“I understand that," Eileen said with a forced smile. "But what's wrong with having fun?"
“Nothing at all! So long as the tax monies that support the school district aren't paying for it," Liz said.
Then, in an obvious effort to change the subject, she said, "Quite an exciting night, wasn't it?" studying Jane and Shelley intently.
“Yes, it was," Shelley said blandly.
Jane started to get up. "Oh, dear. I forgot the cream for my coffee.”
Without even looking, Shelley caught her sleeve and said, "You don't take cream in your coffee, Jane, dear. Sit down."
“Not even this once?" Jane asked. So much for escaping.
“No." Shelley looked straight at Liz. "Jane and I have realized that we were tragically mistaken in what we thought we saw last night. Although it would have been far more tragic if we had been correct in our perception. We are very. . sorry to have upset everyone needlessly.”
She said the words as if she were reading a press release.
Liz's eyes narrowed. "I see. And have you any idea how you made this mistake?"
“None whatsoever," Shelley said.
“Well, it certainly was upsetting," Eileen said. "Thinking Sam was dead. I guess that's why
I'm
feeling a bit cranky today."
“We really are sorry," Jane said. "We were only doing what we thought necessary considering what we
sa — thought
we saw. What did happen to him? Where was he all that time he was missing?"
“He's not sure," Eileen said, more mollified by Jane's apology than by Shelley's. "He said the last thing he remembered was sitting by the fire, and then he found himself by the boat dock, all muddy and cold and wet. He has partial amnesia, the doctor said."
“So they took him to the hospital?" Jane asked.
“No, he kept insisting he was all right and wouldn't leave here. So Benson Titus insisted that a doctor come to the camp and examine him.""What did the doctor say?" Shelley asked.
“Just that he had a slight bump on the back of his head. Nothing serious. Didn't even break the skin," Eileen said. "But he said sometimes even a very slight head injury can cause temporary mental blanks, especially before and during the injury. Sam might have just hit his head on a branch while he was on the way back to their cabin, gotten disoriented, and wandered off."
“If he ran into a branch, wouldn't the injury be on the top or front of his head?" Liz asked.
“I guess so. It was just an example," Eileen said defensively. "Anyway, the doctor asked him a lot of questions like how old he was and where he lived and what he did for a living and what he had for dinner last night — that sort of thing — and he got most of the answers right. The doctor said the rest of his memory will come back sooner or later, mostly sooner. He wants him to have a skull X ray, but Sam says he'll do it when he gets home."
“You mean they're staying here?" Liz asked. "Why is that?"
“Oh, Sam's terribly responsible," Eileen said. It was hard to tell if she was praising him or complaining.
Jane realized that Liz was looking at her, not at Eileen. Jane forced her features to remain bland with a polite overlay of concern, but Liz's diamond-edged gaze disconcerted her. What was the woman thinking?
“I had an uncle who had that," the boating instructor put in. "He was in a car accident. Wasn't hurt a bit, but couldn't give the police his name.
They thought he was drunk at first. I think it took him a month or two to finally get it together. But he never could remember the car accident. It was strange. That's one of the reasons I'm studying psychology in college.”
This was the opening of the verbal floodgates. He went on at some length about himself, his studies, his current and past academic and social accomplishments, apparently secure in his belief that they found him as endlessly interesting as he found himself. For once, Jane considered this youthful self-absorption welcome, as it turned the focus of the conversation away from Shelley and her.
Liz, whose professional life was awash in young people, drifted away, claiming she was getting seconds, but reseated herself at another table. Al followed her example a moment later. The boating instructor droned on about himself. It was Eileen who reached the breaking point first. "Excuse me," she said to him. "Don't you have work to do today?"
“
Oh,
I guess I do," he said, unoffended. "Nice to meet you ladies."
“That boy needs to be smacked upside the head," Eileen said, watching him leave. "Reminds me of the year our son nearly talked us to death. Motor-mouth, John called him. Then he stopped talking to us and it was all we could do to get him to speak. Kids!"
“Do you have other children?"
“No, just the one. He's twenty-three now, — living in Maine, of all places. Does something we've never understood with computers for the government. I'm sure glad Liz Flowers wasn't the principal when hewas in school. He took one of the district's first computer classes and had great `fun.' It turned him around, gave him an interest in something healthy that led to better grades and a career.”
Jane thought about mentioning that this was exactly what Liz was advocating, entertainment that was also useful, but decided it wouldn't go down well with Eileen in her current cranky mood — which she'd already blamed on them.
“What about Marge and Sam? Do they have children in the school district?”
Eileen shook her head. "No, they don't have kids. I think they both wanted them, but it never happened and Sam had a real prejudice about adopting, being adopted himself and all."
“He's not happy about it?" Shelley asked.
“He is, that's the weird thing. But he wasn't adopted as a little baby. He was in foster care until he was four or five or so. He won't talk about it, but it must have been miserable. You'd think being taken out of that situation and being treated like a little god by adoptive parents would make him feel just the opposite."
“They favored him?" Jane asked.
“Do they ever! He was a good student, never in any trouble, and when he started the car business, he did it on his own. Got a bank loan. Never asked for a cent from them. I didn't know him then, of course, and he's never said, but I've always thought it was because the very thought of owing them money would have been awful. Anyway, they thought it was great. Still can't stop talking about it. Oh, rats, I've gotten away from them and I'm still letting them get on my nerves. That's dumb."
“How does Marge manage with them?" Shelley asked. "She doesn't seem to have — how can I say this nicely? — your 'backbone.' "
“She manages fine. For that reason. Or maybe she's really stronger than I am. I don't know. She just does what they want her to, and goes on her way without getting her knickers in a twist. The minute somebody tells me what to do, I'm fighting it — even if I'd like to do it. Marge just goes with the flow. No nerves at all.”
Jane thought about this assessment for a moment. It was pretty much what Shelley had told her, too. But her own limited acquaintance with Marge didn't bear it out.
“She was certainly nervous last night. Early in the evening, I mean," Jane added hastily, not wanting to bring the subject back to the disappearing body. "She nearly had hysterics over seeing someone in the window the first night, and at the campfire dinner she was as jumpy as a cat.”
Eileen considered this. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But that was unusual. I guess it's just being in strange surroundings or something. I don't think she really likes this outdoorsy stuff. Wild animals and things. I'm not crazy about it either, but it doesn't scare me.”
Her voice had slowed and she was staring past Jane and Shelley. They turned to see what she was looking at.
Marge and Sam had come into the dining room, arm in arm. They were whispering to each other and smiling. Marge's fair face was flushed. Her tidy hair was slightly disarranged. She looked girlish and very happy.
“She doesn't look nervous today," Shelley said. Eileen grinned. "No, she looks like a woman who just had a good bang.”
After a few seconds of stunned silence, Eileen went on, "I can hardly believe it. I don't think I've ever seen them even touch each other, much less act. . romantic. Amazing.”
She started laughing. "Maybe all they've needed all these years was for Sam to get a bump on the head to make their marriage perfect. I might try that on John. Excuse me, please.”
She got up and went to greet her brother-in-law and his happy wife.
Shelley and Jane stared at each other for a minute. "It could happen," Shelley said finally. "I suppose if I'd been told Paul was dead, and then found out he wasn't, I'd have been hanging on to him for dear life."
“So instead of being lying — and possibly crazy — scum, you and I have become heroines. The ditsy ladies who saved an ordinary marriage and turned it into something deliriously wonderful?”
Shelley cocked an eyebrow. "I think that's overstating it a bit."
“I think it's nonsense," Jane said. "There's something going on here that has nothing to do with us. That man
was
dead last night, Shelley."
“Jane, as much as I hate to say it, we must have been wrong. Look at them. Just look! Sam is alive and well and looking like he might just seduce his wife right here in the midst of the cornflakes."
“Sure. And what we saw was an amazing configuration of wet leaves that happened to look precisely like a dead Sam Claypool with his head bashed in," Jane said. "Uh-huh. Sort of like those people who can see the face of the Virgin Mary on a pepperoni pizza.”
Twelve
Benson entered the dining room and
called
for everyone's attention. He said he was going to pass out a list of sample classes that the group could attend or learn about. He introduced the instructors individually, and the crowd that had slowly gathered in the lobby and dining room, as local people who had been invited to participate.
Jane and Shelley glanced down the list: Leatherwork, quilting, fishing, boating, local history, local flora and fauna, bird-watching, aerobic exercise, swimming, language lessons — the list went on forever.
“The school board and city council are welcome, of course, to delete any of these they don't want and add their own instructors and subjects," Benson said. "This is just an example. Not all of these classes will actually be held today. The asterisked ones indicate literature only, which is being put out on a table in the lobby. There are sign-up sheets out there, too. It would help the instructors to know approximately how many people to expect.”
Jane glanced at the schedule. There was nothing in the first two-hour slot that interested her. "I think I'll see if Allison is free to gossip about computer stuff," she told Shelley.
“You aren't dying to know about You and the Mammals?"
“Mammals, schmammals," Jane said breezily. "But I do want to go on the bird-watching hike if it doesn't start raining again. It looks like it will."
“Well, I'm going to the leatherwork class," Shelley said.
“Sounds kinky to me."
“It probably won't be, but one can always hope," Shelley said.
They went to sign up and unfortunately got behind Sam and Marge. Sam had his right arm around his wife and didn't let go even to sign up for the classes he wanted. They were so absorbed in each other that they didn't even notice that the women behind them were the ones who had announced his death. Jane noticed Sam was signing both of them up for several classes.
The first class wasn't to begin for fifteen minutes, so Jane and Shelley went back for another cup of coffee. Shelley looked thoughtful. "Jane, this must be costing Benson a considerable amount, bringing in all these people."
“Aren't most of them local?"
“Probably," Shelley said, "but he's still got to at least feed them and probably put a couple of them up for the night. He couldn't ask them to do this and then charge them for food and lodging. He's really going all out to impress us. It was very smart of him to invite the local people. It makes us seem less isolated. He's created a feeling for what this place is like when it's busy and full of people having a good time. Very clever."
“Shelley, what
do
you think of this summer camp thing?”
Shelley thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. I thought it was a great idea at first, but as irritating and belligerent as Liz is, she has a point. Parents or organizations
should
pay for summer camp unless it's primarily educational. Why should taxpayers fund it? If we were here on behalf of an inner-city school where the kids have little opportunity to really get a big dose of nature, I'd probably favor it. I guess it does come down to a question of exactly what
does
constitute education?”
Jane nodded. "I don't think anyone has a good fix on that anyway — despite Liz's views. We'll never go back to straight reading, writing, and arithmetic. And we probably shouldn't. I know my kids have benefited personally from some school activities that weren't strictly academic.”