Into the Garden (29 page)

Every time I read that word, I felt a deep longing inside me. I was truly the orphan in our group. I had never known a real mother, nor father, for that matter. Right now, I felt like I was just a shell. It didn't matter what happened to me. I was as light and as empty as a shadow anyway. The only thing left for me to do was keep anyone else from suffering because of my horrible fate and destiny.
The letters that followed all described an 'everwidening chasm between my mother and Geraldine. In one letter my mother concluded that Geraldine was doing everything in her power to keep her from me. She described a terrible argument in which Geraldine accused her of all sorts of things, using words she had used when she had described her to me. She called her a slut and a whore. My mother claimed she even offered to take me back, but Geraldine wouldn't hear of it. What would it make her look like if she gave me up like that, she wanted to know. She blamed my mother for ruining whatever future she had, whatever hope for love and happiness she had. My mother wondered if Geraldine might not be right. I sensed that my mother went into a deep depression. Her letters became painted with apologies. I could almost hear her wailing and moaning as she wrote long sentences of mea culpa. Suddenly, I had become the embodiment of all her sins and my very existence was meant to serve as a constant reminder.
No wonder she had drifted away and I had seen so little of her after a while. It was both because Geraldine wanted it that way and because she herself had difficulty looking at what she considered her sins. I began to wish I had never found the letters and read them. My father had done me a favor by taking them. I wanted to toss them over the side of the boat.
Someday, I thought, I'll toss myself over as well, but not yet, not until enough time had gone by to ensure my friends would be safe.
I fell asleep in the lounge chair and woke when I felt a little chill and realized the sun was so far west, shadows were stretching over me. I could hear my father working to music below. A short while afterward, he came up to announce that dinner was ready.
"I knew you would enjoy sitting up there," he said as I started into the cabin. He saw the letters in my hand. "Oh, you found those, huh? I wanted to throw them away, but I thought I'd leave it up to you what to do with them. They are yours and Geraldine had no right to hide them from you. See," he added, "I'm going to treat you like the adult you are."
"I wish you had thrown them away," I muttered, and put them aside.
He stepped back so I could get a full view of the dinner table. He had candles lit and the table set with salads, French bread, and a bottle of wine.
"How do you like the china? Geraldine would never even dream of spending what I spent on dishes," he added quickly, and laughed. "Pretty, isn't it?" He lifted up a plate to show me the design.
"Yes," I said.
He pulled out my chair.
"Mademoiselle Cathy."
I looked at him, smiling, beaming, behaving like a schoolboy, oblivious to everything he had done and everything that was wrong with what we were about to do. He was fully caught up in his fantasies now and I was afraid of doing anything that might shatter the illusions.
I sat and he poured the wine.
"Can you imagine her sitting here watching me give you a glass of wine? I do. I imagine it," he said with a very strange, twisted smile on his lips. He nodded at a chair against the wall. "I see her there. I see her bound and gagged. Her eyes are bulging with anger. See her?" he asked me.
I couldn't help but look at the chair. He was nodding at it.
"Her face is bright red and the veins in her neck are popping like they always did when she got really enraged. She's struggling against the ropes. Stop struggling, Geraldine!" he screamed.
I jumped in my seat. He was staring at the chair with a mask of anger over his face that would rival Geraldine's if she really was there.
"You can't stop any of this now, so you might as well sit back and enjoy it." He turned to me. "Drool runs out of the sides of her mouth and down her chin like it would on some mad dog. But," he said, suddenly smiling again, "that won't stop us or even bother us in the slightest, will it? The more we enjoy ourselves, you see, the worse it will be for her.
"Good," he added and sat. "That's fresh goat cheese on the salad," he pointed out, and poked his lettuce with his fork, stabbing it and bringing it to his mouth. "Go on, eat," he ordered.
My stomach felt as if it was filled with rocks, but I forced the food into my mouth and chewed.
"This isn't cheap wine," he continued. "It's French, a merlot recommended to me by one of my more sophisticated clients. That's the good thing about dealing with people of great wealth, Cathy, you learn a lot without having to spend all that money on your own education and experiences. She," he said, nodding at the chair, "used to mock my work. She would say that making money on someone elses-- money is not honest work. When she was frustrated or angry at me, she would call me a financial pimp," he said, laughing. He looked at the chair. "A pimp, nevertheless, who made her financially comfortable." He stared a moment, and then looked at me and smiled. "You haven't tried the wine. Don't be afraid. Try it," he said, and I sipped it. "Well?"
"It's very good," I said, not knowing what would be good and what wouldn't.
"I know. Everything we do is going to be first class from now on. First class!" he screamed at the chair. Then he paused for a moment as if his brain had shut down, his eyes becoming a little vacant.
I didn't move a muscle. His face was so rigid, it frightened me more. I could hear the meat under the broiler.
"Should I look at the steak?" I asked, simply because the silence was terrifying.
"What? Oh, no.I'll do that. Relax. Rest. Recuperate," he said, and jumped up. "You like yours pink, right? Just like I like it."
He took out the meat and set up our platters with new potatoes and string beans.
"I made sure they gave us the best cut," he bragged, and brought the dinner plates to the table. "Go on, cut into it and let me know if it's done enough for you."
I followed his orders, tasted the meat, and nodded.
"Great, huh? Everything will be, forever and ever. I bet she's hungry," he said, nodding at the chair. He blinked when I just stared at him "Or, I mean, she would be if she was really here. Of course, that's what I mean." He laughed. "I'm so happy that I get carried away sometimes. Don't think anything of it, honey. I'm in tip-top shape." He shoved a thick chunk of steak into his mouth and chewed it vigorously, savoring the flavor and moaning about the pleasure of a good piece of meat.
I ate because I knew if I didn't, he would be very upset, and from the way he jumped from high moments of happiness to hot moments of anger, I was afraid of disturbing him It was better to let him travel up and down the highways of his own emotional journey and just keep as quiet and as unobtrusive as possible, I thought.
My heart had long since pounded itself into a state of numbness. Sometimes a look of his, a touch on my hand, a sudden jerky motion toward me would start it thumping again, but I didn't think it was possible to get my blood pumping around my body any faster than it was pumping now. I took tiny breaths, not only because I was afraid I might just pass out, but because my chest felt as if it was being held in a vise that tightened and tightened with every passing moment.
I ate all that I could force into myself and then I declared I was so full, I would burst.
"But you have room for our pie a la mode, right?" he asked, looking like a little boy who might be terribly disappointed if I said no.
I nodded.
"Always room for the fun things," he declared, and scowled when he looked at the chair. "She was like the fun police or something, ready to pounce on anything that gave us pleasure. You know, she was the only person I ever knew who couldn't be tickled. I used to try, just to torment her, but it never worked. She didn't have a soft, sensitive spot on that granite body of hers. She had so many calluses on her palms. She could have sanded wood with them."
He rose and started to clear the table. Almost by instinct, I began to help.
"No, no," he cried when he saw me gathering the plates. "You don't do anything, remember? I'll tell you what," he said, glancing at the chair. "Let's have dessert later, much later. For now, you go into the bedroom. I have a surprise for you there. Put it on," he said.
"A surprise?"
"Yes. Go ahead. I'll be in after I do this. Go on," he urged, gesturing toward the master bedroom.
Trembling so badly, I almost couldn't
manipulate my crutches, I turned and walked into the bedroom. There, spread over the bed, was a stretch silk lace chemise. When I held it up, I realized I'd be as good as naked in it. Lengthwise, it just reached mid-thigh.
"Put it on!" I heard him shout. "I'm sure you'll look great in it. I bought it a few days ago and can't wait to see you in it."
I just stared at it. Memories of his long fingers exploring my body while his lips were close to my ear whispering words of love and affection returned in a flood, washing over me, weakening my legs, and leaving me limp and trembling. I had to sit on the bed. I closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath.
"Hey," he said, coming to the door. "Don't you like it? It was expensive," he added. "Go on, put it on. Go on," he said more firmly. "Or, do you want me to help you?" he followed. "Is that what you want? I'd like that."
"No, I can do it," I said quickly.
"Sure you can. She'd pop her cork if she could see you in that," he added, and returned to the kitchen.
Slowly, I undressed and then put on the chemise. I felt so naked, I shivered and embraced myself. When I heard him behind me, I turned. He was standing in the doorway with a dining room chair in his hands, holding it in front of him
"I like to imagine her in here with us, watching and fuming, don't you?" he asked, and put the chair against the bedroom wail. "You look better than I imagined. You're a beautiful girl. I know she never wanted you to know that, but you are.
"Well now," he said as he started to unbutton his shirt, "here we are in our own new home. What could be better than this?" he said.
Midway down his shirt, he stopped and listened. I hadn't heard anything because there was too much thunder in my ears coming from the raging storm within my heart, but now that he was silent, I did hear what sounded like footsteps above. That was followed by a loud, hard knocking on the door.
"Who the hell is that?" he asked. "Just a minute," he said, buttoning his shirt and moving quickly out of the bedroom and through the boathouse. I sat back on the bed and waited, my whole body feeling as if I had been tied and bound, too. I gazed at the empty chair.
I heard a male and then a female voice and my name. My father raised his voice and began to yell. Then I heard some scuffling, more shouting and moments later what sounded like a chair being overturned. I rose and went to the door just as a woman who looked about thirty came hurrying toward me. She was wearing a police uniform.
"Cathy Carson?"
"Yes?" I said.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
I looked past her and saw a tall, dark-haired man in a suit hovering over my father. He spun him around and placed handcuffs on his wrists.
"It's okay, honey," the woman said. "You're going to be all right."
"What?" I asked, full of confusion. "What's going on?"
Before she could respond, I looked past her again because I heard more footsteps on the steps. I saw Doctor Marlowe coming toward me quickly. I fell back on the bed unable and unwilling to stop the tears from bursting free. Doctor Marlowe sat beside me quickly and embraced me, holding me tightly to her.
"It's over," she said. "Finally, it's over."

The girls had gone for Doctor Marlowe. After they had read my note, they had a meeting and concluded they had to tell her what we had done and what danger they believed I was in. It was Dr. Marlowe who guessed that my father was involved and called the police, who tracked us down at the boat. They took a great chance for me, and I will forever love them.

After I dressed, Doctor Marlowe and the policewoman questioned me about what my father had done, how he had blackmailed me into going off with him. I broke into hysterical tears many times during my description of it all, but Doctor Marlowe helped me get it out and talk, and then I told the policewoman what my father had said he had done to Geraldine. I remembered he had taken the bottle of herbal pills and put it in his jacket. She searched and found it, and later, when they confronted my father with it, he confessed.

That didn't excuse us from what we had done. We were still brought before a judge and lectured. Doctor Marlowe seemed to be the only one who understood and supported us. Jade's and Misty's parents hired high-priced attorneys to help, even though they didn't seem to do that much. Star and I just had Doctor Marlowe, who in the end, appeared to have the most influence with the judge. The others had families, legal guardians, to assume responsibility for them, but I had no one now.

Once again, Doctor Marlowe stepped forward. She volunteered to be my foster parent. She and her sister were going to take me into their home. I resisted until she assured me it was something her sister really wanted to do.

"Emma needs a companion. I'm far too busy to give her the attention she deserves, Cathy. Don't worry. You'll be earning your keep," she promised.