"Your grandmother told me your decision. Are you sure you're doing the right thing? Leaving school just at the start of your senior year to start in a new place--"
"I never felt like I belonged back there anyway," I said.
He was quiet a moment. "Yeah, I guess I understand that. Well, if you want to talk to anyone about it, don't hesitate to tall me. I'll check on you from time to time."
"Okay."
"Tell Zipporah hello for me."
"I will," I said.
He wished me luck and said good-bye. I felt bad about not being more talkative, but 1 couldn't help thinking about Duncan. I was sorry I didn't insist he call me when he got home, Finally, I decided I would call him. It took me a while to find his telephone number because his mother wasn't listed in the telephone book under Winning. I finally remembered he had told me she had changed her name back to her maiden name, Simon. I found the listing, but I hesitated to call.
Would I get him into some sort of trouble by calling? I tried to occupy myself with reading and with some television, but nothing worked.
The rain was really thumping on the roof by now, and I heard the thunder and saw some more lightning. It had been nearly an hour since he had left. I had to know he was safe. I wouldn't sleep. Memories of my car accident were flashing across my eyes, sending shivers up and down my spine. Would I cause someone else's death, someone else who dared to get close to me?
As I paced about, I thought that my limp was becoming more and more pronounced, as though it were meant to be another reminder--or maybe a prophecy. Soon I was envisioning him sprawled on some highway, the rain pummeling his face and his hand, his body twisted and broken, and then his mother arriving and screaming to the police and to the paramedics, "It's all because of her! My son is dead because he met her!"
Finally, I could contain myself no longer. With trembling fingers, I dialed the number. It barely rang once.
"I'm all right," I heard him say in a deep, hoarse whisper and then hang up. He didn't even say hello; he was that sure he was getting a phone call from me. Or maybe, maybe his mother knew, could see through everything just as he had said. Maybe he had confessed again, told her every detail.
It was as if the lightning sizzling the air outside had shot through the window and sizzled my heart in half as well. I held the receiver and listened to the hum. Then I hung up slowly, just as my uncle and aunt arrived home from the cafe. I heard Aunt Zipporah call for me.
"Wow!" she exclaimed. "This is a real summer downpour," she said, shaking her hair.
"It's a good night for Macbeth's witches," Uncle Tyler added, laughing. "How are things going with the studio?"
"We got a lot done," I replied.
"We?" Aunt Zipporah asked, and I told her all about Duncan's surprise visit, helping me in the studio and then his helping prepare our dinner.
She and Uncle Tyler looked at each other with obvious surprise.
"I hope that was all right," I said quickly.
"Oh, sure it was," Aunt Zipporah replied.
"He got home ahead of this mess, I hope," Uncle Tyler said, indicating the rain.
"Just barely."
"Everything else all right?" Aunt Zipporah asked me, her voice ringing with curiosity and some suspicion.
"Far as I know," I replied.
"Well, this will be a good test of the repairs to the roof we did this year," Uncle Tyler said and started upstairs.
Aunt Zipporah lingered, fidgeting with things in the kitchen. I knew she was still concerned. She walked into the living room, where I was sitting and trying to read one of the books 1 knew I had to read for my upcoming senior year. My eyes continually moved off the page, and my thoughts drifted away from the story and characters so much that I couldn't remember what I had just read.
"So, now that you've spent more time with Duncan," she began, "what's he really like?"
I told her more details about the things he had done at the studio and how he had been so good at helping with dinner. The more I spoke, the wider her smile became.
"You sound like you like him very much, Alice." "Yes, I do," I admitted.
"That's fine. I know his mother is pretty much to herself. I haven't seen her around, at any stores, shopping--"
"He does the shopping for them," I said quickly.
"Oh. I'm sure Mrs. Mallen is right. His youth has been stolen from him. It's not easy for him to make new friends."
"It's not that easy for me."
She thought a moment. I could almost see the thoughts and questions careening about in her mind.
"Well then, do you think he's the best young man for you at this time? I don't want to sound negative, but you and I know you have your own problems. Adding to your own burdens might not be wise."
"Did you think like that when you hung out with my mother?" I countered.
"It was different then, Alice. I had little or no baggage to carry, and Karen's mother and stepfather were in an active business in the community. There were people who thought her mother was a gold digger, but that was about as critical as anyone was about them. I'm just telling you to be careful, that's all. I don't want to stifle you or clip your wings, but I wouldn't be doing my duty if I didn't voice my concerns, right?"
"No," I said. "I understand. I appreciate it," I said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I really do appreciate your concern."
"Good. It's nice of you to care about him, Alice, but be careful," she said. And then, in order to explain what she meant, she added, "Sometimes, when you invest in someone, you're like a gambler who loses and keeps gambling to win it back but only loses more. I should know."
I thought for a moment. "You've told me how wonderful it was for you to become friends with my mother. Did she feel the same way about you?"
"I thought so. She didn't have all that many friends when I met her. Actually, she had no close friends, but I thought she was the most interesting and exciting girl I had ever met and didn't care if we had lots of friends or not. If nothing else, I was a great audience for her, and I made her feel good about herself."
"I guess in a way that's what I am for Duncan," I said.
She nodded. "Just be careful, honey. One of Tyler's favorite expressions is, Don't bite off more than you can chew. The great thing about all these adages is they hold up through time." She smiled and looked at my book. "Tyler loves this novel. When you're finished, he'll be happy to talk about it with you," she said.
"Great. I'd like that."
"I'm bushed. See you in the morning," she told me and left.
I sat there listening to the rain. It didn't seem to have let up a bit. I felt my eyelids growing heavy and decided to go to sleep myself. There was a lot on my mind, so many questions and thoughts because of the things my aunt Zipporah had said. I tossed and turned so much that I didn't really drift off until the wee hours.
I was so tired in the morning that I didn't get up when I heard Tyler moving about. I fell back to sleep. When I did get up finally, I found a note on the refrigerator for me. My aunt was reminding me that they wanted me to spend the day in my studio and not worry about working in the cafe.
I showered to help wake myself up and then made myself some breakfast. Aunt Zipporah called to be sure I had read her note and I was okay.
"I hope I didn't upset you last night, Alice." "No. Stop worrying about it."
"Call the cafe if you need anything," she said.
I thanked her. Moments after I hung up, the phone rang again. This time it was Duncan, and he wasn't whispering.
"I'm sorry I was so abrupt last night when you called," he said, "but she was hovering right over me. She was very angry that I didn't call and tell her I wouldn't be home for dinner."
"Now she hates me, is that it?"
"No, she didn't even ask me why I didn't call or where I was. She's like that. She knows."
"Duncan--"
"No, she knows," he insisted. "Anyway, she's punishing me by not taking me along on her church trip today."
"That's a punishment?" I asked, laughing.
"She says I don't deserve God's grace until I show real remorse. She just left."
"Well, I don't think--"
"She'll be gone almost all day," he said, quickly interrupting. "I know you want to get into your painting, but maybe I'll see you later, if that's all right."
"Of course it's all right. You can make me a wonderful lunch."
He didn't laugh. He said nothing.
"Duncan?"
"I'll see. I have a few things I promised I'd get done around the house."
"I'm not going anywhere today," I said. He was silent again. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "I just . . . yes, I'm okay. Forget what I said. I'm sure I'll be tied up with all this. We have a serious plumbing problem. Our submersible well."
"Maybe you should call someone."
"I can handle it," he said defensively. "Forget I called. Sorry," he said and hung up.
"Duncan? Damn," I muttered and hung up the receiver. He was so complicated. One moment he was hot and then he was cold and it was almost impossible to anticipate when and why he would change. What's more, I had no idea what would make him change. It didn't have to have anything to do with me or what I said. He could be hearing voices only he heard. I should know about that.
I thought about my conversation with my aunt Zipporah. She was so right, I had to start thinking more about myself. 1 was getting in too deeply with someone who had as many, if not more, problems as I did.
Don't bite off more than you can chew.
It was good advice.
If you did bite off more than you could chew, you'd only choke.
And I didn't come here to choke.
I came here to be free and happy, to be that baby the stork left on the doorstep, to be my own person.
Maybe it was mean, but I was hoping he wouldn't come to see me.
To shove away my conscience, I dove headlong into my drawing and my painting. Happily, I quickly lost myself in my own imaginative world.
My grandmother didn't realize it when she gave me my name,. but I was Alice and my art was truly my Wonderland.
Duncan didn't come around at lunchtime. In fact, I was so involved in my work that I forgot about lunch and didn't think about it at all until I had a bubbling in my stomach and realized that I was getting hungry and hadn't eaten. It was midafternoon by then. I paused to go into the house to get myself something to eat and decided that I would work on stocking my own little kitchen space in the studio to avoid long interruptions. I quickly ate half of a peanut butter sandwich and returned to the studio.
Because there was no phone in the studio, neither my aunt nor Duncan could speak with me. It didn't occur to my aunt until she started calling to see how I was doing, expecting that I would be in the kitchen around lunchtime. She drove Tyler so crazy with her concern that he finally sent her to the house to check up on me by late afternoon. When I heard footsteps behind me, I thought it was Duncan. I was sure anyone could read the disappointment in my face.
"Have you been at it all day?" she asked, smiling to hide her concern.
"Yes. I did eat something," I added quickly. "Can I look at your work?"
"It's hardly anything yet," I said.
I stepped back from the easel, and she gazed at my work in progress.
"That's interesting, Alice. Your doe has an almost human face."
I looked at it myself. I hadn't realized it.
"It's going to he something," she said. She looked around. "You've been at this since you got up this morning?"
"Yes."
"Aren't you getting a little tired?"
"I guess. It's usually not until I stop that I realize it, however."
She laughed. "How about coming back to the cafe with me? You don't have to work, but Tyler's made this fantastic- lasagna special, and you should have some before we sell out."
"Okay," I said and began putting things away.
"Has Duncan Winning been here today?" she finally asked. I knew she had been dying to do so.
"No. He called. His mother was angry at him for having dinner here last night." I described her punishment for him. "Isn't that odd? Why would she think that would upset him so much?"
"I'm sure it's difficult for him."
"He's so accomplished in so many ways," I said as we walked out. "Mechanically talented, poetic. Why can't his mother appreciate all that and let him be?"
"You remind me so much of your mother sometimes," she said. "She used to get so angry at the way some of the parents treated their children, but she would then just pretend she was a witch and put a spell on them."
"Maybe she put a spell on her own mother, too," I said, and Aunt Zipporah looked at me strangely. She said nothing else about it, however.
The cafe was as slow as Uncle Tyler had predicted it would be. Most of the time, I sat around talking either with Aunt Zipporah or Cassie, who was suddenly surprisingly open about herself, telling me about her social life and her on-and-off love affair with a boy named Johnny Skyler. She said that whenever he became too serious with her, he would pull back, fearing that he was missing out on something.
"He's so obvious about it, too. He's a terrible liar."
"Why do you stay with him?" I asked her. I didn't want to show how hungry I was for
conversation with other girls near my age, but it was difficult for me not to cling to every word. I was very curious about the way other girls felt about their boyfriends and how they handled the conflicts and problems.
She shrugged, looking like I was the first one who had asked her that question.
-
Amusement, I guess," she said.
"How can these feelings, these relationships, be just amusing?" I quickly followed, and she looked at me to be sure I was serious.
"What do you want, true love and marriage before you're eighteen? You can't date unless it's going to be forever? Maybe during your and my greatgrandmothers' time, Alice, but haven't you heard, we're liberated. Girls can be just as casual about the boys they date as boys have always been," she said with some bitterness.
With that attitude, how will she ever find true love?
I wondered. But then I thought,
Maybe she's right to be as she is.
Maybe that was how you never get hurt. I was in the mood to believe that. Duncan hadn't called, and even though I was conflicted about whether I should continue to care or not, I couldn't help looking at whoever came in, half expecting to see him outside with his scooter.
She caught my glances and maybe my disappointment.
"You've been seeing Duncan Winning?"
"Sorta," I said.
"Sorta?"
"We haven't gone on any formal date."
"What's a formal date?" she asked, laughing. "These days, it's meeting in the rear seat of someone's car."
"I meant we haven't done too many things together."
"You don't have to do too many things, just one thing," she teased. She was beginning to frustrate me. "Well, I have to admit there's something sexy about him. However, I don't think I could be with him," she added quickly.
He certainly couldn't be with you,
I thought, but I didn't say anything. She gave me a knowing, licentious smile, as if we now shared intimate secrets about each other, Then she went to take care of some summer school college students, three boys and two girls, who had come in for something to eat. I sat back and watched them laughing and joking with each other. They seemed so carefree, loose and happy. What were their lives like? Their parents? Would I ever be like them?
I tried not to be too obvious listening in on their conversations. Just like Cassie, they struck me as young people unconcerned about tomorrow. Yes, they were saying, the future was out there with its responsibilities, but who needed that now? Listening to them talk and picking up some tidbits of information about each, I had the impression that if they could, they'd prolong their college educations for years and years. One boy even said he was thinking about cutting his final exam just to extend his college life. They were all critical of their parents for pressuring them to get on with their lives.
"You're only young forever once," a boy said, and they all laughed.
Watching and listening to them, I felt like the poor waif standing outside the restaurant window watching other people enjoy their food. I was so into their conversation that I didn't hear Aunt Zipporah call to me. She had to come over to nudge me to get my attention.
"Hey, I was calling you. Are you okay?"
"Oh, sorry. I was daydreaming."
"Let's go home early," Aunt Zipporah told me. "Tyler doesn't need us, and I feel like soaking in a hot bath and kicking back for a change."
"Okay."
We left and started for home. When we made the turn to start down the road my aunt and uncle's house was on, I was sure I saw Duncan off to the side, half in and out of the shadows, leaning on his scooter just the way he would outside the cafe. I didn't say anything, but my heart was pounding. Why was he out there? Why hadn't he called or come to the cafe?
I didn't say anything to my aunt, first, because I wasn't absolutely sure I had seen him, and second, because I didn't want to add any more strange behavior and get her to forbid me from spending any time with him.
"You sure you're okay?" Aunt Zipporah asked. "Yes, I'm fine."
"You're so quiet," she said as we approached the house.
"Maybe I did work too hard on my painting today. I get so into it," I said, "I don't realize how much it can drain me emotionally."
She nodded. "I understand. I just get a little nervous. I was always afraid when your mother became too quiet."
"Why?"
"I felt as if-she was lowering herself into some darkness from which she wouldn't emerge, retreating into herself, locking herself away. I'd do and say anything I could think of to get her into a jolly mood again. It was like throwing someone a lifeline."
"And you're afraid I've inherited that, right? You and my grandmother are both afraid of it. I know," I said before she could deny it. "I know depression can be inherited."
"You know too much for your own good," she said, laughing. "I can't even be subtle with you."
"You don't have to be, Zipporah. I can take the truth."
"I know you can, Alice, but I wish you couldn't." "What? Why?"
"I wish you could yet be the young girl you've a right to be. I wish you were able to fall back on your imagination and escape harsh realities the way your mother and I were able to do."
"Yes," I said as the garage door went up, "so do I."
I anticipated Duncan's arrival any moment and was surprised when he didn't come to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. I sat waiting in the living room while Aunt Zipporah took her bath. She lit some incense and played one of Tyler's Latin chant recordings made by monks. She wanted me to do the same thing, assuring me it would help me sleep and feel so much better. She was so good at describing the beneficial effects, and she did look so relaxed afterward, that I took her up on it and filled the tub, relit the candles and put on the same music. I had given up on Duncan coming to see me.
After I undressed, I looked at the scars around my hip. Whenever I did, it seemed I was looking at someone else's body, as if I had risen out of my own. It was at this moment that I really wished I could do what Aunt Zipporah had described she and my mother could do. Perhaps then I could look at myself and not see the damage. However, if ever I hoped and dreamed that what had happened had been only a nightmare, the scars were there to shout out the reality and keep inc from forgetting or ignoring the past. My imagination was just not up to the task.
Carefully, I lowered myself into the tub and closed my eyes. The warm water felt like a glove around my body. The chanting was as soothing as the water, and I did like the scent of Aunt Zipporah's incense. If only I could stay like this forever, I mused, living in a cocoon woven out of the warmth of the water, the music and the scent of the incense. I'd almost sell my soul for it,
I thought and then suddenly had the feeling I wasn't alone. I opened my eyes.
The door was closed. Aunt Zipporah had gone up to bed. There was no one in the bathroom. Nevertheless, the feeling persisted. I sat up then and looked up and into the window. Duncan's face was framed in it. He was staring in at me. He wasn't smiling. He actually looked like he was in pain.
"Duncan!" I called.
He blinked, and then he was gone so fast I wasn't sure I hadn't imagined it. After all, why would he suddenly become a Peeping Tom anyway? Why wouldn't he have just come to the front door? He had seen me undressed. We had kissed and been warm and intimate with each other. What possible satisfaction would there be for him to gape at me in the tub?
I got out quickly, put out the candles and turned off the music. Then, wrapping a bath towel around myself, I shoved my feet into my slippers and, still not dry, hurried out and to the front door. I opened it and stepped out, listening and looking through the darkness.
"Duncan!" I cried. "Are you out here? Duncan!"
There was no response. I waited, my hair dripping, and then I was sure I heard the sound of his scooter somewhere farther down the road. It quickly disappeared.
He was here,
I thought.
He was.
The entire experience gave me the shivers, on top of the fact that I was dripping wet. I rubbed myself with the towel, then went back inside. Aunt Zipporah had heard me calling. She was at the top of the stairway.
"Alice? Is something wrong?"
"No," I said quickly. "I thought I heard someone at the front door, that's all. There was no one," I added before she could ask.
"Oh. Were you finished with your bath already?"
"Just about," I lied. "It was as wonderful as you described. Thank you."
"Okay," she said, still not sounding convinced. "Good night."
"Night"
I returned to the bathroom and wiped up the trail I had dripped. Then I emptied and cleaned the tub before getting into my nightgown and going to my bedroom. I was still shivering a little. For a while I stood by the windows and looked out at the woods and field, wondering if he was still somewhere out there or if he had returned home. I felt certain I had seen him in the window and heard his scooter on the road. I thought I heard it again, but the sound died.
It was very disturbing.
I sat thinking about it for a while, and then I decided to call him to ask him if he'd been here and why he had done that. The phone rang and rang, and I was about to hang up when I realized someone had picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
I waited but heard no one.
"Is Duncan at home, please?" I asked.
There was a long pause, and then in a voice that put daggers of ice in my chest, I heard someone in a coarse, raspy voice, a voice that sounded like someone struggling to breathe, say, "Get thee behind me, Satan."
The connection then went dead.
If I was on my way to enter a nightmare before, I was charging into it now. For a long moment, I couldn't move; I couldn't hang up. My fingers were locked around the receiver, as if I was holding onto it for dear life. After I did hang up, I stepped away from the phone so quickly that anyone watching would have thought I expected it to explode. Catching my breath, I retreated to my bedroom and sat, dazed and confused and still quite frightened.
That had to be his mother,
I thought. She had spoken in such a chilling, hateful voice. How did she know I was calling? I guessed I was the only girl who had ever called him.
I heard Tyler come home, and I went to my bedroom doorway. Just as he started for the stairway, he saw me.
"Hey, still up?"
It was on the tip of my tongue to pour everything out of me, accompanied by my sobs, but I swallowed it back and forced a smile.
"I'm just going to sleep now," I said.
"Me too. Sweet dreams," he said and went up the stairs.
I closed my door softly and, despite my effort not to, listened to my memory. Once again I heard the raspy whisper of Duncan's mother calling me the very thing I had feared all my life . . . evil.
Falling asleep was nearly impossible. Every time I did drift off, I woke with a start, expecting to see Duncan's face in one of the windows. I even dreamed I saw his mother's face in one as well. I had no idea what she looked like. When I thought about it, I realized the face I was imagining was that of Craig's mother, Mrs. Harrison.
After all, who else's face belonged in that nightmare? Who could possibly hate me more?
Had I found someone who could?
Despite my miserable night, I rose just about the same time Tyler did.
"Hey," he said when I entered the kitchen. He laughed when he looked up at me. "You sure you're not sleepwalking?"
"I couldn't sleep anymore," I said.
He nodded, concerned.
"Yeah, I know where you're coming from. You've got too much laying on your mind, Alice. I should give you some lessons in meditation."
"Maybe," I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
"I meant to ask you if you knew how to drive a stick shift?"
"No. I took driver's education class in school, and going for my driver's test was part of the final, but we always drove automatics. Actually, I haven't done all that much driving in any kind of car. Grandpa's always trying to get me to take the wheel, but I've never been that interested. Another thing that makes me weird to my schoolmates, I suppose," I added. "Grandpa would probably buy me my own car if I showed any interest."
"I saw how reluctant you were to take Zipporah's car the other day. It's because of the accident you were in, right?"
"Something like that."
"You know what they say. If you fall off a bike, you should get right back on. I'd be glad to give you some lessons on my stick shift. It's a fun car to drive."