The End of the Rainbow

by V. C. Andrews

  I groaned and sat up. My inner thighs ached a little.

  "Shower works, but you've got to play with the hot and cold even after you've stepped under it if someone else along the row here turns on theirs. I think. You get yourself up and started. and I'll do some reconnaissance and find us a decent place to have breakfast.'"

  "Okay," I said and rose, feeling very groggy.

  After my shower, I woke up. I ran a brush through my hair and got dressed quickly, glancing at my watch and realizing that hours ago. Mommy and Daddy had discovered my note. I didn't want to think about it. but I was sure by now Uncle Roy had been called and they were all meeting and discussing what to do. Harley came in as I was putting on my sneakers.

  "We'll have to go about ten miles," he said. "No sense in coming back here."

  "Who'd want to?" I complained. He laughed.

  "They ought to charge less when you have to share the room with roaches."

  "Roaches?" I glanced around and then quickly picked up my bag and stepped out of the room.

  I put on my helmet and we started away. What he had found was a roadside diner. Surprisingly. I was very hungry and ordered juice, blueberry pancakes and coffee. He just had some juice and cold cereal.

  "I travel better on a light stomach." he explained.

  "Does your father know when to expect us?" I asked him.

  "Yeah. I gave him a good idea." He took out his map and showed me the remainder of the route we were going to take. Everywhere he could, he chose secondary roads. "We'll be less obvious."

  "Why do you think we need to be?" I asked. He smiled.

  "You don't believe for one moment that your father and Roy haven't called the police, do you?"

  "The police?"

  "Sure."

  "Does Roy know where we're going?"

  "No, but they'll get a general alert or something going in every direction. Trust me," he said as if he had been a fugitive most of his life. "But don't worry about it," he assured me. "We'll get there."

  "Did your father tell you much more about himself?""

  "He told me he's a house painter and he's always been pretty busy. He said he has a woman living with him. Her name is Suze and she's Haitian. I guess he wanted me to know all that in case we arrived before he got home from work.

  "The village is quite small, but he said we couldn't miss his house if we tried. It's an octagon, built back in 1869, a landmark there."

  "Really?" After a beat I said. "What's an octagon house?"

  He smiled and took out a pen. Then he spread a napkin between us on the table and drew a rough outline.

  "It's exactly what it sounds like, an eight-sided house. His is two-story. They're very rare. Only a few thousand were originally built, mostly in New York. Massachusetts and the Midwest."

  "You know so much about architecture. Harley. You've just got to do something with it and not waste your talent."

  He shrugged.

  "I can't pretend I knew all that. Summer. After I spoke with him. I looked it up in one of my books and learned about it. It was made popular by a man named Orson S. Fowler who claimed that it enclosed more floor space per linear foot of exterior wall than the usual square or rectangle. He said it was more efficient in building costs and prevented heat loss, increased sunlight and ventilation and eliminated dark and useless corners. I can't wait to see it," he added.

  I stared at him. His eyes were lit with interest and excitement.

  "I think it's just wonderful that you have such a passion for architecture. Harley."

  He smiled.

  "I'm really a passionate guy. "

  The waitress brought our food, and we started to eat. I didn't realize how hungry I was until it was set before me. Harley laughed at my gobbling.

  "What? Oh. I look like a pig, huh?"

  "No," he said. "I just enjoy watching everything you do. Summer."

  I felt myself blush.

  "Because you're with me, I don't feel afraid of anything," he added.

  I nodded.

  "But when we get there, Harley, I've got to call my parents." "Sure," he said. "Let's get there though."

  After we ate, we were back on the highways. It was still quite warm and humid. but I started to enjoy riding on the motorcycle as I became more and more accustomed to it, to the way Harley moved his body to make turns and shift gears. I soon felt as if we were attached, my body quickly reacting to every twist of his.

  When we turned off the main highways, we passed many nice farmhouses and went through quaint villages. In some places, people took Great notice and interest in us: in others, they barely glanced our way. I suppose it depended on how often motorcyclists went through their towns or passed their homes. We rode for hours and hours, stopping once to rest just outside of New York state near a wide stream of water. Harley found a shady spot under a sprawling old oak. We had decided to buy some sandwiches and cold drinks and turn our lunch into a picnic.

  "Funny," he said sprawling on the grass and looking up at the sky, "back home, we hardly ever did anything like this. I don't mean barbeques and afternoon parties. I mean just you and me having lunch outside, maybe down by the lake. It feels good. relaxing."

  I smiled and unwrapped our sandwiches, handing him his. We both sat silently for a while, eating and looking at the water that rushed by over the rocks and around the bend.

  "I keep wondering what I'm going to feel when I'm face to face with my father for the first time. Do you think we'll look like each other?"

  "You'd have to look something like him."

  "Yeah, but some people look so much like either their mother or their father. Amber looks like she was cloned from her mother, for example."

  "What about me?"

  "You look a lot like your mother, but you have your father's eyes and those little freckles." he added laughing. He turned serious for a moment and looked out at the water again. "I guess if someone's your flesh and blood, you've got to be a little alike. It won't be like meeting an ordinary stranger. right?"

  "Hardly." I said. but he still looked very nervous about it.

  "He wanted me to come. I guess he must have thought about me from time to time. right? He probably got involved in a whole new life and just didn't know how to come back. Maybe I've got a half brother or half sister out there. Maybe two of each!"

  "You might." I said. "He didn't mention any other children though, did he?"

  "No. But maybe he thought he shouldn't."

  "You said Suze was his woman, but he didn't call her his wife."

  "No, he didn't, but he could have been married and divorced or... lost his wife. House painter." he muttered. That figures. right? I mean that he does manual labor, works with his hands. I work with my hands."

  "You're very intelligent too. Harley. You're not just same laborer."

  He raised his eyebrows and shook his head at me.

  "The only reason I graduated was because of your help. Summer."

  "Still, you had to be the one to do it and you did and you're going to do more." I insisted.

  He laughed and continued to eat. He looked up at some dark clouds on the horizon.

  "I hope that storm keeps acing the other way." he said. "We're making good time now. I'd hate to have it slow us down."

  "Maybe we shouldn't rest too long then." I said as he lowered himself to the grass again and closed his eyes.

  "Just a little longer." he said. "Just a little..."

  I sat there, finishing my sandwich and drink. When I saw what looked like a blackbird on the other side of the stream. I couldn't help but think about Mommy and feel bad for her again.

  "Harley?"

  He didn't respond so I turned and looked at him. His breathing was regular: his eyes were closed. I was thinking about calling Mommy, but what if she started to cry? What would I do?

  I rose and walked to the water. The gurgling sound was mesmerizing and the water itself looked so clear, fresh and cool. I felt like wading in it, baptizing my
self in its natural goodness and washing away the darkness that had settled in me ever since Duncan Fields trapped me in his car.

  Perhaps that was another reason why I was taking this trip with Harley. Perhaps I was running away as well and trying to leave behind the innocent and emotionally wounded girl who was just soaking herself in self--pity every day. I knew everyone was trying to help me, to get me to feel better, but it was impossible to look into Daddy's eyes or Mommy's or Mrs. Geary's and not see the sympathy and sorrow they felt for me. It was truly as if I had become a marked woman, stained forever. Ironically, it had been only Aunt Alison who left me feeling as if I had merely been scratched. But that wasn't a remedy for me either.

  Years ago, it seemed, men and women treated sex and love like halves of the same wondrous experience, the most important experience of life, perhaps the very reason to be. Somehow, sex for people like Aunt Alison and Duncan Fields had become a game, a toy, a pleasure to be had and discarded at will. People used people merely to satisfy themselves, and love, love was forgotten or thought to be just another temporary thing that might or might not be there for us. Why think about it, put any effort into achieving it or finding it? First of all, that required personal sacrifice and actually caring for someone else more than you cared for yourself. Second, it took far too much trust and risk. You had to bare your soul to someone.

  The Duncan Fieldses of the world thought they were very clever. I'm sure. They strutted through each day looking for conquests, building a bank account of satisfied lusts and thinking this was what made them wealthy, special, even desirable, but surely they were destined to wake up later in their lives and look around to discover they were all alone and their lives had been nothing much-- a dream, streaming by like this water.

  I looked ahead to where the stream turned and disappeared and wondered where it ended up. Was there some beautiful lake waiting? Did it have to rush over rough waterfalls first? Did it splinter and trickle off into smaller and smaller streams that eventually dried up? It wouldn't be dammed up here and kept. It would find a way around and follow its destiny.

  It was what I had to do. what Harley had to do.

  Somehow, deep inside herself. I was sure Mommy understood.

  "Hey," Harley said coming up beside me. "Why did you let me fall asleep? If it wasn't for that nervy squirrel coming up close to me..."

  "I thought you needed the rest," I said.

  "Yeah. I got enough. C'mon. We'd better get going," he said. He glanced at the water.

  "It's beautiful and so peaceful." I said.

  "I know. Maybe there's something like it waiting for us ahead," he said smiling.

  "Maybe."

  I followed him back to the motorcycle. We put on our helmets and moments later, we were flying over the highway, neither of us trying to talk, the wind whistling by, the world around us flowing past so quickly, it resembled the very stream we had just left.

  An hour into our ride, a state police patrol car came onto the highway and tracked behind us. Harley saw it in his mirror. I could feel his body tense up.

  "Don't keep looking back at him." he shouted. "I'm going to take the next exit."

  He did so and I held my breath. Would the policeman follow us off? Had Daddy and Uncle Roy done just what Harley had thought and called the police? How disappointing it would be for us to be turned back before Harley had met his real father at least. I thought. I didn't look back. We followed the ramp to an intersection and quickly turned left as if we knew exactly where we were going. Then we snuck a look and saw the patrol car had not followed. Both of us let out trapped breaths and Harley slowed down. He brought the motorcycle to a stop.

  "I thought that was it for sure," he revealed. "I wasn't going to stop if he put on his bubble light. I would have tried to lose him."

  "What will we do? What if he's waiting ahead because he realized who we might be?"

  He took out his map and studied it a moment.

  "We'll stay on this secondary road for a few miles. I'd say we're only a couple of hours away now, even with all the detours," he concluded.

  He started off again. The homes we passed looked smaller. older. We didn't go through much of a village either. There was a garage, a quick-stop store and a small restaurant. After another fifteen minutes or so, a red pickup truck shot out of a gravel driveway just ahead of us. causing Harley to slow down quickly. He cursed under his breath. I could see two young men in the truck, the passenger wearing a baseball cap. They were going very slowly now, so Harley pulled out to pass and accelerated. As we went by, the driver leaned out and shouted. He was a thin man who looked like he was in his early thirties but prematurely balding. When he widened his smile, I could see he was missing some teeth on both sides.

  I didn't understand what he shouted. but Harley ignored him and went even faster. I thought that was the end of it, but moments later, the truck was right behind us, dangerously close in fact. The driver started to lean on his horn.

  "Harley!"

  "I know. A couple of idiots," he said. Suddenly, he whipped to the left and slowed so the truck had to go by us. It continued on around the next turn and disappeared.

  "What were they doing?"

  "Just having their idea of some fun. I guess."

  He kept our speed down. When we made the turn however. I didn't see them ahead of us.

  "Where are they?"

  Harley didn't respond. He sped up again. I held tightly onto him. Then, out of a field of corn stalks, the truck came shooting onto the highway and fell right behind us again. Again, they drove up behind us, dangerously close and leaned on their horn. A few cars whizzed by in the other direction, but no one paid any attention to what was happening to us. We were now on a long stretch of what looked like an unpopulated area, just cornfields and woods.

  My heart was pounding and I could see from the way he was holding himself that Harley was very worried, too. This time when Harley tried to pull m' to the left lane and slow down, they did the same.

  "They'll cause an accident!" I screamed.

  I knew Harley was afraid to stop. He tried to go faster, but they were able to keep up with us and I thought, with our not knowing the highway that well, it was even more dangerous to go faster. Now the wind was tearing at my skin. Our bags flapped madly.

  "Harley!"

  "Just hold on!" he cried. We were coming up to a sharper turn. Now, they were just pressing down on their horn continuously. I wanted to put my hands aver my ears. The noise was deafening.

  "They must be drunk or crazy," Harley shouted.

  At the end of the tarn was a gravel road into the field on the right. Harley made an instant decision. Without hitting the brakes because he was afraid of their truck smashing into us, he whipped to his right and into the gavel drive. They flew by us. but Harley lost control and we spun and then fell over, both fortunately landing in the grassy area where there were no rocks, but when I rolled, my left foot got caught and I felt it twist badly. The pain shot up my leg. I barely had time to scream.

  The motorcycle stalled. Harley got to his feet as quickly as he could and I rolled over on my back and reached for my ankle.

  "Summer, are you all right?" he cried dropping to his knees beside me.

  I waited a moment, listening for the sound of any other pain announcing itself somewhere else on my body, but nothing else came. My ankle was enough. however. I groaned, the tears coming to my eyes.

  "My ankle," I said.

  He went right to it and pressed softly around the ankle bone.

  "It doesn't feel broken," he said. "You probably twisted it badly."

  "Who were those men?"

  "Just two idiots out for some thrills at our expense," he said looking back at the road. We both listened for a moment, but thankfully heard no returning vehicle. "We'll have to get some ice on that ankle as soon as possible." Harley said. "You hurt anywhere else?"

  "I don't think so.-'

  "I'm sorry. Summer. Damn. I thought that
was the best thing to do."

  "It probably was. They wouldn't let you lose them any other way."

  I started to sit up and he held me.

  "What about your motorcycle?"

  "I don't know," he said.

  He went to it and stood it up, inspecting as much as he could. "It doesn't look like anything's broken."

  He tried starting it and after a few attempts, it did start and seem to run okay.

  "I could go get some help," he suggested.

  "Oh no, Harley. Don't leave me here," I cried. "Ill get back on."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes, absolutely," I said. "Okay."

  He helped me up. I stayed off my ankle and got back on the motorcycle.

  "Maybe there's a hospital or something down here." he said.

  "I'll be all right. Harley. I just need some ice and we'll get an Ace bandage to wrap it."

  "Right. doc. I forgot you were an expert in first aid.."

  We started out again, both of us very anxious about what lay ahead. Were those men in the pickup truck waiting for us on another side road or driveway to continue harassing us? That fear kept my attention away from the continuous thump, thump, thump rising out of my ankle and reverberating up my spine. I took deep breaths and held onto Harley. He drove a little faster as he became more confident; finally , we saw a garage on our left.

  We pulled in. There was a soda machine, but no ice machine. Harley set the motorcycle so it would stand and told me to just sit tight while he went inside the garage. After a few minutes, he returned with a rag full of ice cubes.

  "The guy had a refrigerator and gave me this when I told him what happened. He said he thinks he knows the idiots."

  A man about forty or forty-five, stout, in a pair of gray coveralls stepped outside, wiping grease off his hands and looking our way.

  Harley reached into his tool kit and came up with a roll of tape. He told me to hold the ice against my ankle while he taped around it and my leg until it remained there without my holding it.

  "How's that?"

  "Now who's the first aid doctor?" I asked, forcing a smile through my grimace of pain.

  "It should keep the swelling down, right?"

  "Right. I probably strained the tendons."