by Peg Cochran
She threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillow. Her own brother had betrayed her. Even if Becky didn’t say anything, who knew who else Lance would tell? Maybe his next girlfriend or the one after that?
She’d never be safe again.
Never.
Chapter 12
Rivka lay across her bed, her feet dangling off one end, her head the other, her cell phone pressed to her ear. It wasn't a real cell phone—just the kind you put minutes on every time you ran out. Her parents wouldn't let her have a real one and didn't have one, themselves. She'd bought it with money she'd saved from her birthday so she could talk to Lance without her parents knowing about it. The thought of her mother answering the phone when he called made her cringe. He would ask for Becky, and her mother would tell him there was no one there by that name!
So really, she had no choice. But it was annoying having to keep her voice low or play her music loud enough so no one could hear her talking. Her mother would think she was talking to herself and would probably drag her off to see Dr. Hirschstein, Aunt Ruth's psychiatrist.
Lance wanted her to go with Pamela to their family's beach house. He was sure they would be able to sneak off together. He was going to stay with some friends at a place a couple of miles away, and Pamela wouldn’t even suspect he was on the island. Rivka realized he had finally given up trying to persuade her that it didn't matter if Pamela knew about them. She wondered what had made him change his mind?
She had to figure out a way to go. She forgot, for a moment, how scared she'd been after talking to Pamela—how Pamela's eyes had been so cold and calculating, how her fingers had gripped Rivka's arm until it hurt. All she could think about was being at the shore with Lance. Lance would be nearby the whole time she was there.
What could go wrong?
She would call Pamela and tell her she was coming. And then she'd figure out what lie to tell her parents. And this time she wasn’t going to feel guilty about it.
After all, her parents had obviously been lying to her her whole life.
“Guess who’s coming with us to the shore?” Pamela licked the foam off the side of her latte and looked at Mary and Deirdre from under her lashes.
“I don’t know. Lance?”
Pamela shook her head. “Guess again.”
Mary and Deirdre exchanged glances and shrugged.
“Becky's coming with us.”
Mary peeled the paper off her straw and stuck it into her drink. “I thought you were through with Becky.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Deirdre fished an ice cube out of her lemonade and chewed on it.
Pamela shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m not nearly finished with Becky yet.”
She jumped up and grabbed her purse. “Come on. Let’s go shopping.”
Mary and Deirdre exchanged another glance but then dutifully followed Pamela out to the sidewalk.
“Let’s go in there.” Pamela pointed across the street toward a store that had a pink awning with turquoise stripes and the words "Elle Boutique" written on it in curly black letters.
They wove between the parked cars and waited for the traffic to clear. There was a sporty metallic red BMW at the curb. Mary ran her hand over the smooth finish and peered inside at the luxurious leather upholstery. Someday all her hard work and all the shit she had to put up with was going to pay off, and she’d be zipping around town in one of these babies with everyone turning to watch her go.
The light changed and the traffic slowed. They scrambled across the street and stopped in the shade of the awning over the Elle Boutique.
"That's cute." Deirdre pointed at a sweater in the window. It was a pale blue cashmere v-neck.
"Like that's going to fit you in a couple of weeks." Pamela gestured toward Deirdre's belly.
Deirdre looked like she was going to cry, and Mary felt her palm itching to slap Pamela for being such a bitch. But that was Pamela. Deirdre knew it as well as she did. Five minutes from now she'd be buying something nice for Deirdre and being mean to someone else.
Pamela pushed open the door, and they followed her inside.
The shop was dark and smelled like perfume and scented candles. Mary could tell by the atmosphere that she wasn't going to be able to afford anything in the place.
Pamela zeroed in on a display of jewelry at the front of the store, and Mary and Deirdre trailed behind her. She picked up a heavy silver bracelet and slid it over her slender wrist.
“What do you think?” She turned her arm this way and that.
“It’s nice, I guess.” Mary reached out a finger and touched a tiny glittering heart necklace that was carefully arranged against the black velvet of the open jewelry case. “I wonder how much this is? It must not be real or they wouldn’t have it out like this—it would be locked up behind glass or something.” She liked the way the heart was a little off kilter. Kind of like her own heart—trampled and bent and slightly out of shape.
Pamela watched her for a moment. "You really like that, don't you?" She put down the silver bracelet she'd been modeling.
"Can I help you?" A sales clerk glided into view. She wore a sleeveless black dress with a large starburst pin on the shoulder and had creepy long toe nails painted blood red.
"How much is this necklace?" Pamela took the heart from the case and held it out.
The saleswoman fished for the pair of reading glasses that hung from a tortoise chain around her neck. She perched them on the end of her nose and peered at the tiny price tag tied to the necklace’s chain. "Forty-nine dollars." She stared over her glasses at Pamela before carefully rearranging the little heart on the shelf.
A phone rang somewhere in the rear of the shop. "Excuse me." She turned her back on them and disappeared behind a rack of sale items.
"Dare." Pamela turned toward Mary. "I dare you to take the necklace."
"I can't do that." Mary stole another look at the silver and diamond heart.
"You know you want it."
"No, I don't. I could care less." Mary turned away from the display case reluctantly. The truth was she did want the necklace. Badly.
"Take it." Pamela's eyes gleamed, and she put a hand on Mary's arm. "Go on. Do it."
Mary shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Come on.” Pamela gave her a little shove toward the case. “I know you’ve already taken money from Sobeleski’s. What’s the difference?”
Mary started to open her mouth to protest, but what was the use? Pamela was right. She’d stolen once already. Okay, more than once, but that didn’t mean she had to keep doing it. It was one thing to take money for her SATs and for the book her teacher had recommended for help with calculus—it was another thing to take this necklace—something she didn’t need and didn’t have to have.
She wanted it, that was all.
“Alright, then. I’ll take it.” Pamela looked around and quickly palmed the necklace, dropping it into the open top of her purse. “Come on. Let’s go!”
They burst through the front door and ran half way down the street, Pamela giggling wildly. "Here," she dangled the necklace in front of Mary tantalizingly.
"Stop it." Mary looked around, but the door to Elle's Boutique was firmly closed. The sales lady must still be on the phone. "Come on. Let's get out of here before that old dragon realizes the necklace is missing."
"She really was an old goat, wasn't she?" Pamela skipped down the sidewalk waving the necklace in front of her.
To Rivka, the days leading up to the end of June and the trip to Pamela's beach house seemed to be twice as long as usual—as if some demented scientist had taken hours and minutes and seconds and put an evil spell on them so that they were stretched out to double their normal length.
The more she talked to Lance, the more excited she became about the trip to the shore. And now she had a plan. There was no way her parents would ever let her go—she could imagine their conversation—her mother making that little shriek she made whenever anything upset her, h
er father stroking his moustache in that annoying way he had.
But that didn't matter. She had figured out how to make it happen anyway.
Rivka eased open her underwear drawer and felt around toward the back, drawing out an envelope with her name written on it. She had saved some money from her birthday and a little of what Bubbeh and Zayde had given her for Hanukah. Most of the cash they gave her had to go in the bank for college, but Bubbeh had convinced her parents to let her have a bit of "mad money", as she put it, to splurge with. So far she hadn't spent any of it, and now she was glad.
She was going to go to the mall and buy her first bikini. She wasn't about to be seen in that hideous one-piece suit her mother had bought her in Sears when she was trying for the third time to pass a beginner’s swimming class at the Y.
She slid the accumulated bills from the envelope, spread them out on her bed and counted them carefully. There was more than she realized. She fanned the money out in front of her and sniffed the well-worn bills. She was definitely going to have the best weekend of her life.
Rivka opened her desk, removed a glossy tri-fold brochure and smoothed it open carefully. The youth group at Elmwood Synagogue was holding its annual retreat the same weekend as Pamela’s beach weekend. Normally, before she met Pamela, Rivka would have been keen to go. Now she wouldn't want to be caught dead with nerds like Jacob Klein who was captain of the math team, or Ben Weis, who had placed first in the state science competition. As a matter of fact, she had already told her parents she refused to go. Her mother had given her little shriek, her father had stroked his moustache, but she'd held her ground. It was the first time she’d ever done that, and her parents had both looked so confused, wringing their hands and crying “ach” every few minutes. They’d even consulted Bubbeh and Zaydeh, but she’d refused to budge.
Her parents were going to be thrilled to find that they’d won after all—or so they would think. Rivka felt only a glimmer of guilt as she folded the brochure back up. It was her parent’s fault for being so narrow-minded and old-fashioned. She knew they wanted to protect her—but from what? The world had moved on, and things had changed. It was about time they realized it.
Rivka carried the pamphlet down to the kitchen where her mother was kneading dough for Friday night's challah.
"I've changed my mind." She put the brochure down on the table where her mother could see it. "I think I want to go on the retreat after all. You're right—it would be fun."
"Oh, bubbeleh," her mother put floured hands on either side of Rivka's face, "I knew you would change your mind. You didn't want to miss all the fun, eh?"
Sure, Rivka though. Real fun stuff like math competitions, a mock United Nations and watching Jacob Klein chew with his mouth open and get stuff all stuck to his braces. Who in their right mind would want to miss that?
"Leave the brochure here," her mother pointed to a spot on the table, "and I'll send them a check right away."
"That’s okay." Rivka picked up the brochure and tucked it under her arm. "I had some money saved so I got a money order and sent it in myself. I didn't want to miss the deadline and maybe not get in or something." Rivka crossed her fingers behind her back as if that would make it okay that she was lying to her mother.
"Ah, my bubeleh," her mother tapped her head. "Always thinking!" She slapped the dough on the table and turned it over. "Remind me, and when I go to the bank, I'll get the cash and pay you back."
Snap, Rivka thought. Her mother was going to pay her back for money she’d never spent. That was better than she’d imagined. Of course she hadn't actually signed up for the retreat. Instead, Pamela was going to pick her up from the synagogue parking lot where she'd have her parents drop her on that Thursday afternoon.
It had all gone the way she'd hoped. And she'd have a little extra spending money to boot.
She passed the hall table where her mother had stacked the day's mail and poked through the pile. Her issue of Seventeen Magazine was on the bottom. She carried it up to her room, rifling through the pages, dreaming about the things she would be able to buy for her trip and trying to ignore the seriously annoying feeling of guilt that hovered at the back of her mind like a wisp of fog.
Mary wanted to wait to put the necklace on until she got home, but Pamela insisted. They were sitting on a bench in the small park that separated one side of town from the other. Pamela fished the necklace from her purse and handed it to Mary.
Mary slid the slender chain around her neck. The tiny heart nestled at the hollow of her throat. She touched it with her finger. It gave her a magical feeling for no reason she could explain.
“There’s that weird woman again,” Deirdre swiveled around on the bench and pointed behind her.
“What weird woman?” Pamela turned around abruptly to see where Deirdre was pointing.
“Over there. She was in Starbucks before—when we stopped for something to drink. She kept staring at us. It gave me the creeps.” Deirdre shivered.
Pamela felt an icy finger touch her very core. “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s the same woman?” But Pamela knew it was. She’d seen her before and had noticed her staring. And she was pretty sure it wasn’t a coincidence that they kept showing up in the same place at the same time.
Deirdre nodded, and her dark bangs flopped up and down. “She was staring at us, and at one point, I thought she was going to come over to our table. Maybe she’s following us?”
“She’s headed this way now.” Mary sat with her chin in her hand, watching. “But why would she follow us. Do you know her?”
“No, I don’t. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Pamela grabbed her purse, but before she could move, the woman reached the bench where they were sitting.
She looked ordinary enough although her skirt was a little long and definitely out of style, and her shoes were run-down and scuffed. But it was her eyes that were creepy. Very dark and intense and focused.
She reached out toward Pamela as if she wanted to touch her, and Pamela drew back. “You’re Pamela, aren’t you?“
“Get away from me,” Pamela screamed, and the other people in the park turned in her direction.
“I won’t hurt you,” the woman said in a soothing voice. “You’re beautiful. You have Mishka's blond hair,” she stepped closer, and Pamela could see the madness reflected in her eyes. “You’re eighteen—a grown-up.”
“I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know what you want, but if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to call the police.” Pamela pulled her cell phone from her purse and flipped it open.
The woman held out a hand. “Okay. It’s okay. Another time. When you’re ready.” She backed away slowly, her hands in front of her. Her foot caught on a tree root, and her ankle twisted. She stumbled but kept retreating, never taking her eyes from Pamela, murmuring soothing noises, like a cooing pigeon.
“Go on. Get out of here,” Pamela made a shooing motion at the woman.
Mary put her hand on Pamela’s arm. “It’s okay. She’s leaving. She’s just some crazy person.”
Pamela shook off Mary’s hand. She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach, and she could hear the blood pounding in her head. She wanted to run and run and run until she couldn’t run anymore, until she couldn’t breathe or think or feel. It was some crazy woman, she told herself.
But she knew better.
Her life was unraveling, and there seemed to be nothing she could do to stop it.
“Come on,” Pamela grabbed Mary’s arm and reached for Deirdre with her other hand. “Let’s get out of here. I need a new charger for my iPod. Let’s go to Eric’s and see what he has.”
They trooped back across the park, down one block and into Eric’s Electronics. The clerk was standing with his elbows on the counter, flipping through a copy of Mac Magazine. He had heavy black-rimmed glasses and dark hair gelled into random spikes on the top of his head. He put the magazine down and rushed over, his eyes on Pamela.
“Can I help you
?”
Pamela brushed past him. “I need a new charger.” She headed toward a display at the back of the store.
“Can I see this?” Mary grabbed his arm and pointed at an icy blue iPod shimmering on the third shelf of a locked carousel. She wasn’t sure why she’d asked. There was no way she could afford it in a million years.
The clerk looked from Pamela to Mary and then back again. Finally he waved a hand at Pamela. “I’ll be right there. Let me get her,” he motioned at Mary, “the iPod and then I’ll be right over.”
He unlocked the glass cabinet with a key he wore on a plastic bracelet around his skinny wrist. “Here you go.” He put the iPod on the counter. It was obvious he couldn’t wait to get back to Pamela. Mary shrugged. It was always that way.
“Why don’t you take a look at it, and I’ll be right back.” He tapped the package with his index finger and trotted over toward where Pamela was waiting impatiently.
Mary pretended to look at the package. She turned it over and pretended to read the information on the back. She glanced over her shoulder. The clerk was busy with Pamela, ogling her while he showed her several different chargers. Mary could have told him he was wasting his time.
Something happened. She wasn’t sure what it was. Annoyance that Pamela always got what she wanted? Anger that she had to work so hard to get anything at all?
Maybe she didn’t have an excuse. Maybe she was nothing more than a common thief. But she slipped the iPod into her purse and headed toward the door.
The alarm went off before she hit the sidewalk.
Chapter 13