by Ann Tatlock
When John reached the park after eight o’clock on that final Monday night in August, a few stragglers remained—mostly couples, a family or two, one loner with long hair sitting cross-legged on the ground, strumming a guitar. John had walked four miles to get there, and after scanning the park, he thought he might have made the trip in vain.
But then he saw her. She was seated on the bench closest to the water, looking out. She wore a colorful silk scarf that was tied at the nape of her neck, and though the sun was setting, she hadn’t yet removed her dark glasses. The frames were large, seemed to hide half her face. Perhaps that was what she wanted.
She didn’t turn to look at him when, walking up beside her, he said, “Thank you for coming, Pamela.”
She nodded, almost imperceptibly, but didn’t speak.
“Well, I . . . I think you need to know that our daughters are friends.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know.”
“And they know about . . . us. They saw the photo on your phone.”
“You were right, John. I was a fool. I should have erased it.”
“Well, I—”
“Lena and Beka aren’t speaking to each other. They’re very angry.”
“Oh? Beka didn’t tell me. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll make up eventually. They’re more angry with me and you than they are with each other. Lena has made me very aware of her disapproval.”
“I see.”
She turned at last to look at him. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the glasses. “You don’t have to say what you came to say, John. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.” Her mouth was small, her face drawn. She turned away again. “I have it memorized, every word by heart—”
“Pamela—”
“No, John. Please don’t say it.” He took a step toward her. “And please don’t sit down. I couldn’t bear it.”
He waited, listened to the night sounds, the gulls, the young man strumming the guitar. “We can’t keep going,” he said at length.
“So we are at the end of the line.”
“Yes.”
A child laughed, incongruously. A car door slammed, and an engine started up. The intrusion of other lives sharpened the moment, nettling him. He tried to think of what to say next, but she spoke first.
“It’s a shame, John. And there’s really . . . there’s no hope?”
“No. I’m sorry, Pamela.”
“Are you? Sorry, I mean.”
“Yes. God knows I wish . . . I don’t want to hurt you.”
“And yet you have chosen to leave, like all the rest.”
Her words filled him with guilt, a sense that it was wrong to be like all the rest. He should be different because he had a duty to her, some aberrant duty to stay and finish what he had begun. For a fraction of a second, he wondered whether he should reconsider. They could carve out some kind of a life, make each other happy. . . .
He drew back sharply then, rubbed his forehead with the palm of an open hand.
She was beautiful, and he wanted her, but there was something beyond all feeling and all appearances that he wanted more.
“Pamela, I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Never mind. I don’t need your apologies.”
“I never should have—”
“Just go, John. Just leave me alone.”
“Pamela, I want to ask you to forgive me.”
He waited. He felt strangely light, as though he might fall apart before she answered.
When she spoke, her voice was low and even. “That, John, is one thing I will never do.”
The words were a kick to the heart, but he gathered his strength, pulled himself together. “I think it best,” he said, “that we try not to see each other at all. I’ll find another A.A. meeting to attend.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll leave. What’s the use in all of it, anyway?”
“Well . . .”
She turned to look at him again. Her face was slowly sinking into the dark veil of night. “You’re going back to your wife.”
“Yes.”
He took one step backward.
“You know, John, you don’t realize what you are giving up. I could have loved you more than anyone has ever loved you.”
John thought about that, shook his head. “No. I don’t think so, Pamela.”
He turned away then and started the long walk home in the dark.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Rebekah rolled the car to a stop among a grove of trees on the Castle grounds. After turning off the engine, she stayed in the driver’s seat, clutching the wheel. She looked up at the imposing stone structure. Most of its windows were boarded over, and the door facing the lake was a bulletin board for No Trespassing signs.
She almost hadn’t come, probably wouldn’t have come if she and Lena hadn’t made up after the worst fight of their friendship. The explosion had happened on Sunday night, and after that Lena hadn’t spoken to her for four days. But they’d made up on Friday, and now it was Saturday and time for the annual, unofficial big-bash-before-school-begins at the Castle.
Rebekah wondered whether Lena would go back to being mad at her once the party was over. After all, their fight had been over the man Lena’s mom was seeing. Rebekah had to tell her who he was. She figured someday Lena was going to meet her dad, and then she’d know the truth anyway.
So she spilled the man’s identity when Lena came to see her Sunday night at the amusement park. Rebekah was doling out prizes in the arcade when she admitted her reason for running out on Lena after they’d cast the spell that morning. As soon as she spoke, she realized she might have chosen a better place and time to make the confession to her friend.
At first there was an uncomfortably long silence, broken only when Lena’s fist came down hard on top of the display case. A two-foot crack in the glass led to a volley of words and threats between the girls, which led to several kids screaming for their mothers, which eventually led to a security guard coming to break up the fight. Lena was escorted out of the park with the warning not to show her face there anytime soon.
That was Rebekah’s last night on the job. She was given her final paycheck with the invitation not to reapply for employment the following summer.
It had not been a good day. Rebekah lost her job and her best friend and any respect she might have had for her father all in the span of twelve hours. For four days she simmered in a lonely pity party, made worse by the fact that even David was out of town for the week. The only break came on Tuesday afternoon when her father appeared in her bedroom doorway, leaned wearily against the doorframe, and said, “It’s over.” That was all he said, and then he was gone. For several minutes she felt triumphant, except she couldn’t erase the image of her dad standing there looking defeated, as if he’d just been through some giant battle of his own. And who knew but maybe he had. And if so, he’d done it at least partly for her. That made her cry again.
On Friday Lena called and said they might as well make up. They couldn’t blame each other for what their parents had done. Lena chalked it up to some sort of bad karma that had brought her mother together with Rebekah’s father, but as long as those two had ended it, that was what mattered. “If Mom’s ever going to end up in a good relationship,” Lena said, “she’s got to stop dating married men.”
Rebekah was worried about the spell. “Can you undo it?” she’d asked.
Lena assured her it didn’t need undoing since Rebekah’s father had already dumped her mother. Together, Rebekah and Lena swore eternal silence about their parents’ affair. If it ever blossomed on Conesus Lake’s grapevine, it wouldn’t be because of them.
Now dusk was just giving way to darkness as several more cars pulled up to the Castle. It was time for the blowout to begin.
All in all, though she’d looked forward to this since last year’s party, Rebekah felt suddenly certain that she didn’t want to be here now.
“Daddy, you’re cheating!
” Phoebe wailed.
John studied the Chinese checkers board on the kitchen table in front of him. “What’d I do?” he asked.
“You can’t move your marble that way.”
“I can’t?”
“No, silly. Once you’ve made it home, you can’t move back out again!”
“Oh, okay.” John moved the offending marble back to where it was. “Well, you have to cut me some slack, Phoeb. I haven’t played this game in decades.”
“But everyone knows that, Daddy!”
“Well, I guess I’m not everyone. So let’s see. How about if I move this one here instead. Is that better?”
Phoebe nodded. She pushed one of her own marbles forward with an index finger. John loved the child’s hands, plump and dimpled. His child. He smiled at Phoebe and was lifting his hand to take a turn when he heard the Volvo turn off Lake Road. He looked out the window and saw the car limping down the drive.
“Uh-oh,” he said.
“What’s the matter, Daddy?”
John didn’t answer. He watched the kitchen door expectantly, caught Andrea’s look of frustration as soon as she came in. She dropped a small paper sack on the kitchen counter.
“Well, John,” she said, “you won’t believe it.”
“I believe it.”
“The tire’s flat again.”
“So I saw. How far did you drive with it like that? You can ruin the rim that way, you know.”
“Everything was fine when I left the drugstore, but then I felt the bumping half a minute ago. The tire must have been leaking air as I went. I was almost home so I figured I’d just come on.”
John sighed. “And you don’t have a spare, right?”
Andrea shook her head. “No. There wasn’t a spare in the car when Owen gave it to me.”
“I wonder what he did with it.”
“I have no idea.”
“Well . . .” John thought a moment. “I suppose we need a whole new set of tires, just to be on the safe side.”
“Probably so, I’m afraid.”
“We’ll just have to bite the bullet and do it. Do we have enough in savings to cover it, or do we have to put it on credit?”
“We’ll have to put it on credit, I guess.”
“All right. We’ll have it towed tomorrow. While we’re getting the tires, we’ll look into a new battery for Beka’s car.”
“When it rains, it pours,” Andrea said.
“At least the toilet hasn’t been clogged for a whole week,” Phoebe piped up.
“We can be thankful for small blessings,” John answered.
“Did Beka say what time she’d be home after the movie?” Andrea asked.
“Last I heard,” John said, “she was going to spend the night at Lena’s.”
“I thought those two had a falling out.”
John dropped his gaze and pretended to study the checkerboard. “Apparently they patched it up,” he said. “You know how kids are.”
“Where’s Billy? I’ve got the nasal spray he wanted.”
“Lying on his bed, I think.”
“All right. I’ll see to him, and then I’m going to go to bed myself pretty soon. It’s been a long day.”
“You go ahead. I’ll take care of Phoebe.”
“She should have her teeth brushed and be in bed by nine.”
John glanced at the kitchen clock. “That gives me half an hour to beat her at Chinese checkers.”
“Aw, Daddy! I can beat you with my eyes shut!”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Well, then.” John leaned over the checkerboard, chuckling. “Bring it on.”
Rebekah reached for the flashlight in the passenger seat but decided there was just enough light left for her to see the walkway to the Castle door. If she took the flashlight in with her, she’d most likely come out without it in the morning. Anyway, once she was inside, light shouldn’t be a problem. Not if the usual lantern committee had done their job.
She opened the car door and swung her feet out to the ground; still, she hesitated. Morning seemed like a long way off. And the party wasn’t officially over until the kids dragged themselves outside to watch the sun come up over the lake. She and Lena had made it last year—just barely—after a night of drinking. Sometime after daybreak Aunt Jo had come and peeled the two of them off the ground, taking them back to her place to sleep it off. Hours later, when they were sipping some sort of mixture of herbal tea at the kitchen table, Aunt Jo told them she admired their ode to nature, but they might have actually enjoyed the sunrise if they hadn’t been simultaneously throwing up. “You’re going to turn into your mother,” Aunt Jo warned Lena. Rebekah remembered that now.
She stood up, shut the door, was about to step forward when a car approached and caught her in its headlights. She was momentarily blinded until the lights were turned off and the engine cut. The driver tapped playfully on the horn. Rebekah recognized the aging Chevy as Lena’s.
Her friend got out and waved. Bypassing any other greeting, Lena said, “Hey, Bek, give me a hand, will you?”
She opened the car’s hatchback to reveal a cardboard box filled with a variety of bottles. Contributing to any party was always easy for Lena.
“Come on,” Lena said. “Let’s get the show on the road.”
John sat on the edge of the bed and tucked the sheet up around Phoebe’s chin. He gently pushed the hair off her forehead and out of her eyes. “You’re one mean checkers machine,” he said, laughing softly.
“I told you I could beat you, Daddy.”
“Yes, you did. Now it’s time for you to shut those pretty eyes and go to sleep.”
She sighed, her small chest rising and falling beneath the cool sheet. “All right. But can we play some more tomorrow?”
“You bet, honey.”
“I’ll beat you again.”
“I’m sure you will. Now listen, go to sleep. And do you think you can stay here in your own bed all night?”
She moved her head slowly from side to side on the pillow.
“Does that mean no?” he asked.
“I like it in Billy’s room,” she answered. “And now it’s extra nice because he has the nightlight.”
“We can get you your own nightlight if that’s what you need.”
“It wouldn’t be the same.”
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be Billy’s.”
He frowned, trying to understand her six-year-old logic. “Well, anyway, it’s time to go to sleep now.”
“But, Daddy, I haven’t said my prayers.”
“Oh. Okay, go ahead.”
John shut his eyes and held her hand and listened as she recited her “Now I Lay Me” prayer. When she said amen, he echoed the word.
Leaning over to kiss her forehead, he said, “Good night, honey.”
“Good night, Daddy.” She shut her eyes, but just as quickly opened them again. “Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can you sing me a song to help me fall asleep?”
“Oh, well, I’m not much of a singer, but . . .”
“You can sing anything you want, Daddy, as long as it’s a happy song.”
“Hmm . . . all right.”
He reached over and switched off the lamp on the bedside table. The bedroom door was open just enough to let in a swath of light from the kitchen. John gazed down at his daughter’s serene young face, framed by blond ringlets. He was captured by the sense that she was a gift he didn’t deserve, but one that he’d been given anyway.
He studied her for so long she finally asked, “What are you looking at, Daddy?”
“The face of an angel, I think.”
She giggled. “Aren’t you going to sing something?”
“I’m thinking,” he replied. “I don’t know very many songs, I’m afraid.”
“You can make something up if you want. That’s what Billy does sometimes.”
“Well, I’m probably n
ot as talented as Billy. So let’s see. I guess you’re too old for ‘Rock-a-bye Baby’?”
She nodded.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I don’t know all the words anyway.”
He cocked his head, looked up toward the ceiling. His mind appeared a wasteland when it came to songs until he remembered what they always sang in prison at the end of chapel services.
“Okay,” he said, “I think I’ve got one.”
She shut her eyes and waited.
He shifted on the bed, cleared his throat quietly. Then in a halting voice he sang, “ ‘Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. . . .’ ”
“Just grab a couple of bottles,” Lena said. “I’ll get some guy to help me with the rest.”
Rebekah pulled a pint of scotch and another of vodka out of the box. Both bottles were half empty. “So,” she said, “you don’t think your mom will notice these are missing?”
Lena shrugged her bare shoulders. She wore a strapless tube top and a pair of black shorts, and even in the twilight Rebekah could see that her face was heavily made-up. Her eyes were dark with liner, and her mouth was as moist and plump as an overripe plum. “Mom isn’t noticing much of anything right now.”
Rebekah glanced away, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry, Lena.”
“She’ll get over it. She always does.”
“Yeah, but maybe . . .” Rebekah looked at her friend and tried to hold her gaze. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe she should talk to somebody, get some sort of help.”
“She doesn’t need help. She just needs to actually find a decent guy, someone who isn’t just out to use her.”
Rebekah stiffened. “Listen, Lena, we’ve already been all through that. What I’m saying is, maybe your mom needs to stop drinking so much.”
