In life, there will be occurrences that will catch you off-guard, small revelations that can leave you mildly perplexed. Minor quakes in an otherwise stable topography.
And then there are surprises that will blow you right out of the water.
Between Janelle's baby and Hugh's admission, I'd already exceeded my daily, if not yearly, quota of the latter. Though if the truth be known, I should not have been so completely surprised by the newest anomaly. The clues were there, the changes in attitude and behavior were, in retrospect, obvious.
"What the hell got into you?" I demanded of a startled and slightly defensive Del, who was sitting on our vinyl couch, pretending to watch television.
"Since when do you pass judgment on my life, Miss Married Boyfriend?" she demanded back.
"Since when do you spend the night with Ron Adler?"
"Keep your voice down, Presley's not alone." She shot a worried look down the hallway.
"Okay, I'll whisper," I said, more quietly. "But I still want to know why."
"You've had sex—which part needs explaining?"
"It's not the act," I said forcefully, if quietly. "It's your choice of partner that has me confused." I was angry at Del. Her steadfast refusals of Ron's many propositions over the years had seemed slightly noble. I'd chalked it up to a rarely used streak of kindness, toward both Ron and his long-suffering wife.
Silly me. Evidently, it was only lack of opportunity.
"I don't know how it happened. I didn't plan it, believe me." She waved her hands in confusion. "I was all set to go to it with Hugh Kincaid, right there at the river, when he gave me some dumb-ass excuse about it being morally wrong to be intimate with former students. Especially former students whose children are present students. I told him that didn't matter to me. I told him there'd be no strings attached. I told him it would be an entirely guilt-free encounter..." Her voice trailed off.
"What'd he say?" I asked. I already figured out what he didn't say. He didn't tell Del the real reason that he turned her down. Though perhaps what he told her was the real reason. One of them, anyway.
"He thanked me kindly for the honor of my proposal, but regretfully could not further the acquaintance on those terms. He sounded just like the characters in those Jane Austen books you're always trying to get me to read."
"So Ron was a Hugh substitute?"
"Ridiculous, right?" She laughed without humor. "I was embarrassed. Hell, I was pissed. Then Ron cornered me and said the same thing he's said every time we've been alone since high school—'Hey babe, is tonight the night?'"
"And you shocked the shit out of him by saying yes."
"Something like that." She crossed her arms over her breasts, rubbing her shoulders. "I don't think he even made a flimsy excuse to Gina. He just loaded me into his pickup and took off before I could change my mind."
"So," I said, disgusted with myself for not being able to resist asking, "how was it?"
"A fiasco," she said miserably.
"That bad, huh?"
"No." Del was near tears, something I'd never seen before. "That good."
"So, what's the problem?"
Del never minded that most of her boyfriends were married. If the sex was good, she was content to let the moral issues fall where they may. Sometimes even if the sex was bad.
"He's the problem. No one was more surprised than me when it turned out to be great. I mean, look at the guy, for crying out loud. It should have been awful.
"Instead it was fantastic. And I was perfectly willing to continue from there. I told him that. I damn near told him that I loved him. And you know what he did?"
Since he obviously didn't jump for joy, I had no clue.
"He started crying," she said bitterly. "The little fucker blubbered over me about how he loved Gina, and how sorry he was, and how he never meant to hurt her. And this never shoulda happened, and how it was never gonna happen again. And how it all my fault. How I made him do it." She blinked in furious imitation throughout the entire recital.
"You gotta be kidding me," I said. "After half a lifetime of propositions, after an entire night of sex, he blames you?"
"You know how he's been acting lately," Del said helplessly. "He can hardly look at me anymore. He won't talk to me. I let everyone think I'd spent the night with Hugh, as a cover-up, and he still won't give me another chance. I don't think we can even be friends anymore."
Poor Del, she'd always wielded the power in her sexual skirmishes. This was her first taste of sex as a line drawn in the sand between warring parties.
"A wise woman once told me the first rule of sex is that you can't un-fuck 'em," I said, reminding Del of her own words. She was so miserable that I considered giving her a hug. But even in that state, Del was too prickly for the sisterhood-bonding stuff. I settled for patting her shoulder.
"I shoulda listened," Del said with a weak grin. She shook her hair back and composed herself. "What the hell are we doing, playing mother confessor when the kid is right down the hall? He's liable to pop out any minute."
As if on cue, Presley barreled, from his room, through the living room, past us, and into the kitchen.
"Got any Coke?" he asked, head stuffed inside the refrigerator.
"On the bottom shelf," I said, "where it always is. Are we feeding an army?"
"Just a couple of guys," Pres said, standing up, arms loaded with cans, bags of chips, and dip cartons. "You know, Cameron Fischbach and John Adler."
Del actually blanched.
"How's Cameron doing?'' I asked, partly to deflect Presley's attention. But also because I really wanted to know. Cameron had been so distraught at the funeral that he'd been escorted from the service.
Presley shrugged. "He's okay. I mean, he feels awful, of course. Like it's his fault that his dad died. But that's normal, isn't it?"
"As a rule," I said.
"That's what Cameron's mom said too. She told him not to feel bad, clear back on the night of the fight. I mean when he rushed out from behind those trees to tackle his dad by the fire. Even the grown guys could barely hold Coach down. Cameron said that him and his mom sat up all night talking about it and stuff. Even before"—he shrugged and waved his full arms—"well, before anyone knew that Coach was dead. 'Cause Cameron went home right after the fight and all. I mean..." Presley's voice trailed off.
Del had snapped out of her self-pitying mode and was eyeing her son narrowly.
"What fight?" she asked lightly.
"The one between Cameron and his dad. At the..." His voice trailed off.
Del frowned.
Pres tried to shrug innocently. "You wanna help me out here, Tory?" he asked hopefully.
"Sorry, kiddo," I said. "You're on your own. I told you it was going to have to come out sooner or later."
"Well, Mom, you see, Mom, old pal, um..." Presley floundered. "I, um... sorta, was there."
Del arched an eyebrow my direction.
"We sorta were there that night, at the river when you guys were there. We sorta got a little drunk."
"Who's we?"
"Well..." He actually shuffled his feet, and then said sheepishly, "Me and Cameron."
"Cameron Fischbach took you to the river and got you drunk?" Del was astounded. She turned to me. "And you knew?"
Presley didn't give me time to answer her. "It wasn't like that at all, Mom. I asked Cameron to take me. He lets me hang out with him, that's all, and I had this stupid idea about spying on you guys. And I got myself drunk. I'm the one who took the beer from John's dad's cooler."
The mention of Adler's father froze Del for a second.
Presley, taking the silence for deepening anger, rushed in. "And all that condom stuff was my idea too. We thought it'd be funny, and talked Cameron into driving."
Del wasn't tracking her son very well, but I was. From the time I'd seen the words "Be Prepared" circled in Presley's notebook, I'd known he was one of the Safety Car condom tossers. I'd hoped he was the slogan painter, too. It would have been too depressing if members of Delphi's senior class could not spell prepared or committee correctly.
"You're right, Ms. Bauer." Cameron Fischbach stepped into the living room. He must have been listening from the hallway. He was pale, but determined. "It was my fault. I should have known better than to take anyone to a party where my old man was. Especially a kid. If you want to report me, go ahead. I deserve it. But I'm not sorry for being there. I'm glad I got the opportunity to throw that damn shirt back in his face. Just to see his expression."
Though he was pale and soft-spoken, the vehemence in Cameron's voice heightened the resemblance between him and the man whose funeral we'd attended this afternoon.
"Yes, you certainly should have known better," Del said, staring at Cameron as if she'd seen a ghost. And considering how much he looked like Doug, maybe she had. "But Presley is a big boy now."
"Boy!" Pres interjected.
Del continued, ignoring her son. "And he needs to take responsibility for his own stupid decisions. However, considering the kind of week it's been, I think we can forget about reporting anyone to the authorities." She forced a small smile. "Young people don't have a monopoly on making mistakes. Just don't let it happen again."
Cameron nodded, subdued. "Yes, ma'am."
"Thanks, Mom." Pres grinned.
"Don't get too excited," she said him. "Your authorities have already been notified, if you know what I mean."
"Jeez," he said ushering Cameron back into his room.
"That was nice of you," I said, impressed with Del's compassionate handling of Cameron. It would have been easy to mistake the boy's bitterness for something other than bereavement.
"I wasn't being nice," Del said, still watching the empty hallway. She turned to me and asked, "Do you suppose he meant it literally?"