by BETH KERY
Her mother scowled. “Just a matter of time before something happens. Mark my words.”
They both sipped at their tea.
“Mom, why didn’t we move away? After what happened with Henry Nightingale?”
She thought she could have heard a butterfly flutter its wings in the absolute silence that followed. The hand holding her mother’s teacup froze in midair. In her momentary vulnerability, Megan glimpsed a shadow of the beauty that her mother had once possessed.
“I’ve asked you never to speak that man’s name in this home.”
Megan closed her eyes in brief annoyance at the predictable response. Her mother’s next words were equally expected.
“Are you feeling all right, Meg? Why in God’s name would you bring that up?”
“I’m feeling fine, Mom. I was wondering about it, that’s all. Abby McCarthy’s family moved away after the trial, didn’t they?”
“You’re father said Dale McCarthy was a coward for doing that,” Linda Shreve said in a hard voice. “This was our home. We weren’t going to run from it, with our tails tucked between our legs.”
“Is that how you and Daddy felt?” Megan asked slowly. “Like you were being shamed…punished? Like living with Henry Nightingale’s crime day in and day out was some kind of sentence passed down on you?”
Her mother’s teacup clattered loudly when it fell to the table. Megan flinched back to avoid the hot tea that almost splashed on her.
“Hilary told me that some man has been nosing around you. Is that what’s brought up all of this nonsense?”
Megan shook her head. “No, no, Mom. It’s not that. Here, let me get something to clean that up.” Neither of them spoke as Megan ripped off some paper towels and soaked up the tea from the table. When she eventually met her mother’s eyes, she felt responsible for the anguish she saw there.
“Why can’t we just let it go?” Megan entreated in a whisper. “Why do we always have to carry it on our shoulders like an invisible burden?” She noticed how her mother looked offended at the suggestion, as if she had suggested they sacrifice their family ties or the church.
Megan had already given up any vague hopes that she had possessed by the time she threw the soaked paper towels in the garbage. Her mother was watching her anxiously when she turned around from the sink.
“Something has got you upset, Meg. Have you seen the doctor recently?”
* * * * *
Megan crossed Adams Street later that morning with the sound of hammers and workmen’s voices resounding in her ears, a testament to the last minute preparations that were going on for the St. Cat’s block party. Already, Adams had been blocked off just after Halsted, and vendors were setting up their wares along every cross street. The St. Cat’s block party included several smaller stages that were set up along separate intersections in the neighborhood where bands played throughout the afternoon. The headliner performed on the main stage, located in the large park next to St. Catherine’s, at the intersections of Jackson and Williams. Over the past few years, Jackson and Williams had become lined with medium and high-rise condominium residence buildings, and these were the reason that Father Gregory had called and asked Megan’s assistance earlier.
The elderly priest was brimming with good cheer and crisp, administrative purpose this morning. His eyes brightened when Megan peeked into his office.
“You wanted to see me, Father?”
“Yes, thank you for coming by. I know I turned down your request to help at the block party several weeks ago, but something has been brought to my attention, and I’m going to need some assistance with it. Are you free this evening?”
She nodded, knowing that even if she decided to see Christian, it would be later in the evening.
Father Gregory rapidly explained his dilemma. “It’s all of these residences that they’ve put up along Jackson and Williams. Most of them have balconies and terraces, and provide prime viewing of the main stage for the concert. It’s come to our attention that the St. Cat’s block party is becoming a regular event for some of the people who live there. They throw parties and everyone gets a free ticket to the show.”
The priest’s eyes danced merrily. “Now, I’m not saying that what they’re doing is wrong, of course. It is their home, after all. But the thought occurred to us that quite a few of the residents, and even the party attendees, might agree to make a donation to St. Cat’s if they were provided the opportunity.”
Megan smiled at the priest’s wiliness. “Especially if they were caught entering the building with their kegs of beer and catered party trays?”
“Exactly,” Father Gregory said smugly. “The managements of four out of five of the buildings that surround the park have agreed to allow church representatives to collect donations in their lobbies. Would you be available for just a couple of hours before the concert starts at eight o’clock, and stay maybe until eight thirty or so?”
Megan agreed and took the address from Father Gregory. It would do her good to keep her mind busy on something, instead of focusing on the fact that she couldn’t just be considered a normal woman for once in her life. She turned her face to the hot summer sun as she walked down Adams. It was a perfect day for a music festival, but a rotten one for feeling depressed.
She paused for a fraction of a second when she saw Hilary waiting in 748’s lobby.
“Hey,” Hilary greeted her with a smile and a brief kiss. Megan thought how young and pretty Hilary looked in a casual, pink and white sundress and sandals.
“Do you have a minute to talk?” Hilary asked.
She tried to keep her voice neutral, even though she was still irritated with Hilary. “Sure, if you can wait while I change clothes. I had no idea it was going to get so hot today.”
They chatted amiably enough on the elevator ride up to Megan’s loft. She left her sister making a pot of coffee while she went to change into shorts.
Hilary examined Megan when she returned to the kitchen. “You look gorgeous, Megan.” She shook her head in wonderment as she poured a cup of coffee. “I always did envy you getting mom’s perfect skin. What have you been doing for it? Did you get a facial?”
Megan blushed. She’d noticed the dewy glow to her skin as well and suspected it had something to do with the sensual world that Christian had introduced her to last night more than anything.
“Uh…no. But I’ve been trying to exercise regularly, so maybe that’s what you’re noticing,” she said as she reached for the cup of coffee Hilary handed her.
Hilary eyed her speculatively over the rim of her cup. “Have you been seeing Christian?” she asked casually.
Too casually, Megan thought.
“I just saw him last night.” She watched her sister’s reaction closely, but Hilary controlled it well after an initial widening of her aquamarine eyes.
“What did you two do together?”
“I went to dinner with him, at his family’s house in Evanston.”
Hilary set down her cup of coffee heavily. “He took you to meet his family?” she asked incredulously.
“Why does that surprise you? Did you think that you’d scared him off completely with your visit the other night?” Megan asked levelly.
Hilary blinked, but then her eyes hardened. “So he ran to you and told you about that, did he?”
Megan shook her head in rising anger. “You don’t know anything about him, Hilary. You’re being very judgmental. It’s not like you.”
“No, Megan. This isn’t like you. Mom told me about your visit earlier. She was practically in tears. Why were you hounding her with all of those outrageous questions?”
She gave a bark of disbelieving laughter. “Hounding her? I asked her one question. I asked her why we hadn’t moved out of the area after Henry Nightingale’s trial.”
“Right. And that’s just normal operating procedure for you, isn’t it? Can’t you see that being around Chris Lasher has gotten you upset…stirred you up. You’re not yourself
.”
“Don’t blame it on Christian. And don’t say that I’m not myself. I am being myself, maybe more so than I have ever been in my life.”
Hilary looked temporarily stunned by her outburst. Seeing Megan’s fury seemed to ignite her own.
“This is all his doing,” Hilary seethed. “God, can’t you see what’s happening? You’re in way over your head, here. You think you know Christian so well? I guarantee you, you don’t.”
Megan closed her eyes to try and restore her calm. Hilary was right about one thing. She was finding it more difficult to control her emotions than she ever had in her life.
“You know that I love you, Hilary. But if you just came over here to insult Christian, I think you should go.”
Hilary’s jaw quivered. Megan suspected she didn’t know how to react to this new little sister. “Fine. But at least admit to yourself that you have your doubts about him. Hasn’t he kept secrets from you? Do you really know him?”
“I know what’s important,” she snapped. Repeating Christian’s words from last night had made her feel the truth of them. If things didn’t work out with Christian, it wasn’t because there was a problem with him. The problem was the unlikelihood of their relationship.
Megan suddenly knew something else, too, as sure as she knew the color of her own eyes. She’d fallen in love with Christian Lasher. That’s why she’d been so stirred up recently, so regretful because of her past and her inexperience. She could never hold a man like him. Maybe it would never work out between them. Maybe they were too different.
But Hilary couldn’t take the feelings that Megan had for Christian away from her. Her mother couldn’t. Henry Nightingale couldn’t.
Megan wouldn’t let them.
“Did he tell you that he was married before?” Hilary asked.
Megan’s ears rung in the silence. She finally drew in enough breath to speak with a measure of calm. “No.”
“His wife was sick in the hospital, being treated for leukemia. A story broke about Christian having an affair with some model. His wife died soon after that.”
Horror flashed through her. She recalled all too well Christian’s explanation about his aversion to the media, how a woman he had cared for had believed a false story about his infidelity. But Megan hadn’t realized the extent of how devastating it must have been for him. She hadn’t realized Cecilia had been his wife.
She suddenly longed to see him…to comfort him.
“I can see that he never got around to telling you any of that, either,” Hilary said after an extended silence.
“No, he didn’t tell me in so many words,” Megan finally said distractedly. “I fail to see how any of this is relevant.”
Hilary rolled her eyes. “God, Megan, don’t be dense. He’s stringing you along, telling you whatever he thinks will work to get you into bed with him.”
“I don’t think so,” Megan said softly.
Hilary’s anger seemed to deflate with Megan’s newfound confidence. Her eyes swam with tears. “How can I help you if you won’t let me?” she demanded in anguish.
“How can I tell you that I don’t need this anymore? I’m a grown woman. If Christian is going to break my heart, then so be it. You can’t be there to save me from every pain, every hurt. I love you for trying, Hilary, I do. And I know why you always have. But…please. Please…just let me go,” Megan finished in a strangled voice.
Hilary stared at her through a veil of tears. “I never meant—”
“I know you didn’t,” Megan interrupted before they hugged each other tightly. When they parted minutes later, they wiped the tears from the other’s cheeks, and then laughed helplessly when more fell to replace them.
* * * *
That afternoon, Megan avoided the crowds and the noise of the block party by taking her bike down to the lakefront and riding for miles. Afterwards, her mind felt clear, her thoughts less burdensome. She could consider things with a little more objectivity. The cathartic cry and the conversation she’d had earlier with Hilary had been a blessing to both of them. Megan smiled as she walked her bike up some stairs on the way home and recalled a portion of their conversation.
“Hilary, don’t you ever think that men might find me attractive?”
Her sister looked bewildered. “Of course. You’re very beautiful.”
“I wasn’t digging for compliments. I meant that there has always been a tendency for people who knew about what happened with Henry Nightingale to deny my sexuality.”
Hilary bit her lip nervously. “I guess you’re right. I never thought about it before. Maybe it was just easier to…subtract sex from the whole equation when it came to you.”
For a moment, Megan felt a familiar heaviness in her chest when Hilary looked sad and regretful. But then Hilary’s lips had quirked with a small smile.
“You’re not going to start going around like your friend, Tina, are you? Wearing corsets that push your boobs out to here and high-heeled, thigh-high boots in order to make up for all those lost years?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Well…maybe just the boots?”
They’d cracked up with laughter. Of course, Hilary hadn’t completely turned around. She’d tried to caution her again about Christian before she left, but then quieted when Megan gave her a pointed glance.
“You take care of yourself, Megan,” Hilary had said soberly before parting.
“I’ll do my best.”
Megan thought about Christian when she showered later that afternoon. She regretted her defensiveness, although she tried not to judge herself too harshly. It hadn’t been an easy realization for her, knowing that he was walking on eggshells around her because Hilary had told him about her past. All her vulnerabilities had marched defiantly to the forefront when she saw that look of stark anxiety on his face.
Nevertheless, when she thought about the way he’d touched her—made love to her so tenderly—she would stop whatever she was doing and stare blankly into space. Now, as she stepped out of the shower, her fingers skimmed across her breasts, belly, and thighs, temporarily lost in the erotic memory. When she glanced at herself in the mirror, she had to admit that Hilary had a point about her skin. It was flushed and dewy. She liked the way that her body felt so sensitized and alive, even if her emotions were turbulent.
She took extra time with appearance that night. It was hot outside, so she dressed in a red halter sundress that covered her front modestly, but left her back bare from the waist up. She brought along a white sweater in case the air-conditioning in the condo lobby was too high. She put on some strappy sandals that buckled around her ankles. Her hair was brushed until it shone in golden waves and fell around her shoulders and exposed back. She gave more attention to her eye make-up than she usually did. Afterwards, she had to admit the effort was worth it. Her eyes looked even larger than usual…
…sultry.
Judging from the admiring looks she got as she walked over to the address Father Gregory had given her, others thought her extra effort had been worth it as well. Megan didn’t mind the attention as much as she usually would have. Tonight, she wanted to enjoy her newfound sensuality.
She was a little surprised at how close the building where she was to collect money was to the main stage. By six o’clock, people had already staked out their seats.. A raucous party atmosphere prevailed. Young people in minimal clothing abounded, drinking copious amounts of beer, playing Frisbee and football, listening to loud music. From the front door of the condominium building, Megan was exactly even with the main stage. She imagined how loud it was going to become when the concert began at eight.
She didn’t have that long to wait for loud rock music. A warm-up band began playing at six thirty. The heavy-metal thrash band worked the crowd into a feverish frenzy of excitement. Megan watched in half-amusement and half-concern from the lobby, as two Chicago police officers marched away two manacled, shirtless men who had been fighting. From the way both men staggered and swayed, she s
urmised that alcohol played a big part in their sudden animosity for each other.
“Father Greg didn’t mention that I’d have to listen to this racket when I agreed to help out,” Carol Brunson, an elderly woman who was a newer member of St. Cat’s Parish, mumbled under her breath. But she smiled brightly when an attractive, thirty-something-year-old man came over to their table and gave Megan a forty-dollar donation along with a flirtatious smile. “I’ll also tell Father Greg how having you sit at the table increased our donations by at least a hundred percent. There must be close to a thousand dollars in there!” Mrs. Brunson insisted with saucer-sized eyes as she pointed to their collecting box.
“Do you think so?” Megan wondered. Then she noticed another large group of people go up the elevator with one resident, and she laughed. “Even if each home owner only gives twenty dollars, they’re getting some premium entertainment at their party for very cheap.”
“Premium entertainment? That’s what you call this racket? And can’t you hear the things they’re singing, Megan? You of all people shouldn’t be exposed….why, I can’t believe Father Greg allows it. And did you hear the name of the headline group? Some kind of kinky name, like Whip Her Down. I tell you, it’s disgraceful. But look at all this money. What do you want to bet we collected more than any of the other groups?”.
She suppressed a laugh at Mrs. Brunson’s segue from moral outrage to fiscal enthusiasm. “I’m just glad Father Gregory is sending over professionals to take it. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for transferring it in this crowd.”
This started off another of Mrs. Brunson’s tirades, this one concerning the sad state of youth today.
“Why, just look at that girl right there, would you?” She nodded out the lobby doors.
Megan turned absently and noticed a young, blonde-haired woman wearing a pair of shorts that revealed the bottom curves of her buttocks and a cut-off T-shirt. Although the condominium residence had hired two security guards to keep the crowd from loitering in the entrance area, they’d apparently appreciated the sight of the young woman gyrating in front of them too much to ask her to leave. As the girl danced around sensually to the relentless beat, Megan saw that she was actually very pretty and heartbreakingly young. She was also extremely drunk, high, or both.
