No matter what Rhonda says, no matter that I am slowly coming to see that she was right, I still believe in coincidence. I don't think some all-powerful fate gathered us together again at the river, just to point out that there is no such thing as free will.
However intriguing the theory, it didn't take much scrutiny to see the error in the notion that every single thing that happened in 1969 had an exact counterpart in the present. Rhonda didn't seem to realize that her own attendance at last Friday's gathering undermined that theory.
Besides, it wasn't parallels that brought me to Neil's house to confront Janelle again. It was Benny's message. And Rhonda's confidence, which I shared, that the "old shit" did indeed relate to 1969.
By the time I sat at Neil's kitchen table, amid the remains of a Scrabble game Janelle and Neil had been playing before he'd been called downstairs on library business, I had already worked out that Benny's "new shit" concerned the baby.
Janelle's own statements confirmed that Doug had only recently been in contact with Benny about his supposed paternity. The notion was still so new that Janelle's reticence about the child's father led Benny to Hugh Kincaid's door, just before I came to the same erroneous conclusion.
I was determined, now, to find out what the "old shit" was.
"Benny's crazy, you know that," Janelle said, twirling a finger at her own forehead. "Nuttier than a fruitcake. I wouldn't listen to a single thing he says."
"I wouldn't either," I said, "if I wasn't certain you'd been lying to me, and to us, all along."
She folded her arms on the table, leaned forward, tilted her head, and waited for me to continue.
"You said you'd had no contact with Delphi in the intervening years. That you knew nothing about Butchie Pendergast's death until last week. And yet Benny stole your copy of your senior annual, to give to your daughter. That particular edition is dedicated to Butchie's memory—and to you, the twin mysteries of 1969. I know, I dug out my copy and checked.
"There is no way you could have even glanced at that book without absorbing the information, You knew Butchie was dead. You've known all along.
"But you didn't read about it. You didn't have to. You were there."
Tongue snaking out to wet a lower lip, Janelle's face sagged. For the first time, she looked her age.
"I would have figured it out yesterday," I said, tapping a Scrabble letter against the table. "But you distracted me with the baby chase, and I lost track of the thread."
I ticked points off on my fingers. "Junior dropped her mother's circle pin at the river when Butchie talked her into skinny-dipping. You intervened, so Del and I could get the girls away from him. Doug found the pin, and thought it was yours, and turned it into some kind of grisly keepsake, which he tried to return to you, on Friday.
"It finally occurred to me to wonder why Doug had ever thought the pin belonged to you. The only answer I could come up with is that he found it on the ground. Under your clothes. You were in the same spot where Butch had taken Junior and Gina. And after everyone left, you undressed there too, right?" I asked.
Janelle looked away, rubbing her temples. She exhaled and nodded.
"Doug had already punched Stu," she said, throaty voice ragged. "Debbie and that bitch Lisa blamed me for everything, like they had a lock on fidelity. Both of them had already had a go at Stu, who had no complaints about being in the middle of a revenge-fest, believe me."
"So you and Stu were an item," I said sadly.
"For months," Janelle said. "And it was really good for a while. He was so sweet at first. But then everything fell apart."
"What happened?" I asked, trying not to find one of Rhonda's parallels in my own relationship with Stu.
"I don't know. He thought I was screwing around. I thought he was screwing around. I did it because I thought he was. He did because he thought I was." She shrugged. "By the night of the homecoming game, he was ready to break up. It pissed me off, so I decided to go out with a bang—and give Debbie something to smirk about."
"You knew you'd get caught? And you did it anyway?" The teenage Janelle's cold calculations put even the adult Del to shame.
"I wanted to get caught," Janelle said sharply. "I wanted to leave that bunch with something they'd never forget."
"Well, you certainly succeeded."
"Good," she said grimly. She stood and paced the length of Neil's kitchen.
"So how did Butchie fit into all of this?" I asked. But I realized how he fit in as soon as the words left my lips. Butchie was another of Janelle's revenge conquests.
"Well, he let me use his car to stage my little scene, so I figured I'd stick around after everyone left and show him my appreciation." Janelle's voice changed. She no longer sounded like the gracious beauty queen. She sounded harsh, and bitter. And tired. "Ol' Butch was a little short on mental acuity, but he was long everywhere else. I was doing myself a favor too."
"After you purposely got caught doing..."—I waved my hands, searching for the right word—"whatever with Doug, you then proceeded to screw Butchie Pendergast? Even though you'd interrupted him in the process of molesting a pair of drunken junior high girls?"
I was flabbergasted. I was shocked. I was disgusted. I remembered Stu's bitter assessment of Janelle—that she'd never had a real, human emotion.
"Technically, I was giving Butch a blow job," Janelle said offhandedly, sitting down again. "And vice versa. We liked that best. But you get the point. Anyway, we thought that everyone was gone, then Doug came crashing through the bushes."
Janelle was caught up in her reverie, I'm not sure she even realized I was still in the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Neil had come in and was standing silently by the sink, grim and just as shocked as I was.
Janelle continued, gesturing for emphasis. "Now I would have figured he already got enough for one night. Not Doug. He was furious. He thought a couple of backseat quickies gave him some sort of Neanderthal property rights to my body." She pointed at me and said, "You know what Doug was like when he was mad. He fumed and thundered and threatened to kill us. Butchie laughed at him, which was definitely a mistake, and invited him to join us. Said everyone could use a little sixty-nine."
"That was all Doug could take. He screamed and grabbed Butchie by the shoulders and tossed him into the river." Her voice rose. "And then he lunged for me. We both ended up in the water."
She was out of breath, eyes unfocused. I have no idea if the memories were that overwhelming, or if the performance was exhausting. Either way, she had us mesmerized.
"The river was cold, so cold, and deep. The current was horrendous. I was terrified. Over the sound of the water, I could hear Butchie hollering, but it was dark. I don't swim well. There were tree branches and stuff everywhere. The bottom was all mud and gunk; I was afraid I'd sink if I tried to stand up. I thought I was going to drown. It took me forever to struggle up the bank by myself. And longer yet before I caught my breath and saw that Doug had made it out too. Then I realized that I couldn't hear Butch anymore.
"Doug was wet and muddy and out of breath, but he was still furious. Even though he was too exhausted to get up, he shouted at me: 'Butch is dead! He drowned and it's your fault. You killed him!'
"I knew that wasn't true. I knew it wasn't my fault. At least not completely. But I was just a kid. I was pregnant and desperately wanted to leave Delphi. I was scared I'd never be free if I stuck around for the aftermath."
She straightened her shoulders and stared at me defiantly. "I knew it was too late to help Butchie. So I put my clothes on and left right then, while Doug was still lying on the bank. He must have found the pin afterward and thought it was mine.
"I hiked to the highway and hitched a ride west. Benny discovered me not too long after I delivered. He took me under his wing, and like an idiot, I married him. I felt guilty, and dirty, like I deserved his abuse. It took me years, and thousands of dollars in therapists' bills, to get the courage to leave Benny, and all the rest of this behind. But I did it," she said defiantly. "And it was behind me, until a couple of months ago.
"But I never saw Doug until last week, I swear. I suppose he kept that damn pin because he thought he could eventually use it for his own advantage, the creep."
She shook her head with disgust. The pot calling the kettle a creep.
"But I see Butchie all the time," she said, nodding confidentially. "In my dreams. I'm wearing my Delphi homecoming robe, and I'm standing by the Mighty Jim River, and he climbs up the bank, wet and rotted and smiling, and asks me if I want some more. He laughs and tells me that I owe him some sixty-nine, it's the least I can do, he says. 'Come on Janelle, you know you love it.' Then I wake up screaming..."
She paused, ashen and trembling. "So now you know the whole story." She shot a wavering smile at me, and over at Neil, and then swallowed. "I've never told anyone. It's been bottled inside me all this time."
But of course, she was lying.