One Saturday morning Charlotte decided to take the long walk over to Claudia’s house.
A month had passed since the day of the lemon tarts, and she had been there several times since. It pleased her to know that Claudia wanted her company.
“Because she has no daughter,” said Emmabrown, who, Charlotte guessed, would have liked to add, though she did not, “and because you have no mother.”
Rob and Roy came rushing and barking to the door, which was opened by Ted. Startled and absurdly flustered, Charlotte bent to stroke the dogs.
“They know you,” said Ted.
“Yes, I’ve been visiting your mother.” Still flustered, she displayed a book. “I’ve come to return this. Is she here?”
“No, they’ve gone to Boston for a couple of days.”
“Well, then, I’ll just leave this for her.”
“Why don’t you come in, anyway?”
He stood surveying her as if he had never seen her before. Actually, he had not seen her very often. She had put on the pink skirt and top that had come in Elena’s latest package from Florida. For no reason at all she had simply felt like dressing up. And now she was glad she had.
“Come on in,” he repeated. “I’m just having a sandwich. Want one?”
The fact was that Charlotte had taken lunch for granted, as Claudia expected her to do.
“I wouldn’t mind,” she said.
“Make a sandwich for yourself. There’s bread and there’s sliced turkey. Coleslaw, potato salad. My mother left enough for an army.”
He had a rough way of talking, sort of slapdash and careless, that was interesting. And she thought how ridiculous it was to have no brother, to go to a school for girls, and not even know how to talk to a boy or what to expect from him.
He wasn’t a boy, though. He stood ten inches above her. He was a senior, old enough to vote or be in the army. No doubt, barging in like this, she was being a nuisance to him.
She made a sandwich and sat down at the kitchen table, wondering how to begin a conversation, since he had not begun one.
“Have a beer,” he said, shoving a glass and another bottle across the table.
“I’ve never had beer,” she said.
“Well, there’s always a first time. Here, I’ll open it for you.”
She sipped and shuddered. It was awful, sour enough to make you want to spit it out.
Ted was amused. “Takes getting used to, like olives.”
“Oh, I like olives.”
“Good, I’ll get some. And a Coke.”
When he had set these out, there came a silence, made deeper by the small clicks and clinks of plates and forks. The dogs scratched and thumped. Ted’s chair squeaked when he tipped back on it. Elena would say he was hard on furniture, Charlotte thought. But he was so big. He was powerful and manly. That was the word: manly, and much handsomer than some of the men on television or in the movies. He made her self-conscious. It was stupid for two people to sit there chewing and not saying anything.
“You’re a cute kid,” Ted said abruptly. “In another couple of years you’ll be really cute. You’ve got a nice shape.”
When your breasts are bigger, he meant. They were already big enough for him to notice. And she felt confusion, not knowing how to respond to the compliment.
“So, Charlotte, tell me about yourself.”
What was there to say? There was nothing.
“There isn’t much to tell,” she said.
Elena would say: You have to sparkle, be alive, be interesting. You can’t just sit there!
“There must be. Anyway, I already know a few things about you. C.D. talks about you a lot.”
“C.D.?”
“Your uncle.”
“Why do you call him C.D.?”
“Clifford Dawes, of course. I don’t like the sound of uncle because he isn’t my uncle. And he’s surely not my father. So you see …” Ted shrugged.
She thought he looked somber. A thrill of sympathy, first hot, then cold, seemed to shoot through her veins. His father was dead, while her mother was—
“C.D. says you’re very smart and you’re an expert swimmer. True?”
“I don’t know that I’m so smart, but I am a pretty good swimmer.”
“That’s great. Maybe you and I can go out to the lake this summer. I’ll bet you look great in a swimsuit.”
She was astonished. If she were to tell anyone at school that Ted Marple—Ted Marple!—had invited her to go to the lake, they might not even believe it. She would certainly tell them, though, and no later than next Monday. Tell them all, too, not only her friends, but even snobs like Addie Thompson, who thought she was God’s gift to boys. With this thought enlivening her the words began to flow.
“I know things about you too. I mean, everybody who reads the paper knows about you, about the Thanksgiving game with Franklin High and stuff like that. But I know other things. Your mother says you’re the best math student in the senior class.”
“Oh, mothers. They boast too much.”
But she saw that he was pleased, so she continued. “Between that and football, you’ll get into any college you want, I guess.”
“You’re pretty young to know about colleges.”
“No, I think about it all the time. I want to be an architect.”
“You can’t know that already.”
“Of course I can.”
“Ah, you’re a baby.”
For an instant Charlotte felt a rise of anger; then she saw that he was teasing, and they both laughed.
“A pretty baby. Listen, pretty baby, I’d like to stay here talking to you, but I have to go now. Meeting some friends downtown.” Ted looked at his watch. “Geez, I’m late. I’m supposed to give the dogs a walk, but too bad, I can’t.”
The dogs, alert to the word walk, had gotten up and gone to the door. “Poor fellows,” Charlotte said.
“Tell you what, Charlotte. How about you and me taking them for a hike tomorrow afternoon? I’ll pick you up at your house. Is it a date?”
“A date,” she said happily.
Ted picked up her ponytail as if he were weighing it. “I’ll bet you look beautiful with all that hair spread out loose. Thick and blond. Not bad. Not bad at all.”
She was flushed and thrilled. “It’s dirty blond,” she said.
“Don’t say that. You need to learn how to accept a compliment. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
* * *
Dad asked, “Where were you? Whose car was that?”
“Ted’s.”
“How did that happen?”
“I went to see Claudia, but she wasn’t home, so I had lunch with him.”
“Just you and Ted? You didn’t know they were away for the weekend?”
“Of course I didn’t know. But what’s the difference?”
Dad frowned. “I don’t like the idea of your being alone in the house with him—or any boy.”
“Daddy! That’s the silliest thing I ever heard. You sound like Queen Victoria. Do you think that all a boy wants is sex? That you can’t be friends with a boy, for heaven’s sake?”
“People can be too old for you,” Dad grumbled.
“Ted’s not too old. And he’s really nice. You don’t even know him.”
“Well, all the same, I don’t want …” He raised the newspaper so that his face was hidden.
He doesn’t know what else to say, Charlotte thought. What he’s already said is stupid, and he knows it is.
Around the paper’s edge Bill peered at Charlotte, thinking, Aging comes on so slowly that you don’t notice it. Two years ago she had her first bra and braces on her teeth. She and her friends went charging through the house like wild ponies. Now, with a book on her lap, her pink skirt smooth, and charm bracelet dangling, she has a woman’s posture.
Yet she still had the face of a child, a face that made his heart ache. They were pulling her apart, he and Elena! At the most critical period of adolescence, when she most needed them, they were doing this to her. He worried so.… Elena didn’t see their child as he saw her. Elena, to begin with, didn’t feel with the intensity that was almost palpable in Charlotte. Elena, in that fragile-seeming body, had the toughness of one of those thin weeds that take all a man’s strength to uproot. Hardly a flattering comparison!
Charlotte, not reading now, dreamed with eyes unfocused and a tiny smile. Most probably she was dreaming of the ultimate romance, the wine-and-roses thing. She was in a hurry to grow up. And he wanted to warn her: Men don’t think like that, my dear. In spite of all the unisex talk these days, the boys are different, my dear, they really are. Believe me. Take care of yourself.
The flowery spring had finally come north of Boston to stay. Cliff’s house was on the fringe of town, almost in sight of farms and open country. With the two dogs at heel Charlotte and Ted walked out in the direction of the lake.
Ted strode along with his hands in his pockets. Every now and then he picked up a small stone and hurled it ahead. When he leaned back to throw with his right arm, his left foot came up. She must be careful not to be caught watching him. It would be terribly embarrassing. He would think she was falling in love with him or something.
Still, maybe she was. The thought was astonishing. Was it possible that such a thing could happen so fast? You read about it in junky novels—but they were just junky novels. Yet what about the classics? Romeo and Juliet? And surely there were dozens of others, although she couldn’t remember offhand which ones they were.
A car approached and, passing, slowed enough for a girl to wave from the rear window. Addie! It was exactly what Charlotte had dreamed about and never expected to see. Addie would spread it all over the school: Charlotte Dawes was out walking with Ted Marple on Sunday.
For a long time she had not been exhilarated or energetic, but now she broke into a run, so fast that the breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders.
“Hey! Where you all going?” cried Ted, catching up.
“I often run with the dogs. I almost feel as if Rob and Roy belong to me. I’ve grown up with them.”
“Why don’t you have a dog of your own?”
“I always wanted one.”
“So why didn’t you have one? Don’t your folks always give you everything you want?”
“Well, mostly yes, but my mother doesn’t like dogs in the house. They shed and throw up and make a mess, she thinks.”
“She sounds like a crank. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Ted’s rueful smile asked her to forgive him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
She reassured him, saying quickly, “That’s all right. It’s partly true. Sometimes she is a nag.”
“Are they really getting a divorce?”
“I guess. Although it does seem as if they can’t even agree on that much.”
“It’s a bad break for you.”
They broke stride to lean against a stone wall. Beyond it a herd of Holsteins went moving with heads down through a long pasture.
“They’re looking for fresh grass, but it’s too early,” Charlotte said. “They’ll still be eating hay for another couple of weeks.”
Ted shrugged. “I never gave it any thought. Don’t know much about animals.”
“My dad knows a lot. He does stuff for wildlife and the environment. Uncle Cliff does too.”
“Yeah, C.D.’s been writing something for the Wildlife Commission. Funny business for a couple of textile manufacturers.”
“Oh, no,” Charlotte said earnestly. “Not really. They got the business from their grandfather, and so they kept it. But I think they would really have liked to be explorers, or maybe even farmers. Oh, look, on the other side of the road, there’s a mare with a new colt. Isn’t he darling? Let’s go see.”
Ted was looking at her. He was almost staring. She knew he was admiring her hair, which she had kept loose today, letting it ripple into two deep curves around her face. She had put on some of Elena’s perfume. And again that little thrill went through her.
“I suppose,” he said, “your father’s home with the Sunday paper today.”
“No, he left early to meet some people who may lease the plant. They can’t seem to sell it.”
He was still looking at her, or rather, looking down to her, with such an odd expression, partly smiling and partly analyzing, as though he found her fascinating. Could that be possible?
And confused now, she rattled on, “Dad doesn’t even like these people all that much. It’s a recycling company that’ll use the place to store rubbish. After buildings are torn down, for instance, the rubbish has to be put somewhere, so that’s what their business is. And it’s not what Dad wanted at all. But he needs the money. It’s very hard on him. I’m sorry for him with all his worries.”
Her voice trailed, for now Ted had looked away. He picked up a stone and sent it skimming down the road. Suddenly she was boring him, and no wonder. Laughter is what people want, Elena said. Be entertaining.
“Life’s a bummer for some people,” Ted said.
“But not for you,” she said brightly. “I think you must have a great life.”
“Nah, not always. My father was shot, sitting right in his office, he was shot. The case came to trial and the jury acquitted the killer. Can you imagine that? I was four. My mom was advised to get out of town. I still don’t understand why, but anyway, we came here. She had some old relative here, so she knew somebody at least. Then he died, and she opened the bookstore. It wasn’t easy, I can tell you.”
“But now everything’s fine for you,” Charlotte said eagerly, wanting him to be comforted.
“Yeah. What are we doing here, gabbing about all this stuff? You’re too serious for your own good. How about we lighten up? How about going back to my place. I’ll have a beer, and you’ll have a Coke. We’ve walked far enough.”
“Sure,” said Charlotte. “I’d like that.”
When you entered the house, you immediately felt vacancy. There was no Claudia in the kitchen and no sound of the radio that she kept tuned to music. There were dirty dishes in the sink and newspapers scattered on the floor.
Ted grinned. “Place is a mess, isn’t it? I’ll have to clean it up tonight before they get home. Hey, here’s a chocolate cake in the cake box. Want some?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“We’ll have it in there in style,” Ted said, pointing toward the living room.
“Where’s your beer?”
“Beer and chocolate cake don’t mix, little girl. I’m having wine. Why don’t you try some? Coke and chocolate cake don’t mix that well either.”
“I never had wine. Aren’t you supposed to be eighteen? That’s what Dad said.”
“Excuse me, but your dad sounds like a cop or a lawyer. That talk’s all garbage. The French give wine to their kids, for God’s sake.”
In the living room Ted put two plates, two goblets, and a bottle of red wine on the coffee table. They sat down together on the sofa. Ted poured the wine.
“Taste it. It’ll make you feel good.”
It was faintly tart and faintly sweet, silky and cool. It seemed to go with the room, which was as green and white as the spring outdoors. Leaning back on the cushions, Charlotte had a sense of luxury, as in those advertisements where beautiful women recline in rooms like this one, filled with paintings, flowers, and books. Her charm bracelet tinkled, and she smiled.
“You see, it does make you feel good,” Ted said. “Have some more.”
“I already had half a glassful.”
“So? What’s a half? You can certainly drink another half. That’s nothing at all.” He laughed. “Have another piece of cake to wash it down.”
“Your mother’s a great cook. I love coming here for lunch. I mean—that sounds dumb, doesn’t it? I love coming here because she’s so sweet. I love the way she talks to me. Like equals, you know. Once—we were studying opera in school—she put on a record of Tosca and explained it so I almost didn’t have to do the reading. Do you know the story of Tosca? It starts in the cathedral when this man is escaping.…”
It was wonderful the way the words came pouring so smoothly now. She wasn’t the least bit self-conscious anymore with Ted. He sat there listening and watching her so respectfully, so closely.… It was lovely.
Once he reached over to refill her glass, but when she objected, he said, “You’re imagining things. This is the half you didn’t have the first time. Do you think I want to get you drunk?”
She giggled. Of course he didn’t. He was Claudia’s son and, by now, practically Uncle Cliff’s son too.
“Let’s have some music,” he said abruptly. “Some dance music.”
She got to her feet. Dancing in the afternoon! Yes, it was all lovely.
But when he took her in his arms, guiding her into the slow rhythm of the music, she said, “Not this kind of dancing. I don’t know how to do this old-fashioned stuff.”
“You’d better learn, because it’s coming back in style. It’s really nice, you’ll see. Just follow my steps.”
His firm hold tightened until there was no space at all between their bodies. Her head was pressed against his chest so that she felt him breathing. The music was soft and yearning, a little bit happy and also a little bit sad. Her eyes filled with tears.
“You’re so sweet,” Ted murmured. “I never thought when I first saw you—I thought you were only a little kid. But when I looked again, I saw something else. You’re very adult for your age.”
As they moved around the room, the walls began to spin slowly, as when a merry-go-round starts rolling. Her legs felt heavy, but it wouldn’t be right for her to break up the dance, so she clung to him to keep from falling.
“So sweet,” he murmured again. “Tender and sweet. And here I am in this beautiful house with a beautiful girl. Lucky me. I never thought I’d be so lucky. I haven’t had the easiest life, Charlotte.”
“Oh, I know, I heard,” she whispered back.
All the happiness was melting into sadness. Life was hard. Poor Ted, he had had his troubles too. They had killed his father. And poor me. Poor Dad. Elena too. The world was so sad, so beautiful and sad. A little sob stuck in Charlotte’s throat.
“Can’t dance on this carpet. Let’s sit down,” Ted urged, and kissed the top of her head.
“Yes, let’s. I feel a little dizzy,” she said.
Back on the sofa he put his arm around her. “Lay your head on my shoulder. You’ll be all right in a minute.”
“Dizzy,” she said again, “and sleepy too. It must be the wine.”
“No, no. Those few sips wouldn’t do that to you. It was dancing in circles that did it. Lie back.”
He was so gentle. His firm fingers began to stroke her shoulders. When he slid his arm around and scratched her back, it felt as good as the Chinese back-scratcher she had won long ago at a fair. She told him so, and giggled.
“You’re like a cat,” he said. “I had a cat once that would lie there all day and purr if you rubbed its back.”
Gradually, his fingers had slid down along her leg. When they reached her feet, he took off her shoes and massaged her soles. She floated; sunlight dazzled through the Venetian blinds, and she closed her eyes against the glare.
“I’m like that cat you had,” she murmured. “I’m falling asleep.”
“Good. That’s good.”
So she lay—she could not have said for how long—until suddenly, with no warning at all, he lunged. His enormous, crushing weight pushed her flat on the sofa. His wet, crushing mouth clamped on hers.
“What are you doing?” she cried, struggling to raise herself.
Twisting beneath him, she pushed his face away. She did not understand; a second ago she had been sleepy and warm while he stroked her so gently, so gently.… What was he doing? What did he want?
In her squirming struggle to free herself, she saw him withdraw far enough to undo his clothes. And glimpsing then his astonishing, terrifying flesh, she screamed. The scream tore her throat.
“No! No! No!”
Again he thrust her back. His hand covered her mouth, while his other hand probed her body, rolled her skirt roughly up around her neck, and pulled her underclothes down.
“What are you doing?” she said, and when he didn’t answer, she pleaded, “Don’t, don’t.” Then she called out, “Oh, God, somebody help me, please.”
Sweating and breathing out the sour stench of wine, he moved upon her. She was stifled. Her fists were impotent and her teeth, with which she would have torn him, could only graze his chest, which was hard as a board. There was nothing there for teeth or hands to seize. He was going to kill her. Claudia’s son was going to kill her. He was a maniac, the nice, quiet murderer you read about. He was going to strangle her. And with all her strength she fought. Her shrieks pierced her ears. Surely somebody, somewhere, would hear!
But there was no one, and her strength was going. Her voice was dying into a whimper. Her heart was going to stop. There was no one to help her, no one at all.
Suddenly, as abruptly as it had begun, it ended, and he released her. For an instant, before he could turn his back to rearrange his clothes, she saw again that shocking, terrible flesh. It was hideous. It sickened her stomach. And she pulled down her skirt so that he might not look at her. She wanted to kill him. And because she knew she had no way to hurt him, she could do nothing but sob. The sobs raged in her chest and ripped her apart.
Shaking, she lay there in her rumpled skirt. Turned facedown, she cried into the pillow and beat the armrest as she had wanted to beat Ted. Finding one of her shoes, she hurled it across the room. The sound of her weeping was turning into a peal of hysterical laughter. And she heard it from far away, as though in a distant room someone was losing control of her mind, heard it and was unable to stop it.
“You’ve got to quit this,” Ted said. His voice was very quiet. “You’re making yourself sick.”
She whirled about. “What did you do to me? What did you do?”
“Nothing, Charlotte. Here you are, all in one piece. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“There is! You hurt me. You ought to—to go to jail, you rotten, rotten bastard. You hurt me.”
She cried and cried. Her nose ran. He gave her a tissue and stood watching her.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” he said after a while. “Nothing happened at all, Charlotte, I didn’t hurt you. And don’t go home and shoot your mouth off.”
A tremendous exhaustion drained her. After a while she was too weak even to cry anymore. She lay quite still with her eyes closed, listening to Ted’s footsteps strike the floor between the scatter rugs as he paced. When she opened her eyes, she saw the cake and the wineglasses on the table. She felt cold and closed her eyes again.
He was standing over her; without looking she felt his presence.
“You’re all right,” he repeated. “Remember, nothing happened.”
“I have to go home,” she said, wiping her nose.
“You can’t go, crying like that.”
“I’m not crying anymore.” Then the thought struck her that perhaps he wasn’t going to let her out of the house, and she screamed again. “I have to go home.”
“Fine. No problem. Just wash your face and comb your hair, and I’ll take you.”
On the brief ride to her house, neither of them spoke until the car stopped and Ted said, “I think you’d better not come again.”
His tone was flat, but she understood his meaning. He was afraid of her now; he was in terror. In any case she had no intention of going near that house again, ever.
She walked in softly on tiptoe. At the end of the hall the door was open, revealing her father on the porch. She wanted only to hide in her room, but had barely set foot on the stairs before he heard her and called out.
“Where in heaven’s name have you been? Come in here, I want to talk to you.”
“I’m sick,” she mumbled, forestalling the question he would surely put when he saw her.
He rose from his chair, confronting her in the full blaze of afternoon light, and demanded, “What is wrong with you?”
“I feel like throwing up. I must have eaten something.”
“ ‘Must have’! What do you mean? You know what you ate. Where were you? It’s after five. I’ve been home since half past two. I called all your friends where I thought you might have gone, and then I had to give up. Where were you, I asked?”
“Ted and I took the dogs for a walk,” she said, looking down at her shoes.
“Ted. I told you yesterday that I didn’t want you there. I don’t like him. I have an uneasy feeling about him, Charlotte, and maybe that sounds crazy to you, and maybe I’m all wrong, but dammit, I’m your father, and I have a right to sound crazy. And I have a right to know why you went there when I told you not to.”
She had never seen her father so angry. Even during those overheard arguments with Elena, it had been she who had the hot temper, never he. And she waited in silence for him to finish.
“What does he want with a kid like you? He’s not right for you, he’s not honest, it’s written on his face. I don’t like this, Charlotte, I told you I didn’t and I’m telling you again. If you have any more dates with him, you’ll be in real trouble with me. Real trouble. And it seems to me that we’ve got enough troubles under this roof already.”
She trembled. A chill ran through her again; nausea filled her throat, and in a whisper she pleaded, “Dad, I have to go to the bathroom. I’m sick.”
She lay flat on her back, flung out, her body sore and bruised, until the nausea passed. If only she had someone to talk to. It had to be a woman, and there was none. Emmabrown would only scold like a fury. Claudia, who would not scold, was obviously out of the question, and Elena was far away. Maybe, though, she would be coming home soon. If only she would come home soon!
Two cold tears slid to her temples and lost themselves in the tangle of her hair. She felt terribly alone, lost in a strange place with no one to help her.
Presently the door opened, and her father came in, looking anxious. “Are you feeling better? Get up, honey.” And when she nodded, “I know I yelled. But it wasn’t really yelling. It was just being emphatic. You had me terribly scared. I didn’t know what might have happened to you.”
She got up and redid her hair in the familiar ponytail.
“Now you look like yourself,” Dad said, coaxing her, wanting her to smile and assure him that everything was all right again.
How could everything be all right? Over and over, all that week and beyond, she relived the terror and humiliation of that afternoon. She sat in class and she lay in bed, reliving the scene on the sofa in Claudia’s living room. She was outraged. And in a strange way she was angry, too, at Elena.…
“Do you want to fly to Florida over Memorial weekend?” Dad asked one evening. He hesitated; the words came hard to him. “Your mother wants to talk to you about herself and me, about your feelings.”
“She can come here.”
“She thinks it would be good for the two of you to be alone.”
But Mama should be here, at home, in this house. She should have been here before this thing happened; then probably it wouldn’t have happened.
“I’m not going,” Charlotte said. “You can tell her.”
There was a silence.
There were many silences now. Dad at mealtimes, becoming aware of one, would turn from the distance into which he had absently been gazing to ask Charlotte what had happened in school that day. She knew that he was doing it for her sake. His mind was filled with his own worries: down by the river, the vacant building that was draining his pocketbook, and most of all the vacant chair at the opposite end of the table.
What if he knew what had happened to her. He must never know.… Her hand shook, spilling half a glass of milk.