Secrecy (8 page)

“I think I spent more time at home than he does. But maybe I don’t remember exactly.”

Claudia was disappointed. She had wanted to be assured that, yes, that’s how all boys—all young men—were. She had hoped, too, that Cliff and Ted would form a bond; pictures of them going off together with fishing rods and a box lunch went floating through her imagination. But nothing of the sort had happened. It certainly wasn’t Cliff’s fault. In his quiet way he was the friendliest, the most approachable, of men.

Abruptly, she thought of something else and, frowning a little, wondered aloud: “It’s strange that Charlotte hasn’t come here lately. It must be three weeks now. I’ve asked her, but she always has an excuse. And I thought we were getting along just fine.”

“The poor kid’s all upset. Bill’s sick over it. It has nothing to do with you.”

Claudia shook her head. “People make so much trouble for themselves. That Elena—”

Someone was coming up the gravel walk. At the foot of the steps he stopped and, in a polite voice, introduced himself.

“Hugh Bowman. I don’t like to intrude, but
there’s a personal matter I need to talk about. It’s quite serious.”

“Come in. Sit down,” Cliff said at once.

“Thank you.” Mr. Bowman sat erectly, a rather formal, proper man whose words were therefore all the more astonishing. “It’s about your son, Ted.” And as Claudia started, “No, there’s been no accident, he’s not hurt. But he ought to be hurt. A good many other men in my position would take care of that.”

Claudia gasped. “What is it? What has he done?”

“He has behaved disgracefully to my daughter. Insultingly. It happened on the way back from the movies last night. I don’t care to go into details. She arrived home with her dress torn.” Bowman’s voice was quiet, but his face was flushed. “Fortunately, Joan’s all right. She had a handbag with metal trim. It cut his cheek.”

This morning at breakfast Ted had told them, making a joke of it, that he had walked right into a screen door.

Humiliated, as if she herself had been caught shoplifting or breaking china in a store, Claudia appealed with frightened eyes from one man to the other.

“I don’t understand.… Ted never …” Her voice broke.

Cliff got up immediately to stand beside her with his hand on her shoulder. “This is a terrible shock to my wife,” he began, when Bowman interrupted.

“I understand. Believe me, I didn’t come here to start any trouble, to go to the school authorities or
do anything. We, my wife and I, don’t want anything like that. This is awful for you. We only want to tell you so that you can take control of your son before something worse happens. That’s all.” He paused, not looking at Cliff and Claudia, but out into the trees. “I’m sure you’ll know what to do, Mr. Dawes. I’m just sorry about the whole thing.”

“Ted’s my son,” Claudia said, “not Cliff’s.”

“I know. The Daweses are well known in Kingsley.” Bowman stepped down from the porch, repeating, “I’m sorry to have upset you like this. But I’m sure you understand that I had to.”

“Of course,” Cliff said. He had both hands on Claudia’s trembling shoulders. “I’ll send him to your house to apologize first thing in the morning, or even tonight.”

“No, please don’t. I wouldn’t want Joan to go through that. The only thing you can do is teach him.…”

“Oh, I assure you I’ll teach him,” Cliff said grimly.

They watched Bowman go down the walk. They were both speechless. Then Cliff said, “He was remarkably decent about it. Not everyone would be that reasonable.”

She felt so ashamed before her husband. They were hardly married a year, and Cliff’s face had turned red in front of a stranger because of her son. What in God’s name had come over Ted?

“I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, beginning to cry. In ten minutes or less a world totters.

“Don’t,” Cliff said with his arm around her.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it. I’m not going to sleep without seeing Ted. I’m his father now and I’ll take care of things. Just try to relax.”

It was not very long before Ted came up the walk. There must have been some revealing expression on their faces or in their stance, because he stopped in surprise.

“What’s the matter? Has anything happened?”

“Plenty, it seems,” Cliff said.

Claudia had been about to speak first, but when Cliff began, it occurred to her that it was better that way; Cliff would act the father’s part and be the father that Ted had never had.

“We had a visit from Mr. Bowman. You were out last night with his daughter, Joan.”

“I know I was. What’s the beef?”

“The beef? I believe you can imagine what it was.”

“No,” said Ted. Nonchalant, with his sweater slung over one shoulder, he stood propped against a post. “No, I can’t.”

“Joan Bowman hit you. She must have had a reason. That’s quite a cut you have on your face.”

“She’s a little b—a nasty little cat. I didn’t do a thing to her.”

Claudia, going weak in the knees, had to sit down. What she could see of Cliff’s face in the dusk was cold and stern. She had never seen him like that.

“Don’t lie, Ted, the way you lied about the screen door. What happened?”

“Nothing. I swear it. This is a big fuss about nothing. You’ve got to believe me.” He was pleading.
“All right, here’s the truth. I tried a little kiss, that’s all. Okay, probably I shouldn’t have. But there’s nothing abnormal about that, is there, for Pete’s sake?” He was righteously indignant. “Another girl would have said either yes or no, and that would have been the end of it. This girl”—he shook his head—“this girl’s a creep. And that’s the whole truth.”

Cliff considered for a moment. “I hope so,” he said then. “It had better be the truth, Ted. We don’t want any more complaints like this. It’s not fair to your mother, and it’s not good for your reputation. So keep your hands to yourself. That’s all I have to say.”

Cliff turned about and went into the house. Claudia followed, carrying the coffee tray. Ted went straight upstairs. She had hoped that the two of them might shake hands, might end on a note of understanding. After all, the boy had probably intended nothing but some harmless fumbling; Ted would never be violent!

Cliff sat down at the kitchen table and poured a cup of coffee. He looked as he had sounded, grim.

“Don’t you believe him?” she asked, begging.

“You’re all unnerved,” he said. Then he smiled at her. “I believe him. Come sit down.”

No, she thought, smiling back, you’re saying this to comfort me. You don’t believe him.

And her heart was heavy.

“I
want to tell you something in strictest confidence,” Dad said seriously. “They had a bit of trouble with Ted recently. Some girl’s father went to the house to complain about him. He—did things, or tried to, and the girl cut his face.”

Charlotte felt a rush of blood into her neck. “What happened to him?” she asked.

“He was lucky. The people could have reported him, but they didn’t. Remember how I told you I had queer doubts about Ted? And secretly, Uncle Cliff did, too, although neither of us expected anything like this. I’ll tell you, the person I feel sorry for is Claudia, poor woman. Well, I don’t mean to frighten you. He’s no ax murderer, after all. Just don’t spend any time with him again. But I guess I don’t have to repeat that, do I?”

“No,” Charlotte said. “No.”

Her father had a quizzical expression, with his head tilted to one side, as if to examine her from
another angle. “Wouldn’t you be better off,” he asked, “if you talked to me about your feelings? Of course I know that you’re troubled about your mother and me, and I don’t want to pressure you, but sometimes it helps to talk things out.”

“I’m fine, I really am, Dad,” she said quickly.

Of course, he did
not
know what was troubling her. She was not even sure herself. Panic struck at the thought of what it might be. More than a month had passed, and now the second month was approaching. She kept returning to the calendar on which she marked the monthly date, as Elena had instructed her the very first time. Elena had also explained that at her age, the count might fluctuate.… It was incredible that a girl, who only a few weeks ago would have been sure of her answer to any question about sex, could now be in a state of ignorant confusion.

Mentally she went over that scene. Had he or hadn’t he? It was all different from the way they described it in books. And there was so much written about people who had to try for years; there was all that stuff about fertility clinics.… She knew nothing.

Panic had struck on each of the few times that Claudia had telephoned. Shuddering, she had seen it all again, the table, the chocolate on the plate, and the wine. Claudia was probably using the telephone at the desk across from that green sofa.… And she had trembled while refusing, so calmly, so politely, the invitations: “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to study for finals.”

Ever since Dad had told of Ted’s trouble, though, Claudia had not called again. Was there, could there be, any connection?

And shortly, too, after that conversation with Dad, she had begun to feel a sharp pain in her side. Was there, could there be, any connection?

She thought of going to the school nurse, and almost instantly thought not. You had to know well whom you could trust. You never knew about people. Even your own mother could fool you.

Yet she had to do something.

In midafternoon on the last day of school, as she started to walk toward the school bus, Charlotte’s feet turned her around. Without conscious plan or will her feet took her up the street toward the public bus. It was only after she had sat and the bus had left Kingsley behind it that she knew what she was doing.

Loudontown was the next stop. But it was too near. Next on the schedule was Arkville, nine miles farther on. There on one of the main streets she would find someone who could assure her that there was nothing to worry about. And she imagined the young woman, or perhaps an old man, no matter who, dismissing her lightly:
For goodness’ sake, there’s nothing at all the matter with you! Perfectly normal. The pain? A little muscle ache. Nothing. Forget it
.

Yes, that’s how it would be. A sudden calmness came over her. The bus rolled along the familiar road past farms, a church, and a gas station at an intersection. Kids were walking home from school. A
woman on the seat ahead was carrying a squirming baby. A man had a basket of oranges on his knees. It was all ordinary.

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered.

The man with the oranges turned to stare at her, so it must have been a loud whisper. And panic struck back.

In Arkville she got off at the bus station and walked down Main Street looking for a doctor’s office. There were shops, a department store, and banks with people hurrying in and out, a bustle of strangers among whom she now felt a fearful strangeness. As she was passing a medical office building, this fear overcame her. The building challenged her with its cold aloofness, and she was unable to open its door. It took all her strength to keep from running back to the bus station.

“I must,” she said, so kept on walking. And, rounding a corner into a quiet side street, came upon a frame house with a doctor’s shingle:
IMMEDIATE HEALTH CARE, WALK-IN FACILITY
. Two tubs filled with begonias stood beside the door. They looked friendly.

“I must,” she said again, and went in.

The doctor was perhaps old, or perhaps young, somewhat like Dad. Setting her schoolbag on the chair beside her, she sat down and answered his questions in as general a fashion as she possibly could, telling him nothing about Ted or even giving him her own right name.

“This pain I have,” she said, “was pretty bad yesterday. I’m thinking it might be appendicitis.”

“We’ll see. I’ll have to examine you.”

Well, she had come this far and would have to go on till the end. And she felt a kind of pride in her own control as she followed the nurse into the examining room. On the table with her eyes squeezed shut, she kept saying inwardly,
I’m not here. This isn’t me. I’m not here
, until it was over. She gave a specimen. She got dressed.
Scared. Must not give way. Must not
.

“The doctor will see you in a little while,” said the nurse. “Would you like a cold drink while you wait?”

It seemed to Charlotte as she accepted the drink that the woman had shown a special kindness of face and voice, an unusual kindness, as though she was actually interested in Charlotte, or as though she was curious about her. This was odd. Yet she was aware that lately she had often felt as if people were looking at her with an odd expression.

After a while she was summoned to the doctor. He, too, from the other side of his desk, was looking at her with a marked expression on his face. She understood at once that he was going to say something important. When, very quietly, he began, “Betsy—” she knew what he was going to say.

“Betsy, there are things that you haven’t told me. Perhaps you haven’t told anyone. But they can’t be hidden any longer. I think you know that. I think you must have suspected when you came here that you are pregnant.”

She lowered her head, receiving the blow. So the charms she had said, all the superstitious promises to
herself—
If it isn’t true, I will never complain about anything for the rest of my life, I will get straight A’s, I will not stuff on sweets, I will give half my allowance to charity
—had meant nothing. Stupid magic, they were, as she had known all along.

“I won’t ask you any questions. It’s not my business to do that. But I must speak to your parents.”

Proud of being able to withstand the blow, Charlotte looked up and spoke steadily. “I’d rather you didn’t. I’d rather tell them myself.”

He was studying her. “There are things to be discussed. How do I know you’ll tell them?”

“I’ll tell them. I have to.”

“You are very young. I don’t want you to do anything foolish to yourself.”

What did he mean? A secret abortion? Suicide?

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

“But I don’t know you, Betsy.” He smiled. “Would you accept a promise from a stranger?”