I was stunned for a moment. Jackie had said we were going to split up bedrooms. Now that Daddy had mentioned “easy,” I thought Jackie was making quite an assumption about me. I reviewed what she had told me. I should be grateful Chet Palmer wanted to make love to me, grateful and clearly willing. Until this moment, I didn’t see anything wrong with being curious about myself. How far would I go at this party if I went into the bedroom with Chet? Wasn’t it normal, natural, for a girl to wonder?
I really hadn’t thought deeply about why Chet Palmer suddenly seemed so interested in me. I was just surprised and blamed it on what she had called me, “Miss Oblivious.” Was my father right? Was I really a simple, naive girl about to be exploited?
“It’s all right. It’s not very important to me,” I said. “If you think it’s wrong for me to socialize right now, I . . .”
“I’m not saying that,” he said sharply. “That’s exactly what she would expect me to say.”
I was silent. Would my mother really want him to say that? We had gone to dinner in her favorite restaurant, almost as if we had intended to throw what she had done back into her face. It was important to my father to prove to everyone that he was not devastated. Was it supposed to be that important to me as well? Otherwise, what would become of me? For the rest of my high school life, I would be an object of pity. There’s that girl whose mother left her without so much as a good-bye. Imagine. Now you know why she’s such a slut.
“Actually,” Daddy said, “now that I really think about it, if you don’t socialize, they’ll believe you’re suffering or I’m suffering and you have to babysit me. I won’t give her that satisfaction. Ever.”
He sounded brave, defiant, but no matter how much we had enjoyed our dinner, we were suffering. I wouldn’t dare say that while he was feeling so confident, but unless he went around the house wearing blinders, he would realize it.
“Okay. I’ll do what you say, Daddy.”
“It’s all right to go, but I’ll pick you up at eleven thirty. I think considering your age, that’s when your mother would want me to do so.”
“Fine,” I said, but clearly not with great enthusiasm. Knowing the others, no one else would have as early a curfew, if any.
He smiled at me. “Don’t dare punish yourself for what your mother has done to us,” he said. “I won’t hear of it.”
I nodded but said no more. The revelation and conversation seemed to have sobered him quickly. Daddy and I were both silent, lost in our own thoughts, as if we were alone in the world during the last minute or so of our trip home. I was sure we were both thinking so hard about my mother that it was truly as though she was sitting in the rear listening to our thoughts and either grimacing with pain or condemning our conclusions the way she could with an icy glaze over her eyes and her lips pressed together so hard they formed little white pockets in the corners of her mouth.
“We’re here,” Daddy muttered as we pulled into our driveway.
He sounded like we had traveled half the universe in a rocket and were never sure we would arrive safely. Was this going to be the way it would always be for him whenever he came home, driving in with the realization that she was gone pounding harder and louder? After all, if a house could have a soul, an essence, ours had come from my mother.
Truthfully, when we entered it, our house had never felt as empty. Mother was usually already there by the time we had arrived after Daddy picked me up after school for one reason or another, or anywhere I was, for that matter. It wasn’t only the whiffs of her pungent perfume that greeted us. We could feel her presence. If the house breathed, it was her breath. Whether it was the sounds from the kitchen or hearing her moving about in the living room or descending the stairway, the house was revealing her to us.
Daddy might announce, “We’re back,” as if he was warning her or reassuring her. I was never quite sure.
She was the one who took me to see our doctor if I needed some medical attention for a cold or flu. It mostly fell to Daddy to take me to and from the dentist whenever possible. Mother hated waiting anywhere. She was not a magazine reader and detested small talk.
“People,” she said, “are simply too nosy. However the chitchat begins, it always turns on a personal question. Women today will tell you if they have a vaginal infection, even if they just met you. And then they’ll wait to see if you will offer something personal, too. I hope they always feel like fools. You can see it on their faces: ‘I told you a secret. Now you have to tell me one.’ ”
Tonight the echoes of silence reinforced the emptiness I had felt since she left us. I was tired from riding the roller coaster of emotions all day and evening. I practically dragged myself up the stairway.
As soon as I had stepped into my room, I called Jackie to let her know. I was interested in what she might say and looking for something that might give me more insight into why she and Chet actually wanted me at the party so much.
“Good,” she said. “We’ll talk more about it at school tomorrow. Don’t go sit with the brains at lunchtime. They’d probably tell you a party is a savage custom or something equally stupid. Think only about Chet,” she said. “Dream about his fingers.”
“His fingers?”
“On your nipples. You have them, don’t you?” she asked, and laughed. “Nighty-night.”
I felt the heat rise to my face, hung up, and got undressed. I was really worrying about it now. Maybe I shouldn’t go, but I knew I had to find a way to prove to my father that it wasn’t because of what my mother had done to us. Perhaps I would make it up, tell him I overheard the boys say I was easy. He’d believe that. On the other hand, what if I was wrong? What would I look like then? What kind of a life loomed ahead for me in my school, in this community?
I was almost dizzy with the confusion and now eager to just go to sleep and think about it all in the morning.
But when I opened my closet to take out my nightgown, I froze.
Hanging there on the door was my mother’s pink lace and chiffon nightgown.
And her slippers were on the floor.
Pru
CHANDLER STEPPED IN the moment I opened the door, put his arms around me, and kissed me as if he had crossed the ocean to meet me. He often kissed me with such passion that he swept me off my feet, especially now that we were apart longer. But there was something about this kiss that was different. It was a kiss that was searching for confirmation, examining and testing. He held his lips just off mine, waiting for me to kiss him again. Would I? I knew that feeling of uncertainty he was experiencing. Doubt, especially when it came to romance, was an old acquaintance.
“You all right?” he asked suspiciously after I gave him a short second kiss, my lips snapping on his with the click of a match being struck. “You sounded upset when I called you from the airport. Something happen at work?”
His eyes were two microscope lenses searching my face for clues.
“No,” I said, turning away from him quickly. I didn’t trust my normally inscrutable face under such scrutiny. In a moment, he would know all.
But I understood why he had questions and concerns. No doubt I had sounded troubled when he called. Practically the entire time I was getting ready and dressed to go to our fancy dinner, my hands had been trembling. At one point, I had to stop and rub them together vigorously because they were numb. It felt like blood wasn’t getting to my fingers. The tips looked white. I was beginning to disappear. The strength, determination, and courage I prided myself on having as an independent woman seemed to be crumbling. Little parts of me like late autumn leaves were breaking off and floating down.
Now I wondered what Chandler would realize. Would he take one look at me and know what Douglas Thomas had done? I really was afraid of that happening no matter how I tried to disguise myself. I had seen victims of rape in the ER waiting to be examined. Their faces looked frozen in shock, but the explosion of emotion, horror, and violation was imminent. They were time bombs ticking away. Some had di
fficulty breathing, others couldn’t stop crying, and then there were those who decided they couldn’t go through with the exam and confirmation. They would live with the pain. Of course, they never would. It was forever part of their essence, printed on their bones. They would take it to their graves and wait for it to fade into dust.
What would I do now?
Which face would Chandler see? Perhaps my reaction to what Douglas Thomas had done was buried under my second emotional trauma in less than forty-eight hours. Ironically, I should be grateful to Scarletta. At the moment, the shock and distress she had caused had risen to the surface and forced everything else beneath it. Of all the messages Scarletta had left, this last one struck the center of my heart of fears: I could run, but I couldn’t hide? Nothing she previously had said was as clearly colored with her determination to do me some harm. She was out there. One way or another, she would not rest until she had destroyed me, destroyed Pru Dunning.
And the thing about it was I really didn’t know why. If I was pressed for possible motives, I wouldn’t show confidence in my theories.
Should I tell it all to him now, reveal it like a confession? Yes, I have kept things from you. Yes, I have not been honest, and I know people who are in love have to be honest with each other above all else. One simple deceit destroys trust, and then love itself crumbles.
I could begin calmly with This is what happened since you’ve been gone.
How strong was Chandler’s love for me? Would he survive the flood of such revelations? Could he believe in or care for a woman who had kept these things secret from him, treating him more like a stranger? What about her faith in him? Why wouldn’t I have told him immediately? At this moment, I felt doomed if I did and doomed if I didn’t.
“Something’s definitely bothering you, Pru,” Chandler said. “No sense denying it. Remember? We can read each other like Google reads a map.”
Of course, he was right. Nevertheless, I stood there, still deciding. I realized he was probably wondering if there was something wrong between us, if I was trying to find a way to tell him that I wanted to break up. After all, what other suspicion would he have? I had been avoiding a long-term commitment. No matter what I said, he couldn’t help but think I wasn’t quite sure I was in love with him. His patience was thinning. Perhaps at least some of the truth was the only way to keep his faith in us. Dose it out like distasteful medicine to a patient, a spoonful at a time but quickly, I told myself.
“Pru?”
He put his hand on my shoulder. I was still turned away, looking down. Finally, it came up and out of my lips like sour milk.
“Someone’s stalking me,” I said, without turning back to him. Stick with this first, I thought. Get his sympathy, and he’ll blame you less for not telling him what Douglas Thomas did. After all, look at what you’ve been going through.
“What? When? After work? Following you home?”
“It began on the phone, only leaving messages until now, messages designed to upset me.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A while,” I said. “On and off. Sometimes weeks would go by with no calls, and then sometimes twice or three times the same week.”
“Weeks? Why haven’t you told me this? Have you told anyone? Gone to the police? What?”
“No, I’ve told no one.”
“I don’t understand. Why not? Why not tell me?”
“I thought I could deal with it myself,” I said, turning to face him fully now. My confidence had returned. “Crank calls.” I shrugged. “Who doesn’t get some?”
“But what did you mean just now when you said ‘only leaving messages until now’? What’s changed?”
I did blurt that out, didn’t I? I thought. Why didn’t I just leave it at phone messages? That would have been easy. My father’s toothpaste analogy returned. There was no Delete button.
“I suspected someone was following me yesterday when I went out for a walk around the block. ‘Suspected’ is the key word.”
“What did he look like? Was it someone recognizable, from work, a former patient?”
“It’s not a man.”
“A woman is stalking you?”
“She calls herself Scarletta, but I suspect that’s not her real name.”
“Scarletta? Who could that be?”
“I thought it might be someone at the hospital trying to torment me, but I didn’t recognize this woman’s voice. Not that I know everyone who works at Cedars, of course.”
“It’s a woman?” He thought a moment. “But why would someone at the hospital be doing this to you?”
“Jealousy, maybe. It’s become a little more intense lately.”
“Why?”
“I told you how upset they were after I told my patient he was given the wrong medicine, the exact opposite of what he should have been given. I was praised for being alert and stopping it, but it didn’t fly well with most of the others.”
“But you said this harassment has been going on for a while. Before that incident?”
“Yes.”
He looked at my answering machine and said, “So that’s why you changed your number?”
“Yes.”
“But you did that shortly after we started dating, Pru. It’s been months, then, not weeks. I can’t believe you kept it to yourself and didn’t tell me the real reason for the change. Not even a hint.”
“Sorry. I didn’t want you worrying,” I added. “And especially now, with you being away and all. I didn’t think it would go on this long. Like I said, everyone gets annoying calls.” I pulled my shoulders back. “I’m not, nor will I ever be, the sort of woman who runs to her man for everyday little problems.”
“But this doesn’t sound like your everyday little problem. Now someone may be following you? What sorts of things has she been saying? What does she want? Is she threatening you? That’s a reason to go to the police and get the phone tapped.”
I sat on the sofa. Time to walk it back a bit, I thought. He was getting red in the face from both frustration and sincere fear for my safety.
“They’re not threats, exactly, Chandler. Mostly annoying, teasing things. In a recent message, she knew about the pearls my patient had given me. That’s the main reason why I now feel certain it’s someone at the hospital.”
“What did she say about the pearls?”
“She said if she were me, she’d get rid of them, flush them down a toilet.”
“Flush . . . why?”
“She said you’d be jealous.”
“So she knows about us, too, then?”
“Yes.”
“You told me you didn’t talk about your personal life at work.”
“Very little and very generally, especially with patients.”
“But you’re sure you didn’t mention me? You once told me that you made it a point not to talk about us at work in particular, Pru. You seemed adamant about that.”
“Not because I’m ashamed of you. I don’t like the busybodies X-raying my social life. You’d be surprised at how much hospital employees gossip about each other, especially when it comes to tidbits about doctors and especially about those nurses who flirt with them. You’d think they’re all back in high school or something. What’s going on medically is almost a distraction. I refused to be a part of that.”
I saw that I had calmed him a little.
“Maybe that’s why they distrust me, dislike me,” I said. “It happened the same way in high school. You’d think people with that much authority and importance would be mature.”
“Well, I’m not really jealous about the pearls. As I said, I’m worried about improprieties. Where are they?”
“In my bedroom. The pearls aren’t the important thing now, Chandler. A woman was following me yesterday. Maybe it was the same woman. She’s been making sexual comments lately, too,” I added. I wasn’t sure if that made it sound more or less troubling.
“Sexual? Like what?”
�
��Admiring my body, my walk, talking about fucking me, drawing it out with salacious details, practically having an orgasm over the phone.”
“Really? So . . . she’s an admirer of sorts, a lesbian?”
“Maybe. It seems like these days, you can’t be sure about anyone. You’re afraid to open closets.”
He nodded, thinking. “Are you sure it’s not someone else, someone from the past? Scarletta doesn’t sound familiar?”
“Meaning what? You think I might have had a gay lover in college or something?”
“Maybe she just wants to hurt our relationship,” he said, instead of replying.
“Good luck with that,” I said.
That pleased him for a moment, but he lost the smile quickly. “So you have no real idea who it is, no clues?”
“I now suspect the nurse who gave the patient the wrong medication has something to do with it. She was always jealous of the compliments I received, even before the incident.”
“Well, does it sound like her on the phone?”
“No, but she could be getting someone else to do it, maybe one of the other aides that I don’t know. I think she’s capable of that.”
“Pretty juvenile behavior,” he said. He turned to the answering machine. “Play some back,” he said.
“I erased them,” I said.
“What? Why? That’s evidence, Pru. We might need it later.”
“I couldn’t stand hearing them, especially after the last one. It was irrational, I know, but it was creepy to me to have her voice stored in there. It was like she was here all the time.”
“What exactly was the last one? Why was that so much more disturbing?”
“She told me ‘you can run, but you can’t hide.’ That was there after I had seen the woman I think was following me. I lost her when I made some turns and sped up. I actually hid for a few minutes in another building’s entryway so I could pounce on her when she appeared. She didn’t follow, and she wasn’t at my entry when I returned. So maybe she wasn’t following me.”
The Silhouette Girl Page 13
