"Can he really go all the way to Albany on that scooter?"
"I don't know," she said. "I was surprised he actually gave it any attention and brought it back to use."
"He said you wouldn't let him use your car."
"Well, we have only the one, so I did have to keep its use somewhat restricted. I never liked feeling helpless this far out with no close neighbors, but I was hoping to have enough money soon to buy him something used for himself."
"If he could have gotten a summer job at least .. ."
"Oh, I've tried to get him to do that, but he insists on staying close to home. He does take good care of our property. I'm so worried for him now," she added. "So worried."
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"I was just getting myself ready to drive up there, trying to find the strength. I thought maybe I would see him along the way if he is going all the way on that scooter. He might have gone to the bus depot in town, too," she suggested.
"I can check that if you like," I said. "I'm heading to the cafe, and I know the bus depot is nearby. If I see his scooter anywhere .. ."
"Oh, please. Call me if you see it. I'll wait so at least I'll know that."
"I will," I said. "The receiver is off the hook, so be sure to hang it up."
"It is?"
"Maybe he didn't want to speak to me. Maybe he was afraid I would react like you did and try to talk him out of going to the hospital to do a mean thing."
She smiled and stood up.
"You're such a mature young lady. I don't know many girls your age except the ones I meet at the church events, but you seem older to me."
"That's not always good," I said and started away. I knew that when she saw my limp, she would be curious. It was written in her gaze. "I was in a bad automobile accident this year," I told her when I reached the door.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Be careful," she added.
"I'll call you soon," I said and continued, but when I looked back at the phone in the hall, I saw a large framed photograph and paused to look.
"Is this . . . is this you and your husband?" I asked.
"Right after we were married," she said. "As you see, he was a very handsome man. Duncan looks a lot like him, don't you think?"
I was speechless for a moment.
"When . . . when was Duncan born?" I asked.
"Not for two years later. We were both worried about having enough to raise a family," she replied. "We had difficulty having another child. She died in childbirth. We don't talk about it, if you're wondering why Duncan might not have mentioned it."
"Yes," I said, nodding. Then I turned and walked out.
For a moment I stood on the porch looking out at the driveway. I was dizzy. All that she had told me, her whole demeanor, contradicted everything I had understood. Why had Duncan told me those things and not told me others? It filled me with a mixture of emotions--anger and disappointment, but also greater curiosity.
I got into my aunt's car and turned around to drive out and to town. I was in such a daze that I don't know how I got there without having an accident. Somehow, I made all the right turns and ended up in front of the bus depot. There was a parking lot nearby, and sure enough, I saw Duncan's scooter.
I went into the depot and asked the attendant when the last bus had gone to Albany. He told me it had left nearly two hours earlier and by now had arrived in Albany. Duncan was surely at the hospital, I thought.
As quickly as I could, I drove to the cafe. Without even saying hello to my aunt and uncle, I got to the phone and called Duncan's mother. She must have been hovering over it. I don't think it finished a first ring before she snatched up the receiver.
"His scooter was there. He's gone on the bus and it arrived a while ago. By now he's at the hospital," I told her.
"Thank you, dear," she said. "I'm on my way out. I'll bring him home," she said.
"I'll be at the cafe," I told her.
My aunt was standing nearby, a quizzical and troubled look on her face. For a moment I stood there silently after I hung up, and then I turned to her.
"I have to talk to you," I said.
She nodded and led me back to the pantry so we could have some privacy.
There I told her everything. She listened without interrupting me.
Then I burst into tears.
"I am a pariah," I said. "I do attract only dark and evil things "
"Alice."
"No. I am my mother's daughter. Grandpa was right. It doesn't matter where I go or what I do."
"That is utterly ridiculous, Alice," Aunt Zipporah told me. She embraced me. "Stop it. You can't take on everyone else's problems, and you can't blame yourself for any of it. There was obviously a whole history here before you arrived. You just happened to walk into it. That's all."
I shook my head. Nothing she could say would change my mind.
"Maybe you should go home," she said. "You're not emotionally strong enough to work today."
"No, please," I said. "I have to keep busy or I'll go mad. And besides, I told Duncan's mother to call me here later."
"Okay, Alice. I'm sorry for all the trouble you've had so quickly here."
"Me, too."
"Should I call your grandparents?"
"No," I said. "Grandma will cancel their vacation and come running up here to get me to go home."
She nodded. "Probably would. We'll be fine. Give Missy some relief," she said and walked me out with her arm around my shoulders.
Tyler looked at us, concerned, but Aunt Zipporah gave him a look that comforted him and he continued working. The lunch crowd was building. I went for my apron and dove into the work, practically accosting the customers to please them.
Time flew by without my realizing it, which was a good thing. Hours later, Mrs. Mallen tapped me on the shoulder to tell me there was a phone call for me.
I looked at Aunt Zipporah, She was occupied with some short orders and hadn't heard. I picked up the receiver, my hand trembling.
"Yes, this is Alice," I said.
In a dry, dark voice, Duncan's mother said, "He died before Duncan got here."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "How is Duncan?"
"He wasn't here when I arrived. The nurse on duty told me he was very, very upset and left quickly. I went to the bus station to see if I could catch him before the returning bus drove away, but he wasn't there and never appeared before the next bus left. He might be wandering about the city or anywhere," she said, her voice cracking now. "I have no choice but to start for home and hope he comes home soon."
"I'm sure he will," I said even though I had no confidence in anything I thought anymore.
"If he calls you, please, please let me know." "I will," I said.
"Thank you, dear. Bless you," she said.
"Bless us all," I told her and hung up wondering if we weren't both making a phone call to God and getting the same busy signal.
Despite how busy she was, Aunt Zipporah kept her eyes and ears on me. The first free moment she had, she came to me to ask about the phone call. After I told her what Duncan's mother had said, she advised me not to get too deeply involved.
"This problem is too complicated, Alice. Duncan and his mother have to work things out themselves. You're too fragile for something this heavy."
I nodded in agreement, but she wasn't convinced. "Will you promise me not to do anything on your own? Will you?"
I hated promises. People made them to end arguments or to make themselves feel better, or, which is what often happened to me, to make someone else hopeful about something that looked pretty much impossible at the time. My whole life was built on a big promise, the promise that someday, somehow, I would finally understand who I was, that I would finally escape from all the shadows and secrets that hovered around me, invading my dreams and thoughts that smiles and laughter were just around the corner. I was to be forever patient and optimistic and believe in the promise.
My grandparents, who had been seriously wounded emotionally, who had long ago had their own faith and optimism nearly fatally challenged, did their best to keep their own sadness and
disappointment hidden, but I was unfortunately born with that third eye my grandfather described. I could see behind smiles and hear beneath words. I heard the gurgling stream of inky darkness running under our very feet. I knew instinctively that promises offered false avenues of escape.
Countries broke treaties, families broke loyalties, lovers broke sacred oaths, businesspeople broke contracts. Why was anything ever written or said to bind us to promises? We have been victims of them ever since the Garden of Eden. To me, for me, whenever anyone made a promise, he or she was lying to not only whoever had received the promise but also, more important, to himself or herself.
Both my father and my aunt broke the promise every child makes to his or her parents--the promise to be loyal and loving and to do nothing to hurt them. Both my father and my aunt broke their promise to my mother, the promise to protect and to help her. And my mother? Whether she was able to understand what she had done or not, she broke a mother's most important promise to her child--the promise to be her mother, to love and to cherish.
I shook my head. "There's no point in my promising anything, Zipporah," I told her. "I agree with you, but whether I write it in blood or ink, I can't tell you what will happen tomorrow."
"Oh Alice, I'm so sorry something like this happened so quickly to you here. I wanted you to get a great start. I had a bad feeling about him. I warned you. I told you to be careful."
"I won't let anyone blame you for anything," I told her, which was the wrong thing to tell her. I saw the pain in her face immediately.
"I'm not worried about that, Alice. That's not what I meant at all. Do you think I would let my parents or your father make me feel like that?"
"I'm sorry," I said, tears coming to my eyes. "I didn't mean it to sound that way."
"I know you didn't." She put her arm around me and pulled me closer to her. "You're very upset. I think you should go home now, Alice. Get some rest. You can't do any more anyway."
Just as she said that, a group of nearly a dozen summer college students came into the restaurant, talking excitedly, laughing and teasing each other. They made for the two long tables.
How do I become one of them?
I wondered.
When do I live in a carefree manner and wake up with a smile on my face and laughter on my lips?
Tyler looked up with surprise in the kitchen. We were going to have a big day here in the cafe. Another, smaller group followed the students in and sat at tables close by. Missy looked overwhelmed immediately. Cassie was busy with four tables of older people who had come in for an early bird special.
"I should stay," I said.
"You look drained, honey. Go on home. I'll put on an apron and take your place. Go ahead," she urged.
I glanced at the crowd building. My hip did ache, and the thought of rushing about suddenly seemed exhausting.
"Everything will look better tomorrow. You'll see," Aunt Zipporah said. "C'mon. Get your booty home."
I smiled and nodded as I undid my waitress apron. She took it from me quickly to be sure I didn't change my mind.
"Tyler's going to think I'm deserting you just at the wrong moment."
"Not Tyler," she said. "Maybe Cassie," she added, laughing.
I started toward the door and stopped.
"If I get a call--"
"I'll let you know," she said. "I promise."
The word fell like a bird that had a heart attack. I nodded anyway and continued out of the restaurant to her car to drive myself home, where I did hope I would lie down and get some sleep. I wasn't a bit hungry. I would_go right to bed.
As I pulled away, I had a thought and took a quick turn down Main Street to the bus depot. When I looked at the parking lot, I saw that Duncan's scooter was gone. He had found a way home.
That's good,
I thought.
Maybe he and his mother would make peace and start anew.
Was that foolish even to consider? Maybe, maybe not. The discovery and death of his father had to have some serious effect on him. Maybe he would put some of his own demons to bed. I was even a little envious.
Of course, I wondered if he would be calling me. I hurried back to the house to wait. I feared that if he called the cafe first, Aunt Zipporah either wouldn't let me know or might even say something to him to discourage him from calling me here. I was on pins and needles about it and couldn't stop wondering. There was no point in trying to sleep. I nibbled on some bread and butter and tried watching television, but I neither heard nor saw what I was watching. My mind had truly left my body behind.
Finally, after nearly two hours of waiting, I ventured a call to the cafe. I could hear the commotion in the background when Mrs. Mallen answered. I was going to hang up, but Aunt Zipporah heard it was me and got on the phone.
"Are you all right?" she asked quickly.
"Yes. I hear you're really busy. That makes me feel bad."
"It's under control, Alice. Stop worrying about it." "Okay." Dared I ask her? I couldn't help it. "Has anyone . . . have you heard anything . ."
"He didn't call here for you, Alice. Get some sleep. Please," she begged.
"Right. I'll see you later."
"I hope not. I hope you'll be in a deep sleep," she said.
I had to laugh at that wishful thinking. I did start for bed after we spoke.
And then, as I brushed my teeth, I thought about Duncan's mother. Despite my near promise to Aunt Zipporah, I couldn't put his mother out of my mind. I did have some information for her. I knew he was back. By now she must be home, too, I thought. What halm could there be in a phone call letting her know I was thinking about her? And perhaps Duncan would answer. I wouldn't try to carry on a long conversation with him, but I'd want him to know I had a great deal of confusion about him and the things he had told me.
Twice I started for the phone, and twice I turned back.
This is stupid,
I thought and seized the receiver with such force that the third time, I almost ripped the phone out of the wall. I dialed the number slowly, hesitating on the final digit, then closing my eyes and doing it.
It rang and rang. On the fourth ring, Duncan's mother answered.
"It's Alice," I said.
Before I could ask anything else, she asked, "Is he at your house now? Is he all right?"
"No, he's not here. Didn't he come home yet?"
"Yes," she said. "He came home. I told him you had come to the house and that you and I had a nice conversation and you were helping me, but that seemed to make him even more upset. I didn't know what to say. Where would he go?"
"I don't know," I said. "If he does come here, I'll make him go home."
"Yes, he should come home. Blessings, dear," she added and hung up quickly.
She probably didn't want to tie up her telephone line in case he did call her or someone did.
Someone like the police,
I thought, and suddenly my memory of all of Craig's anger at his mother came rolling back in a thunderous replay. I was back in that car trying to get him to slow down and he was caught up in a bitter, self-destructive rage. He was in a place he would never have been in if he hadn't been involved with me.
Where was Duncan?
On what highway of bitterness and selfdestruction was he traveling? I stood there thinking about it and decided to go out to check the studio. After all, once before he had hidden himself there.
Because of the heavily overcast sky, it was pitch dark in the back now. The little illumination that spilled out of the rear windows outlined the studio, but if he was in there, he hadn't put on any lights. Nevertheless, I made my way to the studio door, opened it and then turned on the lights. Everything looked the way I had left it. My painting of the doe was still on the floor, facedown.
"Duncan?" I called, looking toward the bathroom. "Are you here?"
The sound of my own heart thumping was all that filled my ears. Nevertheless, I crossed the room to look into the bathroom. It was empty. I turned off the lights and returned to the house. Then I went out front and looked up and down the road that ran past us, listening for the sound of his scooter. The threat of oncoming rain rode on the shoulders of the wind building out of the southeast. It rustled leaves and whistled as it passed over and through the roof gutters that would soon carry the runoff down and away. The thick darkness and otherwise sense of emptiness reminded me of a line in a Shakespearean play-- "when graveyards yawn."
I folded my arms around myself protectively. It was a good time for ghosts and spirits to emerge to visit the living and remind them of what awaited beyond the last heartbeat. It was not a time to be alone and deeply upset. Somewhere out there, Duncan Winning was deeply troubled and surely visited by the same feelings and forebodings I was sensing around me.
My anger and my curiosity gave way to sympathy, to compassion and understanding. After all, I couldn't stop thinking about all those nights I had spent alone out there, my mind reeling with confusion and pain, wondering why I had been brought into this world. Despite the lies he told and despite whatever reason he had for telling them, we were still in a real sense birds of a feather.
An idea came to me, a vision so clear and powerful that I had to wonder if it hadn't been delivered by some supernatural power. Still, I hesitated, reluctant to act because of the trust my aunt Zipporah had in me. She was relieved to know I was here and probably asleep, but I couldn't help myself in the end. I had to go. What was drawing me to do so was far more powerful than anything else. It had to be obeyed.
How vain and futile my promising not to get any more involved would have been!
I got back into her car, started the engine, thought about it once more and then backed out and drove off. I wasn't even sure I knew where I was going or if I would find what I hoped to find. I was truly like a blind person navigating in the darkness, guided only by her sense of purpose and her faith in the power that urged her forward.
I drove quickly and then very, very slowly, searching the side of the road, looking for that small, almost impossible-to-discover opening. Cars whizzed by me. Drivers behind me were annoyed with my pace and leaned on their horns, but I was determined. Finally, I found it and turned into the narrow road that, I recalled, led to a gravel one and then just bushes. Once I did, the night seemed to envelop me, even making my headlights appear dimmer and weaker. An inky octopus woven out of deep shadows wrapped itself snugly around my aunt's car. Panic seized me when I realized how difficult it would be to turn around and drive out again. I would have to back up very carefully, and if I got stuck out here, my uncle and aunt would be so upset when they heard my explanation.
I was about to give up and try hacking out carefully when the headlights peeled away the darkness to reveal Duncan's scooter. A wave of delight and satisfaction rushed through me. Whatever it was that had brought me here--my intuition, third eye, spirit, whatever--had not disappointed me. I kept the engine running and the lights on and stepped out of the car.
"Duncan!" I shouted and waited. "It's Alice. Where are you? Duncan!"
Except for the sound of the car engine, I heard nothing.
He's sulking,
I thought.
He won't answer and after I went through all this trouble to find him.
It made me angry again.
"Duncan, damn it, answer me!"
I took a few steps toward the bushes and listened. I could hear the river working its way around rocks and boulders, sliding along the shoreline, but nothing else.
He heard me, I
thought.
He had to have heard me. I
considered returning to the car and keeping my hand on the horn until he stepped out of the bushes. When we had come here that first time, he'd had to use a flashlight to find his way between the bushes himself.
Listen, Alice, I
told myself,
if he doesn't want to see you, he doesn't want to see you. Why push yourself on him.? Let it go. Listen to your aunt's advice. Just make your way back and go to sleep. You have your own problems.
I actually started to turn back to the car before I hesitated again to listen for him. I did hear something.
Was that a rustling in the bushes? Had he finally decided to confront me?
The sound weakened as it went off to the right.
It could have been some animal, a raccoon or something,
I thought.
Frustrated, I turned back to the bushes. Using whatever illumination spilled from the car's
headlights, I located what I believed was the start of an opening in the heavy overgrowth. It wasn't until I stepped deeply in that I realized it was a false portal. The bushes were even thicker. The branches caught on my clothes and I felt one scratch my right forearm. I winced and cried out from the pain, now cursing and babbling my anger toward him
"I'm not exactly a mountain climber or a hiker, Duncan. You're not being much of a gentleman leaving me out here like this. Where are you? I need you to show me the way. Duncan!"
Something did slither beneath my feet and I screamed. Were there bad snakes here?
I turned to go back and found that the bushes had closed around me. I wasn't sure now which way to head, and I was too far from the glow of the headlights to benefit from the illumination. I struggled as carefully and as gracefully as I could to separate branches to keep them from catching onto my clothing and scratching my arms, even my neck and face. The more I traveled, the more lost and trapped I became. I tried to keep myself calm. I knew that if I panicked in the darkness within these wild bushes, I would do more damage to myself and might even seriously entangle myself.
The rain began, very slowly at first, forming drops out of the mist and then becoming a slow drizzle. Lightning sliced the dark sky, and a roll of thunder echoed over the river. My hair quickly became drenched.
I asked myself how I had ended up in here. How had I been so pigheaded and stupid?
You deserve this,
I told myself.
Maybe you'll learn a good lesson.
I continued to part the branches and find small openings in the bushes. I wasn't sure I was anywhere near the place Duncan had showed me when we came here, but I worked myself forward, until finally I realized I had come upon the border of the clearing he had made beside the river. I stepped out of the bushes, wiped the rain from my forehead and eyes and tried to see through the darkness, discover his silhouette somewhere.
I didn't see him, and I was struck by the possibility that while I'd been working my way through the heavy brush, he had picked up and left, not even caring that I had come here looking for him. Once again, I berated myself for being such a damn fool. I crossed the clearing and looked at the river. Raindrops were pounding away at the surface. Fortunately, it was a warm downpour, but I would soon be soaked to the skin.
"Duncan!" I called out. "Are you still here? Duncan?"
I listened and waited, now hearing the sound of the rain falling through the trees and over the water. I was about to turn to find my way back to the car when a sizzling flash of lightning, much closer to me, revealed someone in the water, someone who looked like Duncan. I gasped and walked closer to the river's edge.
Another shaft of lightning wiggled though the dark sky, and I could see him bobbing against some rocks a few feet off the shore.
"Duncan!" I screamed.
Blinded now by the heavier downpour, I waved my hands back and forth in front of my eyes like some sort of a human windshield washer. Not even bothering to take off my shoes, I stepped into the river and waded to the place where I had seen him bobbing among the rocks.
When I drew closer, I saw he was lying on his back, his head held out of the water because his body was jammed between some rocks. His lower legs and feet were under the water. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was slightly opened. I shuddered both from the cold water and the sight of him.
"Duncan!" I cried. I reached out to touch his face. The water made his skin feel icy.
Was he dead?
I positioned myself so I could put both my arms around his upper body, grasping him just under his arm. Then, with all my strength, I pulled him away from the rocks. He was so heavy, which surprised me, for I knew that when someone was in the water, the displacement made him or her much lighter. I struggled to move him along with me, barely able to keep him out of the water. His head lay against my shoulder and I began to back up as carefully as I could, afraid that if I stumbled and fell, he would go down and I wouldn't be able to bring him up.