“Mostly. Suzie helped me with the embroidery.”
“I can’t wait to see you in it.” He held open the door of Mrs. Schulman’s car for her. Since Mrs. Schulman didn’t need the car most of the time, she allowed Prudence to borrow it on the condition Prudence bring her some fudge once a week.
Neither Prudence nor Wendell had an official license or permit to drive, but there was a general understanding brokered by Mr. Pryde with the sheriff to leave them alone so long as they obeyed the law. Wendell took a minute to adjust the seat to accommodate his shorter legs. Then he backed out of the parking spot and headed towards Mr. Pryde’s house.
They said little on the way there. She suspected Wendell was still annoyed about the scene at the dock. She hoped he got over it once the party started. Sweet Sixteen shouldn’t mean much to her—she could have turned sixteen dozens of times over the last three hundred fifty years—and yet she couldn’t deny a nervous flutter in her stomach as they neared Mr. Pryde’s house. This was another stepping-stone on the path to womanhood. She thought again of what Wendell had said. Shouldn’t a woman be allowed to live her own life?
She tried to force these thoughts from her mind as Wendell pulled into the driveway. They didn’t see any cars in the driveway or lights on inside. “Where are they?” Prudence asked.
“They’re probably hoping to surprise us,” Wendell said.
Prudence followed him up the steps to the front porch, waiting for Samantha and Joseph to jump out at any moment. Wendell motioned her through the front door and she paused there for the lights to come on. “Hello? Is anyone here?” she called out. No one answered.
Wendell turned on the lights, revealing the balloons tied to the banister, but no other signs of life. A cake sat on the kitchen table alongside a burned rectangle. “They were here,” Prudence said. She touched the burnt cake, its surface warm. “Not that long ago.”
“They probably went out to have some quiet time before we got here,” Wendell said. “Why don’t you go change?”
Prudence went upstairs to the bedroom to slip into the dress and check her hair and makeup. She wanted to look perfect on this night for Wendell. Maybe then he would feel better about her rejection earlier.
Wendell met her in the hallway, having changed into a wrinkled white shirt and chinos. In his hand he carried a felt box. “This is for you,” he said. “I got it from Miss Pestona at the shop.”
Prudence opened the box to find a gold necklace with an emerald at the end. “Oh my, Wendell, this is so beautiful. It must have cost you a fortune. I can’t accept this.”
“There’s no returns. And it didn’t cost me much. She let me have it in exchange for repairing some things at her house.” He took it from the box, draping it around her neck with unsteady fingers. The emerald and gold matched her dress so well, she wondered if Wendell had known beforehand.
She fingered the chain around her neck and then turned to kiss Wendell. She pressed him up against the wall until she worried she might hurt him. When she pulled away, Wendell stumbled into her arms. “Wow,” he said. He recovered his wits and added, “Let’s go downstairs. The others will be here soon.”
They waited in the living room, Wendell putting on some music. Neither of them knew much about dancing, but they could cling to each other and sway to the beat. “You look so beautiful,” Wendell said. “I’m sorry about this afternoon. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I want to stay, I really do. I can’t help worrying about leaving Samantha and the others.”
He reached up to run a hand through her short hair. “I know. There’s no hurry. We can wait.”
They danced for hours without Samantha, Joseph, or Mr. Pryde showing up. It wasn’t like Samantha to break a promise like this. Had Joseph done something to her again? As if sensing her thoughts, Wendell said, “It’s probably nothing. They probably lost track of time.” He took her hand and led her upstairs to the bedroom. “I have another gift for you.”
“Oh Wendell, I can’t. I’m not ready—”
“I understand. We don’t have to do that. I’ve done some research and there are other things we can do.” His hands moved down her back as he said this, unzipping her dress. “Let me show you.”
“I don’t know—”
He smothered her protests with a kiss. Her dress fell to the floor, followed by her underwear and his shirt. A river of nausea coursed up from her stomach to her throat. “Wendell—”
“It’s all right, Prudence. We aren’t going to do anything bad. This will be beautiful.” He eased her onto the bed, her head starting to spin. As he pulled down his pants, she screamed and curled into a ball. “Prudence? What’s wrong?”
She threw up onto the mattress. Sweat broke out all over her body and she shivered as though with a fever. “Prudence? Are you sick? What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t say anything. She had lost control of her body. Her mind emptied of all conscious thought except for a single word: No.
Wendell put on his clothes and then ran to the bathroom for a towel, not sure what else to do. When he came back, he found Prudence with the blankets pulled over her head. He sat down next to her, running a hand over her shivering body. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I only wanted to do something special tonight to show you how much I love you.”
She couldn’t hear him. She could only hear the sound of blood rushing through her head. No, she thought. No. No. No.
At some point the lights went out and Wendell laid down next to her, putting an arm over her. She registered this distantly, as if it were happening to someone else. When she saw the shadowy figures in the doorway she didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She watched them move towards her, one raising a club and bringing it down on her head. No, she continued to think as she passed out.
Chapter 3: Blackout
Samantha left Mr. Pryde’s car behind a pile of crates on the docks so Joseph couldn’t see it from the road. Since Prudence and Wendell had Mrs. Schulman’s car, he would have to walk down to the highway and flag down a ride or else call someone and wait. If he decided to come after her. She doubted he would after the way she left.
She walked along the waterfront, hands thrust in pockets and eyes focused on her feet as she thought. What a fool I’ve been, she thought. How could she ever think Joseph had changed? He still loved her only so long as he could control her. He wanted her to live by his rules. He still wanted a brainless doll to do what he said.
Last time he’d given her a potion; for the last three years he did it by pretending to be a nice guy. He pretended to care about her, pretended to respect her, and pretended to listen to her. In reality he was lulling her into complacency so he could spring this plan on her.
California! How long had he been planning to go there? Why hadn’t he said anything to her about this? They might have worked out a solution or compromise then. To spring this on her after sending out the application and being accepted was a betrayal she didn’t think she could forgive.
Near the end of the docks she saw a flickering neon sign for Budweiser. She had snuck a can from Mr. Pryde’s fridge on occasion, when she needed to alleviate some of the weight on her shoulders. She didn’t suppose one beer could hurt. It might even make her feel better. She couldn’t feel much worse.
A sign outside the ramshackle building read ‘Grey Oyster Pub.’ She pushed open the door, the familiar and welcome smell of beer greeting her nostrils. “Hey girlie, no kids allowed,” said an overweight man behind the bar.
“I’m not a kid,” she said. “I’m twenty-one.”
“Sure you are. Make with the ID then.”
“I left it at home.”
“Then get lost. I ain’t running no tree house.”
She reached into her pocket and took out a pair of bills. “Here’s twenty-one for you. Now give me a beer.” The bartender stared at the money a moment and then snatched it from Samantha’s hand. He slammed down a bottl
e of Budweiser in front of her. She took a pull, draining half the bottle.
The only other person in the Grey Oyster Pub was an old man resting his head on the counter, a bottle in his hand. She drank three beers by the time he raised his head and said, “I know you.”
“How could you know me? I haven’t been in here before.”
“Don’t mind old Floyd. He says that to all the girls, when we get any. Not many’d be seen in this dump.”
“I seen you before, only you wasn’t you like you is now. You wasn’t so pretty then as you is now.” He smiled at her with a mouth missing all but three teeth. She spit the beer in her mouth onto the counter.
“Floyd, you drive away any more customers and I’ll drown your sorry ass,” the bartender said.
“He doesn’t bother me,” Samantha said. She motioned to the bartender for another beer. Her head felt lighter, but she still felt the sadness in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to drink enough to eradicate Joseph from her memory, to wipe away the last three years he’d been pretending to care about her as anything other than a pawn in his game. She gulped down the fifth beer in seconds. When the bartender reached for another, she said, “Bring me something stronger.”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, girlie?”
“I’m only getting started.” He poured her a glass of whiskey, sliding it to her as she’d seen in an old movie. Joseph had been sitting at her side then, his hand on her knee. She threw back the shot. The bartender brought her another one.
“It isn’t fair,” she said. She couldn’t see straight and her head kept bobbing side to side and yet the memories and the pain remained. “I want to go with him. I really do. I mean, I love him. I think. He’s so nice and that body, oh my God, he has the greatest ass. When he’s sleeping, I like to put my hand on there—”
“OK, girlie, you’ve had enough. I think you better get lost,” the bartender said, clearing away her glass and empty bottles. She reached across the counter to grab his shirtfront.
“I’m getting sick of your fucking attitude,” she said. “You think you’re so much better than me because you’re some old man and I’m a cute little girl. Well, I got news for you, pal: I’m like sixty years old. So fuck you and your ‘girlie’ and your ID and all that shit. Keep the drinks coming and keep your fucking opinions to yourself.”
She shoved him back against the back wall, bottles of liquor rattling. With a trembling hand he set a bottle of vodka and a glass before her. She helped herself, filling the glass all the way to the top before throwing it back. “That’s more like it.” The bartender started to slink off towards the side. “You stay right here. Call the police after I’m gone.”
“Hey, look, kid, don’t hurt me. I got a wife and a couple little ones back home, all right? I don’t want no trouble.” He emptied the cash register, piling the cash before her. “Take this and go, all right?”
“I don’t want your fucking money. Just stand there and shut the fuck up,” she said. “You’re worse than fucking Joseph. Men. You suck, every last fucking one of you.”
She threw down another drink. “You think I’ll just pack up my life and go with you across the whole fucking country because I love you so fucking much? Oh sure, I’ll go get a fucking GED and go to college and get me a real education. Yes, Master, whatever you say, Master.” She hurled the glass against the wall, showering Floyd with the shards. He didn’t seem to notice. “I ain’t your goddamned slave. I ain’t his slave and I wasn’t the reverend’s fucking slave either. They’re the same really, when you think about it. A bunch of no good bastards.”
She flailed around in search of her glass before realizing she’d smashed it. She set her head on the counter and cried. “It’s not fair,” she moaned. “He doesn’t understand. I got two kids to take care of.” She reached into her pocket and took out a photograph taken last summer at a nearby lake. Molly stood next to her on one side and Becky on the other, all three of them in bathing suits. She had an arm around each girl, Molly smiling from beneath an oversized straw hat while Becky grimaced as though she’d eaten something sour. Samantha showed the picture to the bartender.
“Look at those two. Aren’t they the sweetest little kids you ever saw? Poor little Molly got sunburned so bad. She was red as a lobster for two weeks. And Becky, she was miserable the whole time. She kept bitching that the suit made her look fat. Well, she is fat. There’s nothing wrong with that. I think she looks cute. What do you think?”
“They’re beautiful children.”
“Damn right. You think I’m going to leave them to go across the country with some jerk? I raised them up myself the last three years. I’m the closest thing to a mother they have in the whole world. He thinks I’m going to give that up for him? That jerk. That fucking jerk. I’m going to find him and give him a piece of my mind and then I’m going to knee him in the balls until he cries like a little girl.” She laughed hysterically and then threw whatever money she had at the bartender. “That should cover it. Thanks for the booze.”
She weaved her way to the door, feeling as though she were walking on clouds. Out in the night, she turned and set off to find Joseph. I’ll show him, she thought.
She continued to wobble along the docks, running into someone. “Watch where you’re going,” she said. She spun away and plunged onwards. Where had she left the car? She couldn’t remember. “Car? Here car, car, car, car. Come to Mommy.” Nothing happened. “I’ll just wait here,” she said. She went to sit down on a crate, but missed, landing face-first on a pile of netting. She tried to get up, but her limbs became entangled in the nets. “Hey, who left these here?”
She stopped fighting and managed to roll over and look up at the night sky. The stars whirled around and around, elongating into comets before her eyes. She whooped with delight at this cosmic display put on just for her. “Who needs him anyway?” she said before passing out.
Chapter 4: Night Cries
For at least a half hour Joseph stood in the driveway, numb with indecision. One question kept rising in his mind: How? Today should have been the happiest day of his life. The school he’d dreamed of attending since childhood had accepted him. And yet what good was this news if Samantha didn’t come with him?
Despite graduating at the top of his class, despite everything he knew about chemistry, physics, and biology, he hadn’t seen this coming. In his mind, the scenario always played out with Samantha leaping into his arms, overcome with joy for them and their future. Never had he considered she wouldn’t want to go to California with him.
Now she was gone, leaving him forever. How had this come about? He didn’t understand it. True, he hadn’t considered her two little cousins well enough, but they were distant relatives at best to her. Why did she feel such responsibility to take care of them? Why would she throw away three years for them?
She loved them, of course she did. He thought of last summer when they took Molly and Becky over to Lake Hart. Samantha ran along the beach with them, waded into the water with them, and bought them ice cream. When Molly got sunburned, Samantha comforted her and rubbed her down with some ointment. He listened from the hallway as she told them a complicated bedtime story about princesses and knights and then sang them a lullaby. She kissed them each on the forehead before leaving.
Now the question became: How could he have been so blind? They weren’t her cousins so much as her children. He certainly couldn’t ask her to leave her adopted daughters thousands of miles behind in the care of others. He may as well ask her to chop off a hand or foot.
His indecision melted away. She had promised to come back for the party tonight, but he didn’t want to wait that long. He needed to find her right now. He needed to set things right.
What would he say? “I’m sorry,” he would begin. Then what? “I’ve been a fool. I know how important your cousins are to you. I shouldn’t have thought you’d leave them behind.” A good start, he hoped anyway as he started downhill towards the highway.
“They can come along. They’ll love California. It’s warm and sunny all year and there are plenty of beaches.” Given how easily Molly sunburned with her redhead’s skin and Becky’s uneasiness about her weight problem, he didn’t think this a great selling point.
“You and the girls can get an apartment near campus and I’ll come over there when I’m not in class or doing homework. We can have one room for us and one for them. I’ll be onto my master’s thesis by the time they’re old enough to need their own rooms. You can get a job somewhere or go back to school.”
Even in his imagination she turned on him at this point and said, “There you go again, telling me what to do. You’re the same as you were three years ago.”
He didn’t have anything to say to this. “I’m not,” he could say. But wasn’t he trying to run her life just as he’d done three years ago while taking that potion?
“You don’t understand,” he wanted to tell her. “I want all of us to be happy. I want what’s best for us.”
“What right do you have to decide what’s best for me or for the girls? Who are you to decide these things?”
He could go on at length about the logic of all his plans. He got what he wanted—going to Cal Tech—and she got what she wanted—to start a new life with him—so what was the problem? This made sense for all involved.
“It’s not a science equation,” she would tell him.
This he supposed was his problem. He analyzed these situations as if through a microscope. He tried to apply logic and reason to illogical, unreasonable situations. A woman, even one as smart as Samantha didn’t follow the dictates of logic and reason. She followed her emotional compass.
The only logical solution then was to accept and embrace the illogical. Samantha’s loyalty to her cousins outweighed her desire to follow him. Her anger about his attempts to plan everything out outweighed her love for him. In the face of such powerful emotions, what could he do?
He didn’t know. By now he realized he was walking along the highway towards Seabrooke. Even if he got a ride, he didn’t have much chance of finding her. She wouldn’t go somewhere they frequented like the dress shop or the antiques store where her friends worked. She wouldn’t go to the boat. She would find a secluded place to think and cry.
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