Constance burst into tears. “You nut,” she wept. “You didn't have to go through all that nonsense.”
But her tears were tears of pride and happiness, and she held her husband very tightly.
“Thank you, darling. Thank you.”
“Well,” said Mike and grinned down at her, “it's nothing to cry about. Listen, do you think people will start calling this the Rossi Place now?”
Constance went to the sideboard and fixed a drink for her husband.
“Nope,” she said cheerfully, “they won't. Not for a while.”
She took a sip from his glass before she handed it to him.
“But I'll know, darling,” she said. “I'll call it the Rossi Place for the rest of my life.”
And now Mike's car drew up to the house he had bought from his wife and given to his wife. He looked at it with proprietary eyes. It had never seemed to him his own until he had given it to Constance. What made it his was that he had earned the right to give it away.
“Here we are,” Mike said, and Selena's head jerked around, her eyes frightened and startled. His voice had brought her back to the reality of Peyton Place. In her thoughts she had been worlds away. Only daydreams now could protect her from the horrors of memory.
She walked up the path in front of the MacKenzie Place and the front door opened quickly, revealing Allison's delighted smile.
“Selena!” cried Allison MacKenzie. “For Heaven's sake, we've been waiting and waiting for you to get here. Hi, Mike.” Allison put up her cheek to be kissed. “Did you bring the milk?”
“Yes, my darling daughter,” said Mike and slapped Allison on the behind. “Now everybody inside. It's cold and it's gonna snow, sure'n hell.”
“Hello, darling,” said Constance, and came to put her arms around her husband and then Selena. “Come on in. Shut the door. Listen, I've got the most divine brew brewing. If you have just one cup of it, you can't possibly catch cold. It's my own secret potion, handed down to me from my great-great-grandmother, who was a witch. Guaranteed protection against head colds and malignant spirits.” She put her hand on Selena's arm.
Selena Cross looked across the room to where her brother, Joey, sat waiting for her. The living room was bright and warm. The blaze from the fireplace cast warm dancing shadows on everything.
“Come and sit down, Selena,” said Constance.
Selena stood in the doorway of the living room, and Joey stood up.
“Hi, Joey,” she said.
“Hi, S'lena,” said Joey. “It's snowing.”
“Yes, Joey,” said Selena. “It's snowing.”
There was a little pause, and neither Mike, Constance nor Allison then could find anything to say. Selena's presence had, for a moment, brought the darkness of unhappiness into that light, gay room. They shared her pain, they stood around her like bodyguards fearful of assassins. They could think of nothing to say that would release Selena from the strain of memory and the pain of loss. Finally, Mike broke the tension.
“Good weather for a hot buttered rum,” he said. “And, as for you, Joey, I've got a dozen Cokes with your name written all over them.”
Selena held Allison's hand, and finally she sat heavily and gratefully on a chair by the fire.
Thank you, she cried inside herself. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for still loving me. You are the only people who care.
It was not the kind of love she wanted most, but it was better than nothing.
4
IT WAS A LITTLE after eleven o'clock that same night when Mike Rossi stopped his car in front of the Cross house, and Selena and Joey got out.
“I'll come in with you, Selena,” said Mike. “I'll help Joey to get a fire going.”
Selena stopped him with a gesture of her hand. “No, thanks, Mike,” she said. “We'll manage. Thanks anyway.”
Mike did not insist. “All right, then.”
“Run up ahead and turn on some lights, Joey,” said Selena, and when her brother had gone she turned back to Mike. “Good night,” she said. “And thank Connie for me again. It was kind of her to have us. Tell her it'll be my turn next time.”
“Anytime, Selena,” said Mike. “You know that. Good night.”
Selena waited until he had turned his car around and headed for his own house before she walked up the path to her front door.
“I started a fire,” said Joey.
“We'll have some hot chocolate,” said Selena.
“And a game of checkers, Selena.”
“It's too late, Joey. School tomorrow.”
“Not if the snow keeps up all night.”
“All right,” Selena said, relenting, and went toward the kitchen. “I'll be right with you.”
Would it be better if we talked about it? Selena wondered as she heated milk. But what words did one say to alleviate a horror-filled memory?
The first time it had snowed after Lucas Cross's death, Selena had not realized, at first, what was happening to her. It had been late afternoon, she remembered, when it started. It had begun as it did today, with the first snowflake flattening itself against the front window of the store. Selena had watched it and suddenly she had been filled with an unreasoning, all-consuming panic. She had run to the telephone and called Constance Rossi.
“I'm closing the store early,” she told Constance, unable to keep her voice from trembling.
“Selena! What is it? Are you ill? I'll be right there.”
“No. No, please, Mrs. MacKenzie,” cried Selena. “It's just that it's snowing and I have to get home to Joey.”
“Quick, Mike,” Constance said to her husband. “Get the car. We've got to go to Selena.”
“What's happened?” asked Mike.
“I don't know,” said Constance. “But Selena sounded hysterical, and she called me Mrs. MacKenzie. She said she had to hurry home to Joey because it's snowing.”
But when Constance and Mike Rossi arrived at the Thrifty Corner, the shop was in darkness.
“Oh, darling,” cried Constance. “Please hurry.”
The car skidded on the new-fallen snow as Mike wrenched the wheel and headed for Selena Cross's house.
They saw her running down the dirt road that led to the Cross house, her feet flying from under her as she ran, her unbuttoned coat flying behind her.
“Wait!” shouted Mike. “Wait, Selena!”
But she did not hear him. They saw her fall and pick herself up, and she was already through the front door of her house before Mike and Constance could jump out of the car and follow her.
Joey Cross was on his knees on the hearth, building a fire as he did every evening during the winter so that his sister would always find the living room bright and cheerful when she came in out of the cold. But now his thin body was rigid and his eyes were glazed. Selena flung herself at her brother so that both of them were kneeling on the hearth. They held onto one another as if they were drowning, and Joey cried, “S'lena, S'lena, S'lena,” over and over.
Her trembling fingers tried to cover his lips and she sobbed, “Oh, Joey. Oh, Joey.”
“He'll come back,” Joey whispered, his voice faint with fear. “He'll come back, Selena.”
“No, Joey. No, Joey. He can't come back ever again.”
But her whole body shook and she glanced fearfully over her shoulder. Constance had come forward into the room, but Mike had gone back to close the door so that all Selena saw was the dark outline of his body against the light and she began to scream. She pushed Joey away from her and in one motion she was on her feet, her fingers tight around the top of the fire tongs.
“Selena!” shouted Mike and came toward her. “Stop it!”
He grabbed her wrist and twisted, and the fire tongs fell to the floor and still Selena screamed.
“Let go of me, Lucas! Let go!”
Mike Rossi slapped her hard across the face, and his arms were waiting to catch her as she fell forward in a faint.
Joey Cross stood up, still dazed. “G
o home,” he said to Mike. “I can take care of my sister.”
“You sit down and shut up,” said Mike and carried Selena to the couch. “Constance, get a blanket. They're coming home with us.”
Always, after that, when it began to snow and the wind swept and shrieked behind it late in a winter afternoon, Mike Rossi always went to where Selena and Joey Cross were and brought them home with him. But Selena and Joey Cross would not spend the night with Mike and Constance and Allison. When it was late, and the wind had died down, Selena always stood up and said, “Come on, Joey. It's time to go home.”
Selena carried the cups of hot chocolate into the living room.
“I'll beat the pants off you,” she said, as she sat down at the checker board opposite Joey.
“Go ahead and try, big stuff,” said her brother.
The wind was a whisper around the corners of the house, and Selena and Joey pretended not to hear when a board creaked or a log snapped.
“I saw Ted Carter today,” said Selena.
“Him,” replied Joey.
“He had his wife with him.”
“They make a good pair,” said Joey. “Why don't they go back to Boston where they belong?”
“Ted doesn't belong in Boston,” said Selena. “He belongs in Peyton Place. At least, that's what he always said.”
“Ted Carter always said a lot of things he didn't mean,” said Joey.
“Never mind,” said Selena. “I don't like to hear you talk like that, Joey.”
“He's a rat,” said Joey. “A two-faced rat.”
“Stop it at once.”
“How can you stick up for that guy after the way he treated you?” demanded Joey.
“Ted did what he thought was right and that's the end of it,” said Selena.
The end of it, thought Selena; life has so many endings. Maybe Ted did what he thought was right, but it stung all the same.
Selena mechanically moved a checker toward the center of the board, remembering the last time she had talked to Ted. It had been just after the war had ended and Ted had been at the Harvard Law School less than six months. In Peyton Place to see his parents, he had telephoned Selena and asked to see her.
“Sure, Ted,” Selena said. “Come over about eight o'clock.”
“Ted Carter wants to talk to me,” she told Joey. She had no secrets from Joey. They had shared too much ever to keep anything from each other. “How'd you like to go to the movies or something?”
“Him?” Joey said, too contemptuous even to mention his name. “You're going to let him come to the house after the way he acted when you were—”
“When I was waiting to go on trial?” finished Selena. “Joey, you don't have to be afraid to mention that. It's not good to think about something a lot and never talk about it.”
“What if he wants you to go back with him?” asked Joey angrily. “What're you going to say?”
Selena turned away and fussed with a bowl of flowers on an end table.
“I don't know,” she said. “But I think I'll say yes.”
“You're nuts,” said Joey disgustedly. “You're worth a dozen Ted Carters.”
Selena rubbed her knuckles gently over his head. “You're prejudiced.” She smiled.
Joey went off to the movies, as joylessly as to a chore. And Selena waited for Ted, hardly able to breathe at the thought of seeing him again. She knew it was a terrible mistake, but she permitted herself to hope. More than anything in the world, she wanted to be with Ted again. Terrified by life, she had in desperation come to think that only with Ted could she ever be safe.
“It's been a long time, Selena,” he said. He stood with his back to the door, nervously turning his hat in his hand.
Selena motioned him to a chair, and thought, How reluctantly he has entered my house. It was obvious to her at a glance that he had come not out of love, or even desire, but only because his New England conscience had nagged him into it.
“I didn't know that you and I had to bother with social niceties,” Selena said, a tight smile on her face. “But if that's the way you want it, all right.” Then, in a false “social” voice, like a little girl playing grownup, she said, “Yes, Ted, it has been a long time. Would you care for a drink?”
“I don't drink,” said Ted. “And I shouldn't think you would, either.”
His tone was almost sanctimonious, and it annoyed Selena.
“Why?” she demanded. “Because Lucas was a drunkard? Is that what you meant?”
“Selena, for Heaven's sake, I didn't mean anything of the kind.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I don't know,” said Ted uncomfortably. Selena's tight control made him nervous. He wanted to get on his knees, declare his guilt, beg forgiveness, but, instead, he only said, “This cocktail business has always seemed sort of citified to me.”
“I wasn't going to offer you a cocktail, Ted. It's eight o'clock in the evening and I thought you might like a brandy to settle the excellent dinner your mother must have fed you before she let you out.”
“No, thank you,” said Ted, rather stiffly. He sat in an armchair, his hands on his knees; he leaned toward her yet was remote, isolated by his feelings of guilt and the anguish that seeing Selena caused him.
Selena poured brandy into a large snifter. “Well, Happy Days,” she toasted, hoping the irony of it would not be lost on him. “I don't suppose you smoke, either?”
“No.”
“Well, I do,” she said defiantly, and lit a cigarette. “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked.
Ted stood up and walked to one of the front windows. He put his hands in his pockets and tipped his head back as if to ease tightened muscles in his neck.
“I'm thinking of getting married,” he said. “To a girl I met in Boston.”
Selena did not make a sound. She put her glass down silently and put her cigarette into an ashtray.
“I see,” she said at last, and her voice had not changed.
Ted turned around slowly and extended his hands as if asking for help.
“I haven't told anyone else yet,” he said. “I wanted to tell you first.”
“Why did you bother?” Selena asked, and this time the bitterness showed. “Why?”
“Peyton Place is a small town. People are going to talk, and I just didn't want you to hear it from someone else.”
“That was damned white of you, Ted,” she said.
“Selena, for God's sake, don't make it any harder than it is.”
“Oh, is it hard, Ted?” she asked. “Why should it be? I knew back before the trial that the great Ted Carter wasn't going to be able to afford a murderess for a wife. So why should it be so hard for you to tell me about your new girl?”
“You know damned well how I feel about you, Selena,” said Ted in a tight voice. “That's never going to change. We had a lot together, you and I, but we wouldn't have a thing together in the future.”
“Don't you dare come in here and tell me how much you think of me,” shouted Selena, jumping to her feet, her fists clenched. “Everyone in town knows how you feel about me, so don't stand there and make pretty speeches. You're a little late.”
“Selena, will you sit down for a minute and hear me out? I want to try to explain this to you as best I can.”
“There's nothing to explain, Ted,” she said wearily. “Why don't you just leave?”
He put his hands on her elbows. “Please,” he said. “Sit down.”
Selena shrugged and sat down and swirled brandy around in her glass.
“Selena, you know that I've always wanted to be a lawyer,” began Ted. “Not just an ordinary lawyer like old Charlie Partridge, but a first-class lawyer.”
“There was a time when you didn't think Charlie was so bad,” interrupted Selena. “Of course, that was back when you didn't know whether or not you'd ever get to Harvard and Charlie was still in a position to help you.”
Ted ignored her barbed remark because the
re was no answer for it. It was true. He knew better than anyone else how true it was.
“Harvard alone isn't going to make me into a big success,” he continued. “Being a successful lawyer takes backing. You've got to have someone big behind you to give you a push.”
“I begin to see the light,” said Selena, pouring herself more brandy. “This girl in Boston, could her father perhaps be a big-time lawyer?”
Ted looked at the floor. All the reasons that had made so much sense to him as he had walked toward Selena's house now seemed utterly shameful. Face to face with the reality of Selena, the machinations of making a career were both sordid and childish. But he had already committed himself to it; there was no turning back. In his heart he knew that salvation for him lay with Selena, but it could not be. It could not be. He soothed himself with this thought. It could not be! It was Fate at fault, not Ted Carter. It is by such means that weak men salvage their pride.
“Her name is Jennifer Burbank. Her father is John Burbank of Bur-bank, Burrell and Archibald, one of the biggest law firms in Boston.”
Selena threw back her head and began to laugh. “No, stop,” she gasped. “Honestly, it's too much! Jennifer Burbank! The biggest law firm in Boston!” She tried to stop laughing but was almost afraid to, for if she did not laugh she knew she would cry.
“Selena, please,” begged Ted.
And Selena stopped laughing. She twitched her head, and her long, dark hair flew away from her shoulder and rested on her back. Now there was no possibility of tears. Her purple eyes were almost black, and the soft red mouth that Ted had kissed so often was set in a tight little smile.
Dear God, thought Ted, looking at her, I can see now how she must have looked when she murdered Lucas. I never thought she could look like that.
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