Authors: Francine Pascal
"Oh, Win. You're still loyal to Jessica, huh?"
"You'd better believe it," he said in a serious tone Elizabeth had never heard him use before. Then suddenly he made a hideous face that cracked her up. He was back to being the clown again.
"You want to know the sort of girl people fix me up with?" he asked. "It goes like this: 'Win, have I got a girl for you! What a personality!' That always means two hundred and fifty pounds and two-foot-five! I have to put her hamburger on the floor so she can reach it."
"But, Win," Elizabeth said, laughing, "looks aren't everything."
"Yeah, I know. I'm no prize package, either,
right?" He grinned affably. "Hey, Enid and Ronnie are waving at us. Let's go over and say hello, OK?"
As they made their way around the dancers, Elizabeth commented, "I don't think Ronnie has left her side all evening. He's certainly protective."
"Yeah. I think he was a Doberman in a former life," Winston cracked.
A set of brown eyes followed Elizabeth's every move, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Jessica, who was rapidly reaching the boiling point. Her evening was going right down the tubes, and it was all Todd's fault. She had done everything--and with Jessica, that was plenty--to keep his eyes on her. Except for that one sensational dance, he had hardly looked at her.
No guy--not even Todd Wilkins--could take Jessica Wakefield to a dance and treat her like a piece of furniture. He wasn't going to get away with it, she vowed.
Later that night Elizabeth sat on her bed and sighed with relief that the long evening was finally over. A bunch of the kids had gone out for pizza after the dance, but she had persuaded Winston to bring her home. She knew she couldn't bear seeing Todd and Jessica together
one minute longer. What were they doing now? she wondered. Were they kissing? Were they . . . ? Stop torturing yourself!
At that very moment, Todd was saying good night to Jessica at the front door.
Nervously he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Jessica," he finally mumbled, "thanks. Thanks a lot. It's been a--a really great evening."
Not yet it hasn't, Jessica thought. But it could still end up great.
She placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and swayed close to him.
"Oh, Todd," she breathed, closing her eyes and raising her face for a kiss.
But the kiss, when it came, was nothing like what she'd expected. Jessica's heart went into a tailspin. A kiss on the cheek! Like he was her brother, for cripe's sake! She'd never been so humiliated in her entire life!
"Yeah, really great, Jess. See you at school."
And he was gone.
"You creep!" Jessica said aloud as she stood there by herself. "Todd Wilkins, I swear I'll get even with you if it's the last thing I ever do!"
Elizabeth reached out to turn off her light but stopped when she heard the front door close.
Jessica was home. I suppose I'll have to listen to every dreamy detail.
Jessica stuck her head into the room. "Can we talk for a minute, Liz?"
"Sure, Jess. Tell me all about it. I'll bet you had one fabulous time tonight!"
"Fabulous?"
"Well, of course. An evening with Todd. Good-looking, good dancer, super-nice guy. What more could you want?"
Jessica suddenly knew how she was going to get even with Todd. That "nice guy" image was about to be destroyed.
"Oh, Liz, it was so awful!" Jessica's eyes filled with tears.
"Awful? What are you talking about, Jess?"
"I thought he liked me, Lizzie," she said between sobs. "I thought he respected me and everything!"
"Jessie, what happened?"
"Oh, Liz, I can't. I can't tell you!" Jessica collapsed, covering her face with her hands. "I'm--I'm too ashamed."
Elizabeth put her arm around Jessica's shoulder. "It's all right, Jess. You can tell me anything, you know that."
"Maybe I should tell you." Jessica sniffled. "You really should be warned about him. You might go out with him sometime, and I'd just
never forgive myself if I didn't tell you what the real Todd Wilkins is like."
"What did he do?"
"That rat tried just about everything. The horrible thing was that I could hardly make him stop. I had to beg him and beg him to please stop!"
"Oh, no." Elizabeth moaned, squeezing Jessica's shoulder in sympathy. "I can't believe it."
"I know. I couldn't believe it either. I even remember saying to him as I was fighting him off that I couldn't believe it."
"And what did he do then?" Elizabeth asked, flushed with anger.
"I don't remember. But, oh, Liz, it was awful. He just wouldn't stop. His hands! Oh, God, they were everywhere. And--"
"Don't tell me any more. I've heard enough."
Jessica wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. "Lizzie, you're not mad at me for telling you, are you?" she asked. "I just didn't want you ever to be in that kind of situation. I wanted to protect you, Lizzie."
"Of course I'm not mad, Jess. Not at you, anyway," Elizabeth exploded. "How dare Todd Wilkins treat you that way? How dare he! I'll kill him--absolutely kill him!" she raged.
No need, Liz, Jessica said to herself. I just took care of that myself.
Thirteen
The knock on the door was soft but persistent.
"Steve?"
No answer. Ned Wakefield knocked again.
"I have to talk to you."
Mr. Wakefield turned the doorknob slowly. The room was in total darkness, although it was almost nine in the morning. He pulled up the shades and walked toward the bed, where his son was hidden under the blankets.
"Hey."
Steven didn't stir.
Ned Wakefield sat on the bed and poked the lump under the blankets. "I'm not going away, so you might as well come out."
The blanket fell away from his face, and Steven blinked at his father. There was a two-day
beard on his face, and his eyes were bloodshot and swollen.
"You look terrible," said Mr. Wakefield.
Steven sat up on the side of the bed and held his face in his hands. "Why not? I feel terrible."
"Listen, Steve, I used to think my troubles would go away if I hid out long enough, too. But they won't."
"Thanks, Dr. Wakefield."
"You're welcome. Now, get up, shave, take a shower, and come on down. Let's talk."
"I thought you had an important case to work on."
"I have. Wakefield versus Wakefield. Up!"
Back downstairs, Alice Wakefield looked at her husband with concern. "Is he up?"
"He's coming down."
"Thank goodness."
They had known that Steven was depressed the last two weekends he had been home. This weekend was worse. Steven had been hiding in his bedroom for two days with no explanation. When he had not gone back to school Sunday night, Alice and Ned Wakefield had cornered the twins and demanded to know what was happening. It was like pulling teeth. Neither Elizabeth nor Jessica wanted to squeal on their older brother. But eventually the story about Tricia Martin had come out.
Steven looked much better when he came
downstairs. He sat down at the table, and his mother put orange juice in front of him, but he pushed it aside.
"Not hungry, Mom."
"Hmmm. This must be serious," his mother said lightly. She was rewarded with a glare that might have bored holes through a brick wall. "Sorry."
"Steve, let me tell you something," his father said. "Anything you're going through, I went through."
"Sure."
"Yeah--sure. And so did your mother."
"Mom?" That got his attention. "Aw, what do you mean. You two--"
"What?"
"Nothing."
"We never had a problem in our lives? Is that what you think?" said Mrs. Wakefield.
Steven picked up the glass of orange juice and sipped it. He felt uncomfortable talking about his mom and dad, especially now when there might be something going on with Marianna West.
"But never mind us," said his father. "What's all this about Tricia Martin?"
Steven sighed. "The twins told you? Oh, well. It doesn't matter anyway."
"Why'd you have to keep it a big secret?" Alice Wakefield asked. "Tricia's a lovely girl."
"Yeah, I know. But her family ..."
Ned and Alice Wakefield exchanged glances. Tricia Martin's family was no bargain, and they knew it. Her father was the town drunk, and her sister Betsy had a horrible reputation. The mother had died of leukemia when the kids were little, which really had torn the family apart. It was all understandable, but that didn't make it any easier. And now Steven was mixed up with them. The question was, how seriously?
"Listen," Steven was saying, "this is really no big deal. Just forget it." He started to rise again,- but his father's hand on his arm sat him back down.
"Steve, anything that's kept you hiding out for two days is important enough for me. How serious are you about Tricia?"
"Well, Dad, I think I'm in love with her. She's really terrific."
"And how does she feel about you?" Alice Wakefield asked.
Steven got up and paced around the kitchen. "She hates me! She'll never speak to me again. And it's all my fault. I don't deserve such a great girl."
The anguished tale then poured out of Steven Wakefield. He heaped abuse upon himself as he told them how he had pretended that her family's problems didn't matter. He loved her
"anyway," he had told her, and he was above that sort of thing.
"She saw right through me," Steven said bitterly. "She saw the truth--a truth I didn't even realize--that I was ashamed of her family. That I didn't consider her good enough for me but that I would accept her out of the goodness of my heart. What an idiot I was! Now it's all over. She never wants to see me again. And I don't blame her. I'm just miserable."
"Have you told Tricia what you just told us?" said his mother.
Steven stopped pacing. Slowly he sat down at the table. He poured some coffee and sipped it. He shook his head.
"I couldn't do that, Mom."
"Why?"
"It would be too--I'd sound like such a jerk."
"Is it the truth, Steven?"
"That I'm a jerk? Yes, it's true."
"No, no--that you didn't realize what you were doing."
"Yes," Steven said slowly. "That's true."
"Do you still love Tricia?"
"Oh, yes." Not a moment's hesitation.
"Then go and tell her exactly what you told us."
"It's the only thing you can do," Ned Wakefield urged.
Steven looked at the table for a moment, and
when he spoke, he couldn't face his parents. He asked quietly, "What do you think of my being involved with the Martins?"
"You're not involved with the Martins, Steven. You're involved with Tricia."
"You don't mind?"
Ned and Alice Wakefield glanced at each other.
"Steven, you can't judge a person by his or her family," said Mrs. Wakefield. "I won't pretend that the Martins don't make me uneasy. But if you love Tricia, then you've got to fight for her. She's Tricia Martin--not Betsy, not her father."
Steven was up on his feet again, pacing. "You're sure you approve of Tricia, Mom? Dad?"
"Steven, it's whether you approve of her," Ned Wakefield said. "Follow your own judgment--as well as your heart."
Steven searched his father's face anxiously and then his mother's, looking for a clue to the pain and suffering they might be undergoing. Was this long-lasting, seemingly warm and solid marriage on the verge of destruction? Steven wished he could tell, but it was impossible. Whatever their problems, they were united to help him. Steven felt love racing through him, and he suddenly grabbed his mother in a bear hug.
"Hey--"
"I love you, Mom!"
"I love you, too, Steve."
"You, too, Dad," he said, grabbing his father's hand.
And then Steven vaulted through the kitchen door, dashed out the front door, and was gone, on his way to Tricia Martin's house.
Steven drove up to the Martin's saggy-roofed ranch house, a neglected old place that badly needed a paint job and general cleanup. As he approached the door, he could hear Tricia coaxing her father into his room.
"Come on, Pop. Lie down and get some sleep. You'll feel a lot better," Tricia said.
Steven opened the door and entered quietly. Tricia was returning to the living room.
"Steve!" she gasped. "What are you doing here? I thought I'd made it clear--we have nothing more to say to one another."
"There is one more thing I have to say, Tricia," Steven said softly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I acted like such a jerk. You were right. I was being patronizing, but I was too stupid to realize it. Can you forgive me, Trish, for being a complete fool? I love you. I love you so much."
"Oh, Steve," Trish said. "I love you, too."
She was so beautiful and fragile at that moment, Steven thought, her brown eyes
shining, her hair floating about her oval face in a red-gold cloud.
With tears streaming down their faces, Steven and Tricia shared a long, tender kiss.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," Steven said softly, planting gentle kisses on her eyes, her nose, and her forehead.
"Tricia! Tricia, come here," a voice called from the other room.
"My father needs me, Steve. I have to go to him."
"Can we talk later? There's so much I want to tell you. How about a long conversation over clams and a shake at the Dairi Burger tonight?" Steven asked, holding her face in his hands.
Tricia beamed a radiant smile. "OK, see you around eight." She rushed into her father's room as a very happy and relieved Steven Wakefield let himself out the front door.
The evening had been beautiful, Steven mused as he drove home after dropping Tricia off. His thoughts swirled pleasantly around her lovely image. And then, as though to cap off the evening perfectly, he spotted his father's rust-brown LTD just ahead of him. It would be fun to follow his dad home and thank him for helping him with what had seemed a hopeless mess. Steven turned on some soft music and cruised
quietly along, dreaming happy dreams. He wasn't ready for the turn his father suddenly made into a side street.