by John Coyne
Fifteen
Valerie knew she'd be sorry. As she cut across the students' parking lot, scuttling from car to car like a fugitive, she kept glancing over her shoulder, searching for Borgus and Simpson. She wasn't worried about Scott. He wouldn't really be mad if she drove the MGB back to Ballycastle. It was Borgus and Simpson who would get even with her. The MGB top was down, and she opened the driver's door and slid down out of sight in the leather seat. Her heart was beating fast from racing to the car and she was out of breath. For a few minutes she sat still, trying to gain control, to ease her panic. She had time, forty minutes before Borgus and Simpson got out of last period. By that time she would have Scott's car back at Ballycastle. She was warm, sweating from nervousness, and she leaned forward, struggling to remove her leather vest. Finally it was off, and she tossed it into the space behind the driver's seat. Feeling freer now, she crouched down into the small space between the steering wheel and the floor, searching for the ignition wires. There they were. Crossing them beneath the dashboard, she pressed the clutch. The engine caught and Valerie eased back up into the driver's seat, grinning at her own success. Nick Borgus was sitting on the hood of the car, his face inches away as he peered over the windshield at her. In the rear mirror, she caught a glimpse of Simpson circling behind her. "Hey, Dunn, we're driving the preppie's car home." "Get off the hood!" she shouted and gunned the gas pedal. The MGB jumped from the parking space and Nick reached out, grabbed her long hair and jerked her head. Valerie hit the brake and the car lurched to a stop, tumbling Borgus off the hood. Angrily, he and Simpson moved in. Simpson opened the passenger door and dropped down beside her, his long legs filling up the small space. Nick Borgus pulled open the driver's door. "Get over," he ordered, squeezing Valerie into the narrow space between the two bucket seats. "Spread your legs, Dunn, so I can reach the gear shift." "Spread them wide," Simpson added, grinning. "Scott told me to take his car home," Valerie said quickly. She was afraid now, trapped between them as the MGB spun out of the parking lot. "Sure he did. That's why you had to hot-wire his car." Borgus was grinning. "Don't give me that bullshit." He leaned forward and said to Simpson, "It's a good thing we came along, hunh, Hank? Girls out stealing cars; you just can't trust anybody anymore." "Nick, where are you going? Where are you taking me?" "Where would you like to go?" Simpson tickled her under the chin. Valerie grabbed his fingers, bent them back. "Goddamnit!" He dug his elbow into Valerie as if she were a lineman and she doubled over, hitting Borgus's elbow with her own. His arm jerked on the steering wheel and the car swerved sharply on the neighborhood side street, almost hitting a ten-year-old on a bicycle. "What the fuck, Dunn?" Borgus shouted, pulling the tiny car out of a spin. "Tell your creepy friend to keep his hands off me." "Why, you getting all you need from that preppie boyfriend of yours?" Simpson laughed. "Nick," Valerie implored, "tell him to stop." "What kind of wang does that duke have?" Simpson went on. "Hey, Hank, shut your mouth," Borgus ordered. "Shut your own fuckin' mouth." Nick reached across and hit Simpson on the leg, digging his knuckles into the flesh. Hank flinched and grunted in pain, then swung back at Borgus. "Stop it. Stop it!" Valerie screamed, caught in the middle. They were beyond the town limits of Flat Rock, out on the open country road. The car swerved, and Valerie screamed again. Nick Borgus slowed down then, brought the car under control, but still kept speeding. "Where are we going?" Valerie asked. She had begun to cry. "We're taking your boyfriend's car home, Val. What do you think we're doing?" Borgus grinned up at her, catching part of her reflection in the rear-view mirror. "I thought we were going to find out if Dunn's got a cherry," Simpson said, sounding alarmed. "Shut your fuckin' mouth a minute, will you?" Borgus reached across Valerie and punched Simpson hard on the shoulder. Valerie stared straight ahead. Her breath had caught in her throat and lodged there. She knew now that it wasn't Scott's car that they wanted. It was her.
"Are you going to marry him?" Barbara had just begun to cut the potroast and she stopped in mid-slice, the knife still buried in the meat. She was giving Scott an early dinner so he could get to bed. He was still shaky from his accident in the hall at school. "What on earth made you say something like that?" Scott shrugged. "I don't know. He's been hanging around the house." "Derek has not been hanging around this house!" Angrily Barbara sawed away at the roast, then stalked off to the cupboard for a platter. "That's the silliest notion I've heard." She arranged the meat on its dish, grabbed a serving fork and went back to the table. Scott had already begun to eat his mashed potatoes, using a spoon. "Would you have the good manners to wait for your mother? And please use a fork." Scott dropped the big spoon on the table. Barbara took one breath and held it, determined to say nothing more. He was pushing her, and she refused to be drawn into a fight. "He likes you." Scott picked up his fork, but did not look up from his plate. "Not that I care. I mean, it's your life." He went back to picking at his food. "It's your life, too, Scott," she said quietly, crying to make him feel how important to her he was. "We're a family, or have you forgotten?" He didn't answer. He didn't look at her. Something had happened to him that day, she could tell. Something besides the accident in the hall. "I haven't forgotten," he said meekly. "But you think I have?" It took a moment before he nodded yes. "Oh, Scott, why would you say that?" Now she was hurt. He shrugged, keeping his eyes down. "Scott, please look at me." She had set down her knife and fork and was leaning across the table, bending her head, trying to catch his eye. "Do you really think I'm going to leave you? Run off with some man? Scott, I'm your mother. I'm responsible for you." "I could go back to Spencertown and live there. I mean, I probably could stay there in the summer. Or go to camp. This year I could be a counselor." "Scott, what is this?" Barbara shoved back her chair and went to her son, slid in beside him on the window seat. She wrapped her arm around him and hugged him. He had pressed both heels of his hands against his eyes, but the tears washed down his face anyway, falling to his mashed potatoes. My God, what has happened to him? she wondered. Something serious had to have gone wrong at school; there could be no other reason for his being so upset. "Scotty, now listen to me." Barbara pulled his hands away from his face and made him sit back. "Here." She took his napkin and wiped his cheeks. "Do you feel okay? Do you have a headache?" He shook his head, still choking on his sobs. "Now what's gotten into you? Why are you so upset?" "Conor says you and Mr. Brennan make out in his office." "Make out!" The wind went out of her. "Scotty, I told you not to have anything more to do with that man," she went on defensively and returned to her seat. "I told you to keep away from him." The anger in her voice frightened Scott and he sat back in the window seat, as if to get out of her range. Then he shrugged and said again, as if it were a scab he couldn't resist picking at, "Conor said you and Mr. Brennan were necking in his office today." "Oh, Godl" The door had been closed, she knew. It was impossible for Conor to have seen them. She could feel again the touch of Derek's palm on her breast, feel his lips against her ear. "Scott," she said slowly, "I was not, as you say, making out with Derek. Yes, I have been kissed by Derek, but that's not Conor's business, or yours. I don't ask you about Valerie." "Come on, Mom, we don't do that stuff." "Oh, no?" She raised her eyebrows. Scott could feel the short hairs crawl up the back of his neck. How could his mother have known? For a few minutes they sat in silence, the room quiet except for the sound of Scott's silverware scraping his plate, the clink of his glass. "Scott," she said softly, realizing she had to ease his anxiety, "if I ever decided to get married again, I wouldn't just spring it on you. You're not going to lose me," she whispered. "Then you are getting married," he said triumphantly. "I'm not," she cried, exasperated, "I mean, do you see a great long line of suitors? Do you see me dating?" "You went out the other night," he answered coolly. "Okay!" Barbara pushed aside her plate of food. "This is enough. Scotty, look at me." He raised his face slowly, as if coming up from deep under water. There were still tears in his eyes and they made his eyes bright as windows on a wet night. "You must know that no one would ever-could eve
r-replace your father. Not in your life, nor in mine. That relationship is very special to us both, and will be ours forever. But we'll both have new friendships. New people to care about and love. That doesn't change what we feel about your father, or about each other. Look at you. You've already got Valerie..." "For cryin' out loud, Mom, I'm not in love with Val," he protested, sitting up quickly. The mist was gone from his eyes. "But she is a new friend. And she does like you, don't deny that." "Well, I can't control that." He threw up his hands. "It's all right, Scotty." She reached across the table and smothered one of his hands in hers, smiling at his objection. "There's nothing wrong with having Valerie fond of you." "We just happen to have lockers next to each other, that's all." "I know. I know." Barbara nodded, agreeing. "And I'm only here at Ballycastle working with Derek for a few months." "So you know you won't have time to get married or anything?" Barbara shook her head, saying, "I don't know. But I would never marry anyone you didn't like, Scott. That's what you've got to remember. You're my number one man." "Yeah, I know." Scott squirmed in the window seat. "And Mr. Brennan, he's okay, I guess." "Then will you please do me a favor?" she asked, nicely. He nodded. "Will you try to be nicer to him? He's been very helpful to me, and to you." She nodded her head, making the point. "Okay," Scott whispered. "But when you two get married, will we live here or what?" "Oh, Scotty, darling, I haven't even decided I want to date the man. He's my boss. It isn't easy working with someone and also going out with him." She stood up from the table, too upset herself now to finish dinner. "Let's forget all this marrying stuff. It makes me nervous," she admitted. Scott grinned, seeing her reaction. "Sure," he said, swinging his arm over the back of the window seat. "But he's got to have my permission first if he wants to marry you, like I was your father or something." "It's a deal!" Barbara smiled, relieved that a crisis had been avoided. Leaning over she kissed her son quickly on the top of his head. "I love you, honey bear," she whispered. "Ah, Mom, you promised you wouldn't use that jerky name anymore." "Okay, I won't. If you'll do something in return for me." "What?" "Wash the dishes...please." "I did them last night!" "I know, but it's been a long day and besides I need to rest these old bones." "You're not old, Mom. Valerie said you look beautiful." "She did?" Barbara smiled, pleased by the compliment. "Well, Valerie is very pretty herself. You're a lucky boy, having her." "I don't have her, Mom! I told you we only..." "Yes! Yes!" Barbara stacked her dishes in the sink and walked toward the stairs. "I know...lockers...she just happens to be next to you. It doesn't mean a thing." "That's right." He sounded smug. At the doorway she paused and glanced around, smiling. "Not to pry, Scott, but if you and Valerie `don't do that stuff,' then why was one of her little gold earrings on the living room floor the other day when I vacuumed?" She spun around and kept walking, not waiting for his reaction. Behind her, Scott threw up a dish towel in the air, protesting, "Ah, Mom, it must've just fallen off somehow. By itself. Or she put it there!" The small towel floated to the kitchen floor like a white flag of surrender.