Come Back To Me

by Julia Barrett

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  A Note to Readers

  About the Author

  This book is dedicated to my husband,

  my own personal James Mackie.

  The author wishes to thank JW Manus

  for her invaluable and shiny assistance.

  COME BACK TO ME

  Copyright © 2009 Julia Barrett. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in full or part without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Winterheart Designs

  Interior Design: JW Manus

  Snowflake Image © Liz Van Steenburgh, Dreamstime.com

  May 1967

  “Hey, Cara, come over here. There’s something I want to show you. C’mere.”

  A hand on the door knob, Cara whirled around, startled at the unexpected sound of a male voice. She spotted her neighbor, Mr. Walker, her best friend Karen’s father, standing at the edge of his driveway. He motioned to her.

  “C’mere and take a look.” He disappeared beyond the far side of his house.

  Wondering why Mr. Walker was home, Cara set her schoolbooks on her front porch and slipped off her shoes and socks. If her mother was there she’d fuss about Cara’s tomboy ways, but her mom spent every Tuesday afternoon at her club playing bridge. She wouldn’t be home for several hours.

  Comfortably barefoot, Cara walked through the cool spring grass, cutting over the low picket fence that separated the two properties.

  Karen wasn’t around. Cara had seen her friend before she’d left school. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Karen’s mom drove her straight to dance class and then to gymnastics. Cara figured Mr. Walker had the afternoon off. He was her dad’s law partner and it was rare for either man to leave work before suppertime.

  Karen’s father was always working on some project or another. He probably had something interesting to show her. They were the only family on the block to have a model train set. Mr. Walker added to it every Christmas. The train ran through three rooms of their large finished basement. One room was meant to be the desert, one the mountains, one the plains. The train traveled through caves and over bridges. Cara wondered if he’d added a new section, maybe that was what he wanted to show her.

  Cara had been thrilled when the Walkers moved in three years before. She and Karen quickly became inseparable. They sat together in Mrs. Hughes’ fourth grade class, Miss Benson’s fifth grade class and in another month they’d graduate together from Miss White’s sixth grade class. Everyone at the school teased them about being twins even though they looked nothing alike. Karen was blonde and bubbly, always giggling. She had pale skin, blue eyes, a perfect rosebud mouth, cute freckles and what Cara’s dad called a button nose. And she was tiny. Cara’s mother described her as petite. In contrast, Cara was a quiet girl and a serious student. She felt awkward standing next to Karen, like she was a galumphing elephant in comparison to a fragile butterfly.

  Cara had experienced a growth spurt this year and at five feet, seven inches, she was the tallest girl in the school. Her ungainly long legs and arms didn’t necessarily work in tandem and that didn’t help her feel any less self-conscious.

  Karen took dance lessons and gymnastics and everyone talked about how graceful she was. Cara, much to her mother’s chagrin, hated dance and gymnastics and instead played basketball and touch football with the boys. Her hair was a deep auburn, not blonde, and unlike Karen’s perfectly straight hair, Cara’s curled so tightly in the Iowa humidity that it was nearly impossible to tame. For simplicity’s sake she kept it pulled back in a ponytail. Her skin tanned quickly in the summer and she never managed to stay out of the sun like she was supposed to. Her eyes were a weird color, not brown, not green, not gray, but something in-between. And they changed color depending upon the weather and the lighting in a room.

  Cara thought her mouth was too big, her feet too long, her legs too skinny. She was embarrassed by the fact that some of the girls in her class, including Karen, were already wearing bras while she still wore undershirts like a little kid. Her mother said she should be glad she didn’t have to bother about that. Cara wasn’t quite certain why girls even grew breasts. She knew adult women had them, but whenever she asked her mother why, she was told that nice girls didn’t talk about it. Nice girls didn’t talk about a lot of things, like why her mother bled every month and where on earth the blood came from. After asking numerous times and getting no answer, Cara knew better than to ask again. Her mother would shoot her one of those looks. The only explanation she received was that something happened to grown up women, something unpleasant, and if she was lucky it wouldn’t happen to her for a long time.

  Cara jogged around the corner and found Mr. Walker waiting by the back door.

  “Come downstairs, Cara,” he said. “You have to see this.”

  He turned and vanished through the doorway. Cara could hear him trotting down the basement stairs. Now she was sure he’d bought a new section for his train. Cara trailed after him. He waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, surprising Cara by grabbing her hand as she walked past him. She drew back, but he smiled reassuringly and tugged her towards the far end of the basement.

  “Did you get a new section for your train, Mr. Walker?”

  “Yes, I did. I want to show it to someone and you’re the first one home.”

  They entered the backroom and Cara immediately noticed the new landscape.

  “It’s Vermont.” He kept hold of her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Do you like it?”

  Cara felt a little uncomfortable about the way he held tight to her hand, but she’d known him for three years so she figured maybe it was okay.

  “Yes, it’s very pretty. I like the pine trees. They look very realistic.” She was proud of the fact that she’d used an adult word.

  Mr. Walker tugged her closer until she pressed up against his side. “Look over there.” he pointed. “See that mountain?” That’s supposed to be Stowe, the ski resort.”

  “Oh.” Cara didn’t know what else to say. She had no idea what Stowe was. Mr. Walker smelled like aftershave. She felt his other hand tug on her ponytail.

  “You’ve certainly sprouted this year.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Mr. Walker was breathing in her ear. He sounded winded, like he’d been playing basketball.

  “Um, I better go.” Cara felt a little odd.

  “No, no,” he said. “Stay. Keep me company for a few minutes.”

  “I have some schoolwork to do, Mr. Walker.” Cara tried to politely disengage her hand from his. He gripped hers tighter, pulling her along with him to an old couch. He sat down and grabbed her hips, forcing her onto his lap.

  Cara was shocked. She did
n’t think she was supposed to be sitting on Mr. Walker’s lap. She hadn’t even sat on her dad’s lap since she was little. It just didn’t feel right and she began to squirm. He laughed in response, his laughter soft against her ear.

  “Mr. Walker, I really think I should go.”

  “No, Cara. I’d really like you to stay. Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are? How pretty your mouth is? And your eyes, they’re a very unusual color. I bet the boys tell you all the time how pretty you are.”

  Cara felt cold and hot at the same time. She wanted to get off his lap, but she didn’t want to be rude and she couldn’t understand why he was talking to her like this. Maybe he thought he was being nice, but Cara didn’t like it. It didn’t feel good. It felt strange. She didn’t think Karen would like to find her sitting on her dad’s lap. Cara tried to stand up, but Mr. Walker grabbed her arm and squeezed.

  “Ow! You’re hurting me. Please let me get up. I really have to go home.”

  “Not yet.” He pushed her down onto the couch and lay over her.

  “Stop, Mr. Walker. Please, stop. Let me go home.” She began to cry. “I want go home.”

  No matter how hard she pleaded with him, Mr. Walker didn’t stop. His voice grew cruel and rough, and he held her down despite her struggles and her tears.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  When he had finished with her, Cara felt sick to her stomach.

  “You hurt me.” She sobbed. “You hurt me.”

  Mr. Walker smoothed her hair, as if trying to make the caress tender. He kissed her cheek. “I would never hurt you. I love you like my own daughter.”

  A thought flitted through Cara’s mind. Do you do what you just did to me, to Karen? Do you shove Karen down on the couch and do that? My dad doesn’t do this to me. But she shut it up as soon as she heard herself think it.

  “I want to go home now.” She reached for her underwear, pulling it on before he could stop her. What would her mother say when she saw blood on her underwear? Is that why her mother bled every month, because her father did this? Cara felt like throwing up.

  “Cara, honey, listen, uh, don’t tell your mom and dad about this. It’s kind of a secret thing, between the two of us. I mean, it’s a pretty special way to show you how much I care about you. You’re Karen’s best friend and I don’t want that to change. I think if Karen knew we did this, she might not want to be friends with you anymore. She might be kind of mad at you.”

  “Mr. Walker, I don’t want to do that again.” Cara couldn’t seem to stop crying.

  “It’s okay, honey. I understand. We’ll see. It doesn’t always hurt you know. Sometimes it feels good. One day you might like it.”

  “I don’t want to do it again, Mr. Walker. I feel sick. I want to go home.”

  “You go on home then, Cara. I’m sure you’ll feel better. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Just remember, it’s our secret. I wouldn’t want to upset Karen. You come and see her later. She’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

  He let her go. Cara stumbled up the stairs, feeling sore and sticky between her legs. She jogged stiffly across the lawn and up the porch steps; grateful nobody was at her home. She used the key hidden in the flowerpot to open the door, picked up her discarded books and shoes and ran to her room. How would she get rid of the telltale panties? She couldn’t throw them in the laundry. Her mom would know. Her mom would know what she’d done. She undressed quickly, stuffing them into one of her snow boots in the back of her closet. Next time she was home alone, she’d put them in the trash burner in the basement, but all she could think of right now was taking a bath. She had to wash Mr. Walker’s smell off her. The sweet smell of his aftershave and the smell of something else, something she couldn’t put a name to.

  Cara grabbed some clean clothes and locked herself in the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the tub as it filled with hot water. Suddenly the lunch she’d eaten hours ago felt like lead in her stomach and she vomited into the toilet.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Cara had no appetite for supper that evening.

  “Are you sick?” Her mom looked her up and down.

  “Maybe a little.”

  Her mom touched her forehead. “No fever. You probably just had too much sun today. What did you do after school?”

  “Nothing.” Cara’s voice shook. “I got kind of sweaty playing basketball at lunch so I took a bath and then I did my homework.”

  “Basketball . . . ? Really? Must you be such a tomboy?”

  “She could be coming down with something,” said her dad. “Dave didn’t come in to work today. He wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Should I give them a call? I saw Marcia pull into their driveway about an hour ago.”

  “No, I’ll walk over and check on him.” He turned to Cara. “Do you want to come to the Walker’s with me?”

  “N-No,” she stuttered. “I still have some schoolwork.”

  “Suit yourself.” He turned back to his meal. “Louise, did you get a bill yet for the new lawnmower?”

  Their conversation barely registered.

  “Cara, Cara . . . ? Are you listening to me?” Her mother sounded as irritated as ever. “If you’re just going to sit there like a bump on a log you may as well go to your room. You already took your bath so if you’re not feeling well put yourself to bed. I’ll be up later to say good night.”

  Cara excused herself and went to brush her teeth. Despite the fact that it was way before her bedtime, she climbed into bed. The sheets slid over her, smooth and soft against her legs. She felt as if her very presence soiled them. She wanted to cry again, but then her mother would want to know why she was crying and Cara knew she could never tell her. It was impossible. Her mother would never forgive such behavior. Besides, Cara didn’t even have the words to explain what had happened.

  Uncomfortable, Cara tossed and turned. The place between her legs burned, but she didn’t know what to do about it. At least the bleeding had stopped. She wondered how she could ever face Karen again. What if Karen found out? What if the minute Karen looked at her she could tell what had happened? Cara had never been good at keeping a secret. As she lay there, staring at the ceiling, she decided this was one secret she’d bury very deep. She’d have to if she wanted to remain friends with Karen and stay out of trouble. Her mother would be furious if she found out.

  How would she stay away from Mr. Walker? Cara never wanted to see him again, but she had no way to avoid him. What if he wanted to do it again? What would she say? He was bigger than her, he was stronger, and he was their neighbor and her father’s law partner.

  Besides, he said he did it because he loved her. How could someone say they love you, and then do that to you?

  When she heard the door creak open, Cara pretended to be asleep.

  Her mother said, “Maybe she is sick.”

  Cara kept her back turned away and stared at the wall. She had to make sure she was never alone with Mr. Walker. That’s what she had to do. She’d never go to Karen’s house again if he was the only person home, never. She could manage that. He was hardly ever home anyway. She had to forget this. She had to forget this ever happened. Everything would go back to the way it was. She and Karen would still be best friends. Mr. Walker would still be her father’s golfing buddy. The two families would still throw that big Christmas party together. It would be okay.

  Cara reached up and touched her cheeks, surprised to find they were wet. She didn’t even realize she’d been crying.

  The morning had grown hot and Cara lay on her bed, reading. She heard someone enter through screen door. Whoever it was tried to be quiet, but the screen door made a soft, metallic scraping sound whenever it was opened or closed. She bolted upright. She was supposed to be home alone.

  After her parents left for Des Moines she’d locked the front door behind them, but the day was so warm she’d left the heavy back door wide open. The gates were closed and latched. She hadn’t expected anyone to come through the backyard. It couldn’t be Ka
ren. She and her mother had left yesterday to visit relatives in Idaho. It couldn’t be her parents either. They’d driven away only an hour ago, and besides, they would have come through the garage.

  Cara’s skin prickled. She was trapped in her bedroom. The only way out of the house was down the stairs, and he was there, Mr. Walker was there, she knew it. She tiptoed to the door of her room, listening. She didn’t hear the sound of footsteps, but she was certain someone was walking around because every so often she’d hear a floorboard squeak. She wondered, for an instant, if it was all her imagination. Maybe she was just a “nervous Nellie”, as her mom had been calling her for the past month.

  Then she heard his voice. “Cara? Are you up there? Your mom and dad asked me to check on you while they’re gone.”

  Cara’s legs began to shake. For the most part, she had managed to avoid Mr. Walker since the thing that happened in his basement. Twice, he’d caught her alone in Karen’s bedroom, once when Karen had been in the bathroom. That time he tried to kiss her, but when Karen flushed the toilet, he left in a hurry. The second time, he’d come home early while she and Karen were up in Karen’s bedroom. He’d sent Karen downstairs to help her mother with supper. He said, “I’ll walk Cara home.”

  Cara hadn’t known what to do. She’d nodded her head and tried to push past him, hurrying after Karen, but he’d blocked the doorway. He’d grabbed for her, pressing his hips against hers, shoving his hands under her shirt. Cara had stood frozen in place, unable to utter a single word. She’d been terrified Karen might hear. Or worse, Mrs. Walker might hear. That time he had held her jaw with his hand so she couldn’t turn her head away. He’d tasted like stale tobacco.