10

Carolyn went home twice during the first part of her sophomore year, once for Thanksgiving and then for a few days during Christmas break. Both times Mom and Dad commented on her bell-bottom pants, embroidered blouses, leather fringed jacket, and moccasins. She’d let her hair grow and left it hanging loose rather than pulled back in a ponytail. They didn’t approve.

“How’re your classes going? Are they harder this year? What will you be taking next?”

Carolyn had expected questions, but this felt like an interrogation. “My main goal right now is to get through finals.”

“What do you mean ‘get through’?”

Here it comes, Carolyn thought, trying to prepare herself. “I didn’t make dean’s list last time.”

“We know.” Mom looked as grim as she sounded.

“I don’t think I’d make a good teacher. I’m thinking about changing my major.”

Dad raised his head and looked at her. “To what?”

“I was thinking about liberal arts. I’m not sure yet. I’m still trying to find myself.”

Dad stared, his eyes blazing. “‘Find yourself’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Carolyn wondered what her parents would say if they knew how often she went to the Fillmore or that Chel had talked her into going on the pill. Carolyn had no plans to dive into the free love movement, but Chel insisted. She could be a bulldog about some things. “Never say never, babe. And better safe than sorry.” Chel wouldn’t let up until she got her way, which never took long. Carolyn had always been good at giving in. Chel—charismatic, fun, smart—made it even easier.

Mom and Oma started calling more frequently and asking more questions.

They also asked when Carolyn might come home for another visit. Carolyn found excuses to stay in Berkeley.

When Mom called and said Charlie had a month’s leave, Carolyn knew what it meant. He’d gotten orders to go to Southeast Asia. “He’s coming home, Carolyn. I know he’d love to spend time with you.”

Chel offered to drive. “Save you from taking the bus.” They piled into Chel’s new red Camaro purchased with “Daddy’s guilt money.”

As Chel turned in to the driveway, Carolyn spotted Oma working in her English flower garden. Oma stood, brushing off her hands, and shaded her eyes. Chel slowed enough that she didn’t leave a cloud of dust around Oma as they passed by and parked the Camaro behind the garage next to Charlie’s Impala. “Come, meet Oma.” Carolyn headed for the cottage.

Oma hugged and kissed her. “It’s about time you came home for a visit.”

“I’ve been avoiding everyone.” Carolyn meant it to sound like a joke. She introduced Chel.

Oma looked her over. “Would you ladies like some tea?”

“My favorite drink.” Chel grinned.

As they sat at the kitchen table, Oma turned her attention to Chel. She asked one question after another. Carolyn’s stomach tightened into a knot, waiting for her friend to say something outrageous, but Chel didn’t seem to mind the third degree. She easily avoided questions about her parents and talked instead about her succession of nannies and private tutors. She’d been sent off to a boarding school in Massachusetts, then to a finishing school in France. “I flunked out, of course, though I learned enough French to find my way around.”

“Je parle français également.” Oma told her she once worked for a French family in Montreaux and spent a few days in Paris before going to England and then on to Montreal. Chel started asking Oma questions; and her grandmother told of her lack of formal education, her dream of owning a restaurant and hotel, her quest to learn languages and business skills, her journey from one job to another to make her own way in the world. She talked about buying and running a boardinghouse, in which her future husband boarded. “I taught Carolyn’s Opa how to speak English.” She told them about life on a prairie wheat farm and how she ended up in California.

Chel drank it all in. So did Carolyn, who had heard only bits and pieces of Oma’s story.

“Well, I’ve talked enough for today. You ladies had better get over to the house before your mother thinks I’m holding you hostage.” Oma walked them to the door.

“Your grandmother is the grooviest person I’ve ever met!” Chel said on the way to the house.

Charlie sat in the living room, watching television. He looked bored when Carolyn walked in. Then he saw Chel on her heels. Carolyn had never seen that look on his face before.

Chel dumped her backpack and stepped into the living room. She stopped in front of him, hands on her hips as she looked at him. “So you’re the superhero Caro talks about all the time.” Speechless, Charlie stared, a bemused smile curving his lips. Chel gave her growling laugh and cast Carolyn a catlike smile. Carolyn didn’t have to guess whether her best friend liked Charlie.

Carolyn hugged Charlie and introduced them formally. “We’d better stow our stuff in the bedroom, Chel.”

Mom stood in the kitchen making dinner. Her eyes widened when she saw them. Carolyn had already warned Chel her parents were uptight, workaholic, staunch Republican, churchgoing people. Mom managed a smile and a welcome. She looked at Carolyn, a flicker of desperation in her eyes. “Your dad will be home soon. He had to go into town on an errand.”

Chel tossed her pack in the corner of Carolyn’s bedroom. She looked around at the pink walls, lace curtains, white chenille bedspread with pink and white pillows, and Carolyn’s old rag doll. When she picked it up, Carolyn took it and put it on the dresser. “Oma made it for me.”

“A woman of many talents.”

They went back out to the living room. When Dad came up the drive in his squad car, Chel put her hand over her heart. “I haven’t even done anything, and here come the police.”

Charlie laughed. “Dad works for the sheriff’s department.”

She grinned at him. “I know, soldier.” She glanced at Carolyn’s face and leaned over to whisper. “You think he’ll shoot me?”

Over the next few hours, Carolyn realized Chel could play a role perfectly. She resurrected all the manners she had been taught at the Waldorf Astoria in New York City and impressed Mom and Dad with her erudite views on the world. When Mom asked if she’d traveled much, Chel talked about a half-dozen cities in Europe, various museums, and historical sites.

Dad finally brought up politics, much to Carolyn’s discomfort. Mom didn’t look any happier. Chel said openly she was against the war in Vietnam and talked about how America needed changes in civil rights. When Dad opened his mouth to speak, Mom tried to change the subject. Dad scowled, aware of Mom’s ploy.

Chel must have noticed too, and she trumped her. “I’d like very much to hear your opinion, sir, and how you came by it.” Her sincerity seemed to surprise Dad. In the space of a second, Carolyn saw her father look past the hippy garb, the wild hair, the bangles and beads and headband, to Rachel Altman. He laid down whatever weapons he’d taken up in his mental arsenal and declared a truce by talking fondly about his days at Berkeley.

Charlie could hardly keep his eyes off Chel, though he tried to hide his fascination from Mom and Dad. Carolyn understood how easily Chel could mesmerize people. She was bewitching Mom and Dad with stories Carolyn had never heard. She wondered how many of them were true.

After dinner, Chel started to help clear the table. Mom quickly protested. Chel suggested a drive. “I’d love to see the town that shaped you, Caro.” She invited Charlie, of course, but Mom and Dad came up with some lame excuse to squelch that idea. Maybe they’d noticed more than Carolyn realized.

Paxtown hadn’t changed at all. They cruised Main Street like high school girls and stopped in at the Gay 90s. Chel ordered beer and flashed her fake ID so fast the waiter didn’t get a good look at it, but he said he wouldn’t serve Chel unless she produced a birth certificate stamped with a government seal. Unrepentant, she grinned at him. “No law against trying.”

Chel wanted to see the church Carolyn’s family attended. “Think it’s open?” Chel got out and went up the steps to try the door. “Locked tight as a vault.” The windows were too high off the ground for her to peer in. “Where else did you hang out?”

Carolyn shrugged. “That’s about it.”

“Looks like the eighteen hundreds around here. You wouldn’t be able to sneeze in a town like this without having everyone know about it.” She grinned. “No wonder you’re so uptight.”

“Some things go on that nobody ever knows about.”

Chel looked apologetic. “I forgot about Dock.” She drove down Main Street again, past the high school. “I never would’ve made it in a town like this.”

The porch light had been left on. They took off their shoes and tiptoed into the house. Chel used the bathroom first and came out in a Cal T-shirt that hit midthigh. Carolyn went in to brush her teeth. The hall clock chimed once. She heard low voices in the hallway between her bedroom and Charlie’s. When she came out, Charlie stood leaning against his doorjamb, bare-chested, pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips. She caught an odd look on his face before he straightened, wished them both a good night, and closed his door.

Later, the sound of the door opening awakened Carolyn. She saw Chel’s silhouette as she went out, closing the door silently behind her. Maybe she needed to use the bathroom again. Rolling over, Carolyn went back to sleep. Chel slipped carefully back into bed just before the hall clock chimed four. “Are you okay, Chel?”

Chel jumped and let out a soft four-letter word. “I thought you were asleep.”

“How many times have you gotten up tonight?”

“Once.”

Once? “Where have you been?” She felt a sudden premonition and wished she hadn’t asked.

“I was giving Charlie a going-away present.”

The hair rose on the back of Carolyn’s neck. “You didn’t—”

“Relax, Caro. I asked him first.” She sounded amused. “He said yes.”

“If my parents ever find out . . .”

“I’ll tell them I felt it my patriotic duty.”

Carolyn groaned. “You’re insane!”

“Maybe I am.” She gave a bleak laugh. “At least, it gives me a good excuse to do what I want. You should try it sometime.” She turned her back to Carolyn. “We talked, too. We didn’t just—”

“I don’t want to hear what you did with my brother.”

“Are you mad?”

“I don’t know.”

“I like him, Caro. A Marine, no less.” She choked up. “Who would’ve guessed?” She let out her breath. “I’m going back to Berkeley in the morning.”

“I’m not mad, Chel. Maybe I should be, but . . . you don’t have to go.”

“Yes, I do. You need time with your family. They care about you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Maybe you can’t see it, but I can. And I’m getting out of the way.”

“They were more interested in what you had to say than anything I’ve ever said.”

“Maybe that’s because you have to be drunk before you’ll open up and talk to anyone.” She raised herself up and peered at Carolyn. “If they didn’t give a squat, they wouldn’t have come home every night or taken you on every vacation. They wouldn’t have moved your grandmother into a cottage next door. So don’t try to tell me they didn’t care.” She warmed to her subject. “They call every few weeks and ask when you’re coming home for a visit. You want to know the last time my dad invited me home? I can’t tell you because I can’t remember. The last time I saw my father face-to-face was more than two years ago.”

“You get letters.”

“His secretary sends a form letter once a month and encloses a check. Money, Caro, that’s what I get from my parents.” Her voice broke. Carolyn could hear her swallow. “Money’s the cheapest, easiest gift anyone can give. If I had a hint my father or mother loved me, I’d—” She sounded angry. She spit out a four-letter word and flopped down again. “I’m going back to Berkeley, and you’re staying here, if for no other reason than this might be the last time you see your brother alive.”

Carolyn could feel her shaking and realized Chel was crying. She’d never seen this side of Chel before, broken, in pain. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to leave.”

“I can’t stand seeing what I’ve missed, Caro, what I’ll never have. What you’ve had all your life and don’t have the sense to appreciate.”

She turned over and Carolyn could tell the conversation was over. She was awake for more than an hour, wondering what would happen in the morning. What would her parents say if they found out what Chel had done? Chel would learn there was no such thing as a Father Knows Best or Leave It to Beaver family.

When Carolyn awakened, Chel was gone. So was her duffel bag. Mom sat at the table with a cup of coffee. “Your friend left about an hour ago.”

“Why?” Had Mom or Dad guessed what happened last night and told her to leave?

Mom shrugged. “She didn’t say. She thanked us and said she had to get back to Berkeley.”

Carolyn avoided her gaze. “Is Charlie up yet?”

“I guess he’s sleeping in.”

After the first uncomfortable moments after Charlie got up, the two of them wandered the property, talking about all sorts of things. He’d kept up with friends and filled her in on what they were doing, not that she had ever been part of their group. He talked about the Marine Corps and Vietnam and how much he believed in what he was doing. Maybe he’d stay in and make it a career, but he wasn’t really thinking beyond the years of his enlistment. “How about you, Caro?” When he used Chel’s nickname, she knew her friend was on his mind even if he didn’t bring her up.

The whole family went to church Sunday morning. Charlie wore his uniform. He looked every inch the Marine, fit and confident. Rev. Elias announced to the congregation that Charlie was going to Vietnam. People swarmed Charlie after the service. Everyone said they would be praying for him.

Carolyn decided to skip Monday classes and stay home another day. Surprisingly, Mom and Dad didn’t quibble. Dad pulled out the slide projector, and they enjoyed pictures of trips to the beach and Colorado. That night, Carolyn dreamed of Charlie in dress blues standing in a field of white crosses. Awakening abruptly, she prayed it wasn’t a premonition.

Before leaving on Tuesday morning, she went over to say good-bye to Oma. They talked briefly about Chel. “That girl is headed for trouble.”

“You heard her story, Oma. Despite all the money, she hasn’t had an easy time of it.”

“She can use her parents as an excuse to ruin her life or as a reason to do better. It’s up to her.”

“Is that why you shared so much of your life story with her?”

Oma tipped Carolyn’s chin. “You’d better watch out for yourself, Liebling. If you don’t decide for yourself what you want from life, someone will do it for you. And you may not like the result.”

Carolyn thought that over as Charlie drove her back to Berkeley. They talked about Chel on the way. Carolyn abruptly changed the subject. “I hate the war, Charlie. I’m protesting it.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “If Dad hadn’t fought, where would we be now?”

“We’re not talking about World War II and the Nazis.”

“We can’t all stay home hoping things will turn out right.”

“Vietnam isn’t our country.”

“We can’t turn our backs on what’s happening in the world, Carolyn.”

“I don’t care what happens to the world! I care about what happens to my brother. I’m going to do everything I can to get you back home.”

They didn’t say anything more until he pulled up in front of the apartment house. He tugged her hair. “Don’t become a radical.”

“Don’t be a hero!” She burst into tears.

He gathered her into his arms. His voice choked as he tried to reassure her he’d come back in one piece. He set her away from him and got out of the car. He opened the trunk and took out her backpack. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek. “Try to behave yourself.”

Smile dying, he looked at the door into the building. “Tell Chel I’ll write.”

Mom and Dad continued to pay college expenses, adding fifty dollars a month so Carolyn could pay her share of the rent on the apartment. When her grades dropped, they suggested she move back into the dorm. Chel said she wasn’t going back and have an RM breathing down her neck, telling her what hours she had to be in bed. But she agreed the apartment might not be such a good idea. Too many parties going on. She found a small, run-down American bungalow, furnished and within walking distance of the university, and talked Carolyn into moving in with her.

Carolyn sent her parents a change-of-address card and the new telephone number. Mom called and sounded furious. “We’re not sending rent for a house, Carolyn. We can’t afford it.”

“You can keep your money. Chel and I have it all worked out.”

“Worked out? How? She pays for everything?”

“I might quit school. Get a job. Protest the war.”

“For heaven’s sake, Carolyn. Don’t start rebelling now. We have enough to worry about with Charlie in Vietnam.”

“Which is precisely why protests are more important than classes!”

“Charlie believes in what he’s doing! Your father’s a veteran. How dare you speak against them! If you’re going to turn into some kind of hippy, don’t expect us to pay for it!” She hung up.

Carolyn held the receiver in her hand. She protested the war, not Charlie. And definitely not Dad. When had she ever said anything against her father’s service? The hurt rose up, gripping her by the throat; and then the anger came, blistering hot, defiant. She slammed the receiver down and went into the kitchen to pour a glass of red wine. When the telephone rang again, she knew it was her mother calling back. She probably wanted to lay down more laws, make more demands, throw around more threats to make Carolyn conform.

Shaking, Carolyn downed the wine like medicine and let the phone ring.