Silent Witness (6 page)

Sam's eyes widened. ‘After six months?' he said with exaggerated amazement. ‘Come on, Tony, don't be such a fucking gentleman. Not with
me
.'

‘I'm not being a gentleman. I guess Alison figures she has some say in who gets to be the first.'

Sam's eyes glinted with amusement. ‘She never has?'

Tony shook his head. ‘And if that ever changes, don't expect to hear it from me. . . .'

Now, Sam looked at Alison and said, ‘You guys want to go swimming?'

Alison gave him that direct gaze that seemed to be her property. ‘In what?'

Sam laughed. ‘It's dark out,' he said carelessly.

Alison's slight smile did not change her eyes. ‘Not dark enough.'

He looked at her a moment, then shrugged and turned to Sue. ‘Let's get in, okay?'

Sue did not answer. In the ethos of Lake City High, you weren't a slut if you slept with your boyfriend; or even more than one boyfriend, as long as the time between relationships was long enough to qualify both as love. What seemed to bother Sue was Alison – Sue turned to her, as if unwilling to compromise a comrade. With a certain patience, Sam waited: it struck Tony that Sam treated Sue with more respect than he did anyone but Tony himself.

‘We'll be back in a while,' Sue said to Alison. Glancing at Tony, Sam took Sue's hand.

Silent, Tony and Alison watched Sam and Sue walk away, their shadows receding until they vanished in the darkness.

Gently, Tony kissed her. ‘Want to go in?' Tony asked. ‘They'll be tied up for an hour.'

Face close to his, Alison regarded him with both hesitance and desire; although they had touched each other, sometimes to the point of torment, she had never been undressed with him. Then she stood and backed into the shadows, still watching him.

Tony waited, afraid to move. In the darkness, Alison was only a silhouette, arms raised above her head. Tony could sense, rather than see, her nakedness.

Her slender body appeared in the moonlight, skittering into the water. Tony thought of his confessor, Father Quinn; Alison was the ‘near occasion of sin,' Tony knew, and the sin of making love with her would be a mortal one. He could feel his heart beat.

Stripping, Tony followed.

He saw Alison waist deep in water, her back to him, and then she seemed to kneel, turning to face him with only her head above the inky blackness. She had given him no permission, Tony knew; this was her way of covering herself.

He stopped a few feet from her, the water coming to his waist. Tony could imagine the hidden outline of her body, near enough to touch. He felt his own body stirring.

He moved toward her. She froze, stepped back once, stopped again. Her eyes were very still.

Reaching out, Tony lifted her by the waist and pulled her close to him, filled with months of wanting her.

Their mouths met, and then their bodies. Tony could feel her small breasts against his chest, her hips thrust forward with her own sudden desire. Then she pulled her head back, twisting away.

‘I can't.' Her voice was strained. ‘This can't happen now.'

Caught in his desperate need, Tony could not release her. ‘It can. . . .'

Her eyes shut; it was as though if she could not see him she would not want him anymore. Suddenly Tony felt hollow. He had come too close; this time the denial of passion seemed to have left a hole in him, as if they suddenly had nothing. In a low voice, he said, ‘Your parents have started in on you again.'

Alison's eyes opened. Now she seemed incapable of looking away. ‘
Part
of it is my parents. . . .'

‘Is it still because I'm Catholic?' In his anger and frustration, Tony felt his temper snap. ‘You can't be too careful, can you? Let “them” in the club, and the next thing you know, your daughter will start having red-haired children with rosaries around their necks and a line straight to the Pope. . . .'

Abruptly, Tony felt a wall come down between them; on the other side, closed to him, was the world of shopping trips to New York City, vacations in Paris, and weekends with the sons and daughters of the Taylors' East Coast friends. All while Tony, whose grandfather Lord's Polish surname was once two syllables longer, tugged his forelock on the Taylors' porch.

Alison's eyes had never left him. ‘I don't defend them about that –'

‘Defend them? Have you ever thought about
telling
them that I'm not the local equivalent of a car thief?'

‘They
know
you're not, and it's not all about being Catholic. My parents are afraid we'll just keep right on going together. They think it's too young and too soon.' She paused, voice quieter yet. ‘They're asking that we see each other one night a weekend and leave the other free.'

Tony felt a stab of jealousy and, beneath that, a hurt that went much deeper. ‘And go out with other people, you mean? Just to keep your parents happy? I can't believe that's what you want.'

For the first time, Alison looked down. ‘I said part was my parents. Not all.' She drew a breath, sliding down into the water. ‘I'm
afraid
, all right? I'm afraid of how it will be for me and how I'll feel later. That somehow it will change things.' She looked up at him again, tears in her eyes. ‘Sometimes I want you so much I can hardly stand it. But it's like putting you in charge of me, giving you a part of me. Don't you understand how confusing that feels?'

Tony shook his head. ‘
My
feelings aren't confused at all.'

Now Alison's eyes took him in. Softly, she answered, ‘That's the last part, Tony. You weren't confused with Mary Jane, either. But how do you feel now?'

This time it was Tony who looked away. ‘What if it happened tonight?' she asked. ‘Like most of me wanted it to. Will you feel as good as you always tell me you would? Or will you end up feeling awful about what we've done, and have to confess me like I'm some kind of sin? Do you ever wonder how that would make
me
feel?'

She had never said this with such emotion. All at once, Tony lost the heart to argue.

Seeing this, Alison gently kissed his face. For an instant, their bodies touched; for this brief moment, Tony felt the electricity of renewed desire, the more painful because they might never satisfy it.

Slowly, Alison backed away. ‘They'll be coming back soon. We should get out.'

Tony exhaled. ‘I guess so.'

They walked to the shore together, Alison a little ahead of him. When she stepped from the water, she looked so beautiful that it hurt. Miserably, Tony said, ‘I can take you home.'

She turned to him, a silver silhouette. ‘I'll stay for a while, Tony. I don't want you having to explain yourself to Sam.'

They dressed in the dark and sat together, silent and unhappy, waiting for Sue and Sam to finish making love. It took them months to repair the damage; that night, Tony could not imagine that they would ever become lovers.

Tony started the car. ‘I hated that night,' he said to Alison.

Turning, she touched his face. ‘So did I.'

In his headlights, Tony could see Sam in his own car, tipping a flask to his lips and then wheeling away.

Through the window, Alison watched the taillights of Sam's car recede in the darkness, her profile reflective. After a moment, she said, ‘I don't think I'd want to be Sue tonight.'

Tony glanced at her. ‘He'll be all right. Most times, Sam's got a pretty good idea of where to draw the line.'

‘But not always.' She turned to him. ‘Sometimes I wonder how you guys got to be so close.'

Tony began driving toward Taylor Park. ‘We were just both there, the two best guys on almost every team we played for. We could have been friends, or we could have been rivals I guess we both knew friends was better.'

She gave him a curious look. ‘Sometimes I watch you two, and it's like Sam's your bad twin brother. The one who gets away with doing all the things the good brother wants to do but knows he really shouldn't.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like at church that time. To me, it sounded scary.'

Tony gave a short laugh. ‘It was. But I didn't want to be Sam. I was just glad to let Sam have the hangover for me and get out of there alive.'

If Tony had seen it coming, he would not have been there in the first place. Mass had never looked so good.

It began at Sam's house, around one o'clock in the morning. Tony was sleeping over; they sat on the floor of Sam's room with the lights dimmed and the radio on, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. Sam had warmed up with a couple of beers; the effect was one of great self-confidence. But beneath this Tony sensed a certain volatility: the family hardware store had failed at last, and Sam sometimes seemed resentful of the town itself for the Robbs' declining station. And there was something Tony could not ask about – the stories about Coach Jackson and Sam's mother. ‘Good whiskey,' Sam said, and took another sip.

‘Rhapsody in the Rain' came on the radio in Lou Christie's near falsetto; as far as Tony could make out, it was about getting laid in the car to the rhythm of windshield wipers. Sam listened to the lyrics with a sardonic grin.

‘So,' he asked, ‘things any better with the Ice Queen?'

Tony gave him a look: the nickname annoyed him; the question depressed him. Coolly, he said, ‘The same.'

Sam rolled his eyes. ‘You're gonna get hair on your palms, man. Maybe go blind. I can see you now, selling pencils outside the high school, 'cause Alison Taylor won't come across. You need my advice.'

‘Jesus, Sam, is that all you ever think about – sex? Because Alison and me are about a whole bunch of stuff. Or don't you and Sue ever talk when you're alone?'

Sam assumed an expression of weary patience. ‘Help this man, O Lord,' he intoned. ‘He is wandering in the darkness with a serious erection, and no salvation for it but his own.'

In spite of himself, Tony laughed aloud.

Sam took a deep swallow of whiskey. ‘Speaking of our Lord, I've got a sermon to write. I think I'm gonna need you here.'

‘Sermon? For who? Horny Guys Anonymous?'

‘I never told you? Christ.' Sam took another swig. ‘Remember that Methodist youth group the old lady stuck me in 'cause I wouldn't go to church with her anymore? They elected me their president.'

Tony looked at him in amazement. ‘I guess God must have spoken to them,' he said at last. ‘I can't think of any other reason.'

‘Yeah, well, that's not the good part. The good part is our minister got this swell idea for an ecumenical youth service – skipping you mackerel snappers, of course. He drafted me to give the sermon. For my new flock and their parents, Sue's folks included.'

Tony covered his eyes. ‘Has this guy ever actually met you?'

‘You know me – I can fool anyone for a while. But you want to know the best part?'

‘I was kind of hoping I'd already heard it.'

Sam grinned. ‘Sermon's tomorrow.'

Tony stared at him. ‘Shit,' he said.

‘Won't do. Has to be longer.'

All at once, Tony realized he was a little drunk. ‘What are you going to say?'

‘No clue.' Sam was more than a little drunk, Tony realized; he gave off that weird sense of imperviousness Tony had seen before, just before Sam's judgment deserted him.

For Tony, the fun had gone out of this. ‘Maybe you'd better stop drinking.'

Sam's eyes glinted with defiance. ‘Can't do that – I'd lose my edge.'

Tony studied him, then looked at his watch. ‘When is this supposed to happen?'

‘Six o'clock. It's outside – sort of a sunrise service.'

Tony puffed his cheeks. ‘If I were you, Sam, I'd start praying right now. For rain.'

Sam shrugged. ‘They'd just move the fucker inside. It's you and me, Tony. Want to see what we can make up?'

Tony sat back. With a certain irony, he noticed that on the radio Elvis had begun wailing ‘Crying in the Chapel.' ‘Well,' Tony said, ‘I guess it's good you're speaking to Protestants. As far as I can see, their idea of Hell is a year without golf. Church is where they go to sleep.'

They went to the kitchen. Sam made coffee; Tony began scribbling in a spiral notebook. ‘If I were you,' he murmured, ‘I'd say “spirit of the Lord” a lot. When those guys raise money on TV, it looks like that works for them.'

As Tony made notes, Sam drank coffee and whiskey; the result in Sam combined slurred speech with a certain crazy energy. Sam laughed a lot; Tony outlined a sermon.

‘You're going with me, right?' Sam asked. ‘It wouldn't be fun without you.'

‘I've had enough fun. Besides, I'm not supposed to set foot inside a Protestant church.'

‘It's outside, remember? Don't you folks believe in the Good Samaritan?'

Sam looked a little shaky, Tony decided. ‘I'd better drive home first,' he said at last. ‘Put on my suit and running shoes.'

An hour later, walking to Tony's car, Sam looked pale. His hands were trembling as he stuffed the outline in the inside pocket of his suit. Tony guessed that he had drunk more whiskey.

Sam lay back in the passenger seat. ‘I'm gonna do Richard Burton,' he announced. ‘He was terrific as the minister in
The Sandpiper
.' And then he promptly fell asleep.

They reached the church as the first light broke over the tree-lined street. To one side of the church Tony saw the folding chairs – already beginning to fill with people – set on the lawn facing a wooden platform with a podium and a cross. Sam was still unconscious.