Facets

by Barbara Delinsky

  “You see him other times, and I’ve told you not to.”

  “Timiny Cove’s a small place. I can’t help but see him.”

  “You go looking for him. Why do you bother?”

  Someone was snitching. She wanted to know who, but she didn’t get so muddled in the question as to fall into his trap and admit to seeing Cutter. “The miners are important. They’re human beings who put in good, long days for us. They’re the backbone of this company.”

  “Not anymore. Tourmaline is the most reasonably priced of the gems we work with. If we closed the mines, we could buy it at the exchange like we buy the rest.”

  No matter how quickly Pam wanted John out of her room, how reluctant she was to prolong the conversation, she couldn’t let his statement stand. “You’re assuming the business could survive on Facets alone. But even I know that we gross eight million a year from the mines, apart from the stones our designers use. That’s a nice cushion. Without it, our stockholders might get nervous.”

  He was quiet for a minute. Although nothing showed on his face, Pam fancied he was stunned that she could speak so knowledgeably about the business. Rather than bask in her moment of strength, though, she too remained silent. One of the things she’d learned in dealing with John was that gloating only brought retribution, and retribution hurt. She didn’t want to be hurt. Nor did she want Cutter hurt.

  She had two more years before she reached majority. Two more years.

  Ten more hours before she took the American History exam.

  Fourteen more hours before she left Boston for the Vineyard.

  And, God willing, no more than five minutes before John left her the hell alone.

  “I think,” he said at last, “that the mines are the least of your worries. Get those grades up, or you won’t be going to Maine or anywhere else for a while. Do I make myself clear?”

  He was more than annoyed. His eyes sparkled with resentment despite his otherwise iron control. She’d bested him, and he knew it. It was all she could do not to grin.

  “Yes, John,” she said docilely.

  Her grades remained mediocre. When a note of concern came from her math teacher, John relieved her of her car keys and forbade her to go out that weekend. She simply waited until he’d left, then walked down to Charles Street and was picked up by friends. When he decided, two weekends later, that he didn’t like the term paper she’d written for English, he took the cars keys again, along with the ticket she had for a Saturday night concert in Cambridge. She wasn’t fazed. She hopped on the T and went to a party at Boston University with Robbie.

  John was not thrilled with her final report card in June. “This is pathetic,” he said, tossing the incriminating sheet of paper onto the library desk.

  Pam had been preparing herself for his anger since she’d learned of the grades several days before. “It was a hard course load. I shouldn’t have taken biology. It took so much of my time that it messed me up for everything else.”

  “What messed you up had nothing to do with school. It has to do with that bunch you hang out with. You’re always out. Are the others doing as poorly as you are?”

  “My grades aren’t that bad. Really. You knew I was having trouble in math, but that won’t be a problem next year because I’ll be taking geometry, which is a lot easier than algebra.”

  “You got a C-minus in history.”

  “That’s because the entire grade depends on three tests, and I don’t do well on Mr. Harris’s tests. I listen to what he says and try to psych him out, but I guess wrong every time.”

  John wasn’t buying the argument. “If you studied everything he assigned, you’d be ready for the test regardless of what he asked.”

  “I do study everything.”

  “Don’t you want to do well?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why aren’t you? If you set your mind to something, you can do it. It’s not so long since I went through school that I don’t remember what it’s like. If you work hard, you do well.”

  He didn’t blink. Nor did he seem to be breathing, which was something that always amazed Pam. It was as though he was in such total control of his body that every function was pared down to its most spare and efficient. He was a cold-driving machine.

  “The problem,” he went on in distaste, “is that the only thing you’re working hard on is your social life. I think you ought to take biology over at summer school.”

  Pam’s stomach knotted. “I can’t go to summer school, John. I’m signed up to go out West. The trip starts in two weeks.”

  “They’ll fill in with someone else.”

  “But I’ve been looking forward to this trip! I’ve been counting the days till I leave!”

  “If you’d spent less time counting and more time studying, you’d have been better off.”

  “Please, John.” She’d go mad if she had to hang around Boston all summer, which was her only other choice, since John had told her she couldn’t spend twelve weeks in Maine. “I’ll do anything. I’ll work with a tutor when I get back from the trip, I’ll go for extra help next fall, I’ll come home every afternoon after school to study. I’ll do better, I promise. I mean, like, junior year is the one that really counts, anyway, and if I do okay on my SATs, the colleges won’t hold one mark against me.”

  “One mark?”

  She wasn’t about to bicker. “A few.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Please?” she begged, not caring that she did. She was tired of butting heads with him, tired of losing and being punished and slipping out on the sly. She welcomed the promise of seven weeks away from home.

  “I said I’ll think about it.” He handed her the report card. “Take it. It embarrasses me.”

  She took the report card and left, knowing from experience that further argument would not help her cause. John was behaving true to form. He would keep her dangling while he made up his mind in his own sweet time, and only when he knew she was suffering.

  Indeed, she was suffering. She was furious at him and at herself. With the school year over, her friends had dispersed, so she had no ready diversions. She tried to be available and acquiescent whenever John was at home, but he gave no clue as to which way he was leaning. He was perfectly content to let her swing.

  Needing a respite—and unable to help herself, although she doubted it would help her cause—she took off early one afternoon and drove to Timiny Cove. She went to the mountain first to say hello to Simon and the men. When she was certain Cutter had seen her, she left for the stream in the woods.

  He joined her there soon after the workday ended. At the sight of his tall frame emerging from the trees, she felt the familiar brightening inside. Grinning, she rose from the rock on which she’d been sitting and ran to meet him.

  He swept her up and swung her around. When her feet touched ground again, he held her back. “Jeez, do you look grown-up. I wasn’t sure who it was when I first saw you. This is a change from jeans.”

  She was wearing a short white skirt, a lavender jersey, and flats, which was what she’d put on that morning when she hadn’t expected to go farther than Beacon Hill. The impulse to leave Boston had been so sudden that she hadn’t thought to change. Given the admiration in Cutter’s eyes, she was glad she hadn’t.

  He twined a long strand of her hair around his finger and gave a light tug. “You’re looking pretty, Pam.”

  John had said the same words to her not so long ago, and in the echo of the words he had looked at her breasts. She suddenly wondered if Cutter had noticed she was getting bigger there. Maybe he’d even felt her breasts when he hugged her.

  Her cheeks grew warm. “Thank you.” Her eyes couldn’t quite hold his. They angled off, then returned. “You’re looking pretty good yourself.” It occurred to her that what with his height and his laborer’s build and his long, light brown hair that never seemed dirty but was always mussed, he was more handsome than anyone she knew at home. “How’ve yo
u been?”

  “Not bad. Arguin’ with Simon. Stickin’ up for a thirty-minute lunch hour. Steerin’ clear of John. How ’bout you?”

  “Pretty much the same as you. Not bad.”

  But he was studying her closely. “You look tired,” he decided, and she knew then why she’d felt such a dire need to see him. He cared in a way that no one else did. He was a haven she could run to when she was lonely and discouraged. He knew her, understood her. He gave her his full attention.

  In no time they were sitting side by side on the rocks and she was spilling the whole story about her grades and John and the trip that was up in the air. She also told him that John knew they were seeing each other.

  “He must have someone up here, Cutter. You joked about it once, but I think it’s true. He knows I spend more time with you than I do with the others.”

  Cutter’s features had hardened the way they always did when John’s name came up. “Is he taking it out on you?”

  “Not yet. But he’s holding it over my head.”

  “Typical.”

  “Who do you think is watching us?”

  He stared at a spot across the stream for so long that Pam looked that way, wondering if someone was there. The trees were in full bloom, fresh and lush in a June sort of way, so that though sundown was a ways off yet, the shadows were deep. She couldn’t see a thing.

  “I’m not sure,” he said at last and looked back at her. “You came anyway.”

  “Of course.”

  He gave her the smallest smile, a tiny twitch of the lips that told of his pleasure. “Does he know you’re here now?”

  “He’ll know when he gets home from work and finds my note. I was going to tell him I’d gone to a friend’s house, but I figured someone would see me up here anyway. If John catches me in a lie at this point, I can forget that trip.”

  “When’s the trip?”

  “Next Thursday.”

  “And you really want to go?”

  “I really want to spend the summer up here, but John won’t hear of that.” Tucking her hands between her knees, she gritted her teeth and threw back her head. “I’m so tired of this, Cutter. He’s impossible. He decides what’s important, forgets about what isn’t, and takes everything that is as seriously as if it’s the end of the world. He’s such a prig!”

  Cutter flattened a hand on the rock behind her hips. “I won’t argue with you there.” He looked down at her more gently. “How long can you stay here?”

  “Not long. I said I’d be back later tonight.”

  “You can’t just turn around and drive another three hours alone.”

  “Want to come along for the ride?” she teased, then her grin vanished, her eyes grew wide, and she grabbed his arm. “Do, Cutter. Come back with me. You could stay across the Common at the Parker House. I’d love to show you the city. You’ve never been there, and I know everything there is to see. It’s five days before I’m going away—if John lets me go; and if he doesn’t, that gives us even more time. It would be such fun. I mean, like there’s nothing else I’d want to do more than that. I wouldn’t even mind not going on the trip if you came to Boston.”

  She felt the flex of a steely muscle in his arm even before she heard the hardness in his voice. “Wouldn’t John just love that.”

  “John wouldn’t know!” She hurried on, “Don’t you see, Boston’s so much bigger than Timiny Cove that he wouldn’t ever know you were there. We’d be lost in the crowd. It happens all the time. He doesn’t know half of what I do, and since he wouldn’t be expecting—”

  “Not a good idea, Pam.”

  She dropped her hand from his arm. “Why not?”

  “First, because I have a job to do.”

  “Take time off.”

  “Second, because you’d be in big trouble if he found out.”

  “He won’t find out,” she said, but nervously. Cutter’s voice was growing harsh.

  “Third, because it’s bad enough that I have to be under the guy’s thumb at work, but I’ll be damned if I’m goin’ down to Boston just to be looking over my shoulder to see if he’s there!” After a minute of silence, he muttered, “Besides, I’ve been to Boston before.”

  Pam knew Cutter didn’t like John, but she hadn’t known the force of his dislike until then. Nor had she known that he’d been to Boston. But before she could ask him about it, a sound in the woods caught her ear. At nearly the same time, Cutter put a cautionary hand on her thigh. Silent and still, they listened. Together, they looked in the direction of the sound.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  He leaned closer. She felt the reassuring brush of his arm across her back. “I’m not sure.”

  “Footsteps?”

  “Sounds it.”

  “Human?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Their whispers were exchanged over the space of an inch.

  “Do you think it’s John’s spy?”

  “No.”

  “Too obvious?”

  “Too small.”

  “Who is it?”

  When Cutter was slow in answering, she looked up at him. His eyes were trained on the woods, looking sharp in a way that was in keeping with the heavy shadow of his beard. So was the firm set of his jaw and the squaring of his chin. She wondered if that squaring was from tension or if it was always there. Funny, she hadn’t noticed. She’d always looked at the whole, she guessed.

  Then his lips moved. “Bumble,” he whispered, and the tension left his features as quickly as it had come.

  “What?”

  “It’s Bumble.”

  It was a minute before the word registered, a minute more before she realized what he was talking about. Dragging her eyes from his face, she looked off in the direction of the rustling in the woods in time to recognize the small creature who emerged from the trees.

  Of the people in Timiny Cove, Pam liked most, disliked a few, and was frightened of one. That one was Bumble. She was a wizened old lady who dressed in layers of dark clothes even on the hottest of summer days. Pam had always fancied that the clothes were the only things covering her bones, that if she’d ever had any flesh it had disappeared at some point during the course of the 110 years that she’d lived. The age, of course, was based on town gossip and was clearly an exaggeration, still Bumble was eerie. She lived in something that was half underground and not unlike a packrat’s midden—but that was town gossip too, since few had ever actually seen where she lived. She appeared to be entirely self-sufficient. She spent her days wandering through the woods gathering plants and herbs, and while she had never harmed anyone or anything, she was given wide berth. No one knew her real name. She was called Bumble after the sound she made when she talked.

  Pam leaned closer to Cutter and whispered, “What’s she doing here?”

  “Looking for mushrooms probably,” he whispered back.

  “Why here?”

  “Because the mushrooms are good here.”

  “But these aren’t her woods. They’re yours.”

  He whispered a chuckle. “Not quite.”

  “You know what I mean. Cutter, she’s coming straight toward us.”

  “It’s okay. She won’t hurt you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me.”

  She did, of course. She trusted him with her life. Tucked up against him, she wasn’t half as frightened as she’d have been if she were alone.

  The old woman didn’t stop shuffling until she stood directly before them. Her watery eyes focused on Cutter. Pam felt him nod a greeting. Then Bumble looked at her, and Pam felt skewered. She managed a small smile. “Hello.”

  Those watery eyes stared at her for what seemed an eternity to Pam. Then a wizened hand came from the pocket of something that looked like a worn gunnysack, which was layered over a faded smock, which was layered over a frayed dress—all three in varying shades of dun. The hand disappeared into another sack, this one of canvas. It was burgundy and looked far
newer than the rest of her.

  When the hand came out, it was clutching a sprig of flowers, which she promptly extended to Pam. “Wi’zalis,” the little voice buzzed.

  “Wild azaleas,” Cutter interpreted softly. He gave Pam a gentle nudge at a spot on her back that Bumble couldn’t see.

  Pam took the flowers. She’d seen wild azaleas in the woods before, but never ones as delicately pink. When Bumble gestured toward her nose, Pam smelled them. Their scent was nearly as delicate as their color.

  “Thank you,” she said. “They’re lovely.”

  Even before she had the last word out, the old woman turned and resumed her shuffling trek through the woods. Holding the flowers to her nose, Pam watched the wrinkled figure until it blended into the forest and was gone.

  “Weird,” she whispered then. She rested comfortably against Cutter for another minute before lowering the flowers and looking up at him. What hit her, though, wasn’t the intent look on his face but his scent. It was familiar in the way of something long taken for granted, new in the way of an awakening. He didn’t smell of aftershave like John, or of leather jacket like Robbie. He smelled of earth and of sweat, of man.

  Feeling a fluttering in the pit of her stomach, she drew away from him and stood. Holding the flowers to her nose again, she said, “I should go.”

  Cutter rose. “Can I take you to supper?”

  She couldn’t think of anything nicer, but she felt strangely awkward. “We can make something at your place.” They’d done that many times, then had eaten out on the porch. It was fun and familiar.

  But Cutter shook his head. “I’d like to take you out. I haven’t ever done that. You’re looking so pretty and grown-up. Let me.”

  Her heart melted.

  “There’s a steak place over in Norway,” he went on. “We could celebrate your finishing school for the year.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “It may be the last time I’ll see you for a while.”

  Abruptly, she felt close to tears. Just then she would gladly have given up her trip for the few weekends she might have in Timiny Cove. She had passed seven weeks before without seeing Cutter, but never being quite so far away. Only now did she realize the comfort she drew from knowing he was just three hours away.