Dancing in the Dark (6 page)

“Do you believe me, Larry?” Leslie sniffed. “Please, tell me you
believe me.”

“I believe you have been through a terrible ordeal, Leslie. I also
believe that probably the very best thing you could do for yourself is
get back to work. Get your mind off everything. Take the weekend to
rest. But I want you to know, your job is waiting for you. Please come
back to the office on Monday morning, Leslie. It’s always been my
experience that work is the best therapy.”

What should have taken him just over an hour had taken him two and a
half in the late Friday afternoon traffic on the Garden State Parkway.
When he finally reached Ocean Grove, Jonathan had to spend another half
hour looking for a parking space. By the time he found one, unloaded
his gear, and walked the six hot blocks to their tent, he was
smoldering, physically and mentally.

When he opened the screen door, there was no one inside the tent. Jonathan wasn’t sure if he was
annoyed or relieved. Was it too much to ask that after he’d sat in that
miserable traffic for so long his family be there to greet him? With
disgust he walked the few feet back into the cabin portion of their
tiny summer home and tossed his duffel bag down on the meticulously
made-up double bed.

On the other hand, it was nice to have some time to himself, because
for the next week, he knew he would have virtually no privacy at all.
He and Helen and the kids would be tripping all over one another. And
he should probably forget about having any intimate time alone with his
wife. Helen would be worried that the children or the neighbors would
hear any sound they might make. That was another reason Jonathan hated
tent living.

But Helen loved it, and the girls always seemed so happy and healthy
down here. What kind of a husband and father would he be if he deprived
his family of storybook summers like these?

Another few steps took him into the minuscule kitchen area. He went
to the junior-size refrigerator, took out a can of Coke, and guzzled it
down. It wasn’t the icy beer he craved, but it would have to do.
Alcoholic beverages were not sold in Ocean Grove. Jonathan knew better
than to bring a case down with him. Helen wouldn’t hear of having it in
the tent. That was just the way it was.

At least he had gotten her to agree to hire a babysitter and get out tonight. Last year they’d found a
dance place that served drinks in Bradley Beach. Their tenth
anniversary was coming up soon, and it would be great for them to get
out alone together for the evening. They needed to reconnect, and he
needed to blow off some steam. There were too many pretty girls with
lean, young bodies working in his office, and he’d been finding himself
admiring them a bit too much this summer.

Table conversation at the Mayfield home was a mix of Diane and
Emily’s trying to paint a bright face on the changed vacation plans,
Anthony’s vociferously expressing his displeasure, and Michelle’s
sitting in sullen silence as she pushed around the spaghetti on her
dinner plate.

“Look. It’s not like you guys are being asked to go to boot camp or
something,” Diane said. “Do you have any idea how many kids would do
anything to have a vacation at the beach?”

“Ah, Mom, give it up, will you?” Anthony shook his head. “Going to
the beach is okay, but we’ve gone to Amagansett lots of other summers. Been there, done that. I told my friends I was
going to the Grand Canyon, and now I’ll seem like such a dork. If you
ask me, the Jersey Shore doesn’t even come close to the Grand Canyon.”

Diane’s patience was wearing thin. “You know what, Anthony? I am
sorry we aren’t going on the trip we were planning on. I really am,
honey. But if I want to keep my job at KEY News, I have to take this
assignment. That’s all there is to it. You just have to understand.”
She paused, concerned that what she was tempted to say next would wound
her son. But she decided to go ahead. Father in jail or not, her son
needed to get it straight. “And to tell you the truth, Anthony, you
sound like a spoiled brat.”

Now Anthony joined his sister, staring at his plate in silence.

“More garlic bread, anybody?” Emily asked, trying to break the heavy
mood. As the bread basket went around the table, Diane noted that her
daughter passed on it while the three others at the table each took
another piece.

“Michelle, Emily’s garlic bread is delicious.” Diane held the basket
out again to her daughter. “Why don’t you have some, sweetheart?”

“Because I’ve already had two pieces, Mom.” Michelle didn’t bother
keeping the exasperation out of her voice.

Diane was ready to put her daughter in her place for the snippy
response, but she knew that if she came down too hard, Michelle would
only storm off and leave the rest of her dinner uneaten. Lately it
seemed the fourteen-year-old was almost looking for a reason to get
angry. Diane had been chalking it up as a reaction to the stress and
embarrassment caused by knowing that her father was in jail along with
a predictable case of teenage rebellion. But despite the many
conversations she had had with her daughter, things were not getting
better.

Deciding to ignore Michelle’s comment, Diane plowed ahead,
describing the advantages of their new trip. “Look. There’s the beach
every day. We can go to the movies or play miniature golf at night.
There must be rides on the boardwalk somewhere nearby, so we can do
that. Maybe there will be a concert you guys would want to see.
Anthony, after dinner, why don’t you see what you can find out on the
Internet?”

At that, Anthony lifted his digital camera, held it steady with both
hands, framed his mother in the light display, and pressed down on the
shutter release. The camera’s flash blinded Diane.

“Anthony!” Diane yelled, exasperated. “I’ve told you a million times
not to bring that thing to the table. Daddy and I wanted you to have
the camera as a positive influence, but you’re getting to be so
annoying with it. If you bring it to the table one more time, you can
take a picture of me killing you!”

The rest of the dinner conversation consisted of Diane and Emily
talking over what still needed to be done before the family left for
Ocean Grove in the morning.

“May I be excused, please?” asked Michelle, and Diane felt a moment
of relief. All traces of politeness were not entirely gone. There was
hope.

“Yes. Go ahead.”

“Me too?”

“Yes, Anthony. You too.”

Both siblings took their plates into the kitchen. Michelle scraped
hers into the trash can, and Anthony left his on the counter next to
the sink.

“You did the cooking, Em. I’ll clean up,” Diane volunteered.

“No argument from me.” Emily grinned. “I’m going to run out to the
drugstore and get some sunscreen and lip balm. Want anything?”

“A large bottle of Advil would probably be a good idea.”

“Done.”

Diane heard the front door of the apartment click closed as she took
Anthony’s plate and napkin from the countertop and pushed her foot down
on the trash can pedal. She was about to scrape the pasta left on the
plate into the garbage when her eyes fell on the contents already in
the can. Two pieces of untouched garlic bread lay on top of Michelle’s
paper napkin.

“Diane Mayfield from KEY News called today, Lou. She wants to
interview Leslie.”

Leslie stood near the door, with her back against the dining room
wall, straining to hear her parents’ low conversation on the other
side. Audrey and Lou Patterson were at the kitchen table, sipping
decaffeinated tea and trying to decide what to do to unravel their
daughter’s mess.

“I don’t think we should commit to anything, Audrey—not until we
have an attorney who can tell us what Leslie will be facing if the
police decide they can prove she faked the whole thing.” It was her
father’s deep voice. “I’ve gotten a few names. One’s local, and the
other two are big shots from Hudson County. Which way do you think we
should go, Aud? Go with the guy who knows the area and the Neptune
police, or go for the best representation money can buy?”

“I want both.” It was her mother’s voice. “Can’t we have both?”

“You mean hire the local lawyer as well as one from up north?” Leslie surmised that her mother must
have nodded her assent, because her father spoke again. “Not unless we
suddenly win the lottery, Aud. We don’t have that kind of money. You
know that, honey.”

As she heard her mother start to cry, Leslie could picture her
father reaching out to take hold of his wife’s arm, trying to reassure
her. “It’s gonna be all right, Aud. I promise.”

“No. It’s not going to be all right, Lou.” Her mother’s voice grew
louder now. “It hasn’t been all right for years, and it’s not suddenly
going to be all right now. All I know is I am not going to have my only
child punished because she isn’t well. That’s really what this amounts
to. Leslie is mentally unstable, and that’s why she pulled this stunt.
Any defense lawyer worth his salt should be able to prove that. We can
show that she’s been in one kind of therapy or another for years.”

“I’m afraid the police don’t consider this a mere stunt, Audrey. And
people around town don’t either. Some folks may feel sorry for Leslie,
but they don’t want to set a precedent by letting her off with a slap
on the wrist. It cost a bundle to have all that searching done, and
people don’t appreciate having their time and tax dollars wasted. They
don’t want to get stuck footing the bill for the next girl who decides
to cry wolf to get some attention. They’ll want to set an example with
our daughter.”

Leslie could feel her pulse race as her cheeks grew hot. She had
sensed the police didn’t believe her story, but it hadn’t occurred to
her that her parents didn’t believe her either, or that she could
possibly go to jail. She had heard lots of stories about what happened in prison, and the idea
terrified her. Leslie couldn’t control the deep sob that forced its way
up through her throat.

“Leslie? Is that you, honey?”Audrey got up from the table and went
through the door, finding her daughter crouched and hugging herself in
the darkened dining room.

“Oh, Leslie. Come here, sweetheart.” Audrey wrapped her arms around
the young woman and urged her to stand up. “It will be all right,
Leslie, you’ll see. Come in with Daddy and me and we’ll talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Leslie wailed. “I don’t want to go to jail.
I didn’t do anything wrong, Mom. I swear I didn’t.”

“Shh, Leslie. It’s all right. You aren’t going to jail, honey.”
Audrey held her sobbing daughter as Lou came into the dining room and
turned on the light. “Tell Leslie it’s going to be all right, Lou.”

“We’re going to get the best lawyer, Leslie. Don’t you worry,” her
father answered, unable to attest to something he wasn’t sure was true.
“He’ll know how to handle this. He’ll be able to straighten everything
out.”

Leslie could not be consoled. She continued sobbing, not only at the
idea of the punishment she could face but also letting out the tension
and hurt she had been feeling all day. It was bad enough Shawn hadn’t
looked for her when she was missing; he hadn’t even bothered coming to
see her today to tell her he was glad she was alive.

Thank God, Helen had agreed to get out of Ocean Grove and drive
south to Bradley Beach, where they could let loose a little bit. A nice
lobster dinner and a couple of beers made Jonathan feel much better.
Afterward, as he and Helen danced to the strains of the Motown music,
he found himself actually having a good time. This was the way it
should be. This was normal adult life at the beach. A few drinks and
some loud music and some fun. Not tee-totaling and mind-numbing quiet
after 10:00 p.m., or reading Bible passages before lights out, with
nothing to look forward to but more of the same the next day.

But Jonathan’s pleasure faded as he saw his wife look at her watch.
“Come on, Helen. It’s early,” he groaned.

“It’s almost ten-thirty. By the time we get home it’ll be eleven.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“The kids will be up early in the morning, Jonathan.”

“So what? They can watch cartoons while we sleep a little more.”

“We don’t have television down here, remember?” Jonathan smiled
slyly. “I brought a portable with me. It’s in

the trunk.”

She knew better than to fight with him. Helen had learned to pick
her battles and ultimately win the war. She agreed to a few more
dances, knowing full well that a television set would come into their
tent over her dead body.

As she walked down the hallway to get ready for bed, Diane heard the
shower running. Michelle had left the door to her bedroom ajar, and
Diane walked inside. A duffel bag lay on the floor, stuffed with enough
clothes for an entire summer. The miniature DVD player Michelle had
begged for as a Christmas present along with a stack of movies were
piled next to the bag. Another canvas bag was filled with a boom box,
Walkman, and CDs.

Demanding that her teenage daughter pack more economically wasn’t
worth the effort. Diane knew that. The other mothers she traded notes
with reported exactly the same thing. The day would come when Michelle
would want to simplify and carry as little as possible on a trip, but
that day wasn’t going to be for a while. Now her daughter felt it was
necessary to bring everything she might possibly need or want with her.

Picking up the teen magazine that lay open on Michelle’s bed, Diane
began flipping through it. Between the articles on boyfriends and acne
were pages of advertisements for jeans and shoes and handbags and
makeup. As the shoes were danced in and the jeans swaggered in, there
was no ignoring it. Every single one of the female models that the
companies used to sell their products was thin. In some cases, almost
impossibly thin.