by C. S. Lakin
That was the one thought that kept him going. Find a way out. Get off the island. Make some distance. Maybe he was so drunk he hadn’t heard Lila right.
He replayed his last year in college in his mind. Lila, a naïve, love-struck teenager. She was crazy over him, but wasn’t half the school? Was that his responsibility? Her delusions were her own problem, not his fault. And, for crissakes, it was fifteen frigging years ago.
Davis scrambled down the other side of the butte and strained his eyes to see. Sure enough, a small house sat backed up against a grove of pines, but the windows were dark and boarded up. Still, there might be a boat around, or a radio.
He made for the house at a fast jog, ignoring his footing. He tripped with a lurch and landed face down in the wet sand. A jolt shot from his ankle up his spine. Biting his lip, he rolled over and grasped his foot. The pain was severe, but the bone didn’t feel like broken. He chastised himself for being so stupid; he had safely maneuvered the rocks only to wrench his ankle on some tree root.
Upon standing, his leg gave way. Great, just great.
Wind and rain flailed him as he crawled on his knees, finally reaching the wood-slat door of the cabin. He banged his fist and yelled, then pulled himself to standing. He peered in through the glass window set into the door. The darkness revealed nothing. He tried the doorknob and banged again, this time hitting the window. Glass shattered and fell in shards, leaving a jagged hole. He felt badly about the break, but, hey, this was an emergency. He’d pay for any damage. He’d return the boat, too, if he found one.
Behind him, the waves roared. Davis didn’t want to turn and see what the ocean looked like. If he found some small boat, even a row boat, couldn’t he just follow the tide, whichever way it went, and row close to shore? Maybe that way he could maneuver to a sheltered area between islands and head for civilization. He wished he had paid more attention to the map of the San Juans. There were hundreds of islands around, but which way would he need to go to find one inhabited? Which way was north? And how could he be sure he wouldn’t head for open sea? Well, he’d worry about all that later. First things first—find a boat.
Davis reached his hand though the broken glass and grabbed the inside handle. The door swung open and he stepped into blackness. He felt around for a light switch. In the dark, he fingered the furniture, hoping for a CB or radio, a flashlight. All he found was a desk, a chair, a cot, and wood-planked walls that smelled musty. His ankle screamed with pain as he dragged his foot behind him. A wave of exhaustion overtook him. His head was slowly clearing from all the alcohol, and sleepiness replaced stupor. He lowered himself onto the cot and lay back on the pillow. Just a few minutes’ rest, he told himself. And then he would find some light, a key, something.
Davis shivered and climbed under a heavy wool blanket. His head felt hot and his skin clammy. The last thing he saw before falling asleep was Lila in her flowing garish dress, laughing like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz and saying, “I’ll get you, my pretty, I’ll get you!”
George Carmichael finally received his mission: anointed by God to save the lost and depraved youth of America. The unrest and rebellion spreading like wildfire across the nation was the sign he had been waiting for. With his flowing black coat, he preached the imminence of the Great Tribulation and God’s holy war—Armageddon—to the crowds of young people loitering in Seattle’s parks. It so angered him to see the young strung out and filthy that he intensified his teaching of Lila. He pounded Scriptures at her, warning her not to be caught sleeping because the “master” would soon arrive. Armageddon was finally here. He commanded her to watch for the signs of Jesus’ coming. “Then we shall flee to the mountains, when the sign of the Son of Man appears in the heavens and all of the tribes of the earth will beat themselves in lamentation. He will send forth his angels with a great trumpet sound, and they will gather his faithful together from the four winds, from one extremity of the heavens to the other extremity.”
Lila’s father would often stop mid speech and go to the door to scan the skies and listen, as if he could hear that trumpet. To Lila, the prospect of being swept away in the clouds with the Lord scared her. She saw a bumper sticker on a car that read: “Beware—in the rapture, this car will be driverless.” She envisioned car accidents the length of I-5 as drivers were pulled by some mighty magnet up into the stratosphere.
Her schoolmates were oblivious to their impending doom. If Lila tried to warn them, they laughed, as her father predicted they would. “They’re faithless unbelievers,” he told her, “and they will suffer at God’s hand. Just like in Noah’s day.” It filled Lila with trepidation to think God would torture her friends whose only sin, as far as she could tell, was that they went to a different church than she. Her mind was constantly bombarded with images of fire and brimstone, and the screams of people in pain. The impending rapture shadowed everything she did, making her daily, mundane activities seem pointless. Not until she’d left home did she realize how warped and unusual her perspective of life had been.
Lila spent her high school years under tense fear and anxiety. Her father stirred up his household with near hysteria. He quoted Jesus’ admonition not to go back into the house for any reason when the sun darkened. Be “constantly prepared” was his motto, or “that day will take you unawares.” He scolded Lila whenever she displayed a bad attitude or gave in to temptation.
“ ‘If your hand makes you stumble, cut it off; it is finer for you to enter into life maimed than with two hands to go off into hell, where the maggot cannot die and the fire is not put out.’ ” George made it clear that if he had to cut off her hand, he’d do it. He would do whatever it took to get his family into the holy kingdom.
Each night, he stood behind Lila in the glow of her lamp as she said her prayers while kneeling against the coverlet of her bed. Her father’s presence smothered her as he stood inches behind her; his breathing quickening as she spoke in a measured, self-conscious voice. Although she knew what was coming, she jumped each time she felt the hardness of his body as he leaned on her back and pressed against her, wordlessly. Although he never made another move, this frightened her more than all his yelling and cursing. Through her cotton gown, from her earliest memories, she could feel him tremble; was it from rage or holy spirit? Or something else? Fear made her long to race through her prayers, but experience taught her she’d only have to start over and have to endure that alien hardness of him that much longer. She would finish her prayers in a solemn tone, her father supplying the “amen” at the end.
After sixteen years with the sword of wrath hanging over her head, Lila felt hopelessly trapped. She ate herself into senselessness. Her father stopped punishing her by withholding food and Lila made up for the starvation years with a vengeance. Her only joy was going to the movies with her one friend, Carrie Hancock. Like Lila, Carrie also drowned her adolescent anxieties by eating everything she could get her hands on. Carrie, for her own reasons, was also an outcast. The two girls huddled together like packrats in the dark theater—hoarding boxes of Raisinettes, Dots, and buckets of popcorn. At school, they sat in the back of the classroom and passed notes, making fun of all the cute, style-conscious girls that flirted with the boys. They told themselves they were above all that teenage mush, but lapped up every romantic movie that came to town. Secretly, they yearned for love, but believing it unattainable, ate for comfort. Food was something that never let them down—instant gratification and guaranteed calories. Lila believed the layers of fat would protect her heart from ever getting broken. And the best part was, she controlled her weight; her father couldn’t.
Lila began to see through the hypocrisy of her father’s zeal. His main incentive, through his preaching, was accumulating money. Like the television evangelists she watched, her father made repeated urgings to the members of his flock to dig hard into their pocketbooks and wallets and give to the church. He judged a person by what they gave, and if he thought they were holding back, he condemned th
em.
Lila recalled one time her father dragged her to the hospital to visit a sick, elderly woman. Seeing a hospital ward full of dying people gave her the creeps. She stood next to the elevated bed containing the decrepit body of Mrs. McHaney, a smelly woman who whimpered piteously. Nurses shuffled by, smiles pasted on their faces. When George Carmichael told his daughter to give Mrs. McHaney a kiss on her leathery cheek, Lila refused. She knew if she touched that lady’s skin, she would throw up. Undoubtedly, she would contract the woman’s fatal illness.
George led his daughter out to the car, then slapped her across the face. Didn’t she know how much money this woman had? Lila had probably ruined their chances of persuading the widow to donate her estate to the church. He fumed the entire way home. Lila noticed that he never uttered a word of compassion for the old woman’s pain; all he saw were dollar signs. With his eyes fixed on the road, he explained to Lila why the money was so important. How it took money to run a church, pay the rent and utilities, buy the hymnals. Didn’t she understand? She did, and even at that young age, she understood more than he surmised. The church remained decrepit, their lives stayed impoverished, but her father’s bank account flourished.
Lila’s father was thorough in his attempt at destroying his daughter’s happiness. When Carrie’s parents divorced, George refused to let Lila play with her best friend. God forbids divorce, he told her; Carrie’s house reeked of sin. And when her father realized Lila sneaked away to see Carrie, he fixed it permanently. Lila never learned what he said to Mrs. Hancock, but the family moved away abruptly; Carrie never even said good-bye.
After she left, Lila felt lonelier than ever. She plodded through her last year in high school, simmering with hurt and anger. The kids at school were cruel, the teachers unsympathetic. Lila’s only distraction from her pain was the movie house, and the more she watched the silver screen, the stronger her desire to act, to escape, to find a way, whatever it took, to leave home. Lila knew she had to make the break, and having no money left her with little choice. She asked her school counselor about college scholarships and found out she was eligible to apply. Knowing her parents would never approve, she forged their signatures on the application forms and the income statements, fearing that any moment God would strike her dead. By spring, she had been accepted into The Evergreen State College in Olympia, right in her own backyard. Her roommate would be a girl named Millie Stevens from Brussels, Wisconsin.
All summer she fretted over how to break the news. September came and she couldn’t postpone leaving any longer. She took the coward’s way out. While her parents were shopping for a new sofa, she left them a brief note. She hastily packed and caught the bus at the corner. Only after leaving her neighborhood, Lila stopped looking behind her.
Ten minutes later, she arrived at the campus. An air of excitement and energy surrounded her. Kids hurrying across the Plaza, calling out to one another. Registering for classes. Racing around the bookstore clutching reading lists. Lila breathed it all in, terror mixed with excitement. She was a caged animal that had escaped the zoo. All these young people, seemingly without a care. No one could know what it cost Lila to come this far.
She watched these confident kids work through the registration process, and with her flair for mimicry, repeated their actions. She went up to her dorm and unlocked the door to a small and neat room with two identical beds, desks, and dressers. Her roommate had already arrived. One bed had a sweater tossed on it. One desk had books neatly stacked. The sight thrilled her. To Lila, this was the most beautiful room in the world. Her room. A place where her father could never touch her again.
After she unpacked her small suitcase, she walked around Red Square, then took the beach trail to the edge of the Sound. Lila drank in the beautifully landscaped and wooded campus.
As she stood at the water’s edge, Lila made a vow. She would be a different person here at Evergreen. She would make friends and be cheerful and study hard and make something of her life. No more standing in the shadows, on the sidelines. Somehow, she would find a way to explain this to her parents, knowing they would never understand or accept her decision. Knowing the walls of her house were going to cave in from her father’s wrath. He could come and physically drag her home, but she knew the law. She was eighteen and a legal adult. He had no power over her anymore.
Davis awoke with a start. In the dark, it took him a few moments to reorient. He jumped out of bed, remembering his ankle only after he put weight on it. Once more, he fell to the floor in pain. He stopped moving and listened. Definitely voices; far enough away, but he wasn’t going to waste any time waiting for company. He sneered. Lila must have sent the wolves out after him. He wasn’t out of “Siberia” yet. How long had he dozed? Minutes or hours? He cursed himself for not looking for that radio. Without light, how could he scour the cabin for a means of escape?
He would have to search the beach. Someone would have a boat dock. And someone was bound to have a boat, if only a rowboat. Or should he find a closet and hide? What if they found him? The last thing he wanted was a lengthy argument about marrying Lila.
Quickly, he buttoned his coat and wrapped the scarf around his pounding head. He felt so hot. Outside, the storm raged, but he had no other options. He would not to become Lila’s next meal. He thought about Cynthia, sleeping safely in bed. Now he wished he had stayed with her, rubbing up against her warm, smooth skin. He shook the thought from his mind. Before opening the door, he scanned his surroundings through the broken window. The voices were louder but indistinguishable. He saw nothing but dark and shadow.
He eased out through the door, his aching foot dragging behind. His head felt like a hot iron and sweat poured down his temples. He had to go on, even if it meant crawling back to Marin County. He hobbled over to the shadows of the trees and listened again. The waves crashed close by. He followed their sound until he reached the beach, where his leg collapsed under him and he could no longer move from the horrific pain.
Chapter 24
Whatever apprehension Lila felt about meeting Millie Stevens, vanished the moment her new roommate clunked into the dorm room. The door heaved open and Millie stumbled in, a short, stocky girl wearing loose jeans and a black sweatshirt. Her mop of curly light brown hair swished around apple-red cheeks. Tripping over two heavy suitcases, Millie collapsed onto the floor, laughing herself silly.
“Hi.” Millie smiled from the rug. “You must be Lila.”
Lila offered her hand. “That’s me. In the flesh. All of it.”
Lila was relieved. Her roommate was ordinary and nice, not some gorgeous coed with an attitude. Within five minutes, Lila learned that Millie, too, was escaping a father’s domination. And best of all, she wasn’t thin. An instant bond formed.
A week went by with no word from her parents, but finally Darla called, informing Lila of her father’s anger and disappointment. Lila, feeling safe at last, reassured her mother the importance of an education. She couldn’t live at home forever, supported by her parents. Didn’t the Bible encourage children to be able to take care of their parents in their old age? How did they expect her to do that without any job skills? Maybe she would study nursing or teaching. Lila’s mother was calmed by the altruistic arguments but voiced her dismay. Why couldn’t she have gone to a clerical school if she wanted skills? Darla finally hung up, partially assuaged, and Lila breathed a sigh of relief.
Lila waited for her father’s rage to descend upon her. She had a recurring nightmare where he stormed the campus and dragged her out of some class, humiliating her in front of her peers. So, his letter, arriving a week after the start of school, seemed anticlimactic. He warned her of the devil’s work in colleges today. Not one line demanding she return home. A short, neatly printed letter that she tore up. She vowed to never think of her past life again.
Millie talked to Lila about Wisconsin. How she hated the smell of curdling cheese and the miles of boring, flat farmland. Lila roared when Millie described a typical da
te in her home town. The guy would take her to a local bar and ignore her as he drank pitchers of beer with the other guys while they fed moths to the fish in the tank behind the bar. That was romance, Wisconsin style.
When Millie questioned her roommate about her background, Lila was not as forthcoming. Her answers were terse. She was a local girl, came here on scholarship. Her folks were religious. Millie respected her reticence and didn’t pry.
Millie gave Lila a tour of the campus while Lila drove Millie crazy with her jokes about cheese. As they walked to class, Lila kept up an endless patter. “Look, Mil, isn’t this beautiful? Just like the garden of Edom. Cheeze Whiz, Mil, say something. Oh, doesn’t his voice make you cheddar with desire? It makes my blood curdle.” Millie giggled at all her jokes. Once more Lila greased her way into friendship with humor. But, this time, she knew Millie really liked her. And she really liked Millie. She had a true friend at last.
In the evenings, as they studied, Millie raved about the theater group at Evergreen, a talented group of students that put on three plays a year. This was Millie’s second year in drama and she had only done bit roles, which suited her fine. She confided in Lila that her real reason for joining the group was to find a husband; she had no acting ambition. All the interesting guys hung around there. They were already into rehearsals of “The Owl and the Pussycat,” the December production, starring the two most talented actors in school. She persuaded Lila to sneak backstage and watch.
Millie ushered Lila into the wings of the dark stage. Lila melted into the curtain and watched the actors rehearse, illuminated only by the work light. Their voices resonated in the empty auditorium, filling Lila with awe. Absorbed in their performance, Lila startled when the instructor called for a break. She realized she had been holding her breath.
