The Graduation (14 page)

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, Jessie,” he whispered, reaching out and putting his hand on the doorknob. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Why did you come?” It could have been a stupid question. She had, after all, given him a legitimate reason to visit her cabin. But she had been a fool to think he had been fooled. He was nodding as he turned and looked at her, nodding to himself, asking himself the same question.

“I wanted to see, I guess,” he said.

“See what? Me?”

“No.”

“Oh.” His remark did wonders for what was left of her ego. And here all these years she had thought she was pretty cute. Oh, well, half the point in this whole seduction had been to run what was left of her self-esteem into the ground. It was funny how she had gotten exactly what she had wanted.

She began to tremble.

“This has nothing to do with you,” he said.

She nodded weakly. Of course her being unattractive to him had nothing to do with her. She may as well not have been in the room. She still couldn’t believe this was happening to her. He took a step toward the bed, stretched out his arm to touch the side of her face, then thought better of it and pulled his hand back to his side.

“I better go,” he said.

She nodded again. “All right.”

But he didn’t leave immediately. Ignoring her for a moment, he stepped into the bathroom and picked up her brush beside the sink. He ran it under the faucet and began to comb his hair. She had run her fingers through his hair while they’d been kissing, but since he always wore it short, she hadn’t really messed it up. From his perspective, however, she must have messed him up bad. Her eyes began to burn. He set the brush down and stepped to the door.

“I won’t say anything to anybody about this,” he said gently.

She bit her lip. “Thanks.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

He left. She picked up her towel and buried her face in it. She began to cry.

A few minutes later someone knocked at her door.

Sara almost froze to death waiting for Russ to appear. The captain must have been scrimping on fuel. There was no hot water, and never before in her life had Sara taken a cold shower. She understood that only monks took those, and that they did so mainly for reasons of celibacy. Just what she needed—a cold shower to make her as horny as a statue and as desirable as a fish.

Why is he taking so long?

She had said twenty minutes. At least forty minutes must have gone by since she had last seen him. Maybe he’d gone with Bill to Jessica’s suite. Yeah, the three of them were probably having a great time about now. Disgusted, Sara grabbed her towel and tried to stand at the far end of the shower out of reach of the spray. But every time
Haven
’s bow went under, the water splashed her legs. She had gooseflesh on her thighs ready to sprout feathers.

Someone pounded on the door.

“Who is it?” she called, pulling the old gray shower curtain tight. She’d left the bathroom door open, but she was beginning to wonder if that had been a good idea. He might have brought the whole cross-country team with him.

“It’s me,” he called.

“Are you alone?”

He opened the door. “What?”

“Are you alone?” She was afraid to peek around the edge of the curtain.

“Yeah.” She heard the door close. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking a shower. What do you think I’m doing?”

“Do you want me to join you?” He sounded as if he could have been standing in the bathroom doorway. She couldn’t stop shivering.

“No. Close the door.”

“Whatever you want.” He closed the bathroom door.

He had to choose this moment to do exactly what I said.

She turned off the water and dried herself furiously, trying to get some warmth back into her flesh. All was not lost. She had a cute orange bathrobe waiting to put on. Jessica said she looked like a doll in it, even if autumn colors depressed Bubba. Sara knew as soon as Russ saw her in it, he would want to kiss her.

When she came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he was lying flat on his back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He had on blue jeans, a blue Pendleton shirt, and looked so masculine it made her legs weak. He hardly glanced over.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Sure, I’m going to go dressed like this.” She sat on the bed by his feet. The soles of his running shoes were dirty and he wasn’t going out of his way to keep them off the sheets. She had to remind herself that she couldn’t fight with him when she wanted him to make love to her. “How are you doing?” she asked.

He yawned. “Tired. I wish I could just stay here and sleep.”

“You can.”

“What about your friend’s party?”

“We don’t have to go.”

He sat up suddenly. “No, I’ll go. Hurry up and get dressed.”

She smiled. “Don’t you want to talk for a few minutes? I haven’t really had a chance to talk to you all night.”

“We can talk at the party.” He glanced about restlessly. “How come you and Jessie are the only ones to get your own rooms?”

“I’m ASB president.”

“So?”

She stopped smiling. “It’s me who rented this stupid boat. Why shouldn’t I get my own room?”

He shrugged, doing an excellent job of not looking at her. “I guess you’re right. Come on, put on your clothes. Let’s go.”

“No, I want to talk.”

“About what?”

She reached over and began to fiddle with the lace on his left shoe. “Have you been able to train up there?”

“They have a track.” He was watching her hands. “I run laps.”

“But you told me you never liked to run on the track?”

“They don’t let you out, Sara.”

His saying her name—she didn’t know why it touched her so. She squeezed his toes through his shoe and glanced up. He was looking at her now. “It must be hard on you?” she said.

“I can take it.”

She was still cold from the shower. The thinness of her robe and the temperature of the cabin were not helping matters. She could have used a long hug. “How come you never wrote me?” she asked.

“I wrote.”

“Not really.”

“I didn’t have anything to say. Every day there is the same.”

“But I wrote. You could have answered my letters.” She loosened his lace all the way and started to pull off his shoe.

“Don’t,” he said, jerking his foot away.

“You’re messing up the sheets.” She hadn’t meant the remark to sound harsh. He got up.

“Let’s go to the party.”

“No,” she said, watching as he leaned against the wall beside the bathroom door. His expression was inscrutable, and it depressed her: she’d always believed she could read his mind simply by looking at his face. He had changed while he was away. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you acting this way?”

“I’m not acting any way. You told me you wanted me to go to a private party with you. I’m here to go to the party. Let’s go.”

“I can’t go. I’m not dressed.”

“Get dressed.”

“You didn’t really want to get in the shower with me.”

“What?”

“You just said that. You don’t really like me.”

“What are you talking about?”

She began to speak, but found a lump in her throat. “Nothing. Forget it. Forget the party, too. I don’t want to go.”

“What do you mean, you don’t want to go?”

“I don’t want to go!”

“What?”

“And quit asking me what I mean. Isn’t it obvious what I mean?”

“No. What do you mean?”

She put her face in her hands. “Get out of here.”

Time went by. It could have been a whole minute. He finally sat beside her on the bed. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“What are you sorry about?”

He hesitated. “I’m sorry I don’t know.”

She burst out laughing, although she knew he hadn’t meant the remark to be humorous. She laughed until her sides were ready to burst, until she was ready to cry. Of course, she had felt like crying before she had started laughing. “Oh, Russ,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “You are a prince.”

He didn’t respond to her raving, just sat looking at her. “I know I’m not good enough for you,” he said without bitterness.

Sara stopped laughing. “What do you mean?”

He glanced down at the dirty shoes she had criticized. “You’re ASB president. I’m just a beer-drinking bum out on a weekend pass from juvenile hall.”

She stared at him as if she were seeing him for the first time and discovering that he had two heads in-stead of the one she remembered. It sure was another side of him. “How come you went to a bar after the homecoming dance and got drunk?” she asked. She had always wanted to know.

“Because you didn’t want to kiss me.”

She knew instantly what he was referring to. Before the homecoming queen announcement, they had been dancing together and he tried to kiss her. She had stopped him because she felt uncomfortable with any public display of affection. At the time she figured he understood. He hadn’t seemed upset. “I was joking,” she said.

“After my race that morning, you said you didn’t want me taking you to the dance.”

“I went to the dance with you!”

“We went in separate cars.”

“I had to get there early. I had to—You knew I was joking!”

He glanced at her. She wished again they hadn’t cut his hair so short. “Were you?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” He started to get up. “It doesn’t matter.”

She pulled him back down. “It does matter, Russ. You didn’t have to go out drinking that night.”

Now she could read his face. It was filled with regret. “I wish I hadn’t.”

“You do hate it up there, don’t you?”

“It’s a cage.”

“But you didn’t cut down the tree?”

“No.” He showed a trace of annoyance. “How could I when you took away my ax.”

“I didn’t take your ax. Polly took it.”

“Polly took it? I thought that was you.”

“No.” She giggled. “Does this mean you’re in love with Polly now?”

He was insulted. “Who says I’m in love with you?”

“Of course you’re in love with mc. Why else would you get all upset because I rejected you? And why would you go out drinking all night and try to kill yourself?”

“I didn’t try to kill myself.”

“Anyone who drinks so much he can’t remember where he drank is trying to kill himself. Don’t be embarrassed. You can love me. You’re an incredible person. I’m an incredible person. And I love you.” She stopped. “I can’t believe I said that. Never mind, I didn’t say that.”

He kissed her. She didn’t see it coming. She quickly decided those were the best kind of kisses. They fell back on the bed and she felt his hands on her body. It was incredible. She couldn’t even count the number of places he touched her. It was absolutely the most exciting thing ever! She didn’t mind in the least that his twelve-hour beard was scratching the hell out of her face. She was just about to slip out of her robe and give him a night in heaven to make up for all his days in hell when he suddenly stopped and sat up.

“I shouldn’t be doing this, Sara.” he said.

I
shouldn’t? She’d thought she’d been doing a few things of her own. “What’s wrong?” It was her ass, she knew it. He didn’t like it, and he hadn’t even seen it yet.

“I’m taking advantage of you. You’re not even dressed.” He shook his head, ashamed. “I can’t treat you like you were just any old girl.”

She got up on her elbow, wishing she was a little older. “You’ve slept with girls before?”

“Oh, yeah, loads of times. But they didn’t mean anything to me.”

“Not like I do?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you love me?” she asked.

“Do you love me?”

She thought a moment. “Maybe we should quit while we’re both ahead.”

He laughed, hard and loud, as he used to laugh a long time ago. “Come on, get dressed. Let’s go to that party.”

She sat up. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. It’s been canceled.”

He seemed disappointed. “What are we going to do? Today and tomorrow are my only days out. I shouldn’t waste them sleeping.”

She had this great idea. On the other hand, she didn’t want to be one of
those
girls who meant nothing. She stood, heading for the bathroom and her clothes. “Let’s jog around the deck a few times.”

She’d have to do some creative thinking about what it had been like. She couldn’t possibly tell Jessica she was still a virgin.

The late-night hours were hard on Michael. After questioning Bubba and searching unsuccessfully for Polly, he got trapped in a chess game with Dale Jensen—Tabb’s first valedictorian to ever be impeached. Dale had not attended the graduation ceremony, but he had boarded the boat with a vengeance. He had sent out the challenge via Bubba: “Meet me in the galley, twelve midnight. We’ll see who’s so smart.”

Michael didn’t want to play. He had a lot on his mind and the pain in his head, rather than diminishing as the night wore on, kept getting worse. But Bubba—sobering at a truly phenomenal pace—insisted that Michael play, and Bubba could be incredibly persuasive. He had always despised Dale. He even lent Michael an extra hat to hide his head wound. Michael had finally told Bubba about his run-in with Clark. He hadn’t planned to, but Bubba had started to ask about the gun. Seemed Kats was worried about it. Michael hadn’t talked to Kats directly about the gun, of course, but as he searched the boat after the basketball game, he felt Kats was following him. Every time he turned

The galley was packed when Michael arrived with Bubba and Clair at his side. Dale had brought a chess set and cigarettes. Dale chain-smoked, and like everything else he did, he used the habit to irritate people. Michael knew he would have smoke in his face until one of them was checkmated.

Although he had a despicable personality, Dale was not bad looking. Besides Bill Skater, and possibly Russ Desmond, he might have been the most handsome guy in the school. He was half Italian, with thick black hair, dark olive skin, and a wide insolent mouth Clair had once admitted looked mighty tasty. Dale was extremely slim, however, and he also had a chronic cough. He didn’t care in which direction he coughed.

Bubba had warned Michael not to underestimate Dale, but Michael thought he would win easily. He had been playing chess regularly on his home computer since leaving school in January. He could beat the most sophisticated programs at the highest levels of complexity. He thought the contest would be over in less than twenty minutes.

He was still playing at one-thirty in the morning. Dale threw him off balance in the first few moves with a strategy Michael had never seen before. That was one of the weaknesses about honing chess skills against a computer; the programs had an almost end-less supply of complicated attacks, yet they were often quite predictable. During the first hour of play, Michael had to use all his skill simply to defend his position. And then, when he finally did take command of the board, and his victory appeared certain, he allowed his mind to wander and made a disastrous mistake. He lost his only remaining rook, while getting nothing in return.

“Mike!” Bubba yelled, pounding the table beside the board and upsetting several of the pieces.

“I wanted to make it interesting,” Michael muttered, knowing that unless Dale made an equally careless blunder, the best he could hope for was a draw. Dale blew a cloud of smoke in his face.

“You won’t be making a speech after this game,” he said.

Michael got his draw, but it took him until two, and left him feeling weak and drained. Dale surprised him afterward by shaking his hand and complimenting him on an excellent game. Bubba did not approve of the result or the sports-man like gesture.

“Play him again and kick his ass,” Bubba whispered in Michael’s ear as Dale got up to leave. Michael shook his head. He had to have another talk with Polly.

Unfortunately, once again, he could not find the girl. He decided to search
Haven
’s engine rooms one more time. He was seriously beginning to worry that Polly had jumped overboard. Before he started down, however, he stopped in the tiny bathroom he had used earlier. He needed a gulp of water.

That was the last he remembered for a while.

He regained consciousness on the floor of the bathroom in a pool of red, his heart thumping in his brain, his thoughts a gray fuzz. He must have knocked his cut open again. His watch said he had lost an hour. He was fortunate he had automatically locked the door upon entering. He sat up and stared in the gray-speckled mirror. The ghost image of Clark did not jump out to scare him as it had before, but his own appearance was frightening enough. A vampire could have gotten hold of him. His coat had blood all over it and he had to stuff it in the wastebasket, leaving him shivering in the damp night air.

The effect of the blackout went deep. After cleaning up, he stumbled outside and found he was trembling inside as well as out. He felt defeated, lonely. He had spent the whole year chasing an unseen enemy who might not exist, and running away from a girl who hardly knew he existed. He suddenly felt so weak he wanted to cry.

He had hit rock bottom.

It was precisely then he decided to tell Jessica he loved her.

He went searching for her. He brought his yearbook with him. She had said she wanted to sign it; it would give him an excuse to talk to her. But he couldn’t find her either. He couldn’t even locate Sara to ask where Jessica could be. He decided to go to Bubba for help. Bubba was supposed to know everything.

Except who killed Alice.

Michael found Bubba and Clair entwined in blissful slumber on a piece of foam on top of the bar. If they were to roll to the right or the left a couple of inches, they would surely get a rude awakening. Michael shook Bubba gently. Bubba half opened his eyes and smiled.

“Cabin forty-five,” he said.

“Jessie?” Michael asked.

Bubba closed his eyes. “Forty-five.”

“Thanks.” Clair touched him with a warm hand as he was leaving.

“Tell her,” she mumbled, not raising her head or opening her eyes.

“I’ll try,” Michael said.

Walking down the long hall that led to Jessica’s cabin, Michael bumped into Bill. They had the space to themselves. Bill smiled broadly.

“I loved that speech you gave,” Bill said for the second time that evening.

“Thanks.”

Bill laughed. He appeared sort of jittery. “So, Where’s our scholar off to now? Harvard? Yale? Stanford?”

“No place like that. I can’t afford it.”

“No shooting, Mike? Did you apply for any scholarships?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t feel like it.” And he sure didn’t feel like talking to Bill at this very moment. He had to wonder where Bill had just come from. The neck of his yellow sweater was damp and he had water spots all over the arms.

“Does that mean you’ll be around for a while?” Bill asked.

“I guess.”

Bill nodded to his yearbook. “Hey, let me sign that. I’ll give you my number. Maybe we can get together sometime for a movie or something. Just ’cause we’re graduating doesn’t mean we can’t keep in touch. Right?”

“Sure.” Michael handed him the book. Bill whipped out a pen and scribbled something on the inside cover. Michael glanced down the hallway. Jessica’s room must be at the end. Bill gave him back the book.

“I can run and get mine if you’d like to sign it,” Bill said. “It’ll just take me a minute.”

“That’s OK, I’ll sign it later.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Bill followed Michael’s glance down the hall. “Looking for someone?”

“No.”

Bill smiled again. “Catch up with you later, Mike.” He disappeared up the companion way.

Michael found cabin 45 three-quarters of the way down the hall. He stared at the number for a long time, remembering how he had felt when he had gone to Jessica’s house to pick her up for their date. He had been scared then, but he’d had hope. He realized, suddenly, he didn’t have a shred of hope now.

“
I love you, Jessie.
”

“
That’s sweet, Michael. I think you’re a very special person, too.
”

He knocked on the door, waited. No one answered. Maybe she was asleep. He was turning away when he heard a feeble, “Who is it?”

“It’s Mike.”

There followed a long pause. “Come in.”

He opened the door slowly. She was sitting on the bed, wearing a pink bathrobe, a white towel resting on her lap, her hair wet. The air in the room was moist with steam. She must have taken a shower recently. Her eyes, however, were puffy, as if she had just awakened from sleep. She did not smile in welcome.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked.

“No.” She glanced toward the bathroom and touched her head as if it hurt. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. I thought… I’ll leave you alone.”

“No,” she said quickly. “Come in, have a seat.” She picked up her towel and began to dry her hair, her attention obviously elsewhere. “Please excuse the mess.”

The bed sheets were rumpled; otherwise the room appeared neat. A ceiling lamp in the corner swung back and forth with each rise and fall of the ship. It reminded Michael of a hangman’s rope. “I could come back later,” he said, closing the door.

“No, it’s fine. I was just drying my hair. Have a seat.”

There was nowhere to sit except on the bed. He did not believe she had on anything beneath her robe. As it was, he could see more of her legs than he had ever seen before. He did not want to sit on the bed. He leaned against the wall near the bathroom doorway. “You said you wanted to sign my yearbook?” He held it up. “I have it here.”

“Oh.” She set down her towel and glanced around for her own yearbook. It was sitting on the stand three feet from her nose, but it took her several seconds to spot it. They exchanged books. “Do you need a pen?” she asked, reaching for her purse.

“I have one.”

She found something to write with and flipped open his book, sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed with her head down, her long hair hiding much of her face. She appeared to be having a hard time thinking of something to say. Michael took his pen out of his shirt pocket. For a moment, he considered telling her he loved her in her yearbook. Then he quickly discarded the idea. Everybody who signed her annual on Catalina would see it.

It was not going well. There was a gloom in the air that matched the gloom in his heart. He was probably the cause of it. His gaze strayed to the bathroom. A wet black brush sat on the counter beside the sink. There were a few hairs tangled up in its bristles. He leaned closer.

They were short blond hairs.

Bill’s sweater had been wet.

Bill had been heading up the hall, away from Jessica’s room.

Bill had just been here.

They had taken a shower together!

Michael closed his eyes and rolled into the wall, feeling sick to his stomach. The image of them naked together under the hot water stabbed into his mind like a needle. He had never known such pain. A hard knot formed in the center of his chest and choked off his air. There was poison in his mouth. He couldn’t swallow. His Jessie in Bill’s arms—He simply could not bear the thought.

Not here! Get out! Get away!

He was going to cry, but he couldn’t cry—not in front of her. He had sworn that to himself in Alice’s studio after Alice’s funeral. He swore it to himself again now with the last fiber of his shattered will. Yet he couldn’t move. He couldn’t get his head off the wall. And the tears were coming no matter how hard he fought to hold them back. He couldn’t stop shaking.

She’ll see you! She’ll know!

“Michael?” She was standing beside him. She touched his shoulder. “Michael, what’s wrong?”

He tried to speak. He tried to disappear into the wall. It was not fair. They had been in the shower together in this bathroom having sex when he had been all alone in that other bathroom bleeding to death!

“Michael!” Jessica cried. “You’re bleeding!”

She pulled him off the wall and he fell sitting on the edge of the bed, his arm tightly locked across his eyes, his head down. “I’m all right,” he managed to get out.

“What happened?” she asked, upset, sitting beside him. Her fingers touched the side of his head, cool and soft. He was able to draw in a breath, clamp down on the tears. He let his arm down, lowered his head further. “Michael?” she said.

“It’s nothing. I slipped and bumped my head.” He tried to get up, not looking at her. “I’ll go find a bandage.”

She stopped him and examined his scalp gently. He shouldn’t have let her. “You’ve split open your head! We’ve got to get you a doctor!”

“No.” He turned toward her, and although he didn’t intend it to be so, a cold note entered his voice. “Don’t get me anything.”

She took back her hand, her fingers bloody. She swallowed. “I can’t let you go like this.”

“I’ll be all right.” He did not believe it. He did not understand why her eyes were moist. He stood. “Good-bye.”

She let him go, at least to the door. He had his hand on the knob when she said, “You forgot your yearbook.”

He came back for it. Her hands trembled as she handed it to him. Then she burst into sobs, grabbing her towel and burying her face in it. “You can’t go,” she moaned.

He sat on the bed and put his hands on her back as she bent over. “It’s not that bad, Jessie.”

“But you’re bleeding!”

“It’ll stop.” He hadn’t seen her this distressed since Maria had been hurt. She let go of the towel, looked at him with tears pouring over her cheeks.

“No, it won t stop."”

He was too hurt, too confused. He had no comfort left to give. “I’ve got to go.” He picked up his yearbook. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

He half expected her to grab his hand to stop him, to cry some more. Yet, suddenly, she stopped fussing and stared him in the eye. “You can go,” she said. “But you have to read it first.”

“What?”

“What I wrote.”

He opened the yearbook. He had not been passing it around. Few people had signed it so far: Sara, Clair, Bubba, Nick, Bill. Michael found Bill’s note before Jessica’s—something about getting together for a one-on-one game of basketball. Then he spotted Jessica’s small neat handwriting tucked in the corner of a page at the back. It was not a long note.

I love you, Michael.

Jessie

Michael sat down again. People were always writing things like this at the end of the year in people’s yearbooks. It meant nothing. “What does this mean?” he asked.