestion.
Although he wasn't there after my next period ended, he wasn't far behind in the corridor. It was nice having him look after me. For the moment at least, I felt as if I had a brother.
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