A Certain Slant of Light (37 page)

  
The bus filled the street with a diesel hiss. James stepped in
with me long enough to drop in two coins but then lowered him
self to the curb and handed me the book bag.

  
"I'll see you in the morning," I said.

  
"See you in the morning." He smiled as the door closed. We
watched each other as I moved to a seat by an open window.
Several passengers were climbing out the back door, so I had time
to lean out and reach down to touch his outstretched hand. James
turned as if he heard someone calling. The police car that had
passed us earlier pulled up to the curb.

  
James let go of my fingers. "Go home now."

  
Two police officers approached James as the back door of the
bus flapped shut.

  
"William Blake?"

  
James gave me one last reassuring wave and told them, "Yes."

  
I was still leaning out the window when I heard one officer
say, "You're under arrest for accessory to rape." I called to them,
but my cries were covered by the roar of the bus as it pulled away
from the curb. The officers turned James's hands behind him and
chained his wrists. The bus driver warned me to sit down. Mitch's
car thumped up on the curb and he jumped out. I rushed to the
back doors, but they wouldn't open. The wail of an infant in the
back of the bus made my fists fly to the glass. I pleaded for the bus to stop, pulled on the cord until the bell quit. I struggled to
the front door and stood crazed on the step, though the driver told me that she could open the door only at a designated bus stop.

  
"It's an emergency!" said the elderly man in the front row. I
tried to look back to see what was happening to James, but my
tears made the view through the windowed door a blur of silver.

  
Finally, two blocks north, the doors opened and I ran, my bag
dragging at me so hard I dropped it on the sidewalk. By the time
I staggered to the bus bench, there was no trace of James, Mitch,
or the police.

Fourteen

I WAS STARING, seeing nothing out the bus window, riding north
again. And I felt nothing until I spotted the maroon car sitting alone in the school parking lot. I got off the bus and walked
across the street, scared but still too stunned to guess what she
might do or say.

  
"Mom?" I leaned in the passenger window and saw that
Cathy had been crying.

  
She jerked at the sound of my voice and looked over as if I were an apparition. "Where were you?"

  
I opened the door and sat with my book bag in my lap. "I
went to the park to study."

  
"Why didn't you tell me about the half day?" She still seemed
frightened rather than angry.

  
"I forgot." I put on my seat belt, but Cathy didn't start the en
gine.

  
Her hands were shaking as she put her cell phone back intoj
her purse. "Why didn't you call me?"

  
"I did," I lied. "I couldn't get through."

  
She sniffed and looked at herself in the rearview mirror as
she put on her own seat belt.

  
"I'm sorry I upset you," I said. I was so weary I didn't think I
could say another word. I wanted to fall asleep and wake up with
James free, as if it were this morning again.

  
"It's all right," said Cathy, and I could tell I wasn't the sole
reason for her red eyes. I just didn't have the energy to care what
was wrong.

  
Cathy reached to turn the key in the ignition and stopped,
staring at my knees. "Where are your pantyhose?"

  
I moved my bag to cover my legs and lied again, feeling that it
would be too conspicuous to say that I had decided to stop wear
ing them. "They tore," I told her. "I had to throw them away."

  
She frowned but said no more about it. I was already knotted
with worry for James, and now Cathy's abnormal lack of interest
in my bad behavior was making it worse.

  
I felt sick when we walked into the house, teetering in the
kitchen doorway. I swallowed the acid back and Cathy caught my
elbow hard, like a hunter's trap. I told her I just needed to rest,
but she ran me a bath and I didn't protest. She left me alone and went to cook dinner. I sat naked and shivering, though the room
was clouded in warmth. I imagined James at home with Mitch,
watching television, eating pizza, being all right. I tried to con
vince myself that Mitch had called the police just to scare Billy
and teach him a lesson. But I knew that something else was
wrong. The phone rang while I was still sitting in the tub, and
my heart skipped a beat. Cathy didn't come to the bathroom door,
though; it wasn't James. I pictured him as the soldier, high in a
tree, and wondered what forgiveness felt like. James had looked
into the face of his nightmare and God had pardoned him. I saw
the peace on his face when he came back. But it wouldn't be so
easy for me.

  
I jumped as a sponge floating on the surface of the water
bobbed against my arm. I finally dressed myself and came out into the dining room, where the table was set for two. Cathy
brought us a dinner of chicken soup, toasted cheese sandwiches,
and chopped apple salad. Her face looked pinched and ashen. I sat
beside her and put my napkin in my lap, but the smell of food
made me feel ill again. When she bowed her head in prayer, I
closed my eyes and breathed like a seasick hostage.

  
"God, please bless this meal. Amen." Cathy opened her eyes
and dutifully served the soup.

  
"Where's Dad?" The silence would have been a blessing normally, but tonight it seemed dangerous.

  
"Working," was all she'd say.

  
I sipped my water and tried to eat a bite of apple salad, but it made my stomach roll in on itself.

  
Cathy gave a sigh and put down her spoon. "Is there anything
you want to tell me?" she asked.

  
My pulse skipped again—a missing beat, like a hole in my heart. "What do you mean?"

  
"When you were little, you used to tell me everything." She
sounded betrayed.

  
"Not everything," I said.

  
"Everything important."

  
"What shall I tell you about?" I asked. The last thing I
wanted was to be forced to speak, but it was the only thing Cathy
wanted, and her will yanked at me like a leash. I slumped for
ward on my elbows.

  
"Are you involved with someone at school?" she asked me.

  
The question stung me like a slap. "Involved in what way?"

  
"Intimately," said Cathy, too embarrassed to look me in the
eye.

  
"I've never even been out on a date," I said. "You know that."

  
"Do not get smart with me."

  
I waited until she spoke again.

  
"There's somebody at school you're interested in, who's inter
ested in you. Someone you spend time with, isn't that true?"

  
"Since he doesn't go to our church, you can understand why I
didn't tell you about him."

  
Now she looked at me, her face a white shale that flooded pink. She slapped her napkin into the table. "Who is it?" She
seemed on the verge of calling the police.

  
"I didn't mean that," I said.

  
"Don't you dare go back to acting like you did before."

  
"Before what?"

  
"Before Daddy took away your camera."

  
Dan had gotten rid of his daughter's camera—the one that
she had used to take the large, crisp pictures I had found. But
Jenny had managed to hide the other camera, the one that took
instant pictures. The one that did not require a laboratory to de
velop her images.

  
Cathy's fists were shaking. "You were always questioning
everything, keeping secrets." She stopped to take an unsteady sip
of water, but it didn't help. "I thought we were past that."

  
I didn't want to cause more trouble than I already had and
have her shorten my chain. "I apologize for being smart with
you," I said. "I don't feel well."

  
She composed herself, folding her napkin and putting it back
in her lap before looking into my eyes.

  
"So, what do you have to tell me?"

  
"There is someone I'm interested in at school," I said. "And he's interested in me, but it's still new and it's private."

  
"Private." She repeated the word as if she was about to go
look it up in the dictionary and challenge my Scrabble play.
"What's his name?"

  
I didn't want to bring James into this peculiar madness. "I'd
rather not say."

  
Her lips went tight as she pushed her chair back and stood up.
"Get out."

  
I was so surprised I just stared.

  
"Go to your room!"

I hovered in my bedroom doorway, my heart still pounding, until
I heard the kitchen sink water running, then I tiptoed to the
study and called James. His line was busy. I stood there, listening
to the pulsing buzz, staring at the bookshelves and remembering,
without meaning to, that Dan had been squirreling away special things into his briefcase. I saw a place where a little plaque had
balanced on a tiny stand that was now empty.