The Girl from Charnelle (24 page)

“Aren't
you
in a hurry?” Mrs. Letig said when she arrived at the picnic tables, gasping for air, her hands on her knees. She didn't have the breath to answer, which was just as well, because Mrs. Letig was the last person she wanted to talk to. “Here, let me get you some lemonade.”

She handed Laura a filled cup. Carroll was still asleep in her arms.

“Thanks,” Laura managed, feeling ashamed, not meeting the woman's eyes.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I just felt like running.”

About fifteen minutes later, Gloria and John showed up, with Gene, her father, Jerome, Manny, and Joannie behind them. Laura lay on the ground, underneath the cottonwood, watching them as they approached, trying to guess what Gloria and John were saying. They laughed, Gloria's head thrown back in one of her infectious guffaws. He must have told her a joke. Laura felt relieved. She got up and headed out past the creek, where Rich and the Letig boys and Julie were playing catch with a beach ball next to Jimmy, and then down the trail that led to the big cave.

“Where you going?” Mrs. Letig called.

“I'll be back soon.”

Her sister's and John's voices echoed behind her, but she ignored them.

She went down the trail a little ways and sat on a rock, listening to the party. She watched the sun fall beyond the rim of the canyon, and she tried to clear her mind, to not think at all.

 

Forty-five minutes later, when she returned, it was dark. Everybody was eating big slices of watermelon. The fireworks had already begun. Gloria, of course, said nothing, but Laura could see her looking around at John and Mrs. Letig, and at her father and Manny, too. Gloria was trying to figure out
the situation, who knew what and how much, and Laura knew that her sister was a good detective, that she could intuit things about people that others couldn't, and it scared Laura, because no one was supposed to know, and she wasn't sure if Gloria could be trusted anymore—if by virtue of being a parent now, and a wife, a responsible adult in the world, she would forget what it was like to have a secret life, to remember the value of it.

Gloria also had a poker face. She didn't give away what she knew. She laughed and told jokes and did her impressions. The firecrackers popped. The sparklers streaked the night with silver and red striations. The Roman candles burst green and red and blue and gold over their heads, and the air smelled acrid from the smoke. Bob Cransburgh had to stamp out some sparks that flared by the picnic tables.

During the festivities, Laura tried to convince herself that her sister hadn't put two and two together. She laughed and pretended not to be bothered when John wrapped his arms around his wife. Mrs. Letig turned her face to her husband and kissed him for a long time, passionately, and it appeared that John was returning the favor. A firecracker popped loudly. Laura felt like that firecracker.

“Look at the lovebirds.” Her father whistled.

Gloria caught her eye, but Laura turned away quickly, smiled like it didn't bother her. Maybe Gloria would see all that and not be sure of what she'd seen earlier. But then, as they were packing the trucks and cars, Gloria caught Laura alone by the picnic tables for a moment, and in the dark, with the creek gurgling beside them, she whispered, “You and me are going to have a long talk tomorrow, girl.”

Their father called out from his truck, “Okay, ladies, quit your lolly-gagging. It's time to hit the road.”

T
he next morning, after breakfast, Gloria told everybody that she and Laura were going out. She ordered Jerome to watch the kids, and when he protested, she gave him a look that made everybody tense and silent, and then Manny laughed, offered to help, and then their father laughed and called Gloria “the admiral,” and then Jerome smiled, too, but he wasn't happy about it, everybody could tell. Gloria and Laura walked in thoughtful silence to the downtown park, both preparing their arguments.

They sat on the park bench, in the shade of the trees, watching the cars circle the square, kids riding their bikes, playing catch, the county workers returning to the courthouse from their morning breaks.

“He's more than twice your age,” Gloria began.

“Jerome's older than you.”

“It's not the same. I was older.”

“Not much.”

“And he wasn't married. With kids. This isn't good, Laura. No matter how you feel about him, it's hard for me to believe that he cares the same about you. Or that he even
can
care the same about you. It doesn't matter how nice and sweet he seems—deep down he's a bastard.”

She practically spit the word. Laura was taken aback, not quite prepared for Gloria's hostility. “That's not true!” she protested.

Gloria was quiet for a minute. Then she asked, “How do you do it?”

Laura looked at her strangely. “
Do
it?”

“I mean, how do you meet? Where do you go? Does anyone know? How do you keep it a secret?”

It all spilled out, everything, like she'd just been waiting for someone to ask. Laura told her about their schedule, how she met him before noon behind the abandoned warehouse, and about his uncle's barn, the way he set it up, and how she hid in the truck, scrunched down on the floorboard.

“We're very safe,” she said.

And she told about the lies, too, for there had been so many lies, and not to tell her sister seemed wrong. Besides, if anyone knew about lying to her family, it would be Gloria. She'd done plenty of it herself. Her marriage was built on it, Laura thought.

Gloria shook her head. Laura couldn't tell if she was still angry or simply amazed. “I'm sorry,” Gloria said. “Go on.”

Laura told her about the difficulty of being together, how she sometimes wished they could be out in the open, but of course she knew that could never happen, and she said that was okay with her. And she told her sister about how they met, at the New Year's party, and how it had all started, and about the poker night and spring break and later at Lake Meredith, and in the telling it sounded, even to her, coarse and ugly, slightly sinister. The events themselves couldn't reach what was underneath the events, the other life that lay like bright metal at the bottom of a stream. She could tell, from the look on Gloria's face—her eyes squinted shut, her mouth pursed, a dismissive, judgmental look that reminded Laura of her mother—that she had not told it right, and she wondered if that was the way it always was. When you try to explain yourself and your actions—something that seems inevitable and important and
yours
—then it always comes out a little seedy, as if you were confessing to a crime.

“
Why
do you do it?” Gloria asked.

“I don't understand what you mean.”

“Why are you with him? There are plenty of boys your own age. Why would you want to share him with someone else?”

Laura turned toward the street, shaking her head. This was a mistake, trying to make her sister understand.

“You know this can't end well,” Gloria continued stridently. “The risks are enormous. Has he made any promises to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is he going to leave his wife?”

“I don't know. We don't talk about her much.”

“No, I don't imagine you do. Where do you think this is going, then?”

“I don't know.”

“How's it going to end?”

“I don't
know
!”

“Oh, Laura,” Gloria said, exasperated. “You have to think about these things. I know it seems so exciting now. And you think he loves you, and when you're with him, there's nothing else that matters. But there
are
other people.” She looked Laura straight in the eye. “There
are
consequences.”

“Don't preach to me.”

“This scares me. You scare me.”

Laura turned to her sister, angry now. “Are you sorry you ran off with Jerome?”

“Of course not. It's not the same.”

“Yes it is, when you think about it! If someone had told you not to do it, would you have listened?”

“No. But it was totally different.”

“I just want to enjoy it for what it is. Why does it have to
go
someplace? It's…it's—”

“I know.”

“No, you don't! It's
different
. I
feel
different. I
am
different. When it's just me and him, it's…well, no one will ever know what that's like.”

“I hate to break this to you,” Gloria said snidely, “but the whole world knows that secret.”

“I'm not talking about
that
. You're as bad as Manny!”

She'd had it. She jumped up from the bench and plopped down angrily under a tree, with her legs tucked to her chest, her forehead against her kneecaps.

After a few minutes, Gloria came over, crouched down by her. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly.

Laura tried to collect her thoughts. She lifted her head and stared at her sister, whose eyes seemed so much like their mother's. “It's just that…just that when we're together, it's not only that no one else is there, but it's that a different—I don't know how to say this.”

“Go on.”

“It's that a more real me is there. And the rest of what I do doesn't matter. It's not important.”

“But it
does
matter,” Gloria said, leaning toward her. “Don't you see? It does. There are other people involved.”

“That doesn't really matter.”

“How can you say that? Of course it matters. Don't you think what you and he are doing has an effect on other people?”

“Not if they don't know.”

“But don't they?” Gloria asked.

Laura was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Don't you think they know…on some level?”

“Not if we don't tell.”

“But it breaks everything. If Jerome was having an affair, then it would break things between us, don't you see?”

“What if you didn't know?”

“I would find out sooner or later.”

“But if you
didn't,
and he kept on being a good husband to you and loving you? Couldn't he love you and someone else at the same time? Wouldn't that be okay, if you didn't know?”

Gloria shook her head and then sighed as if Laura was a stubborn child unwilling to listen to the obvious. “Our lives would be a huge lie,” she said.

“No, that's not true,” Laura said more insistently. “I don't believe that. It's the not-knowing. Like when Momma left. We didn't tell you for a long time. And during that time, you were happy. And only when we told you did you become sad.”

Gloria stared cautiously at Laura for a minute, mulled over what she would say next. Laura had the feeling that bringing their mother into this conversation was not right, but she didn't care anymore.

“You eventually had to tell me,” Gloria said. “I was going to find out at some point.”

“What if we had
never
told you? What if you stayed overseas the whole time and never returned and never knew she was gone? Or if we said she just died, a painless death. Then you would have been happier, right?”

Gloria, startled at this line of argument, shook her head vigorously. “No!”

“But you would!” Laura was shouting now. “I
know
you would. I know
I
would.”

“Calm down,” Gloria said. Two boys playing catch with a baseball had stopped and were staring at them. When they saw Gloria and Laura looking at them, they nodded to each other and, laughing derisively, walked to the other side of the fountain to continue their game.

“The point is,” Gloria said, straining for evenness in her voice, “the point is…that I would find out, and the later I found out, the more it would seem like…like I was being cheated out of something that's mine to know. I had a right to know that. Even if it made me unhappy. It wasn't your right or Dad's right or anybody's right to keep it from me.”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“I don't know! It just is. I
know
it is!”

“Come here,” Gloria said and reached out for her.

Laura pushed her hand away. “You don't see. You think I'm silly or naïve. I can tell by the way you look at me. You see me as this little girl who's getting taken advantage of by this married man. But I'm
not
being taken advantage of. That's just not true. I
want
to be there. I want it as much as he does. I'm not talking about…. It's the rest of it. And nobody sees it as real. But it is. It's the best thing. And if his wife and Dad don't know, then it…won't affect them. It won't! I know it won't!”

Gloria clasped Laura's hands, pulled them up to her lips, and kissed them. “It will be different later,” Gloria said.

Laura still felt that her sister was patronizing her. “Is it different for you?” She could hear the bitterness in her own voice, could hear her desire to hurt her sister. She regretted it.

Gloria looked down at the grass for a minute and then lifted her head and stared directly at Laura. “Yes…yes, it is different.”

“Does it have to be?”

“I don't know. I guess I've never thought about that. Come here. I want to hold you.”

“No,” Laura said, still angry.

“Please, come here. Who knows? Maybe you're right about it all. I forget. I still see you as this little girl I need to worry about. But maybe you're right…about what's real and what's not. Why don't you tell me what else you want from the world, what else besides—”

“You're just saying that now because I'm upset. Or you think I'm too young to know any better. I'm not. I know more than you think.”

“But I still worry about you. Am I allowed to do that? Is that okay with you?”

Laura didn't answer.

“You are my little sister.” Gloria suddenly frowned. “Aren't you?”

“It's not funny.”

“Yeah, I know. You're right. It's not funny. I'm sorry.” Gloria wrapped her arms around Laura, held her for a minute. “Do me one favor, though. Will you?”

“What?”

“Be careful.”

“We are careful.”

“You understand what I'm talking about, right?”

“Yes. We are.”

“That, too. But I mean that you need to watch out for yourself. It may not always feel like this. And when it ends—”

“It's
not
going to end.”

“Okay,
if
it ends, it would be better to end it quietly, without anybody getting hurt. So be careful.”

“We are.”

“And don't tell anyone else,” she said. “Don't tell Manny or any of your friends. God knows, don't tell Dad. Who knows what he'd do?”

“I won't.”

“If you need to talk to someone, write me. Or if you have to, if there's an emergency, call me. I'll give you a number where you can reach me at the base, and I'll show you how to call and charge it to me.”

“You won't tell Jerome, will you?”

“No, I won't.”

“Thank you.”

Gloria patted Laura's head playfully, trying to lighten the mood. “And I thought you were still a kid. I'm going to have to really start worrying
about you now. You know that, don't you?” Gloria put her finger under Laura's chin, lifted her face, and said more seriously, “Please watch out for yourself. Promise me you'll do that.”

Laura nodded. She thought she might cry if she tried to speak. When Gloria touched her face, Laura suddenly recognized the gesture as one of their mother's, how she would gently but firmly assure a child's focus. Laura wondered if she would tell her mother if she were here. Would her mother understand what she was going through? Would she listen without judging? Would her reaction be the same as Gloria's? She looked into Gloria's eyes and realized that she could see a glimpse, just a glimpse, of her mother there.