by Luanne Rice
His arms came around her, and she pressed her face against his chest. She was clinging to another human being, and his name was Thomas.
“I’m glad you have a son,” she said.
“So am I.”
“I have to go home now.” She had only the vaguest sense of what she meant by “home.”
“I’ll be back in a week,” he said.
Gently, she pushed herself away. She couldn’t see his face, but she smiled in its general direction. It was a crazy smile. A smile that didn’t correspond to her feelings, a smile that hid as much from Anne herself as from the person at whom she had directed it. But it was a smile nonetheless, and her voice respected it.
“Have a good visit,” she said. “With your son.”
Chapter 5
Ned Devlin went straight to his dorm after hockey practice, expecting to find his father waiting. Winter afternoons at Deerfield felt like nighttime. The sun would dip behind the Berkshires, and a luminous, violet shadow would cloak the valley.
Ned ran past the red-brick dorms, his brown hair wet and freezing from the shower. He imagined he was on the ice, leading the Bruins to victory at the Boston Garden. He held an invisible stick, guiding the puck toward the goal.
It’s a mind puck, he thought, cracking himself up so he laughed out loud. He passed a bunch of freshmen who looked at him as if he were crazy.
At seventeen he was six-four, gaining on his father’s height, but more compact. He hoped he wouldn’t grow much more. His father had had a collegiate growth spurt that had rendered him gawky, effectively ruining his prospects as a hockey player at Boston College, and souring his scholarship in the process.
Seeing his father’s truck parked in front of his dorm, he slowed down. He was just old enough to affect a certain reserve in his father’s presence. He didn’t want to show his father, or his dorm mates, for that matter, how excited he felt. Tomorrow at dawn, he and his father would be taking off for a college tour.
Dartmouth was his first choice, but that was a long shot. The Ivies didn’t give athletic scholarships. For Ned to attend Dartmouth, he’d have to rely on grants, a scholastic scholarship, loans, and a damned high-paying summer job. He and his father would also be visiting Middlebury, the University of Vermont, Bowdoin, and Boston College.
In spite of himself, he couldn’t hold back. He ran up the granite steps, all in one stride. No one in the hallway, no one in the living room. He poked his head into the butt room, where Keith Harney and David Jorgensen were smoking French cigarettes and generally being too cool for words. They both had long, stringy hair, and they never wore anything but black. They should have been strumming guitars, to complete the picture.
“You seen my father?” Ned asked.
Keith shook his head, blowing smoke rings. David just stared moodily at nothing. Ned ran up to his room.
“Losers,” he said under his breath, taking the stairs three at a time. Probably sitting there discussing metaphysics or suicide. They were sensitive show-offs; they wanted everyone to know they’d been injured by the cruel world.
Ned had them pegged for the types who would see his father and make fun of his face. If his father was anorexic like them, or wore nothing but black turtlenecks, they could accept his deformity. But guys like Keith and David would see his father as a jock, a fireman—to them, a municipal worker, just like a cop, or a garbageman, or a highway worker—who’d had his face burned off.
He burst into his room. Mark Mallory, his roommate, sat at his desk studying trig.
“Hey,” Mark said, over his shoulder. “Your dad’s here.”
“Yeah, I saw his truck. Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know,” Mark said. “He’s in a weird mood.”
“What do you mean?” When it came to his father, Ned was always alert. Mark was a good guy who knew pretty much the whole story about Ned’s parents; he’d spent a few vacations out on the island, and he liked Ned’s father a lot.
“He had a big, goofy smile on.”
“Interesting,” Ned said.
He left the room and headed down the stairs, but more slowly than he had ascended them. His father was just about the most straightforward person Ned knew, but he certainly had his mysteries. As the years went by he was turning more and more into a hermit. Ned hoped this college tour would be good for him: get him off the island, away from his clocks. Maybe his father was looking forward to it, too. That could explain his mood.
Ned stepped outside. Lights had gone on in most of the dorm rooms as students headed home from practice or the library. The low, black mountains ringed the valley, their crests awash in the silver light of a sliver moon. Ned headed behind his dorm, to a path that led toward the playing fields.
Without the dorm lights, it was much darker back here. The stars seemed close enough to touch. Ned saw his father standing in the path, as tall as a tree, his head thrown back to look at the sky.
“Dad!” Ned said, before he got too close.
His father didn’t hear him at first. He just stood there, staring at the stars, lost in his own world. Maybe something had happened. Ever since he’d lost his mother, Ned had a built-in anxiety when it came to his father. If his father didn’t call when he was supposed to, if he was fifteen minutes late picking Ned up, if he didn’t answer his telephone, Ned would worry. His pulse would quicken, the way it did now. Mark teased him, calling it his “old-lady heart.”
“Dad, are you okay?” Ned asked.
His father turned then, and even in the dark, Ned could see that his face was radiant. You didn’t see his father smile like this too often; he understood why Mark had called it goofy.
“Hello, son,” his father said, and if anything, his smile got bigger. “Are you ready to find yourself a college?”
“Yeah,” Ned said, puzzled. His father always told him how proud he was of him, for getting high honors and being all-American, and all that. But how big a deal was it, just looking at colleges? It wasn’t as if Ned had been accepted anywhere yet. Or been offered financial aid. Still, it was the only thing he could come up with to explain his father’s mood.
His father held out his arm, slapped it around Ned’s shoulders. Ned, who towered over everyone at Deerfield, felt small for just that instant. He went back in time. His mother might have been waiting for them at home, ready to give them supper. Standing there with his gigantic father, looking at a skyful of stars, Ned remembered how it felt to be a little boy. And he didn’t mind.
INSTEAD of going to school, realizing that their act would get them in trouble and not even caring, Maggie and her friends took the ferry off-island and hitchhiked to Boston. There were four of them, too many to hitch a ride in the same car unless it was a big empty one. If they got split up, they agreed to meet at Morning Glory, their favorite head shop in the Combat Zone.
They smoked a little pot on the ferry’s upper deck, and Vanessa sipped from a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream.
“Quit hogging it,” Eugene said.
Eventually, she passed it around. Maggie hoped that getting all liquored up would make her warm. Even with her heavy sweater, leather jacket, and insulated mittens, she was freezing cold. This trip felt like a mistake. Vanessa had suggested it because they had a fourth-period history test that none of them had studied for, and if they were going to get in trouble anyway, they might at least have some fun.
But already it felt boring to Maggie. The same old thing: get high, get drunk, freeze your ass off waiting for a ride, then wind up in the grossest part of Boston. Every time she’d done this lately, she’d ended up having a different part of her body pierced.
Kurt was after her to put a ring in her pussy. Maggie knew how much it would hurt, and she didn’t want to do it. Just the thought made her feel shaky. But she hated saying no to Kurt; the idea of losing him was scarier than facing any needle. Knowing her, she’d drink herself brave, and by the time she got back to the island, she’d have another hole in her body.
; Standing at the rail, Maggie kept her eyes peeled for whales or seals. At this time of year you saw them all the time. Seals were her favorite. Their sleek round heads and enormous eyes, whiskering out of the water to watch the ferry slide by. Last summer she had promised Karen they’d ride the ferry alone together over Christmas, looking for seals. She’d even seen a seal toy at the general store, a fuzzy white baby that she had planned to give Karen for her birthday.
There. Maggie saw a real seal. He bobbed in the icy water, and she had the feeling he knew she was watching. She had the crazy desire to wave to him. But she didn’t; her friends would think she was stupid.
“How much money do you have?” Kurt asked, coming to stand beside her. She leaned into his body and felt the thrill of love run through her limbs.
“About nine dollars.”
“Shit,” he said.
He had asked her to go through her mother’s purse while her mother was in the shower, and to check the laundry for money her father might have left in his pants pockets. Maggie had said she would, but what Kurt didn’t understand was that her family counted every penny. Besides, ripping off stores was one thing, but Maggie couldn’t steal from her family. Instead, she had gone without school lunch the last few days in order to have a stash of cash for an occasion just such as this. When he would ask her how much she had.
“How about you?” she asked. “How much do we have altogether?”
He gave her a sarcastic look, to let her know there was no “altogether.” She wasn’t stupid. She knew that in Kurt’s mind her money was theirs and his money was his. If he even had any. A little voice deep inside sometimes told Maggie that she could do better than Kurt. That there were boys who were nice, who knew the meaning of love, or at least respect, who were as good-looking as Kurt.
But they didn’t live on the island. Kurt was the best boy in her class. Twenty years old! No one else had a boyfriend in his twenties. He was tall and handsome, with golden skin and flowing blond hair. His face reminded her of a beautiful cat, with exotic wide green eyes. He could easily be a male model.
Feeling guilty for even thinking about someone other than Kurt, Maggie pressed his hand to her breast and gave him a long, open-mouthed kiss.
“We need some more money,” he said, pulling back.
“It’s enough,” Maggie said. “The ride’ll be free, the ferry’s free… .” The crew guys never charged island kids during the winter.
“I want to buy weed,” Kurt said.
Boring, Maggie thought. But she didn’t say anything. She resumed scanning the sea for seals.
“I’ll figure something out,” he said, heading toward Vanessa and her bottle.
They hitched a ride off the ferry with a refrigeration repairman who let them sit in the open back of his pickup as far as Wickland. Perched on the bare metal floor for all those miles made Maggie so cold she honestly thought she might die. She wondered whether her bottom was actually frostbitten.
She tried to convince the others to stop at a Friendly’s for hot chocolate, but no one wanted to spend the money. They stationed themselves on the side of the highway. Maggie hugged herself. She very badly wished she hadn’t done this. Her mother was going to kill her.
Besides, she knew that she could have passed the history test. She wasn’t talking an A, or even a B, but she wouldn’t have failed. She had just told her friends she hadn’t studied because she didn’t want them to think she was getting uppity.
After they’d gone thirty minutes with no luck, taking turns holding the cardboard with BOSTON in big letters printed on it and no one stopping, Maggie said maybe they should head back home.
“Party pooper!” Vanessa said.
“We’re going to Boston,” Kurt said.
Smirking, Vanessa sank to her knees. She folded her hands, like a little kid saying her prayers, and she looked at the sky.
“If only someone stops to give us a ride, so that we don’t freeze to death, I swear I’ll believe in God,” she said, then started laughing hysterically.
Maggie went to church with her family every Sunday. Since Karen died she didn’t know exactly what she believed. She didn’t know how God could let such a thing happen to such a wonderful little girl. To an entire family! But it made her sick, Vanessa being so crude. She tugged Vanessa’s collar, trying to get her to stand. But Vanessa flailed at her, pushing her away.
“I mean it,” Vanessa said, and by now Kurt and Eugene were on their knees, too. All three of them were laughing so hard, they couldn’t talk.
“Send us a ride, and we’ll all believe in God,” Kurt said before he collapsed again, whooping with laughter.
And at that moment a truck stopped. Not some dinky pickup, but a super-huge Peterbilt eighteen-wheeler. The driver opened his window.
“Boston?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Kurt said.
“Hop in.” He unlatched the passenger door. Kurt, Eugene, and Vanessa were still giggling.
“Aaaah, he would have stopped anyway,” Kurt said.
“Yeah,” Vanessa said. “We take the belief shit back.”
Maggie felt so disgusted, she almost didn’t climb in after them. But she was so cold… . Kurt reached down from the cab and pulled her in. He sat in the passenger seat, and the truck driver told the others they could ride in his little cabin.
Located right behind the cab was a tiny windowless room with a bed, some cupboards, and a bookshelf with a board across it, to prevent the books from flying around. Heat blasted out of a vent; Maggie huddled in front of it.
“It’s adorable!” Vanessa squealed as Eugene pulled her onto the bed.
“It’s home twenty-five days out of the month,” the driver said. Maggie tried to size him up. With Kurt and Eugene there, she felt pretty safe, but you never knew. He was neatly shaven, with short blond hair. He wore a turquoise turtleneck under a colorful ski-style sweater. About thirty years old, very clean-cut. Maggie let herself relax.
“So, where are you all from?” the driver asked.
Kurt started telling him about the island. Maggie overheard part of it, but the Bailey’s was having a delayed effect, and she started to feel drowsy. Next thing she knew, she smelled pot. Kurt and the driver were passing a joint back and forth.
“My name’s Fritz, by the way,” he said. “How about you?”
Kurt told him.
“Y’all got pretty girlfriends, Kurt and Eugene,” he said. The more he talked, the more pronounced his southern accent became.
“Thanks.” Maggie actually heard Kurt say the word.
“You bored back there?” he asked, checking his rearview mirror. He met Maggie’s eyes dead on. Blushing, she looked away.
“No,” she said.
“‘Cause if you were, I could offer you some interesting reading material. There in the bookshelf.”
Maggie ignored him, but Vanessa reached right past her. She pulled down a battered paperback. Maggie didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of looking, but Vanessa gently tapped her elbow. Maggie glanced over.
The cover showed a naked woman lying in a field. Purple bruises covered her body; a cord cut deeply into her neck. Her tongue, black and bloated, protruded from her mouth. It was a real photograph of a dead woman. The book’s title was Bitch.
Maggie and Vanessa looked at each other. Eugene was stoned, his eyes closed. Quietly, Maggie slid the book back onto the shelf.
“What’d y’all find?” Fritz asked, half turning in his seat.
“Nothing,” Maggie said steadily.
“C’mon—I saw you looking at one of my books. Don’t keep it to yourself.”
Kurt swung around to give Maggie a dirty look.
“He’s nice enough to give us a ride,” Kurt said. “Don’t be a jerk.”
Maggie stared at him calmly, trying to communicate to him that there was a reason why she wasn’t eager to look through the books with Fritz. At the same time she kept glancing at Fritz, to make sure he had both hands on the whee
l.
“Like I said, you boys have yourselves two sweet ladies.”
That seemed to make Kurt feel okay. He relaxed, facing forward again. Vanessa reached for Maggie’s hand, and she squeezed it.
“Matter of fact, I would be very happy to pay a hundred bucks to fuck either one of them. If that doesn’t offend you, that is.”
Maggie felt her throat close around a sharp cry. Vanessa’s mouth had dropped open; she was shaking Eugene to wake him up.
Now Fritz and Kurt were conferring, their heads close together. Good, Maggie thought. Kurt’s playing it cool. Instead of blowing up, causing a big scene and setting off God knows what kind of reaction a creep like Fritz might have, he’s reasoning with him. Maggie tried to send Kurt a silent message. She gave him permission to tell Fritz anything he wanted: that she and Vanessa had STDs, AIDS, anything.
Fritz nodded. He seemed to understand Kurt’s explanation.
Now Kurt was climbing into the little cabin, to hold Maggie in his arms. How could she have doubted him before? Shaking with fear, she let him protectively stroke her hair and kiss her face.
“It’s okay,” he whispered in her ear.
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered back.
“I know. I know.”
“Right now, okay?”
Reaching for the book, she laid it on her knee, so Kurt would understand that they were dealing with a sick one.
“The thing is,” Kurt whispered, “he’ll pay one hundred bucks cash, right now. All you have to do is let him … you know. It’s no different than if he were some guy at school. I’m not your first guy anyway, and if it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me. He’ll wear a condom… .”
Maggie couldn’t believe her ears. She leaned back, to look Kurt right in the eyes. Had Fritz slipped him some bizarre personality-altering drug?
“Kurt …” she said. “Please?”
“Oh my God,” Vanessa whispered.
They were slowing down. Maggie craned her neck, to see out the window, and saw that Fritz was pulling into a rest stop.
“One hundred bucks,” Kurt said urgently. He held Maggie’s upper arms with such force that they throbbed. She pushed him away.
