Sweetest Taboo (25 page)

I agreed to meet Vicky, my heart pounding, and hung up the phone. It was summer, after all, I thought. What were the chances of Tom even being on campus?

***

The school hadn’t changed. The campus was still decrepit and poorly maintained. The buildings looked smaller than they had, though, and dingier. I sighed at the thought, glad that I didn’t have to come here every day anymore, and parked my mother’s new BMW convertible – which she had allowed me to drive – in the parking lot near the swimming pool. As I pulled the parking brake, something caught my attention, and I looked up. Tom’s conspicuous truck was parked at the far end of the lot.

My mind catapulted, while my heart dropped into my stomach. The first shock came when I realized that Tom was, in fact, on campus at that moment. That thought led to an immediate flood of questions. Tom never parked his truck in the student parking lot. Why had he done so today? Did he know I was going to be stopping by? Who would have told him, and why? Certainly not Vicky. Why was the truck parked so close to the edge of the parking lot, near the street exit? Tom always parked his truck as close to his classroom as possible, so what was it doing parked at the very edge today?

My mind paused on the final, most important question. Where, exactly, was he? Was it safe to get out of the car, or would I run into him as soon as I turned the corner?

I finally talked myself into believing that he would be in class or otherwise occupied, and jumped out of the car. The short walk from where I had parked my mother’s car to the swimming pool felt like it took hours, though I was practically sprinting. Behind me, just meters away, was the threatening presence of Tom’s truck, and all around me was the possibility of seeing him again. When I reached the pool, though, I found only Vicky’s smiling face. I ducked through the gate and behind a building, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Hey, I’ve been waiting for you!” Vicky hollered when she saw me walk through the rusted chain-link gate. She looked exactly the same, except for her hair, which was longer – almost down to her waist. “Look, Isabel, do you remember some of these guys? They were on the team when we were swimmers two years ago, remember?”

I nodded, glancing at the kids in the pool. “How on earth did you end up being the head swim coach?” I asked, walking with her toward the all-too-familiar concrete benches. “What happened to Mr. Stevens?”

Vicky frowned and shook her head. “The principal kicked him out of the position when he was investigated, you know that story. He never got the job back.” She shrugged and smiled. “Besides, I was the star of the team! I make a way better coach than he ever did!”

Vicky leaned closer to me, making sure no one else could overhear what she was about to say. “Actually, I’ve heard some of the swimmers say that Mr. Stevens is doing it again. You know, having a thing with one of the sophomores in his class. What’s her name? I think it was Christy, or something like that. Maybe Kristen, I don’t know. Apparently she’s a blonde cheerleader. They’re seen together all the time, and they’ve even been seen leaving campus together. Can you believe it? Principal Warren can’t really do anything about it because who knows if it’s really true. I mean last time Mr. Stevens got reported, look what happened. No truth, all rumors, or so they say. No one ever testified, and the police never found anything against him. Go figure. Anyway, I don’t think he’s interested in coaching the swim team anymore.”

I’m not sure if Vicky noticed the look on my face, but I felt like a jagged wound had been viciously ripped open in my heart. Tom was fooling around with another student? Already? After all we had been through together, and all the things he’d said to me? I wanted to scream, though I swallowed hard and tried to look unconcerned. He had told me that he loved me, and that I was the only one for him. I had given him my heart and my virginity. I felt like the air had been kicked out of me.

As Vicky’s voice droned on, I tried to calm myself.
Isabel, stop freaking out! They were probably rumors. You know how high school kids can be, gossiping at every turn. Some students probably saw him being friendly to this cheerleader, and they jumped to conclusions. That’s it. Yeah, that’s it. He isn’t with anyone else
.

Another voice chimed in, though, and said things that I didn’t want to hear. What if this was his MO? What if he started things with girls, maintained them, and then moved on when the girls went to college?

That thought led to another, more painful one. If I wasn’t the last, and he’d moved on already … did that mean that I also hadn’t been the first?

“Isabel, are you listening to me?”

“Oh, sorry Vicky. I was just thinking about all the stuff I have to get done before heading to D.C. – sorry. What did you say?”

“I just said that I can end practice a little early, so we can head to lunch.” She got up from the bench and turned back toward me. “Why don’t you head to In N’ Out now, just in case there’s a line? You can hold a table for us. I’ll close up here and meet you there in fifteen minutes. I have to get the kids out of the pool and lock the gate.”

I nodded, realizing that I was famished. The drive and the wait would also give me some time to get myself together and put on a happier face. “You got it. I’ll see you at In N’ Out in a little while.”

Wanting nothing more than to leave, I jumped up and made my way to the gate. As I walked quickly toward my mother’s car, staring down at the concrete in contemplation, something compelled me to look up toward the parking lot. The lot was still empty, but in the far corner something stirred. Something almost out of sight.

It was a shadow near Tom’s truck. There was movement there; something was going on. I crouched down a bit and walked more quickly toward the BMW, hoping to avoid detection. The last thing I needed was a confrontation; I was already too emotional over what I’d just heard, and seeing Tom would just make it worse. I jumped into the car and locked the doors behind me, crouching low so I wouldn’t be seen. After a few moments, I peeked up over the dashboard.

Tom was inside his truck, which had been home to many hours of our lovemaking. Next to him was a petite blonde girl, half-hidden from view. The blonde figure seemed to shift closer to Tom, and then, before I knew it, the truck was driving off.

A sharp pain shot through my chest, and I failed to breathe. Moments after watching Tom drive away with his new girl, I broke down, sobbing, full of revulsion and heartbreak. Every last inch of my body felt the loss. I had ended the relationship, and it had broken my heart to turn my back on him, but that had been different; that breakup had been on
my
terms. This feeling of being replaced was utterly heart wrenching. I was powerless against the wave of emotion that rushed over me.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly and wholeheartedly deceived. I had known that I still loved Tom, and missed him, but I hadn’t realized how deep that love still went. And with one simple stroke, one terrible decision, Tom had ripped the love out of my heart and sent me plummeting down an endless chasm of pain. How could he do this to me? After all I had given him! My love, my devotion, my virginity! The most meaningful years of my life! All I could hear in my head, over and over again, was one phrase: please, please tell me why?

Chapter Twenty-Four

You Were Meant for Me

I
went to lunch with Vicky, and did my best to act as though nothing were wrong. We chatted about high school and college, our friends – both new and old – and what we planned to do with our futures. I told her about my internship in Washington, D.C., and the direction I was leaning toward for a career. By the end of the meal I was exhausted from maintaining the mask of happiness and excitement. I drove away from the restaurant with a promise that we would go see a movie later, and her number in my planner.

When I got home, I rushed past my mother and went straight to my room, where I’d unpacked my things for the few weeks I was planning on staying. I’d learned some things about myself at college, and I knew now that the letters to Tom had started something in me – a craving for the written word, and a feeling that writing things down would allow me to let go of them. I walked quickly toward my desk, pushed some of the clutter onto the floor, and pulled out my latest diary and favorite pen. The diary fell open to the last page I’d written, and I stared at the next page, my mind refusing to move forward. Finally I put the pen to the paper to write the date and my standard opening. Words and phrases began to flow out of me, and before I knew it I had written five pages. I read back through the writing and saw many things – the rejection I felt, the shock and horror at Tom’s actions, a lasting feeling of having been taken advantage of, and the disappointment of finding someone I loved to be less than what I thought he was.

Under it all laid my broken heart and the knowledge that I had never really let go of him. I reached down and wrote one final line: “I didn’t realize it at the time, but I believe now that I came home with the idea of making up with him.” The petite blonde girl in his truck made that impossible, I thought, sitting back in my chair.

I turned to stare out the window at the pool below me, thinking about all that had happened and all of the possibilities for the future. I felt drained and exhausted, the emotions wrung from me by the writing, but I hadn’t come up with a plan. I didn’t know my direction. And I knew myself well enough to know that I needed one.

***

“What are you going to do?” Liz asked quietly. I’d done what I would have done in high school – called my best friend. She was the only one that knew about my relationship with Tom, and the only one I trusted. She was also the only person who could listen to my story and give me sincere advice.

I frowned. “I’m not sure, Liz,” I answered. “I’m pulled in two completely different directions, here. One part of me wants to run away, heartbroken, and forget all about this place. I don’t want to see or think about him ever again.” I paused, thinking.

“And the other?” she asked.

I looked up, shrugging. “The other part of me wants to act like an adult. Like the people around me would have acted if they’d known what was going on when we were in high school. If he’s taking advantage of another girl – if he’s doing with her what he did with me – someone should tell the police. Or her parents. Or something.”

Liz snorted with laughter. “And I suppose the fact that doing so would get him in trouble – probably arrested, and kicked out of teaching for good – would help your broken heart. Just a little.”

I smiled, unable to resist her sarcastic humor, and nodded. “I suppose that’s part of it, too,” I admitted. “I just don’t know how I would do it, though. I don’t know if I
can
do it.”

Liz pulled a paper napkin toward her, and pulled out a ballpoint pen. “The way I see it,” she muttered, “you have a couple of options. Let’s just say that you’re going to tell someone about it. The first, most obvious move would be to talk to the girl. See if you can talk some sense into her. If that doesn’t work, you could go to her parents. And if
that
doesn’t work – though I don’t know why it wouldn’t – you could go to the police. You could either tell them what he’s doing with the girl, or you could tell them what he did with you.” She looked up from her notes and caught my eye. “I’m sure they still have a file on you. People watch him pretty closely, you know.”

I nodded, thinking. I did have the power to put Tom behind bars, if I wanted. It would never have occurred to me before, but I hated the thought that he was doing this to another girl. If I was being honest with myself, I was heartbroken over it, and the idea of retribution was far outweighing the noble act of protecting someone. Whether I could actually go through with it or not, though – tell the police, get him arrested, possibly ruin his life …“The girl first, then,” I said quickly, making my decision. “If she’ll listen to me, it puts the situation in her hands, and then it’s her problem. Maybe I won’t have to be involved any more than that.”

***

I spent the whole night coming up with a plan, and went back and forth at least a hundred times. My heart was pounding the entire time; confronting this girl meant that I would have to hear – from her mouth – that she and Tom were having a relationship. I had no doubt that he’d told her the same things that he’d told me; that he was in love with her, that she was the only one for him, that he didn’t love his wife, and that he couldn’t live without her. I didn’t doubt either that she would repeat all of these things to me. I remembered being fifteen, and knew how she would view me. I would be practically an old woman to her, and she would think that I had no idea what I was talking about. She would be convinced that I couldn’t understand how she was feeling, or what she and Tom had.

She won’t believe that I had a relationship with him too
, I thought finally, that truth hurting worse than the others had.

I would have to find a way to convince her, and use words firm enough to encourage her to find help rather than keeping quiet. I would have to tell her about our relationship, and use information that I’d never given anyone about Tom. If she wouldn’t listen, I would have to tell her that I was going to go to her parents, and perhaps the police.

I swallowed heavily, wondering if I was ready to do that. I had been crying for hours, and my eyes were sore and puffy. My throat was raw from my sobs, and I didn’t think I’d have much of a voice tomorrow. My heart had become a deep, dark place, full of pain and sorrow. But I couldn’t deny what was going on, and I had to admit to myself that the direction was giving me some comfort. I had searched my heart and didn’t believe that I was doing this to hurt Tom. In my subconscious, though, sat the idea that if I couldn’t have him, no one was going to.

By the time I went to bed, I had a plan.

***

I drove to the school the next morning, before classes started. The plan was simple: walk around the campus while students found their way to their classes, look for the girl in question, and find out who she was. I realized that it might not be that easy, but it was a small school and I had graduated only a year earlier; there were plenty of people who still remembered me. This was summer term, so there would be even fewer students, though I knew – from having seen her yesterday – that the girl I was searching for was here.