Silent Witness

by Richard North Patterson

  Now he did not wish to rush her. “I guess we’ve still got things to work out.”

  She gave him a pensive look. But her voice had a quiet resolve. “No,” she answered. “I know what I want now.”

  Silent, Tony kissed her. They would end what they had started, he thought, on the summer night that had torn them both apart.

  * * *

  The night had been warm, even for Lake City in the summer; wearing T-shirts and shorts, the four of them had cut through Alison’s backyard, down the steps from the cliff to the Taylors’ mooring, and then over to the public beach of the park that, like the old house that was now the library, had belonged to Alison’s family before they gave it to the city, and years later still bore their name.

  The beach was sandy, soft enough for sitting on or making out. Lake Erie was befouled; a somewhat fetid smell hung over the water, the sources of which did not bear close thought. But they were seventeen, and this was all the beach they had.

  They built a campfire with driftwood and kerosene, cooked hot dogs. Sam had brought the beer; good-naturedly, he popped the tops off the cool brown bottles of Carling he had bought with fake ID and handed them each a beer. Once more, it struck Tony that they were a somewhat curious foursome: whereas Alison plainly liked Sue, she seemed to look at Sam with wariness, as if observing a natural phenomenon whose course she could not quite predict. Still, she was willing to admit that Sam brought to most occasions a sense of fun and a certain magnetism; Tony knew that Alison felt it too, even if Sam sometimes called her the “Ice Queen.”

  They sat back, drinking beer, in no hurry. The moon was large and full, its light refracting on the water that lapped against the shore. Beneath the quiet, Tony noticed Sam studying Alison, then him.

  Tony could guess why. Though it was never spoken among the four of them, everyone knew that Sam and Sue had been doing it for months. With Tony, Sam was quite open about this, and expected reciprocity. But Tony had nothing to offer. Just the week before, he had said as much yet again.

  Sam’s eyes widened. “After six months?” he said with exaggerated amazement. “Come on, Tony, don’t be such a fucking gentleman. Not with me.”

  “I’m not being a gentleman. I guess Alison figures she has some say in who gets to be the first.”

  Sam’s eyes glinted with amusement. “She never has?”

  Tony shook his head. “And if that ever changes, don’t expect to hear it from me.…”

  Now, Sam looked at Alison and said, “You guys want to go swimming?”

  Alison gave him that direct gaze that seemed to be her property. “In what?”

  Sam laughed. “It’s dark out,” he said carelessly.

  Alison’s slight smile did not change her eyes. “Not dark enough.”

  He looked at her a moment, then shrugged and turned to Sue. “Let’s get in, okay?”

  Sue did not answer. In the ethos of Lake City High, you weren’t a slut if you slept with your boyfriend; or even more than one boyfriend, as long as the time between relationships was long enough to qualify both as love. What seemed to bother Sue was Alison—Sue turned to her, as if unwilling to compromise a comrade. With a certain patience, Sam waited: it struck Tony that Sam treated Sue with more respect than he did anyone but Tony himself.

  “We’ll be back in a while,” Sue said to Alison. Glancing at Tony, Sam took Sue’s hand.

  Silent, Tony and Alison watched Sam and Sue walk away, their shadows receding until they vanished in the darkness.

  Gently, Tony kissed her. “Want to go in?” Tony asked. “They’ll be tied up for an hour.”

  Face close to his, Alison regarded him with both hesitance and desire; although they had touched each other, sometimes to the point of torment, she had never been undressed with him. Then she stood and backed into the shadows, still watching him.

  Tony waited, afraid to move. In the darkness, Alison was only a silhouette, arms raised above her head. Tony could sense, rather than see, her nakedness.

  Her slender body appeared in the moonlight, skittering into the water. Tony thought of his confessor, Father Quinn; Alison was the “near occasion of sin,” Tony knew, and the sin of making love with her would be a mortal one. He could feel his heart beat.

  Stripping, Tony followed.

  He saw Alison waist deep in water, her back to him, and then she seemed to kneel, turning to face him with only her head above the inky blackness. She had given him no permission, Tony knew; this was her way of covering herself.

  He stopped a few feet from her, the water coming to his waist. Tony could imagine the hidden outline of her body, near enough to touch. He felt his own body stirring.

  He moved toward her. She froze, stepped back once, stopped again. Her eyes were very still.

  Reaching out, Tony lifted her by the waist and pulled her close to him, filled with months of wanting her.

  Their mouths met, and then their bodies. Tony could feel her small breasts against his chest, her hips thrust forward with her own sudden desire. Then she pulled her head back, twisting away.

  “I can’t.” Her voice was strained. “This can’t happen now.”

  Caught in his desperate need, Tony could not release her. “It can.…”

  Her eyes shut; it was as though if she could not see him she would not want him anymore. Suddenly Tony felt hollow. He had come too close; this time the denial of passion seemed to have left a hole in him, as if they suddenly had nothing. In a low voice, he said, “Your parents have started in on you again.”

  Alison’s eyes opened. Now she seemed incapable of looking away. “Part of it is my parents.…”

  “Is it still because I’m Catholic?” In his anger and frustration, Tony felt his temper snap. “You can’t be too careful, can you? Let ‘them’ in the club, and the next thing you know, your daughter will start having red-haired children with rosaries around their necks and a line straight to the Pope.…”

  Abruptly, Tony felt a wall come down between them; on the other side, closed to him, was the world of shopping trips to New York City, vacations in Paris, and weekends with the sons and daughters of the Taylors’ East Coast friends. All while Tony, whose grandfather Lord’s Polish surname was once two syllables longer, tugged his forelock on the Taylors’ porch.

  Alison’s eyes had never left him. “I don’t defend them about that—”

  “Defend them? Have you ever thought about telling them that I’m not the local equivalent of a car thief?”

  “They know you’re not, and it’s not all about being Catholic. My parents are afraid we’ll just keep right on going together. They think it’s too young and too soon.” She paused, voice quieter yet. “They’re asking that we see each other one night a weekend and leave the other free.”

  Tony felt a stab of jealousy and, beneath that, a hurt that went much deeper. “And go out with other people, you mean? Just to keep your parents happy? I can’t believe that’s what you want.”

  For the first time, Alison looked down. “I said part was my parents. Not all.” She drew a breath, sliding down into the water. “I’m afraid, all right? I’m afraid of how it will be for me and how I’ll feel later. That somehow it will change things.” She looked up at him again, tears in her eyes. “Sometimes I want you so much I can hardly stand it. But it’s like putting you in charge of me, giving you a part of me. Don’t you understand how confusing that feels?”

  Tony shook his head. “My feelings aren’t confused at all.”

  Now Alison’s eyes took him in. Softly, she answered, “That’s the last part, Tony. You weren’t confused with Mary Jane, either. But how do you feel now?”

  This time it was Tony who looked away. “What if it happened tonight?” she asked. “Like most of me wanted it to. Will you feel as good as you always tell me you would? Or will you end up feeling awful about what we’ve done, and have to confess me like I’m some kind of sin? Do you ever wonder how that would make me feel?”

  She had never said this
with such emotion. All at once, Tony lost the heart to argue.

  Seeing this, Alison gently kissed his face. For an instant, their bodies touched; for this brief moment, Tony felt the electricity of renewed desire, the more painful because they might never satisfy it.

  Slowly, Alison backed away. “They’ll be coming back soon. We should get out.”

  Tony exhaled. “I guess so.”

  They walked to the shore together, Alison a little ahead of him. When she stepped from the water, she looked so beautiful that it hurt. Miserably, Tony said, “I can take you home.”

  She turned to him, a silver silhouette. “I’ll stay for a while, Tony. I don’t want you having to explain yourself to Sam.”

  They dressed in the dark and sat together, silent and unhappy, waiting for Sue and Sam to finish making love. It took them months to repair the damage; that night, Tony could not imagine that they would ever become lovers.

  FOUR

  Tony started the car. “I hated that night,” he said to Alison.

  Turning, she touched his face. “So did I.”

  In his headlights, Tony could see Sam in his own car, tipping a flask to his lips and then wheeling away.

  Through the window, Alison watched the taillights of Sam’s car recede in the darkness, her profile reflective. After a moment, she said, “I don’t think I’d want to be Sue tonight.”

  Tony glanced at her. “He’ll be all right. Most times, Sam’s got a pretty good idea of where to draw the line.”

  “But not always.” She turned to him. “Sometimes I wonder how you guys got to be so close.”

  Tony began driving toward Taylor Park. “We were just both there, the two best guys on almost every team we played for. We could have been friends, or we could have been rivals. I guess we both knew friends was better.”

  She gave him a curious look. “Sometimes I watch you two, and it’s like Sam’s your bad twin brother. The one who gets away with doing all the things the good brother wants to do but knows he really shouldn’t.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like at church that time. To me, it sounded scary.”

  Tony gave a short laugh. “It was. But I didn’t want to be Sam. I was just glad to let Sam have the hangover for me and get out of there alive.”

  * * *

  If Tony had seen it coming, he would not have been there in the first place. Mass had never looked so good.

  It began at Sam’s house, around one o’clock in the morning. Tony was sleeping over; they sat on the floor of Sam’s room with the lights dimmed and the radio on, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. Sam had warmed up with a couple of beers; the effect was one of great self-confidence. But beneath this Tony sensed a certain volatility: the family hardware store had failed at last, and Sam sometimes seemed resentful of the town itself for the Robbs’ declining station. And there was something Tony could not ask about—the stories about Coach Jackson and Sam’s mother. “Good whiskey,” Sam said, and took another sip.

  “Rhapsody in the Rain” came on the radio in Lou Christie’s near falsetto; as far as Tony could make out, it was about getting laid in the car to the rhythm of windshield wipers. Sam listened to the lyrics with a sardonic grin.

  “So,” he asked, “things any better with the Ice Queen?”

  Tony gave him a look: the nickname annoyed him; the question depressed him. Coolly, he said, “The same.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna get hair on your palms, man. Maybe go blind. I can see you now, selling pencils outside the high school, ’cause Alison Taylor won’t come across. You need my advice.”

  “Jesus, Sam, is that all you ever think about—sex? Because Alison and me are about a whole bunch of stuff. Or don’t you and Sue ever talk when you’re alone?”

  Sam assumed an expression of weary patience. “Help this man, O Lord,” he intoned. “He is wandering in the darkness with a serious erection, and no salvation for it but his own.”

  In spite of himself, Tony laughed aloud.

  Sam took a deep swallow of whiskey. “Speaking of our Lord, I’ve got a sermon to write. I think I’m gonna need you here.”

  “Sermon? For who? Horny Guys Anonymous?”

  “I never told you? Christ.” Sam took another swig. “Remember that Methodist youth group the old lady stuck me in ’cause I wouldn’t go to church with her anymore? They elected me their president.”

  Tony looked at him in amazement. “I guess God must have spoken to them,” he said at last. “I can’t think of any other reason.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not the good part. The good part is our minister got this swell idea for an ecumenical youth service—skipping you mackerel snappers, of course. He drafted me to give the sermon. For my new flock and their parents, Sue’s folks included.”

  Tony covered his eyes. “Has this guy ever actually met you?”

  “You know me—I can fool anyone for a while. But you want to know the best part?”

  “I was kind of hoping I’d already heard it.”

  Sam grinned. “Sermon’s tomorrow.”

  Tony stared at him. “Shit,” he said.

  “Won’t do. Has to be longer.”

  All at once, Tony realized he was a little drunk. “What are you going to say?”

  “No clue.” Sam was more than a little drunk, Tony realized; he gave off that weird sense of imperviousness Tony had seen before, just before Sam’s judgment deserted him.

  For Tony, the fun had gone out of this. “Maybe you’d better stop drinking.”

  Sam’s eyes glinted with defiance. “Can’t do that—I’d lose my edge.”

  Tony studied him, then looked at his watch. “When is this supposed to happen?”

  “Six o’clock. It’s outside—sort of a sunrise service.”

  Tony puffed his cheeks. “If I were you, Sam, I’d start praying right now. For rain.”

  Sam shrugged. “They’d just move the fucker inside. It’s you and me, Tony. Want to see what we can make up?”

  Tony sat back. With a certain irony, he noticed that on the radio Elvis had begun wailing “Crying in the Chapel.” “Well,” Tony said, “I guess it’s good you’re speaking to Protestants. As far as I can see, their idea of Hell is a year without golf. Church is where they go to sleep.”

  They went to the kitchen. Sam made coffee; Tony began scribbling in a spiral notebook. “If I were you,” he murmured, “I’d say ‘spirit of the Lord’ a lot. When those guys raise money on TV, it looks like that works for them.”

  As Tony made notes, Sam drank coffee and whiskey; the result in Sam combined slurred speech with a certain crazy energy. Sam laughed a lot; Tony outlined a sermon.

  “You’re going with me, right?” Sam asked. “It wouldn’t be fun without you.”

  “I’ve had enough fun. Besides, I’m not supposed to set foot inside a Protestant church.”

  “It’s outside, remember? Don’t you folks believe in the Good Samaritan?”

  Sam looked a little shaky, Tony decided. “I’d better drive home first,” he said at last. “Put on my suit and running shoes.”

  An hour later, walking to Tony’s car, Sam looked pale. His hands were trembling as he stuffed the outline in the inside pocket of his suit. Tony guessed that he had drunk more whiskey.

  Sam lay back in the passenger seat. “I’m gonna do Richard Burton,” he announced. “He was terrific as the minister in The Sandpiper.” And then he promptly fell asleep.

  They reached the church as the first light broke over the tree-lined street. To one side of the church Tony saw the folding chairs—already beginning to fill with people—set on the lawn facing a wooden platform with a podium and a cross. Sam was still unconscious.

  Tony touched his shoulder. Sam blinked and then gazed at Tony with dazed incomprehension, like a child aroused from sleep. Tony could not restrain a bit of sadism. “Curtain time, Lazarus. Arise, and do the work of the Lord.”

  Sam burst out laughing. Tony found this so fri
ghtening that he got out and opened the car door for him.

  Together, they walked across the dewy grass. In the fresh light of morning, Sam was nearly white; Tony, who had seen this before, knew that Sam was moments from throwing up.

  The pastor—a slight, sandy-haired man with glasses—spotted Sam and started toward them with a ministerial smile, which did not show his teeth. “Take deep breaths,” Tony murmured.

  Sam did so, swallowing. “Good morning, Samuel,” the pastor said. “Are you ready to lead us?”

  Humbly, Sam bowed his head; missing the grin that this concealed, the pastor seemed to take Sam’s posture for awe. “The Lord will help you,” he told Sam, and introduced himself to Tony. “And where is your church home?”

  “Saint Raphael’s parish.”

  The pastor looked surprised, and then clapped him on the shoulder. “Good, good. I hope you enjoy our service.”

  As the pastor led Sam away, Tony saw that Sam’s head was still bowed.

  Looking around him, he saw Sue next to her parents, a brisk and amiable couple who both taught at the junior high school. Sitting next to her, Tony said hello to them. Sue was watching Sam. Under her breath, she murmured, “Is he okay?”

  “He thinks he is.”

  Sue faced the podium again, her back straight, lips half parted. The service began. Both the pastor’s prayer and his introduction of Sam were blurs to Tony. He knew only that the Sam Robb who the pastor implied stood before them existed nowhere in life.

  When Sam stepped to the podium, Tony saw the sweat on his forehead, felt Sue’s tense fingers curling around his. Sam seemed to swallow. “Last night,” he said in a shaky voice, “I really wasn’t ready for this.”

  Tony saw Sue’s eyes close. Pausing, Sam seemed unsteady. “I was waiting to be filled with the spirit of the Lord. Instead I began feeling sick.…”