Just the memory made Cara gag.
Now he’d come into her own home when she was all alone. She had to figure out what to do before he came upstairs. The door to her bedroom was open. She didn’t dare shut it now. He would know for sure she was home. With a quick motion, Cara smoothed the quilt on her bed. Her closet door sat ajar. Cara gauged the opening. She was just thin enough to slip through without touching anything. If she crawled on the floor she wouldn’t disturb the hanging clothes.
Cara slipped past the door, going down onto her knees and then onto her belly, sliding carefully along the hardwood floor towards the back of the closet.
The closet was the reason Cara had chosen this bedroom when they’d moved in. The roof angled down at the far end. It was so low that anyone taller than four feet couldn’t stand upright. Her father had installed shelving for her books and shoes and he’d left a space behind the shelves that was just large enough for one child to sit and play.
Trying hard to ignore the approaching footsteps, she climbed over the shelves. If she thought about Mr. Walker and what he might do, she’d make some kind of noise. Cara dare not give herself away. The closet was dark and she was hidden by hanging clothes, shoeboxes and books. There was enough room for her to lay down flat on her stomach below the sloping roof. If Mr. Walker wanted to find her, he’d have to crawl into her closet on his hands and knees, and then reach over the shelves and feel for her. As far as Cara could tell, if she stayed right where she was, she would be invisible.
Cara heard the door to her room creak open.
“Hey, anybody home?”
Cara pressed her chest against the floor, biting her lip to keep from making a sound.
“Cara?”
It seemed to Cara he was standing right in front of the closet. Feeling air move over her bare legs, Cara knew he’d opened the closet door. She squeezed her eyelids shut, terrified of what Mr. Walker would do if he found her.
“Cara?”
She was suddenly very grateful her father had never remembered to install a light in her closet. She breathed through her mouth, making an effort to keep each breath shallow and quiet, just like she did whenever her mother was in one of her moods.
She could hear him shuffling her hanging clothes around, but even if he took them all out, he wouldn’t see her way in the back. Besides, she knew he wouldn’t take her clothes out. If he did, her mom might ask her questions and Mr. Walker wanted to keep everything a secret. He wouldn’t want her to have to answer questions. When the clothes stopped moving, Cara blew out a long, slow exhale.
She listened for a long time. She didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean Mr. Walker had left the house. For all she knew, he could be sitting on her bed. She wondered how longer it would be before her parents got home. They’d been gone more than an hour. She imagined they’d go to lunch before shopping, so the soonest she could expect them back would be suppertime. Unless Mr. Walker got tired of waiting and went home she’d be stuck on the floor in the back of her closet for a long time.
Cara’s mind darted back and forth, her imagination working overtime. Was he sitting on her bed? Standing in the hallway? Waiting for her in the kitchen? Maybe he’d walked back across the yard, through his own gate and into his own home. Short of leaving the closet she had no way of knowing anything. How long could she stay there? Not moving? Barely breathing? She already needed to use the bathroom, and her muscles were beginning to cramp.
But Cara was scared. If she left the closet and he was waiting in her room, he’d be angry that she’d hidden from him, upset that she didn’t trust him. He was her dad’s law partner and close friend, their next door neighbor and Karen’s father.
Cara wondered if all he really did want to do was check on her. Maybe she should trust him. He was an adult, and her mother had always told her she was supposed to trust adults to know what was best for her. Her mother told her to be respectful and do as she was told.
Cara decided she was being silly. She rose to a crouch, climbing back over the bookshelves. Mr. Walker had probably gone home. She peeked through the closet door. Her room was empty. Cara let out a sigh of relief and got to her feet. That’s when she saw him, leaning against the wall. He came towards her, slamming her bedroom door behind him.
“Why were you hiding from me? What are you afraid of?”
“I-I wasn’t hiding,” Cara stuttered. “I was . . . I was cleaning my closet and I thought I heard a burglar so I-I kept quiet.”
“You didn’t hear my voice? I called for you.”
“Um, no, I, uh, I heard something but I didn’t know it was you. I’m fine, Mr. Walker. You can go home. I’m fine.”
“You’re afraid of me Cara. Why are you afraid?”
Cara tried to stop her legs from shaking. “I’m-I’m not afraid. I was just surprised someone was in the house.”
“I told you I’d never hurt you, Cara. I told you I love you like my own daughter. I’d never, never hurt you.”
Mr. Walker moved closer. He ran his hand along the side of her face.
“You are such a beautiful girl. I really want to kiss you. Will you let me kiss you? There’s no reason to be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”
“No, Mr. Walker, I’d rather not. I don’t want to kiss you.” Cara backed away from him.
He grabbed for her wrist. Cara jerked her arm out of his reach. She shook her head.
“No, Mr. Walker, I’m not doing that again.”
“C’mon, honey, I promise it won’t hurt this time. Remember? I told you it wouldn’t hurt the next time, that maybe you’d like it.”
“No!” Cara surprised herself by shouting at him. “I’m not doing it again.”
“Cara, honey, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then get out of my room.”
Mr. Walker sat on her bed. He patted the spot next to him. “Sit.”
Cara shook her head. She backed toward the door.
“Do you want me to tell your mom and dad that you hid in your closet when I came to check on you today? Do you want them to ask you why? They might think it’s a pretty disrespectful thing to do.”
“You won’t tell them,” Cara said. “Because they might find out what you did to me. I don’t think you were supposed to do that. My dad doesn’t do that.”
Mr. Walker laughed. “Sure he does, Cara. He does it all the time. Just not with you. He does it with his secretary, Elaine. She doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Uh-uh. He does not. I don’t believe you.” Cara felt a cold sensation spread through her chest. Her father and Miss Madsen doing that? It was unthinkable. She pushed the revolting picture out of her mind. Her father wouldn’t do that. Not with Miss Madsen. She wasn’t even very old, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two.
“Cara, be a big girl and come over here. I won’t hurt you.”
“No.” She opened her bedroom door and made for the stairs.
Mr. Walker moved fast. He was on her in two seconds. He wrapped one hand around her waist, pressing the other over her mouth when Cara let out a shriek. He dragged her back into her room. He threw her down on the floor next to her bed and stood over her.
Her eyes wide, she watched him unbuckle his belt.
“I don’t want to hurt you, unless you make me hurt you. If you fight me, I promise you it will hurt. If you go along with me, if you do what I tell you, I won’t hurt you. I promise you that. I’m doing this because I love you, Cara. Don’t make me hurt you because if I have to, I will.”
Cara’s heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst. She was terrified, too terrified to do anything. She’d never heard Mr. Walker sound like this, so mean, so cruel. She felt more afraid than she’d felt the first time, because now she knew what he intended to do.
“Take your clothes off. Now.”
Too scared to cry, Cara did as she was told.
Christmas 1967
The office Christmas party was held at the Walkers’ home this year. Mr. and Mrs. Walker
laid out cigarettes and ashtrays, silver bowls with mixed nuts, crackers with soft, smelly cheeses, but mostly they served drinks. Cara’s dad hired a bartender for the occasion. Cara sat with Karen in the den, both dressed in uncomfortable frilly party dresses, following their mothers’ admonitions that children should be seen and not heard. They watched and listened as the grownups told jokes and laughed out loud, their heads wreathed in smoke, hands holding tall, frosted glasses.
Cara’s dad drank martinis. She didn’t understand the appeal aside from the olive. He’d let her have a taste once; then chuckled when she grimaced and gagged. It tasted like poison. He said, “It’s an acquired taste.”
That’s what Mr. Walker said about what they’d been doing together, that it was an acquired taste, and one day she’d like it. Cara hated it and she hated Mr. Walker for making her do it.
Since the day Mr. Walker found her in the bedroom, Cara had become a recluse. She’d made her father put a lock on her bedroom door, and she spent every afternoon and evening shut up there. She refused to stay home alone. If her parents were going out, she insisted they take her to her grandmother’s house. If her mother disagreed, Cara threw a screaming fit until she gave in.
Cara’s mother even dragged her to the doctor. He couldn’t find a single thing wrong with her. He had no explanation for Cara’s stomachaches, her lackluster appetite, her noticeable weight loss or her sudden temper tantrums. He said “Cara is just a nervous child, and there isn’t much to do for her. She’ll grow out of it. Some children hit a rough patch during adolescence.”
Cara had no idea what adolescence was, nor did she care. The only thing that mattered to her was keeping out of Mr. Walker’s reach. She’d managed to avoid him for weeks. Of course that was because it was the holiday season and now the Walkers had a houseful of company.
This was the first time she’d entered the Walkers’ home in months. She and her mother had a big fight about the Christmas party. Cara had relented, agreeing to attend, but only because her father intervened.
She barely spoke to Karen anymore. In the mornings, Cara left early and walked to school, refusing a ride from Mrs. Walker, despite the fact that the junior high school was nearly three miles away. Everybody, including Karen, thought Cara was weird for walking. The only things that remained unchanged in her life were her grades. Cara was still a straight A student, the top student in her class. She could lose herself in school work. While reading or drawing, Cara could forget about Mr. Walker, even if only for a few hours.
Besides, Cara had noticed that the change in their friendship didn’t seem to bother Karen much. With her dance and gymnastics background, Karen was the first girl picked for the cheerleading squad. She’d made new friends, fun friends, who giggled, wore lipstick and were popular. Because of Karen, Cara was tolerated by that crowd, but she was considered too serious and too shy to be included in anything really fun.
Now the two girls sat together, an uncomfortable space between them. They spoke only when spoken to, watching the adults.
Karen yawned. “You want to come up to my room?”
Cara took a surreptitious look around for Mr. Walker. She didn’t want him following them upstairs. Since he didn’t appear to be nearby, she agreed.
When they reached Karen’s room, her friend flipped the door shut and flopped onto her bed.
“God, this is so boring. I don’t know how they stand it.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty boring,” agreed Cara. She perched on the edge of the other twin bed.
“What is up with you? You’ve changed so much. You’re quiet. You got a secret boyfriend or something?”
Cara was taken aback. “No, of course I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend.”
“Well I do.” Karen sighed. “Mark Smith is dreamy. Haven’t you noticed? He’s a ninth grader, but boy, I don’t care. He is so cute.”
“Mark Smith?”
“You know, the tall guy, blond hair, captain of the basketball team? C’mon Cara, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed him. All the girls notice him.”
Cara shook her head. “No, I guess I haven’t noticed him. I’ve been pretty busy with school.”
Karen looked at her, criticism in her eyes. “There’s more to school than school work, Cara. You used to be fun. What happened to you? We used to have a good time together. We used to tell each other everything. Now you hardly say two words to me.”
Cara just shrugged. She didn’t have an answer for Karen, at least not one she was willing to voice out loud.
Karen rolled onto her back. She raised her hands toward the ceiling, staring at the pink polish on her nails.
“I’d let Mark get to second base with me.” Her voice was so soft Cara almost missed the comment.
“Second base?” Cara was confused. “You don’t play baseball.”
Karen sat up and stared at her friend, a look of incredulity on her face. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what going to second base means?”
Cara nodded her head. “It means when you play ball and run to second base, like when we play softball.”
Karen laughed out loud. “No you idiot! It means when you let a boy touch your boobs!”
Cara felt that awful pain in her stomach, the same pain she got whenever she saw Mr. Walker, whenever he touched her.
“Don’t you know anything about this stuff? You know, like first base, second base, third base, going all the way?”
Cara shook her head. Her mouth felt dry as a desert. She was afraid to ask, but equally afraid not to.
“You know, sex,” said Karen, “Don’t you know anything about sex?”
Cara shook her head again.
“You are unbelievable! You mean your mother didn’t tell you anything about it? Haven’t you talked to any of the kids at school? Did you even start your period yet?”
“My period?”
“Oh my gosh.” Karen laughed out loud. “When you bleed every month, your period. Women bleed every month, something about ovulation and all that.” Karen flopped back down. “I use tampons. Rebecca explained how to use them in the girls’ bathroom at school. I don’t use those stupid pads my mom buys.”
Cara didn’t know what a tampon was, but from watching her mother she knew about the pads and the monthly bleeding. Suddenly something clicked. She wanted to know exactly what Karen was talking about. She was almost desperate to know. There was a link between what Karen was talking about and what Mr. Walker had been doing to her for months.
“Um, no, I don’t know. My mom’s never talked about any of this stuff. I don’t, I mean, I haven’t started my-my period yet. I don’t know what a tampon is.”
“These.” Karen rolled over and opened her bottom drawer. She pulled out a box and with a careless motion, tossed it at Cara.
Cara held the box in her hand, cautious.
“What are you afraid of?” Karen laughed again. “It won’t bite!”
As if she was entering the door to another realm, Cara pried open the cardboard lid. Pulling out a tampon, she turned it round and round in her hand. Unfolding the directions and illustrations, she gazed down at the line drawings and things began to click. She felt like Helen Keller, the day she remembered the word water, and everything Annie Sullivan had been trying to teach her suddenly made sense. It wasn’t difficult for Cara to make the connection between where a tampon went and where Mr. Walker put that part of his body. Her stomach began to burn.
“Karen, what do you mean first base and second base and all that? What does sex mean?”
“You are such an innocent.” Karen giggled. “I can’t believe you don’t know this stuff.” She reached into the same drawer and pulled out a booklet. “Here, read this. My mom gave it to me last year.”
Cara’s hand shook as she took the booklet from Karen. She stole a glance at her friend’s face. Fortunately Karen didn’t seem to notice her discomfort.
“First base is kissing,” Karen explained in a grown up voice. “Sometimes
it’s French kissing. That’s when the boy sticks his tongue in your mouth. I don’t know why it’s called French kissing. Maybe they do it that way in France or something. Anyway that’s first base. Second base is when you let a boy touch your boobs, like I said. Third base is, well, third base is when a boy sticks his hands down your pants. I’m not exactly sure what happens because, you know, I’ve never done it and I don’t know anyone who has. Fourth base is when you go all the way.”
“Go all the way?”
“Yeah, um . . .” Karen gave her a knowing smile. “When the boy sticks his thing into you. Married people do it. Well, usually it’s married people who do it, but sometimes high school kids do it. They’re not supposed to. Rebecca told me that some of the older kids have gone all the way. It’s how you get pregnant.”
Cara clutched the booklet to her chest. She felt short of breath and the room seemed to spin around her. This is what Mr. Walker had been doing to her, sticking his thing into her. If Karen’s explanation was true, he wasn’t supposed to do that. She wasn’t supposed to let him do that. Even though she hadn’t eaten anything all day, Cara felt like she was going to throw up. With a stiff motion, she rose from the bed and headed towards the adjoining bathroom.
“Are you okay?”
Cara sat down on the edge of the tub, trying to will the nausea away.
“Yeah, I haven’t been feeling well lately.”
Karen moved to stand in the doorway. She looked a little uncomfortable. “You do look pale, and you’re really skinny. My mom said you’d been sick a lot. Is that why you haven’t been over here much?”
“Um-hm . . . yeah, I just haven’t been feeling well enough to go out.”
“Do you want me to get you anything? A pop or something?”
“No, no thanks. I just need to sit here for a few minutes. Usually it goes away after a while.”
“Okay, well, I’m going to get something to eat. You sure you don’t want anything?”
“I’m sure. Thanks anyway. I’ll be right down.”
Karen turned and vanished into the hallway. Cara listened until her footsteps faded away, then she got up and closed the door to the bathroom, locking it. Cara’s gaze fell on the booklet still clutched in her hand. Her palms were sweating so much she left smudges on the cover. She closed the lid to the toilet, sat down, and opened up the booklet. She read it from cover to cover, understanding at last what she had done with Mr. Walker.
Come Back To Me Page 2