“Your father.” Cindy sighed. “That’s another thing.”
Dana had wandered off and picked up a ball with a bell in it. She began to shake it and listen intently. Beth watched as Cindy hopped up and took the ball away from Dana, giving her a doll instead to circumvent tears. A serious expression on her face, Cindy resumed her seat. She was quiet for a moment, watching her baby. Then she asked, “Do you know Andrew?”
Beth was a little surprised at the question, but she nodded. “Sure,” she said. “The teen heartthrob. Oh, wait. Let me guess. Andrew is not in school today either.”
Cindy gave her a curious look. “In school? No.”
“And you think that they are up to something together.”
“This is not the first time,” said Cindy.
“Well, if they are up to something, I hope she knows what she’s doing. God, I didn’t know anything at fourteen. Although kids do seem to grow up faster these days.”
“Beth, I think you should know your father was very distressed about the two of them.”
“Oh, I’ll bet he was,” said Beth, rolling her eyeballs.
Cindy’s eyes clouded over as she absently picked at Dana’s curls. “Francie’s a good kid. And a pleasure to teach. I didn’t want to get her into trouble. Maybe I shouldn’t have butted in, but I felt he ought to know about it. It’s hard, being a teacher, to know what the right thing to do is. Anyway, I worried about it a lot before I decided to tell him. I knew he was strict with Francie. She meant the world to him.”
“I know,” said Beth stiffly.
“Now, well, sometimes I feel as if I made a terrible mistake.”
“Oh, I’m sure he yelled and hollered,” Beth said, “although it doesn’t seemed to have affected the lovebirds.”
“That’s just it. He was so worked up when I told him. He was— beside himself really. I tried to get him to calm down, but he was in a rage.”
Beth could picture her father’s wrath as Cindy spoke, and she felt sorry that Cindy had been subjected to it. “He was like that,” she said.
“And then—that was it,” Cindy said in a choked voice.
“What was it?”
“That was the last I saw of him. Not two days later he had the heart attack. And he died.” Cindy looked at Beth with wide, anxious eyes. Dana, alert to her mother’s distress, began to wail in sympathy.
Beth took some Kleenex from a box on the sofa and handed them to Cindy, who began to wipe Dana’s tears. “It’s all right,” said Beth. “It certainly wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m glad I told you,” said Cindy. “It’s really been on my conscience.”
“It was just a coincidence, I’m sure,” said Beth. “Look, I’ll bet if you told Andrew’s parents that he was missing school, they wouldn’t up and die over it, would they?”
Cindy frowned. “What do you mean, ‘in school’? You said that before.”
“Andrew,” said Beth.
“Andrew’s not in school, Beth. He doesn’t go to school. He has a job at the Seven-Eleven. He wasn’t there today when I went to get my yogurt, and that’s how I’m pretty sure they are together.”
“What did he do? Drop out?”
“Beth, Andrew is nearly twenty-one years old. He hasn’t been in school for years.”
“What?” said Beth.
“Didn’t you know that?” Cindy asked.
Beth shook her head.
“That’s why I’ve been so worried about Francie. Andrew is, well, there’s something not quite right about that boy. Apparently he was always a little different. The kids made fun of him even when he was very young. I had him in my class one time. He never had any friends, his grades were bad, and he got into all kinds of fights. He’s had one job after another since he got out. He can’t hold on to anything for long. He’s just—I don’t know. I think he’s a troubled young man.”
“Young man, my eye,” said Beth. “Twenty-one years old. Goddammit.”
“I didn’t want to upset you, but this is what I mean. Francie’s kind of a lonely kid. And she’s vulnerable right now. I think that the sooner you get her away from him, the better. Are you taking her back to Philadelphia with you?”
Beth was immediately guarded. “No, no, I’m not. I think she’s better off here, with her aunt and uncle.”
Cindy shook her head. “I was afraid of that.”
“Well,” said Beth, “I’m just going to have to talk to her about it,” although as she said it, she realized that it was unlikely that Francie would listen to anything she had to say.
“I think you should,” said Cindy.
“I can’t believe this,” said Beth. “He looks like a kid to me.”
Cindy smiled ruefully. “Compared to us, he is.”
“But not to Francie. Well, listen, Cindy, I’m glad you told me. Really. You did the right thing.”
“I’ve got to get back to school,” said Cindy. “Can I drop you at your house?”
“Thanks,” said Beth, pulling on her jacket thoughtfully and heading for the door. Then, remembering the baby, she stopped and doubled back. Cindy was hugging the baby, reluctant to put her down. Beth leaned over and kissed the child on the cheek.
“Be a good girl,” she said.
“She’s always a good girl,” said her mother proudly.
Beth smiled indulgently at them as Cindy bounced Dana in her arms.
“You know,” said Cindy, “I remember when Francie was this size. Remember that? We were just about the age she is now.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Beth said in a dull voice.
“I was so envious of you, having a little baby around the house to play with. She was a cute little thing.”
“I guess she was,” said Beth. “It seems like a long time ago.”
Chapter 9
“YOU PROBABLY DON’T RECOGNIZE WHERE WE ARE,” said Andrew, leaning back in the seat and pressing his hands against the steering wheel.
Francie, who was looking out worriedly at the snow, shook her head. In fact, she knew exactly where they were, near a state park several miles from town, but she could tell that he wanted her not to know.
“I thought so,” said Andrew with a satisfied smile, and pressed down harder on the gas. “Figured I’d surprise you.”
“Not so fast, Andrew, please.”
Andrew turned on her. “I’m doing the driving,” he said.
Francie sat huddled in the seat, squeezing her hands tightly together. “The snow. It’s dangerous.”
“I went to a lot of trouble to get off today,” he said, “to get the car. After you called last night, I had to go through a whole thing with my mother. I had to tell her it was my boss, and I needed the car for work today and all that, just so I could take you here today. Now all of a sudden you’re complaining on me.”
“I’m not complaining,” Francie said hurriedly. “How come your mother never lets you have the car?”
Andrew flicked on the wipers, and the snow flew off the clouded windshield. “Because she’s a pig,” he said.
He accelerated again, and Francie stifled a cry with her hand as the car swerved and then righted itself on the lonely highway. Andrew jerked the wheel around and then hit the brake. The car screeched and then skidded to a halt in a little clearing between the woods on their right and the road.
He turned and smiled at her. “We’re here,” he said.
Francie nodded, her face white above her pale blue parka.
Andrew slid over toward her in the seat and began to finger her hair, crooning to her. “What’s so scary to the little girl?”
“I told you,” said Francie. “I don’t like icy highways. I told you what happened.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, sitting up, “you and your mother. The car flipped out or something.”
“I told you,” said Francie petulantly.
“Well, the little girl is safe now,” he said.
Francie stared out the window, past the bare black trees toward the cott
ony gray skies. “You can’t even see the lake for the snow,” she said.
“How do you know there’s a lake? I thought you said you were never here.”
Francie bit her lip and then, after a second’s hesitation, said, “Well, you can tell. There are no trees back there. It has to be water.”
“Aren’t we smart?” he said.
“What’s the secret place?” Francie pleaded. “You said there was a secret place.”
“There is,” he said, getting out of the car. “Let’s go.” He made his way importantly toward a path through the trees, and Francie followed behind him, carrying the brown bag of sandwiches she had made for them.
Andrew took his time, picking his way down the path, avoiding the stones and branches that were partly concealed by the falling snow. The woods surrounding the lake in a wide apron were sloped down to the water’s edge, and the whiteness of the snow made them appear deceptively light. There was not another soul to be seen as they emerged from the woods and looked out across the vast frozen surface in front of them. A few feet to their right was an arched wooden bridge with a few slats missing. The bridge spanned the fifty feet to a small island, on which stood an old stone skating house.
“It’s beautiful,” said Francie, clinging to the arm of his coat.
“Well, come on,” he said, “I’ll show you our hideout.”
He clumped down to the foot of the bridge and then started across, the sounds of his footsteps muffled by the falling snow. The bridge looked rickety, but it was sturdy enough. He reached the door of the skating house and looked down, expecting the padlock which he had put on it to have been removed, but it was still there. “Look at that,”
he said. “No one ever comes here.” He turned around to show Francie, but she was not behind him, where she was supposed to be.
“Francie,” he called out, “where are you?”
His voice echoed across the lake, but Francie did not answer. Her silence annoyed him, but he did not call out again. If this was some stupid game she was playing, he would not fall for it. Reaching down under the wooden step to the door of the house, Andrew pulled out the key, awkwardly thrust it into the keyhole, jerked the padlock down, and roughly pulled the latch forward when it was freed.
He kicked open the door and stepped inside the house. There were two overturned crates he had left there for sitting on, and light was coming in through the holes which passed for windows. There were still his ashes in the empty hearth and a small bag of food garbage which he had left there when he discovered the place. Here it was, the secret he had arranged for her, and she was not even there to see it. He slammed the door behind him and sat down heavily on one of the crates.
“Andrew,” Francie cried gaily from outside, “come see me.”
Slowly he got up and walked out on the bridge. He heard a giggling noise coming from under the bridge, and then he saw her head poking out, gazing up at him.
“Look,” she cried, “I’m skating.” She pushed off from the underside of the bridge and began to slide around on the surface of the ice, laughing and shrieking, her arms outstretched as she made awkward turns in her rubber boots.
“Get in here,” said Andrew in a tight little voice. “I’m waiting for you.”
“I’m flying,” Francie cried, running along the ice.
“Be quiet,” Andrew ordered.
“Come down here,” she pleaded. “It’s fun.” As soon as she said it, she tripped and fell with a thud on her back. The ominous sound of ice cracking emanated around her like a starburst.
“Andrew,” she cried, “help.”
“Serves you right,” he said, turning his back on her. He went back inside the house.
“Andrew,” she wailed.
That will show her, he thought. She had to have her little game. Andrew shut the door behind him and sat down on the overturned crate. He pulled his paperback book, L.A. Gundown, from the pocket of his coat. There was a man in a tuxedo on the cover, strangling a mean-looking guy twice his size. Andrew began to read, ignoring the sound of her whimpering from outside and then her footsteps, clomping across the bridge.
Francie opened the door, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her parka. Andrew did not turn around. Silently she went over and sat down on the crate opposite him, putting the brown bag down between them. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, her mittened hands tucked under her armpits. Slowly she began to rock back and forth. Andrew continued to read his paperback.
“Andrew,” she said softly.
He did not reply.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You’d better be,” he muttered, his eyes still on the book.
“Don’t be mad,” she said. “I was just having fun.”
Andrew looked up at her. “You call me and you beg me to see you. So I bring you to this place, make this surprise for you, and then you act like a two-year-old. I do not appreciate it when you act like a two-year-old. You’re a grown woman. Why don’t you act like one?”
Francie rushed over to him and knelt beside him on the cold floor of the skating house. “This place is wonderful,” she said. “And you are wonderful. Please don’t be mad. You are everything in the whole world to me.”
Andrew tried to conceal his smile, but his face reddened with pleasure. “You don’t mean that,” he said. “That’s just something you say.”
“I do mean it,” she said. “You’re handsome and smart. I love those freckles you have.” She put a mittened finger on the end of his nose, but he grabbed her wrist and pushed it away, covering his face with his own hand, as if to hide from her. Francie laughed.
“Come on,” she said. “You know it.”
Andrew raised his eyebrows over his hand, and then peering at her with a mischievous gleam, he crossed his eyes. Francie laughed again, and he pulled her close to him, burying his face in her hair.
He breathed in the scent of her hair, his gaze at once wistful and faraway. “Your hair smells so clean,” he said.
“I washed it last night.” Her voice came up, muffled by his coat.
“Do you know that no matter how much some people wash themselves, they never smell clean like that?”
He gripped her tightly, and his heart seemed to be thumping aloud. He thought that she could probably hear it, and it embarrassed him. She would know he was thinking about doing things to her. He put his cold lips down to her forehead. She tried to struggle up, but he held her there, kissing her.
“Andrew,” she said, “I can’t breathe. Let me go.”
He released her, and she popped up beside him, her face flushed, her glasses crooked on her head. She smiled at him proudly, possessively, and then leaned forward and began to kiss him on the lips.
He clutched her arms in the doughy parka and kissed her back with awkward eagerness. The fearsome pounding began in him, flooding through him, and he felt himself at once falling away and struggling to stop it.
Gently she tried to move his hand from her arm to the front of her jacket, and helplessly he let her. But as he felt that change in the bodily terrain, even under the bulky fabric, the familiar panic filled him. He knew what was coming next, the explosion he could not control, the hideous humiliation, the spreading stain in his pants, and she would know. He had to stop it in time.
With a fierce push he unloosed himself from her and began to gasp for breath. Francie’s elbow slammed against the edge of the wooden crate as she fell, and she landed on the floor, where she sat, rubbing the elbow with a resentful pout. “If you don’t want to kiss me, just say so,” she said.
Andrew jumped up and walked around the skating house, pretending to be looking out the window as he pressed his body against the cold stone walls, as if he could freeze and deflate the agitation that had mushroomed within him. “Of course, I want to kiss you,” he said irritably. “But there will be plenty of time for that when we’re out of here.”
“Out of here?” said Francie, unzipping her parka and shaking her sor
e arm out of the sleeve to make sure there was no blood on her elbow coming through her sweater.
Andrew glanced over at her. It looked as if there were two tiny eraser heads poking up her sweater from the small swell of her breasts. “Put your coat on,” he said angrily. “It’s cold in here.”
“Okay, okay,” Francie grumbled, shrugging the sleeve back on and zippering her jacket, but she was pleased by his concern, and she smiled at him. Then she got up from the floor and sat down on the other orange crate.
Andrew exhaled with relief.
“What do you mean, ‘out of here’?” she repeated.
Andrew came back and sat down on the crate opposite her. “Give me a sandwich,” he said.
Francie dutifully reached into the brown bag and handed him a packet wrapped in aluminum foil. Andrew tore it open and began to wolf down the bologna sandwich, Francie watched him tenderly, waiting for a compliment on the lunch.
“It’s time we were making our plans,” he said, crumpling the wrapper.
“Plans for what?”
“You know what,” he said. “I’ll take another one.” Francie made a face. “They’re good,” he said. She reached in the bag again. “What have I been telling you right from the start?” he went on. “It’s time for us to get out of here.”
“Run away,” she said quietly.
“That’s right,” he said. “Split, leave. Get out of this place. Just you and me. We get on the road and we go.”
Francie sighed. “I don’t know. I’m so—I don’t know, crazy, right now.”
“What was that all about last night?” he demanded.“‘Andrew, my sister won’t stay. She’s makin’ me live with those old people,’” he mimicked.
“I know.”
“You call me up, crying, yelling how much you hate her, and them, and everybody. You know this is a stinking town. What is there to stay for? We gotta go,” he said urgently.
“What about school?”
“School?” He looked at her incredulously. “Who cares about it? What are you? A brain.”
Little Sister Page 10