The Returning (15 page)

The crowds were down today, as was usual for a Tuesday, or what was known in the trade as the midweek slump. Between the boredom and the heat, Rebekah was certain that if she shut her eyes for even a second, she’d be asleep. The small fan on the floor of the booth was turned up high, but it didn’t shoot out enough air to either keep her cool or keep her awake.

Rebekah rubbed her temples and moaned in frustration, then reached for the can of Coke one of the carnival hands had just dropped off at the booth. Gary, she knew, had a thing for her, though he was a dozen years older and, in the opinion of everyone at the park, uglier than sin. His mountainous nose sprung up sharply from the valley of his lipless face, and dark horn-rimmed glasses distorted his small blinking eyes like mirrors in a fun house. The girls who worked at the park laughed and called him Gargoyle when they thought he couldn’t hear them, though sometimes he did.

But that didn’t discourage Gary from dropping off cans of soda for Rebekah from time to time. He carried his offerings in a hand slick with grease so that Rebekah had to wipe the can with whatever paper napkin or rag she could find before opening it. She accepted the sodas because they were free, and because she knew that he knew she wouldn’t be caught dead with somebody like him. Besides, she was David Morgan’s girl. Everyone at the park knew that.

She took a long, refreshing sip of the drink and then held the can to her forehead to let the cool of the aluminum seep into her skin. She thought of Gary’s greasy hand, but she was too hot to care. When she settled the Coke back on the ledge, she realized with a start that someone was standing at the booth.

“Twenty tickets,” the girl said, sliding a twenty-dollar bill under the glass.

Rebekah silently counted out the tickets, then shoved them under the glass without lifting her eyes or saying a word. She knew very well what Jessica Faulkner looked like without having to look. She hated the sight of her. Hated the startling beauty that made the girl stand out like a Hollywood icon right here in Backwater Heights.

Jessica accepted the tickets with an equally silent disdain and wandered off, followed by three girls Rebekah thought of as the parasites.

As she watched them blend in with the crowd, another familiar face appeared beyond the glass. This face was less attractive, with close-set eyes and a too-large mouth, framed by flyaway hair the color of winter wheat. Lena Barrett sometimes threatened to grow dreadlocks. Rebekah thought it would suit her.

“Hey, girl,” Lena said.

“Hi, Lena. I was just thinking about you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Rebekah sniffed. “Okay, whatever.” Lena was her best friend, but sometimes she was so strange it was annoying. “Listen, I just sold some tickets to Jessica Faulkner and her minions.”

“Yeah, I know that too. That’s why I’m here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I followed her over here from the arcade. She’s been there for the past hour, playing pinball.”

“So?”

“So you know that’s where David’s working today. At least he was working when he wasn’t too distracted by other things.”

Rebekah felt something cold crawl just beneath her skin. “So what are you saying, Lena?”

“I’m saying, I think we need to be proactive here. Know what I mean?”

“Not really, no.”

“Beka, listen. You want to keep David, don’t you?”

“You think he likes Jessica?”

“Does he like Jessica? Think about it, Beka. I mean, what guy
doesn’t
like Jessica? The problem is, does
she
like
him
?”

Before Rebekah could answer, a man came up behind Lena and asked, “You buying tickets?”

Lena looked startled a moment, then shook her head. “Oh, sorry, mister. No. You go ahead.”

“How many?” Rebekah asked.

“Give me forty, will you?”

Rebekah noticed her fingers trembling as she counted out the tickets. She slid them under the glass, along with the man’s change.

“It’s a rip-off, you know,” the man said, “a dollar a ticket.”

“I didn’t set the price, sir.”

“I got three kids. . . .” He waved a hand at the three heads bobbing around him at waist level. “I can drop a hundred bucks in two hours easy around here. Come on, kids, let’s go.”

Lena reclaimed her spot at the window. “So take the brats swimming,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “It doesn’t cost a nickel, and maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll drown.”

“Good grief, Lena,” Rebekah said. “You’re full of good advice.”

“In fact I am, Beka. And I’m telling you, you better do something about little Miss I-get-whoever-I-want before she goes in for the kill.”

“You think she wants David?”

“I know she wants David.”

“What have you been doing—spying on them the past hour?”

“You bet I have.”

“What for?”

“What for? I thought we were friends. I’d expect you to do the same with Jim, if you thought he was cheating on me.”

“I never said David was cheating on me.”

“Not yet. But as your friend, I’m telling you to nip this thing in the bud.”

“And what exactly do you expect me to do?”

“I know the perfect hands-off spell.”

Rebekah sighed and bought some time by taking a long sip of Coke. “I did a beauty spell, Lena, but I’m not sure it did any good.”

“You must have done it wrong.”

“You said there was no right or wrong way to do it.”

“There isn’t really, but—listen, Beka, you have a lot to learn. You’re just lucky Aunt Jo and I are willing to teach you. Meanwhile, I’ll show you what we can do by getting rid of Jessica.”

“Getting rid of her? What do you mean by that? I don’t want to hurt anybody. And anyway, do no harm, remember?”

“We’re not going to hurt anybody. We’re just going to make her quietly go away.”

Rebekah shook her head. “I don’t know, Lena.”

“You want to keep David, don’t you?”

“Of course!”

“Then harness your power, girl.”

Rebekah sighed again. “It just seems like I should be able to keep him without any hocus-pocus.”

“Hocus-pocus? Beka! Listen, this isn’t hocus-pocus, it’s the real thing. It’s using the power you were born with, the power you have a right to use.”

“I’ll think about it. But, listen, don’t do anything without me.”

“I won’t.”

“Shouldn’t you be at work or something?”

“I’m off today.” She shrugged. “But I’ll tell you, it’s still only June and I’m already tired of selling popcorn and Raisinets to a bunch of fat slobs at the movie theater.”

“Yeah, well, it’s right up there with selling tickets here.”

“You know, Beka, it’s too bad we’re not like Jessica. She doesn’t have to work summers, you know. Her parents are divorced, but still, her dad is some bigwig real-estate developer or something. The guy’s like filthy rich. I’ve heard she has a trust fund and everything.”

“Yeah? Well, good for her.”

“I think she needs to be knocked down a notch or two.”

Rebekah wanted to get off the subject of Jessica. “Listen, Lena,” she said, “I’m meeting David in half an hour at the pavilion for break. I’ll ask him if he wants to meet out behind the church tonight. What do you think? You and Jim up for it?”

“Up for it? I’d say we’re long overdue. And as fate would have it, Mom restocked just yesterday. You should see the place. We could start our own drive-through bar selling gin and tonics out the kitchen window. She’ll never miss a couple of bottles.”

“Okay. What do you say—midnight, then?”

“I’d say you’re on.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO

John awakened with a start
. He stared up at the ceiling in the darkened room, trying to clear his head of fragmented dreams. He wondered what had pulled him up out of a heavy sleep. Rolling on his side, he glanced at the glowing face of the clock. Almost three-thirty.

He shut his eyes again, then opened them quickly as a heavy thud sounded downstairs. He shot from the bed and rushed down the narrow staircase, his mind and heart racing. At the bottom he paused a moment, listening, wondering which way to go, which of his children needed him.

In another moment Andrea was there beside him. “Beka,” she whispered.

They moved as one through the front room and into the kitchen, where John pushed open the bedroom door and switched on the light. The bed was empty, the covers thrown back to the footboard. Phoebe had already made her nightly trek, abandoning this room to her older sister, who was slumped against the frame of the open window, half in, half out.

“Beka!” Andrea cried. “What’s the matter with you?”

Rebekah managed to swing the second foot inside. She steadied herself, took one tentative step toward the bed, swayed, and crumpled to the floor. John rushed to her side and, gently gathering her up in his arms, cradled her head in his lap. His stomach recoiled at the sick, sodden smell of alcohol. For an awful moment he couldn’t breathe. In his daughter’s ashen face, he saw at once his own past and Rebekah’s future, a future he didn’t like and couldn’t bear to imagine. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he felt a deep loathing for himself, for the weakness of flesh that was his legacy.

Andrea knelt beside him and touched their daughter’s face, as though searching for fever. “She’s sick, John. We’ve got to get her to a doctor.”

John shook his head. “She’s not sick, Andrea. She’s drunk.”

“Drunk?” Andrea repeated the word dully, as though it were foreign to her.

John nodded. He scooped Rebekah up in his arms and lifted her onto the bed. Tenderly, as though she were a newborn, he straightened her legs, took off her shoes, and pulled the sheet up over her. “She’ll have to sleep it off,” he said.

Andrea’s eyes were wide, her face pale. “Will she be all right?”

Do you mean
, John wondered,
in the morning or in the years to come?
“She probably won’t feel very good when she wakes up.”

He watched his wife’s gaze travel from their daughter’s face to his. If she accused him, said this was his fault, he would readily agree. But when she spoke, her voice was quiet, almost sorrowful.

“She’s never done anything like this before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Don’t you think I’d know if she came home drunk?”

Would she? John’s own parents hadn’t known when he and Jared stumbled into the cottage, a couple of teens sneaking home after a night of boozing. Hadn’t they climbed in through this very window?

John turned to the window, pulled down the screen that Rebekah had opened to climb through. “She’s been sneaking out at night for a while now.”

When he turned back, he wondered for a moment at the tears in his wife’s eyes, how they pooled there without spilling over. Her eyes, magnified, glimmering, were wandering stars in a dark sky. Andrea Sheldon looked hopelessly lost.

“John,” she whispered, “what are we going to do?”

He tried to sound calm. “For now, we’re going to go back to bed. We’ll deal with this in the morning. Don’t worry, Andrea. Everything’s going to be all right.”

They climbed back up to the garret room and stretched out on the parallel beds. “Try to get some sleep, Andrea,” he said softly.

“But, John . . .”

“What?”

“She’s only sixteen years old.”

“I know.”

“You think she’s been drinking for a while?”

John took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s what kids do.”

“How could I not have known?”

“You didn’t have a clue?”

“None.”

“You trusted her.”

“Yes. I just never thought . . .”

The room fell quiet. Then John said, “Just because you were never a drinker, Andrea, doesn’t mean your daughter won’t drink.”
She is, after all, my daughter too
, he thought.

“All of a sudden I feel like I don’t know who she is, like she’s somebody else’s child,” Andrea went on.

“Kids like to push their limits. That’s the way it is.”

“Billy never did.”

“Billy’s different. I mean, he never faced the kind of peer pressure Beka must be facing.”

“Well, we’ve got to put a stop to it.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to lose her, John.”

“We’re not going to lose her, Andrea. Now get some sleep. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

In a little while he heard her breathing take on the slow and gentle rhythm of sleep. He tucked his hands under his head and, listening for some kind of assurance that never came, finally let go just enough to sink into troubled dreams.