Shelter Me (16 page)

"Thanks," I said. "I can't remember, honestly. So many people talked to me." That was a lie. I distinctly remembered that he hadn't. In fact, the day it was announced in church, he conspicuously avoided talking to me all morning.

"Well," he said, getting to his feet. "I've got to head back. You need a ride?"

I shook my head. "Mark's taking me home."

"Okay, well, see you tomorrow. Chin up."

I raised my head a little, smiling at him as he walked away.

As he disappeared down the hill into the parking lot, it hit me like a knife in my chest. Twisting.
 

No. Stop. You can't.

But I could. I could and I did.

I'd been running from it for years, ever since my mom first told me he was off-limits. We were just kids at the time. It was before my sister Mary's little indiscretion, but still, already, I had a
reputation
.
 

"He's a nice boy," my mother had said. "Don't you ruin him."

She said it so casually, not like the condemnation that it was. I couldn't understand how I was supposed to "ruin" someone. Would he be tainted by mere association? Did I ruin everything I touched, like some sadder real-world version of King Midas?
 

Back on those days, all I'd wanted was to be his friend. I'd stuffed the desire down deep since the day my mother said that, and apparently, despite being starved of any light or attention, it had grown into something much more.

Jacob was everything I wanted. If it were he and I engaged now, instead of me and Mark, I wouldn't have to feel guilty about how I dressed. When we had dinner together, I wouldn't get that prickling on the back of my neck. I would feel happy and comfortable. I would be free.

As stupidly simple as this was, it was like a revelation to me. I'd given up the idea of just being
happy
so long ago. I'd just been ignoring the butterflies that flittered pleasantly in my stomach whenever Jacob smiled at me. I conveniently forgot about how I spent most of my week looking forward to Sunday, and not because of the sermons.
 

I felt drawn to him. It was a powerful pull, and I couldn't believe how long I'd been suppressing it. I wanted to run after him as he drove away. I wanted to shout out loud that I loved him, and I didn't care who heard.

But that was silly. It was downright stupid. I was engaged to Mark and he was going to marry me and that was that. My stupid schoolgirl crush on Jacob didn't mean anything. It certainly didn't justify me doing anything crazy that could jeopardize my future. After all, Mark was an educated man with a future in the ministry. What did Jacob have? A couple half-baked dreams about owning a bike shop? Running a small business wasn't exactly easy. He'd probably go broke within a few years.

Ugh. When did I start sounding exactly like my mother?

***

I was at Mark's house, chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Sometimes I felt like more a hired cook than his fiancée, but I suppressed the uncharitable thought and kept at work.

Suddenly, he spoke.

"You've been talking to Jacob a lot lately." The statement was innocuous, and his tone wasn't particularly expressive. But I still felt a chill run up my spine. Someone must have said something to him. Anyone passing by the window might have noticed me and Jacob sitting together.

"No more than usual," I said, digging the paring knife into a tomato. "His sister's having a rough time. He wanted to talk to somebody about it."

"He knows he can always come to me, right?" Mark was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes.

I shrugged.

"You're engaged to me now." Mark's knife was flying, leaving piles of carrot slices behind at record speed. "Don't you think it looks a little strange to be talking to him for an hour after the service?"

"We've known each other for a long time," I said. "It would look weirder if we didn't talk."

Mark took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. "Trust me when I say this, Mari. People are going to think something's going on. They might not say it, but they're going to think it." He laid down his knife. "Especially with your reputation."

It was my turn to take a deep breath. "I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"Marissa, don't play dumb with me."

He sounded so harsh that I felt tears gathering in my eyes, much to my humiliation. "I'm not playing dumb," I said, willing my voice to keep steady. "I never did anything wrong." I was barely speaking above a whisper, inwardly cursing my inability to stand up to him.

"Everybody's done something wrong," he said, smiling kindly. "Look, I don't want to make you feel guilty. I don't care why people think you're a wild child. But knowing that, you have to conduct yourself differently. I just can't have people going around, talking about how my fiancée has a crush on somebody else."

I was gripping the knife so hard that my knuckles turned white. "He's my friend," I said.

"I know that," he said, smiling, laying his hand on my back. "Please don't be upset. I trust you, Marissa, I really do. But a lot of these people, they're from a different generation. Boys and girls just weren't friends back then. Their experience is going to color how they see you interacting with Jacob. You have to be conscious of appearances."

I swallowed with difficulty, setting the knife down. "Excuse me." Briskly, with as much dignity, as I could muster, I walked to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Then, I started to cry.

When I'd sat there sobbing for who-knows-how-long, I half-expected to hear him tap on the door. But he never did. I finally went to the sink and rinsed my face, composing myself as best I could before I went to meet him in the dining room. He was sitting calmly at the table, eating his meal. My plate had been set for me. I sat down and began to eat, mechanically.
 

"I don't think this roast is quite as good as the last one," said Mark, after a while. He took a sip of his wine. I wasn't touching my own glass. "I'm going to go back to the other butcher. It's more expensive, but I think it's worth it. Don't you?"

The meat tasted the same to me. I chewed silently, shrugging.

"Marissa," he said, in a tone that made my jaw clench. "When you're my wife, you can't throw a tantrum just because I asked you to do something you don't like. That's what little girls do."
 

This time, I couldn't hold back the tears. I sat there, still silent, my fists clenched in my lap. The tears spilled down my face and splashed on my plate. I wanted to scream, but my throat was drier than a desert.

His eyes were like flint. "Grown up women don't cry about these kinds of things. They do anything it takes to please their husbands."

I said nothing.

"You're still dressing like you're 'of this world,' Mari," he went on, softly. It was the same tone he'd used when he was begging me to
just let him see me
. I shuddered. "We're supposed to be 'in this world, but not of it,' remember?"

"There's nothing wrong with the way I dress!" I blurted out, my voice thick with crying. "I asked..."

"Who? Jacob?" Mark let out a harsh little bark of laughter. "You would wear a bikini to church and he'd tell you it was perfectly modest. He just wants to see as much of you as he can. He knows he'll never have you like I do. Your body is a sight for only me to enjoy, Mari. It's a beautiful gift just between the two of us. If you show it off to other people, you're just tarnishing that gift."

"I thought you didn't want me to 'make you stumble,'" I retorted. My eyes were still swimming with tears so that I could hardly see.

"There's that, too," said Mark, getting up and coming over to stand beside my chair. I felt bile rise in my throat. "But I think we've crossed that bridge already, haven't we?"

I shook my head.
 

"But we have, Mari," he said, crouching down so that he was looking up at me as he spoke. "Haven't we? Do you remember what happened last week?"

Hugging my arms around myself, I managed to speak. "I didn't like that."

"Sure you did." Mark smiled, convincingly. "Isn't it nice to be appreciated? Don't you like being desired? Didn't I make you feel beautiful?"

I couldn't possibly respond to that.

"You
are
beautiful," he went on. "You're so beautiful it makes me forget everything else. I can't help it. I just can't help myself when I'm around you, Mari."

The clock was ticking deafeningly in the background. I knew what came next.

"Mari. Let me see you again. Please."

I kept my arms tight around my chest, shaking my head.

"Don't be like that." He was holding something - his camera, I realized. It must have been under the table the whole time. He'd been planning this. "I'll take pictures this time. That way I can look at you whenever I want. I won't have to ask you ever again. Please, Mari. I can't...I can't wait any more."

"It's just a few months until the wedding," I managed to whisper.

"Exactly," he said. "So what difference does it make? I'm going to need something to keep me strong when I'm away from you."

With a sudden, violent movement, I tore my shirt off over my head, throwing it down on the table where it knocked over my wine glass. Mark didn't even seem to notice, his eyes glued to the viewing screen as he lifted it up. I heard the shutter noise sound again, and again.

"Smile for me," he said. I didn't.

"Your bra," he said.
 

"Fine!" I heard myself shout, unhooking it with clumsy fingers and throwing it down on the ground. His breathing grew faster. The shutter clicked again and again.
 

"Stand up."

There was no point in refusing him. I got up on my feet, standing over him, shaking.

"Your jeans," he said, breathless. "Please, Mari."

I unbuttoned and unzipped, stepping out of the two-sizes-too-big utility denims I'd picked up in hopes of making him happy.
 

"So beautiful," he was whispering. "Oh, Mari. I can't wait for our wedding night."

My eyes strayed to his lap. I couldn't help myself. I had to know. And sure enough, as if there was any doubt, he was hard under his pants. I was nearly naked in his dining room and he was hard, taking pictures of me, for...for what? Would he use them later? Would he masturbate to pictures of me?

I felt sick to my stomach.

There was a part of me that wished he'd just touched me, seduced me, like any man might. If he'd just given in to his urges, if we'd made love, maybe I would feel bad about it and maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I'd feel used. But I wouldn't feel like this. That, I knew.

I realized abruptly that the sick, churning feeling in my stomach wasn't going away. Running to the bathroom, I slammed the door and fell down on my knees in front of the toilet just in time. What little I'd eaten of my dinner came back up. After I was done, I stayed there for much longer than necessarily, quietly crying on the floor. I realized I'd have to walk back out there like this, in just my panties, and the idea was humiliating and horrifying. But what choice did I have?

I rinsed my mouth and went back to the dining room. Mark was sitting in his chair, fully composed, like nothing had happened. There was a big red stain on the tablecloth, but my empty wine glass was sitting upright again. He'd folded up my clothes neatly on the seat of my chair. I dressed quickly and left without another word.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jacob

The Sunday service had just ended, and Mrs. Linden was going on about a "youth get-together" she was having at her house. Apparently, there was going to be not only spaghetti and cake, and ice cream as well, and she was sure I would enjoy it.

"I hope you'll come," she said. "You and, you know, that girl you're seeing."

"That...I'm sorry?" My heart started pounding and my mouth went dry, for no particular reason at all.

"You know, that little blonde girl. The one who's always so cheerful. Anyway - I have to run - I'll see you on Thursday, right?"

"Sure," I said, absently.
 

So she thought I was dating Lily. Okay, that wasn't an outrageous assumption. We'd started talking a lot after church, and at youth group meetings, and whenever I overheard snatches of her conversations with other people, it was always "Jacob this" and "Jacob that..."

Oh, man.

I was going to have to do something about this.

Really, there were two options. I could back off, which I was pretty sure would break my mom's heart - not to mention Lily's. Or, I could make it official.

Lily might have been a little...intense, but she was a sweet girl. So nice, so sweet, always so happy about everything that happened. She was like a breath of fresh air.

I'd be crazy to let her go.

On paper, at least.

I shook my head. Was I really, seriously considering giving up on Lily just because I was still harboring a horrifically inappropriate crush on Marissa? A woman who was about to be married to my youth group leader? What on earth was wrong with me?

Clearly, I was losing my mind. There was only one clear choice in this matter, and it was currently staring me in the face.

Quite literally. Lily had just walked up to me, and was staring at me like I'd sprouted a second head.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"No, no, not at all," I said, quickly. "Listen, do you have a minute to talk about something?"

"Of course!" She smiled, bouncing up on the balls of her feet. "Shoot!"

"I'd like to go somewhere more - quiet," I said, glancing around the room."

"Bench by the tree?" she suggested.

"Sure, let's go."

She outpaced me to our destination, running up to the old, wood-hewn bench and standing there waving until I caught up.

"Okay," she said, sitting down. "Now, what do you want to talk about?"

"Well," I said, taking a deep breath. "It's funny, I was just talking to Mrs. Linden."

Her nose wrinkled a little. "I don't know if I like where this is going, so far."

I chuckled. "Okay, hang on. I promise it gets better. I was talking to her, and I realized something. She thinks that you and I are...you know, a couple."