She swam lap after lap without resting. She felt her muscles begin to take some strain, but she didn’t stop. It felt as good as if she had cried the storm of tears that she would never let fall. It smoothed away the terrible tension and eased the unhappy feeling; soon she was thinking only about the joy that she felt in her own body’s power and the speed she was able to maintain.
Her breath was beginning to come short. She wasn’t as fit as she used to be. Carrie remembered when she could dive into the water and swim as much as fifty to a hundred laps without pausing or tiring, but those days were gone. She wasn’t quite sure, but she knew she couldn’t have swum more than fifteen or twenty, if that.
It was time to quit. She felt the ache in her muscles becoming more pronounced and knew that if she didn’t stop soon, she would be hobbling later.
Pulling up to the side of the pool, she hung on to the edge and gasped for breath. After she was sure that she wouldn’t do anything stupid like pass out from lack of oxygen, she carefully hauled herself to a sitting position on the pool’s edge, and suddenly found herself standing as two strong hands plucked her up and put her on her feet. Unbidden, the thought of the day before and the similar feeling of moving through air, when a tall stranger had put her behind him so that he could help her with her flat tyre, came to mind. It couldn’t be. She knew it couldn’t be, and yet she whirled with a gasp. It was, of course, only her father, and she felt a fool.
Cliff asked, looking down at his daughter with a smile, “How would you like to go riding with me after lunch?”
“That sounds really nice,” she agreed pleasantly. “And it will give us a nice chance to talk.”
“Yes, well.” Cliff looked around, his eyes crinkled in a squint against the already bright sun. “I guess I’d better head on into the office. Janet has some papers she says won’t wait another day.” He sighed. Carrie had to hide a grin of amusement, for she knew how much her father hated the paperwork involved with running a large ranch like the Metcalfes’.
She said suddenly, “Let me walk you back, Dad, and I’ll give you a hand with the typing if you like.”
He said gruffly, “Thanks for the offer, Carrie, but we’ve hired a girl from town for part-time help and she’s due to get here around noon. She takes care of the typing and filing.”
“That should be a great help for Mom.”
“It was her idea to begin with. Now she’s got herself all immersed in plans for a barbecue next week.” Cliff spoke with some degree of smugness. He couldn’t see the sense in dinner parties and only attended them under protest. It was one subject that his wife held the upper hand in, for attend them he did, right beside her and under her watchful eye. It was a thoroughly miserable experience for the man, so Janet relented as far as her own entertaining went, and she faithfully stuck to barbecues, something that Cliff did enjoy. He didn’t have to put on a suit.
Carrie chuckled. “Maybe she needs help with that, then. I have to find something to do with myself—I thought I’d want a vacation, but on my first day, I’m already looking for things to do!” Her smile faded as she thought of just why she needed to keep her mind so busy. She needed to keep from thinking of what was now the past.
They walked as they talked, nearing the house, and just before going in, Cliff put a detaining hand on Carrie’s arm. She looked up, a question in her eyes.
“Er—” Sounding embarrassed, he cleared his throat and stared at the ground. “D’you feel like keeping the Porsche? Have you thought about it much yet?”
Carrie watched her father thoughtfully. A few months ago, Cliff had made a trip to Chicago to stay overnight for a short visit with her and, on the next day, he had come into the apartment with a gleaming new key. The car had been parked outside. He had insisted that Carrie keep the car for a little while to see if she liked it or not, and to have a chance to decide if she wanted to keep it. She had known what he had wanted to do; the car was a peace offering, a conciliatory gesture for their past conflicts. It was the closest that Cliff would ever be able to come to saying he was sorry for the harsh things that he had said as she had left the house for the last time, with her things.
She was even more sure when Cliff asked her, a trace of sheepishness in his voice, not to tell anyone where she came by the car, not even the rest of the family. It would never do to have the others find out, she saw how his reasoning went, for then he would have to admit the possibility of him being in the wrong once in a while, thus undermining his authority in his own home. She privately thought it was all a little ridiculous.
The gift did reveal, however, her father’s genuine desire to return to a more natural and easy relationship with his daughter, and she knew it. It was much more than just an expensive car; it was a promise, and a token of affection. She realized that if she rejected the car, then she would be rejecting Cliff too, and this made her pause to consider all the implications more deeply. Seeing Cliff as he was at the moment, with head a little bent and eyes averted, she suddenly sensed a vulnerability in her father that as a child she had never really seen. In spite of the past and their many differences, he truly cared.
Speaking gently, she stretched out her arm and tucked it in the curve of her father’s. “I’ll be glad to keep it, Dad. It’s a super car and a great gift.” She reached up and kissed his cheek, noting with a pang how lined his face was. “Thank you!”
He hemmed and hawed a bit, scratched his head, looked toward the mountains in the north, and acted uncomfortable. But, as they entered into the house and walked through the wide and airy hall, his footsteps were lighter and his gait more springy. Carrie noticed, and suddenly felt no more doubts about taking such an expensive gift, glad she had accepted instead of refusing, which had been her first intent.
After lunch, she went with her father and two brothers to the stables to saddle up horses for an afternoon ride. After assisting Carrie in the preparation of her light grey gelding, Ralf announced that he would go to town for a few hours instead of coming with them. Slapping her slightly on the rump as he passed, Ralf made his exit quickly.
“Grey’s missed you,” Cliff said laconically, swinging up into the saddle of his dark and burly horse with an ease that spoke of long years of experience.
“His name is not ’Grey’, it’s Elu Thingol,” Carrie protested patiently as she patted the horse’s neck affectionately. “I’ve told you that time and time again.” Steven snorted as he joined the other two. The strange name always made him laugh.
“Damn fool name for a horse,” Cliff grumbled. “It’s not even English. I refuse to call a horse by such a ridiculous name!”
She laughed. “It’s not ridiculous, Dad, not when you know what it means.”
Steven asked curiously, “What does it mean, Carrie? You never did tell me.”
“The name is from Tolkien’s Silmarillion,” she explained. “The name itself means ’grey cloak’ and since Elu here is so fast and light on his feet, besides him being grey, I thought it was appropriate.”
“Fool name,” Cliff muttered.
“Grey cloak.” Steven mulled over it meditatively. “You know, that is kind of pretty. I like that.”
“Fits, doesn’t it?” She smiled into the sun as she spoke. Yes, it was good to be back.
She spent the next several days either sketching on the range, swimming in the pool, or helping her mother with the preparations for the barbecue on Saturday night. Because of the heat, it was generally decided that a party outside was the best thing anyway.
“It gets too hot to be dragging around in heavy dinner suits and dresses,” Janet complained as she fanned herself with a magazine. “No wonder your father hates them like he does!”
Carrie was plopped in a light chair close by, nursing an iced fruit drink. The sun was still high in the sky, beating down with a relentlessness that sapped all her energy, making her lethargic and listless.
She sighed. “I think I’ll go and hunt up that fan I used to keep in my room. If t
he weather stays like this, I’ll be needing it tonight.”
Janet thought for a moment. “Look downstairs in the basement, honey. I’m pretty sure Emma put it down there when you moved out.” She shifted lazily in her chair. “Why your father doesn’t break down and buy an air-conditioner, I don’t know. He suffers from the heat more than any of us.”
Carrie laughed. “It’s the principle of the thing, Mother. If he admits to being affected by the heat, then he admits to having a weakness. I’m surprised he doesn’t challenge Mr. Sun to a duel to see which is stronger.”
“Oh, but he does every day when he goes outside and refuses to stop because of the heat,” Janet said earnestly. “He knows it’s bad for him, but Cliff just won’t quit, not even for an hour. One of these days he’s going to learn the hard way, and he’s going to get heat exhaustion, or worse, sun stroke.” She groaned. “At least all the preparations are done for the barbecue tomorrow. It’s a good thing we’re having it in the evening—should be cooler then.”
“I’ve never known a more stubborn person than Dad,” Carrie declared. Janet hid a smile and bit back the remark that she could mention a young lady every bit as stubborn as Cliff! Carrie continued, moving in her chair in irritation. “He won’t have his physical exams with his doctor, he won’t have his eyes examined, even though he has to squint at distances now—I don’t know how you put up with him, Mom!” Since Janet sometimes wondered the same thing herself, again she had no answer for her daughter. After a silence, Carrie changed the subject with, “Who all is coming tomorrow, or need I ask?”
“Everybody, my dear, simply everybody.” She was not surprised at her mother’s answer. When the Metcalfe family had a barbecue, the whole county showed up for it, invited or not. It was a major production and there was always plenty of food and drink—enough to last the entire night, which was usually necessary. People tended to stay until dawn, when a huge breakfast was served around five-thirty.
Carrie shook her head in mock despair. “I’m not sure if I’m looking forward to it, or dreading it!”
The next day as she watched two of the ranch hands preparing the big pit where beef would be roasted over a live fire, she took a sip of her coffee and decided that she was dreading it. She knew just what kind of chaos and confusion to expect, the horrific mess that the hands would be cleaning up the next day, the family all running to and fro, the noise of the party until dawn—all in all, she thought, it was one big hassle. Mother had to have a screw loose upstairs to go through this every year!
The lady of her doubts came out on the verandah and sat down with a smile of satisfaction. Watching her mother, Carrie was amused to see just how much she enjoyed all of the bustle. Definitely a screw loose.
“Mother, a born organizer,” she commented lightly.
Janet laughed. “Why, thank you, my dear. I like to think so. Of course your father won’t ever admit it—he’s sure it’s all his doing. But I manage to get in a few ideas of my own and he always thinks that he has thought of them himself. The whole key is diplomacy. Maybe I should go into politics!”
Carrie was unprepared for the knife-like pain that shot through her at the lightly spoken words. She said abruptly, and more harshly than she meant to, ”You wouldn’t last a minute in politics, Mother. You don’t have the hypocrisy needed to survive.” At this she stood and went into the house, leaving Janet to stare after her in surprise.
It was nearing seven o’clock in the evening and the guests were beginning to arrive when Carrie started to dress. She pulled out a black sleeveless blouse with a deep neckline and a pale blue pair of slacks. Simple, flat sandals completed the outfit. She added a gold necklace and contemplated herself in the full-length mirror. She couldn’t decide how she wanted to wear her hair.
Unbidden and unwanted came the thought that Neil had always liked her hair down in a riotous tumble of curls. She swiveled around to find her hairbrush. She would wear her hair up tonight. It was a simple style that would be cool and refreshing, and it would show of the graceful curve of her neck quite nicely.
After sweeping her hair into a knot, she stroked on a little blush to emphasize the high angle of her cheekbones, then applied a touch of eye-shadow to the tilt of her eyelids. The result was a light sophistication that would wear easily in the heat and not need any touching up later on. She debated the use of lipstick, but opted instead for some lip-gloss, giving the curve of her lips an attractive glow. Carrie gave herself one last, cursory glance, caught the sight of her hair up off of her neck and paused. “I am not reacting,” she told the suspicious girl in the mirror, “I’m acting!” The mirror image shook her head. Carrie sighed and left the room, depressed.
The sound of car engines floated through open windows from the front of the house and she could hear the boom of her father’s voice directing the arrivers to the back of the house. She knew she should be heading outside, but she was reluctant to leave the privacy of the semi-dark house. It was a comfort to be secluded like she was, all alone, in the shadowy and peaceful hall, while listening to the sounds of the crowd outside. She was at peace in the house and safe. She didn’t pause to ask herself just why she felt safe in the house; it wasn’t as if she abhorred people or parties. It would be good to escape later, when the party got to be too much.
The rest of the party thrived in the sort of atmosphere the party induced. Every one of them would be out enjoying themselves until the crack of dawn, and would be sorry to see the party’s end. It was a cheerful, uncomplicated sort of extroversion that the family shared, except for Carrie. While she could enjoyed the party atmosphere for a while, she was most happy by herself, either working on an individual project or merely reading a book. She enjoyed her own quiet company. It was just another characteristic of her personality that her family found incomprehensible.
Carrie headed on down the hallway hearing as she went the sounds of the small band that her mother had secured for entertainment. Time to face the music, she thought, and chuckled at the bad pun. She bumped into Ralf as she rounded the corner. “Mmnif,” she grunted into his shirt.
“Hey! Here you are,” he exclaimed, grabbing on to her shoulders to keep her from falling. “Mom sent me looking for you—you’re late, just about everybody’s here, and people are asking about you. Come on, girl!”
“Who’s been asking about me?” she wanted to know, trotting a little to keep up with her brother’s long strides.
“Gail wanted to know when you would be coming out of hibernation—her word, not mine,” he replied. Gail Bordner had graduated in Carrie’s class in high school, and at one time the two girls had been best friends, sharing all their dreams and heartaches the way only adolescents can. They still kept in touch with each other through letters and phone calls and were continually promising visits that somehow never came to pass.
Carrie’s face brightened eagerly. It would be good to see Gail again. She hadn’t seen her friend since Gail had begun to teach kindergarten, several months ago. Gail had written letters telling her about her children and relating funny anecdotes about the little imps.
“Anyone else?” she asked.
Ralf grinned. “Erica expressed an eagerness to see you again, but I didn’t think you’d be so thrilled by that message.”
Thrilled was not quite the word. Carrie could imagine the polite and insincere tone that Erica would have used as she spoke. The girl had always rubbed her the wrong way, and the way to describe how they felt about each other was the phrase “mutual antagonism”. And now, she thought, Erica shows up at the party. “Yuck!” she groaned.
“Ditto,” Ralf grunted, and Carrie started. She hadn’t realised she had said it aloud. “But whenever Gabe Jackson shows up in public, Erica’s there, sticking to him like a leech.”
She mulled over this unexpected tidbit of information as they reached the verandah where several of the guests were milling, greeting and talking to one another in the manner of people who quite expect to have a good time.
She whispered, “So the great Gabriel is here tonight?”
“Ma invited him specifically. He’s too important to overlook and too new to realise he should come, written invitation or no,” he replied. He pointed to her left. “There’s Gail.”
Carrie cried out the other girl’s name with delight and the two rushed together to hug enthusiastically. “Oh, my dear, how are you?” she asked, feeling a little guilty for not writing as she should have.
“A fat lot you care!” Gail laughed at the expression on Carrie’s face. She was a tall girl with dark hair that flowed down her back, and with a sunny smile that could warm the most dour disposition. She possessed a remarkably steady nature, and Carrie knew that she was just right for her job. “I’m doing really well. Nothing is happening around here, though, and of course it’s dullsville without you! How long are you home?”
Carrie’s face closed up. “I’m not sure—probably for about a month or so. I’ll just plan things as they come along for a while. The art gallery approved my exhibition and they’re planning for the beginning of August for the hoopla, but other than that, I haven’t any plans.”
Gail sobered, catching sight of Carrie’s serious face. “Oh-oh. This looks serious. Would you like to get together and talk about it?”
She hesitated and then smiled, but it wasn’t a very realistic one. “I’d like that,” she said.
“Tomorrow for coffee?”
Carrie could see the other girl thinking rapidly as she said this, and she tilted her head wryly. “That’s short notice. Sure you don’t have anything planned?” She could read the answer on Gail’s face, although she tried to hide it. “It can wait until next week some time, when you’re free. Don’t juggle your schedule around me—I’ve all the free time in the world at present.”
Damaged Trust Page 3