Firefly Beach (16 page)

Beth chuckled and said her goodbyes.

She ran almost the entire way, arriving home out of breath. But she immediately grabbed her cell phone, ran upstairs to her computer, and pulled up the University of Washington website. After several phone calls, she reached a young woman in the transcripts department. She explained her quest for a Sarah Wylder who would have enrolled in 1976. The woman on the other end of the phone seemed disinterested.

“I cannot give out information on our students, current or past,” she said in monotone.

Beth’s heart sank. She should have expected such a problem. “I don’t need to know her grades or anything. I would just like a last known number or address. Surely you maintain an alumni database.”

The woman was annoyed. “I cannot give you that information, ma’am,” she said sternly.

Beth thought for a moment. “What about professors? Could you give me the names of the most popular professors for freshmen that year?”

The transcript assistant sighed. “That is the oddest request I’ve ever heard. I’ll transfer you to the faculty department.”

Beth waited on hold for several minutes. She went over the story in her mind. She hoped to draw out a little more empathy from the next person with whom she spoke. Finally, a woman came on the line.

“This is Laurie. How may I help you?”

Beth cleared her throat. “Yes, thank you, Laurie,” she began cautiously. “I have an unusual request. I’m looking for an alumna, Sarah Wylder.” She blurted out the spelling and other details quickly, before Laurie would have the opportunity to shut her down. “I understand that the school cannot give out information on this woman, but I was wondering if I could get a list of the most popular teachers from the mid-nineteen-seventies. Is that a difficult request?”

There was a long pause. “I could get a list of the staff during that period, but I have no idea which professors were more popular than others – at least from the students’ perspective. The most populated classes are not necessarily the most popular. And the professors handling those large, core classes don’t really get to know the students on a personal level.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“What did you say her name was, Sarah Wylder? Do you know her major?”

Beth’s pace quickened. She might get her foot in the door. “I don’t know her major, but could you look it up?”

Laurie sighed compassionately. “I can look it up, but I’m afraid I cannot give you that information. But I’ll get you the list of professors. It shouldn’t take me more than a half hour. Do you have a fax?”

Beth’s shoulders slumped. She had no incoming line and she really didn’t want to ask Mary or anyone in town to take a fax for her. Her determination to keep the details of her quest secretive was working against her. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I’ll mail it to you then,” the woman responded cheerfully. She took down Beth’s name, address, and phone number. Beth thanked her and hung up.

Twenty minutes later her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Beth? This is Laurie from the University of Washington.”

“Yes, hello, Laurie.”

“I’m getting ready to send you your list,” she said. Beth heard a staple gun go off. Laurie sounded a little awkward as she continued. “But I just thought I’d give you the name of a professor I believe will be the
most
helpful. Do you understand?” Laurie seemed to be slightly nervous.

Beth’s heart began to race. Did Laurie look up Sarah’s transcript? Did she handpick the name of a professor in Sarah’s department? The wheels in Beth’s brain began to spin. “Ah, yes, I think.”

“Are you ready?”

Beth fumbled for a pen. “Yes.”

“Peter Stephens. He was a biology professor, retired three years ago. He’s a professor emeritus now, and he still has an office in the biology building.”

Beth scribbled down the number and thanked Laurie profusely.

“No problem. One note though.”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

“Got it.”

After hanging up, Beth immediately dialed the number for Professor Stephens. It went through to his voice mail. She left a simple message, asking him to call her when he had the opportunity. Then she set the phone down on the desk, stood up, and stretched.

“I guess that is all I can do for the day,” she concluded. She realized she was starving, so she made herself an early dinner and took a walk. She brought her cell phone, a piece of paper and a pen just in case the professor got her message.

She returned home in the early evening. The professor had not called, but Beth faithfully dragged her phone around with her wherever she went. Before the sun set, she spent some time working on the painting. She was pleased with her work. With another couple hours of effort it would be finished, but she wanted to wait until daylight.

As she got ready for bed she thought about the diary. Her life was turning into an obsession over a stranger and now that stranger’s seemingly uncompassionate friend.

“Maybe I should give this up.”

In the end, her rational side resigned. She propped herself up in bed and gave into temptation once again.

Chapter 17

Severing Ties

Sometime between his eleventh and fourteenth birthday, Kenny’s mother ceased to be his champion. When he was younger, she had stood up for him, placing herself as a barrier between Kenny and his father. But such moments of heroism had cost her in the form of breaks and bruises. As she grew weary, she discovered that making Kenny the common enemy channeled the violence in another direction, away from her body. She drank more as the years passed, drowning her shame, and numbing her to the reality of what transpired within the walls of their house.

On Kenny’s fourteenth birthday, he awoke to find his mother drunk and comatose, languishing on the couch. She lay face down on a throw pillow with one arm dangling over the edge. He gently pushed her, but she did not stir. That heartwarming spectacle had greeted him every morning for six months or more.

Kenny didn’t notice his father enter the room.

“That piece of shit is useless for the day,” Mack said, pointing at Kenny’s mother. He threw a large basket filled with laundry in Kenny’s direction. The clothing landed all over his mother. She looked pathetic – drunken into a stupor and covered with dirty underwear and socks. “So guess who’s doing laundry today?” his father bellowed.

Kenny sighed. It was his birthday. His mother probably didn’t remember and his father didn’t care. With an air of resignation, he slowly began to gather the laundry into a pile.

“I want my socks
white.
”

Kenny looked at the socks. Mack wore them around the house, and he often wandered outside without shoes. The socks were dark gray on the bottom with an occasional grass stain. Kenny pursed his lips and said nothing.

“You got a problem?”

“No, sir.”

“I thought so.” Mack turned away.

Kenny took a deep breath and went out on a limb. “Father?”

“Yes?” Mack looked back, his voice dripping with annoyance.

“It’s my birthday today.”

“So?”

“I was wondering—”

“What? You were wondering what? Did I buy you a pony? You’re not getting anything. I’m between jobs now. We can’t afford gifts.”

Kenny glanced around. The living room was littered with whiskey bottles and empty cigarette packs. He had a rough idea of what those items cost. He looked at the ground.

“Don’t go sulking at me. You’re lucky I keep a roof over your lousy, fucking brainless head.” Mack marched down the hall, into the bathroom, and slammed the door.

His father had not worked for almost a year. The rent had not been paid for months. Kenny saw the eviction notices and past due bills when he picked up the mail. There was never anything in the refrigerator except for beer, stale doughnuts, and an occasional carton of spoiled milk. He always scrambled to make dinner for himself, or he sneaked over to a friend’s. The filthy house was only barely a roof over his head, and it certainly was not a home.

That morning, Kenny made a decision. And in the split second it turned over in his mind, he felt a sense of personal power he had never felt in his lifetime. Courage welled up inside of him. He had nothing to lose.

He started the laundry and peeked into the TV room. His father was watching television, laughing. The volume was loud. Kenny sneaked into his parents’ bedroom and rummaged in his mother’s dresser drawers. He found what he sought. Whenever his mother needed to make a trip to the liquor store, she retreated to the bedroom before slipping out the door. She squirreled away grocery money for her stash. Kenny’s father was not very good at math, and he never noticed the discrepancy in the budget. Kenny found $130, covered by cheap trinkets and gaudy bracelets, in his mother’s jewelry box. He tucked the money in his pocket and went to his bedroom.

He spent considerable time thinking before he carefully packed his backpack with the bare necessities for survival – a flashlight, some matches, a water bottle, and one change of clothing. He kept the money in his jeans pocket.

His mother staggered into consciousness sometime after 3:00 p.m. Kenny’s heart jolted because he feared she would need to make a liquor store trip, and she would notice the missing money. He quietly replaced the cash, hoping that it looked like the way he found it. Thankfully, she never came searching. Instead, she and Mack decided to go to their favorite pub for dinner. Kenny held on to the slight hope that she remembered his birthday and they were taking him to celebrate. But he was not invited. His mother had entirely forgotten.

When they left the house, laughing as they climbed into the car, all of Kenny’s reservations left with them. He grabbed the money and his backpack, and he headed out of town in the opposite direction of the pub.

Over the following six weeks, he hitchhiked his way up the coast, hanging out here and there until he reached Philadelphia, where he became an apprentice to a sympathetic jeweler. He was a hard worker, and he learned the craft quickly, impressing his boss. Soon he was designing pieces that were very popular. Kenny was well-paid, and over the years he saved and planned for the future.

Sometimes he wondered what became of his parents, especially his mother. But when he went looking for her ten years later, he could not find a trace of her. Mack lived alone. He was drunk and belligerent, and he would not speak to Kenny. Folks from town who should have remembered her played stupid when Kenny asked questions, or they avoided him altogether.

Did she drink herself to death? Did Mack kill her?

Kenny went to the county police. They took down the information, but Kenny sensed that they did not intend to investigate. A chill went up his spine as he walked down the steps of the police headquarters. At that moment he realized that he, himself, had no intention of pursuing the matter further.

Was it fear of what his father might do? Or was it apathy over the fate of the woman who had emotionally abandoned him during his pre-teen years? Kenny asked himself these questions only once. Then he left his southern life behind and moved to Maine.

Chapter 18

Surrendering Innocence

Wednesday, August 20

Well, today was the first day of cheerleading camp.

Oh, you want to hear about the disgusting trip to the gynecologist? Well, why didn’t you say so?

Yuck. That was a horrible experience. It was downright humiliating. I had to lie on a table and put my legs in brackets, so he could – oh it was so gross – spread them and poke around in my personal space. I was mortified. I tried to put myself somewhere else in my mind.

After the nightmare was over and I was allowed to sit up and cover myself, we had a lovely little chat about contraception. I’m supposed to take this pill every day, preferably at the same time. On the last week, I take the green pills, have my period, and start again with the next packet. Keep it like clockwork, he said. Sounds easy. I’ll know if I took it by looking at the packet.

I’m sort of scared, but I have to be prepared. I know where things are going, and I have to be ready. John will be happy when he hears that I’m on the pill. I’m sure he’s used to mature women who understand these things. He doesn’t need some goofy teenager that doesn’t know anything about birth control.

Okay, yeah, yeah, I know. Sarah was right.

L,

K

Friday, August 22

I’m taking the pill, but I don’t feel any different. I suppose that is a good thing. No side effects.

Dad is watching us like a hawk – John at the garage, me at home. I should skip cheerleading camp again. But Dad will notice John’s absence. And – God forbid – what if he followed him? Oh, my life is impossible.

I’m depressed now. I’ll write later.

L,

K

Tuesday, August 26

Finally, an end in sight. Dad is going on an errand-run to Portland on Friday. I’m going to skip cheerleading camp. It’s the last day. School starts on Tuesday. It starts early this year because of stupid Labor Day falling on the first. Can I ever get a break?

Anyway, watch out for Cutie-Pie.

Love,

Katherine

Saturday, August 30

Dear Diary:

I’m a woman now. I did it! I did it with John.

Oh my God. I was so scared. He brought a backpack with a picnic lunch. Of course that came with a large soft blanket. When I saw the blanket, I wondered, and I got really scared. We had a nice lunch. I barely said a word. Then he carefully packed up, put everything (except the blanket) over by the rocks, and laid down propping himself up with one hand on his head. I did the same and then he kissed me…for a long time. When he moved to take my shirt off, I sat up and told him I was scared. He had thought that because I was on the pill I wasn’t a virgin. When he found out, he became very understanding and gentle. How wonderful he was.