When it comes to the sale of the house, Jorie knows she should be thankful that the young couple from Framingham have decided to buy; some people, it’s true, won’t even look at an address where a criminal has lived. You never knew what you might find when you dug up the garden to put in a swing set. You never could tell what the attic crawl space might yield or what might be hidden in the garage. Luckily, these buyers have no qualms about the house’s history, especially in light of the great deal they’re getting, thousands less than the asking price of any other house in the neighborhood. It’s true, photos of the house had been in both the city papers and the Monroe Gazette, but no one pays much attention these days; cars don’t drive past slowly anymore, with the occupants’ tongues wagging, embellishing and refining an already sad story. Occasionally, a reporter may circle Ruth Solomon’s house on Smithfield Road, but Jorie’s sister, Anne, has been known to turn the hose on such people, an act of defiance she greatly enjoys. She’s on her own family’s property, after all, and even Gigi, who is usually such a stick-in-the-mud when it comes to wicked behavior, applauds her mother’s efforts to maintain what little privacy they have left.
But most people in town don’t need to read the newspapers to get the facts anymore; they’ve made up their own minds by now, especially when it comes to their opinion of Jorie. Some have made the choice to ignore her completely; she doesn’t even exist for such individuals. On the streets and in stores, many people Jorie has known all her life have begun to look the other way when she walks by, as if she’d never set foot in their universe, never sat next to them in school, or shopped at the Hilltop supermarket alongside them, or washed cars at the PTA bazaar, or brought homemade blueberry muffins to the Friends of the Library day. These are the citizens of Monroe who wonder how Jorie has the nerve to show her face, and for the life of them they can’t figure out how she’s managing to live with herself now that she knows she’s been sleeping next to a monster for so many years, dreaming in his arms.
If pressed, some people might admit they haven’t recently turned against Jorie. in truth, many held a grudge long before Ethan was brought into custody. They always believed Jorie was too pretty and stuck-up for her own good, and they view her with an indifference that is far from cold. There are quite a number of people in town who always resented the arrogant manner Ethan possessed when he refused an award ceremony back when the McConnell house burned down. Still others have never approved of the way Jorie and Ethan kissed each other in the field during baseball practice, so brazen, right in front of everyone, there for all the children to see.
Sometimes Jorie wears sunglasses when she has to run errands; she ties a scarf around her head and does her best to hide. But there are other times when she stares right back, eye to eye, in defiance of the prying glances sent her way in the drugstore and the bank. Either way, folks who know her can tell she’s been crying; her eyes are puffy even on days when she doesn’t shed a tear. Her pretty honeyed hair is snarled, her clothes are wrinkled, her face drawn. A few weeks ago, Jorie had been a beautiful woman, but that’s over now. She’s been avoiding people, spending most of her time inside, behind locked doors. She holds the diary in her hands when she’s alone on the sun porch, hiding it beneath her pillow if her sister or mother should happen to approach. She has given up gardening and going for walks with her mother’s dog, Mister. Now, whenever she ventures into the Sunlight, Jorie finds she breaks out in a rash, sorrowful bumps of grief that rise on her arms and legs and along her chest, in a red line beside her heart.
There are still some neighbors who continue to be concerned, people like Grace Henley. the librarian, and Mrs. Gage, their next-door neighbor for so long, who go out of their way to ask Ruth Solomon if there’s anything to do to help out and insist upon bringing over casseroles that sit in the refrigerator untouched. These are the people it’s most difficult to see, for Jorie knows they pity her, and their pity makes her even more desperate, it causes her to draw the curtains in the middle of the day and refuse to allow her son to go to the town pool even though the weather is brutal, with temperatures hovering high in the nineties, and cherries ripening too soon, and fledglings dying of thirst in their nests in the tallest of the trees.
Ethan, of course, has his throngs of supporters, those advocates who sprawl on the lawn at the courthouse and have taken up his cause. The family should feel reassured by so many well-wishers, but these good people are the reason Collie gives for not visiting his father—the crowds and the reporters, the traffic and the fuss make him nervous, or so he says. He prefers to stay on the couch with Mister, watching TV But there’s more to Collie’s isolation, and Jorie has seen for herself the reason he steers clear of people in town. just a few days earlier, she’d been driving by the high school during baseball practice and she’d spied two boys throwing balls at Collie as he walked past. She’d thought it was all in fun, until she saw the look on Collie’s face. He’d just kept on his way along the sidewalk, ignoring the other boys’ taunts and their dares, even though one of the balls had hit him between the shoulder blades, hard.
“Hey, you guys, cut it out,” Jorie had heard Barney Stark call. He’d jogged across the field from third base to lecture the offending boys, but the damage had been done. Collie continued on, the sun in his eyes, the late afternoon light turning his hair flaxen, his mouth set in a flinty; uncompromising line, his shoulders hunched to avoid further assault. Jorie knew then that things would never be the same, no matter how she might try to protect him. She found herself thinking of James Morris, a boy like her own, whose life was turned around one ordinary summer morning. She was proud of her son for not giving in to his tormentors. He’d kept on his appointed route despite them; he’d turned them into smoke and ash inside his mind.
When Jorie asks Collie if he wants to go with her to the final rally at the courthouse, she’s not surprised to hear him say no. He has plans, he’s meeting Kat, and they leave it at that: they don’t discuss the fact that Collie doesn’t want to get within five hundred feet of the courthouse, not the way he hurts inside, more deeply than he himself knows. It’s Charlotte who agrees to accompany Jorie downtown. They drive to the courthouse to get a look at the last rally on this hot August night. Half the town is gathered on King George’s Road, and those who are in attendance are in high spirits. Ethan’s fellow firemen are there, as are most regulars from the Safehouse, along with the Little League commissioner and several people from the school board. But there are plenty of outsiders congregated as well, and many have hung their towns’ banners from the trees: Everett is represented, as is Cambridge, and Newton, and Essex, along with a huge crowd from Hamilton assembled beneath the linden trees. There are women from Boston who have seen Ethan’s photograph in the Herald and who can tell simply by looking at him that he has repented. There are men from New Hampshire and Maine who have made mistakes in their lives and could use a little forgiveness of their own, Someone has been selling green light sticks and the night is aglow with wands of brilliant jade. Up and down the street, there are several trucks selling ice cream and hot dogs and sizzling fried dough that leaves the air permeated with a sultry, sugared scent.
“Just be prepared when you do go over there,” Barney Stark had advised when Jorie came to pick up Charlotte. “There are all sorts of folks getting involved at this point, and probably half of them have their own twisted reasons for coming to this rally Whatever happens, don’t let them get to you.”
Barney was still living in his office, but he was spending more and more time at Charlotte’s. Jorie, however, felt she had been neglectful; she hadn’t been to see Charlotte since she'd decided to shave her head. Charlotte explained that she’d spent so much energy fearing the loss of her hair, she figured it might be best to go ahead and get it over with, slapdash, snip snap, Jorie kissed her friend on the forehead. She had never before noticed how truly beautiful Charlotte was, and when Charlotte grabbed for the hat she’d taken to wearing, Jorie told her not to bother. �
��You don’t have anything to hide,” she observed. “You look amazing.”
“Amazingly scary.” Charlotte had laughed, but she’d left the hat behind.
“You look like you.”
“Oh, God. That’s even scarier. Let’s just say I look like a Martian and leave it at that.”
When they had almost reached the street, Charlotte rushed back to the house. At first Jorie thought she'd changed her mind and decided to cover her head, but Charlotte had only returned to say good-bye to Barney, whom she’d forgotten in the doorway.
“See ya, pal.” Charlotte stood on tiptoes to kiss him, then, out of breath and happy, she ran back to Jorie, who was holding open the door of the truck. “I don’t like to leave without saying good-bye,” Charlotte said as they drove away “You never know when you won’t see someone again.”
“You’ll see him again.”
“Actually, I think Barney’s here for the duration. You’re the one I’m afraid might disappear. ”
Jorie managed a grin. “I’ll let you know if I plan to.”
“We’ll send each other messages from the great beyond.”
Jorie laughed at that notion. And that was fine, as long as she didn’t look over at Charlotte and admit that such a loss seemed horribly possible at this point in their lives. “I was thinking more of a change of address.”
“I know what we’ll do.” Charlotte looked so young without her hair. She wore a sweater in spite of the heat, for lately she was always cold. At the hospital, during her treatments she shivered and tried to imagine Florida beaches, a vacation Barney has promised they’ll take when she’s strong enough to travel. “We have to vow that we’ll send each other lilies if we make it over to the other side. If we do that, then we’ll know something remains.”
“Fine,” Jorie agreed. “If I ever leave you, I won’t really be gone, and the same better be true for you.”
They sealed this promise by hooking pinkies, the way they used to, long ago, when promises didn’t hurt as much.
There was so much traffic in town it took nearly half an hour to get to King George’s Road, and they had to circle for quite some time before a parking place was found. From their spot on the crowded street, they can at last see the wide lawn of the county offices. People are laughing as they wait for the rally to begin; they’re having a good time. Some have brought blankets and picnic dinners; children race back and forth, playing tag in the waning light. Jorie and Charlotte sit in the cab of Ethan’s truck with a Thermos of milky tea and a box of Kite’s doughnuts, jam and cream-filled, between them on the seat, not that either woman can eat. Charlotte’s mouth has reacted to chemo with painful little sores that her doctor assures her will disappear before long. Because of this, she’s taken to fixing watery oatmeal for nearly every meal; she’s actually begun to enjoy the stuff although Barney continues to refer to it as gruel.
As for Jorie, her stomach is lurching about, a severe case of indigestion brought on by nerves. Watching the crowd that has gathered, she feels the ache of her own aloneness, as might be expected in anyone who was not among the faithful here tonight. Across the darkness, across the lawn, there are Warren Peck and Hannah from the coffee shop; there is Hal Jordan, the Little League commissioner, and near the stage that has been set up by the firemen, Jorie and Charlotte both can spy Rosarie Williams, dressed as though she’d been invited to a party, wearing a pale blue frock she must have borrowed from her mother, for it seems far too adult for a girl of her age. Rosarie’s black hair is loose and her skin is shining, illuminated by the diamond-white light streaming from the half-dozen sparklers local boys have set out on the lawn.
“What does the Williams girl have to do with any of this?” Charlotte doesn’t like the devout expression on Rosarie’s face.
“She’s Mark Derry’s assistant.” Jorie takes a good look at Charlotte and sees that her friend is brimming with suspicion. “It’s not what you’re thinking. She’s helping out.”
“Yeah, well, some people are attracted to trouble.” Charlotte knows how true this can be from her years of marriage to Jay “Some people can only fight battles they can’t win.”
“I see. Because you’re in love, you think everyone else is.”
“I didn’t say anything about love. I just don’t trust that girl.” Charlotte reaches for a blanket she’s brought along. It’s a velvet night, warm and lush, but she’s chilled to the bone. “Anyway, love is different than I thought it would be.”
Everything is different, the way they are sitting in Ethan’s truck on a summer’s night hoping for the best, fearing the worst; the way their lives have been rattled around, as though they were dice, their futures decided by a throw onto a tabletop.
Mark Derry walks out to the stage, and as soon as he does, the crowd begins to applaud. People around here know Mark from his work on Ethan’s behalf, and they respect him; they get fired up when he charges them to show their allegiance, right here and now, so loud and so strong that people all the way down in Maryland will be able to hear. Horns honk along King George’s Road and several Roman candles left over from the Fourth of July are set off, filling the sky with bands of scarlet and sapphire light.
Charlotte reaches over and takes Jorie’s hand as they watch. Charlotte’s hand is small and cold, but she has a firm grip and she holds on tight. As for Jorie, she is thinking of blue skies and fields and of the endings of things. She brings up the image of their old friends Lindsay and Jeannie from high school, two lovely girls who woke one morning without realizing it was to be their last day on earth, who brushed their hair and talked on the phone and walked out their front doors into the inky night, traveling on a road that was slick with pale rain, turned to ice before anyone noticed.
All good men make mistakes, that’s what Mark Derry is calling from the podium, and by the time he asks his neighbors for their donations and their pledges, their hands are in pockets, checks are being written. As it turns out, the usually silent plumber is both convincing and reassuring; Trisha Derry, gazing on from the sidelines, with her arms around her little girl, April, has good reason to look as proud as she does. Mark Derry speaks from the heart, he means what he says, but he hasn’t been to Maryland, he hasn’t walked through the cordgrass or gone through the door into Rachel’s room. Rachel’s diary is in Jorie’s purse, beneath her wallet and a shopping list and a packet of Kleenex, there to remind her of what happened all those miles away. This is a book of hope that has never been finished, a list of dreams left undone. It’s therefore no consolation to hear the jubilation that meets Mark Derry’s remarks, not for anyone who carries a diary such as this.
Fred Hart’s turn at the podium has come, and it’s clear the attorney from Boston relishes the attention. He waves his hands in the air, getting people riled up, and when he begins to speak, his voice is just low enough to spur the crowd to lean in close and listen hard. Hart announces that a group of Monroe citizens will be chosen to travel south to assist in the effort during Ethan’s trial. No one mentioned this game plan to Jorie; if Fred had bothered to discuss it with her, she would have assured the attorney it was a tactical mistake. She can’t help but imagine what the reactions of local people in Holden might be when this group of supporters arrives in town. She suspects the Black Horse Hotel will be unable to accommodate them, as a matter of principle, and that they’ll have to stay at the Econo Lodge out on the highway.
But what will people in Duke’s Diner say when these strangers come in to order turkey club sandwiches and egg salad on toast? Will folks mention that the graveyard is just up the hill and that the mallows that grow there are carefully tended? Will they say that Rachel Morris came in to Duke’s nearly every Saturday to order vanilla Cokes and French fries with vinegar and that she was the prettiest girl in town?
“He wants to have me and Collie go with him,” Jorie tells Charlotte.
“To Maryland?” Charlotte is stunned. “And he thinks you would even consider putting Collie through that?”
“Collie could stay with my mother.”
“Like you’d ever do that. You’re not about to leave Collie behind.”
Jorie smiles to think of how well Charlotte knows her, for in fact when she tries to envision sitting on the opposite side of the courtroom, across the aisle from James Morris, she simply cannot see herself. In Holden, she would be an invisible woman, it’s true. When she walked across town, she wouldn’t leave footsteps. When she opened her mouth, no sound would issue forth.
A wave of excitement has begun to move through the throng on the lawn; it snakes like a current through the grass and the air. People rise to their feet, and from where Jorie and Charlotte are parked they can see that the door to the courthouse has opened. There is a wash of green light across the lawn.
“They wouldn’t let him out for this, would they?” Charlotte asks.
But, indeed, they have. Four men have joined the others on stage: Dave Meyers and two of the guards, and with them, Ethan Ford. The cheering is truly wild; it bursts into the vast night above the courthouse, above the linden trees. Tonight, the rules have been bent to allow for Ethan’s presence at the rally, but that’s to be expected. This is Monroe, the town that supports Ethan; these are his friends and neighbors, several of whom will travel to Maryland. leaving jobs and families to work on his behalf
In return for these many favors, Ethan offers the crowd endless gratitude, and people hush each other once he begins to speak, the better to hear. They move in closer, the better to see.
“Do you want to go up there?” Charlotte asks
To Jorie, Ethan looks strangely small in the distance. Someone has brought him a clean white shirt for this occasion, and he glows the way stars do, so distant that, as it turns out, they’re not what they seem to be. Mark Derry stands to Ethan’s left, Fred Hart to his right. The men lift their linked arms into the air, victorious and hopeful and so far away they might as well be in another galaxy.
Blue Diary Page 24
