"Aren't we a pair of pathetic losers," he muttered.
"The jury's still out on that," I said, recalling one of my grandfather's favorite expressions. Duncan smiled.
I rose and began to clear the table, and he quickly joined in. Side by side, we washed and dried the dishes, bowls, silverware and then cleaned the counters and the table, putting everything in its proper place. By the time we were done, even Sherlock Holmes would have trouble proving anyone had eaten dinner here.
"My aunt's going to think I skipped dinner. I'm going to have to prove it to her," I said.
"You going to tell her I was here?"
"Why not?"
"Your uncle might not like it."
"They haven't told me not to have anyone here. They certainly know I'm seeing you. My aunt trusts me and wants me to be happy," I added, but I wondered if she might think I had been sneaky about it, pretended to have lost interest in him and hidden our secret meetings from her. I made up my mind to be sure to explain it all to her.
"They might forbid you to see me again. I can't blame them."
"Stop it, Duncan. My aunt knows who you are. She's never said anything like that to me."
He shrugged.
I recalled one of my uncle Tyler's favorite rhetorical, philosophical questions. "If you don't like yourself, Duncan, why should anyone else like you?"
"I don't know if I like myself or not," he said. He looked at me intently, his eyes narrow, his face tight. "Like you, I'm still trying to find out who I am."
"Okay," I said. Whenever he became this intense, I felt myself tremble. "Let's just keep trying."
He said nothing.
I walked him out to his scooter. It was once again fully overcast. The air had the scent of impending rain. Way off in the distance, there was a flash of lightning.
"You'd better get home before it starts to pour," I said.
He nodded and got on his scooter.
"Any idea about what you're going to do for your first painting yet?"
I started to shake my head and then stopped.
"Yes, I think I do. It has something to do with a doe I once saw back there. I know that much, but not any more until I start."
"Sounds promising," he said and kick-started his scooter. I felt the first drop.
"It's starting, Duncan. How long will it take you to get home?"
"Twenty minutes at the most," he said. "I've ridden in the rain before. Don't worry"
"Not after being with me, though," I told him. It was almost a reflex to say it, and the words came out before I could stop them.
He stared and then nodded. "I thought you believed we both have to quit doing that," he said.
"What?"
He turned the scooter around.
"Thinking we're bad luck to everyone who has anything to do with us."
"You're right. I'm sorry. That was stupid."
"It's all right. Don't beat yourself up. You going to the cafe to work tomorrow?"
"No. I have the day off. My uncle wants me to get started on my art."
"Good."
He leaned forward to kiss me, and then he was off.
Like a curtain being lowered, the rain started to fall, the drops pounding on the leaves and the road as hard as the pounding in my heart. I hurried back into the house. Almost twenty minutes later, the phone rang. I lunged for it, hoping it was Duncan letting me know he was safe. Perhaps he had seen the concern in my face and heard it in my voice after all.
It wasn't Duncan. It was my father.
"Hey," he said. "How are you doing up there?"
"Good," I said. I wanted to ask him if Grandma had called him complaining that he hadn't called me, but thought it wouldn't be nice. Also, he might be doing it on his own.
"Your grandmother told me your decision. Are you sure you're doing the right thing? Leaving school just at the start of your senior year to start in a new place--"
"I never felt like I belonged back there anyway," I said.
He was quiet a moment. "Yeah, I guess I understand that. Well, if you want to talk to anyone about it, don't hesitate to tall me. I'll check on you from time to time."
"Okay."
"Tell Zipporah hello for me."
"I will," I said.
He wished me luck and said good-bye. I felt bad about not being more talkative, but 1 couldn't help thinking about Duncan. I was sorry I didn't insist he call me when he got home, Finally, I decided I would call him. It took me a while to find his telephone number because his mother wasn't listed in the telephone book under Winning. I finally remembered he had told me she had changed her name back to her maiden name, Simon. I found the listing, but I hesitated to call.
Would I get him into some sort of trouble by calling? I tried to occupy myself with reading and with some television, but nothing worked.
The rain was really thumping on the roof by now, and I heard the thunder and saw some more lightning. It had been nearly an hour since he had left. I had to know he was safe. I wouldn't sleep. Memories of my car accident were flashing across my eyes, sending shivers up and down my spine. Would I cause someone else's death, someone else who dared to get close to me?
As I paced about, I thought that my limp was becoming more and more pronounced, as though it were meant to be another reminder--or maybe a prophecy. Soon I was envisioning him sprawled on some highway, the rain pummeling his face and his hand, his body twisted and broken, and then his mother arriving and screaming to the police and to the paramedics, "It's all because of her! My son is dead because he met her!"
Finally, I could contain myself no longer. With trembling fingers, I dialed the number. It barely rang once.
"I'm all right," I heard him say in a deep, hoarse whisper and then hang up. He didn't even say hello; he was that sure he was getting a phone call from me. Or maybe, maybe his mother knew, could see through everything just as he had said. Maybe he had confessed again, told her every detail.
It was as if the lightning sizzling the air outside had shot through the window and sizzled my heart in half as well. I held the receiver and listened to the hum. Then I hung up slowly, just as my uncle and aunt arrived home from the cafe. I heard Aunt Zipporah call for me.
"Wow!" she exclaimed. "This is a real summer downpour," she said, shaking her hair.
"It's a good night for Macbeth's witches," Uncle Tyler added, laughing. "How are things going with the studio?"
"We got a lot done," I replied.
"We?" Aunt Zipporah asked, and I told her all about Duncan's surprise visit, helping me in the studio and then his helping prepare our dinner.
She and Uncle Tyler looked at each other with obvious surprise.
"I hope that was all right," I said quickly.
"Oh, sure it was," Aunt Zipporah replied.
"He got home ahead of this mess, I hope," Uncle Tyler said, indicating the rain.
"Just barely."
"Everything else all right?" Aunt Zipporah asked me, her voice ringing with curiosity and some suspicion.
"Far as I know," I replied.
"Well, this will be a good test of the repairs to the roof we did this year," Uncle Tyler said and started upstairs.
Aunt Zipporah lingered, fidgeting with things in the kitchen. I knew she was still concerned. She walked into the living room, where I was sitting and trying to read one of the books 1 knew I had to read for my upcoming senior year. My eyes continually moved off the page, and my thoughts drifted away from the story and characters so much that I couldn't remember what I had just read.
"So, now that you've spent more time with Duncan," she began, "what's he really like?"
I told her more details about the things he had done at the studio and how he had been so good at helping with dinner. The more I spoke, the wider her smile became.
"You sound like you like him very much, Alice." "Yes, I do," I admitted.
"That's fine. I know his mother is pretty much to herself. I haven't seen her around, at any stores, sho
pping--"
"He does the shopping for them," I said quickly.
"Oh. I'm sure Mrs. Mallen is right. His youth has been stolen from him. It's not easy for him to make new friends."
"It's not that easy for me."
She thought a moment. I could almost see the thoughts and questions careening about in her mind.
"Well then, do you think he's the best young man for you at this time? I don't want to sound negative, but you and I know you have your own problems. Adding to your own burdens might not be wise."
"Did you think like that when you hung out with my mother?" I countered.
"It was different then, Alice. I had little or no baggage to carry, and Karen's mother and stepfather were in an active business in the community. There were people who thought her mother was a gold digger, but that was about as critical as anyone was about them. I'm just telling you to be careful, that's all. I don't want to stifle you or clip your wings, but I wouldn't be doing my duty if I didn't voice my concerns, right?"
"No," I said. "I understand. I appreciate it," I said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I really do appreciate your concern."
"Good. It's nice of you to care about him, Alice, but be careful," she said. And then, in order to explain what she meant, she added, "Sometimes, when you invest in someone, you're like a gambler who loses and keeps gambling to win it back but only loses more. I should know."
I thought for a moment. "You've told me how wonderful it was for you to become friends with my mother. Did she feel the same way about you?"
"I thought so. She didn't have all that many friends when I met her. Actually, she had no close friends, but I thought she was the most interesting and exciting girl I had ever met and didn't care if we had lots of friends or not. If nothing else, I was a great audience for her, and I made her feel good about herself."
"I guess in a way that's what I am for Duncan," I said.
She nodded. "Just be careful, honey. One of Tyler's favorite expressions is, Don't bite off more than you can chew. The great thing about all these adages is they hold up through time." She smiled and looked at my book. "Tyler loves this novel. When you're finished, he'll be happy to talk about it with you," she said.
"Great. I'd like that."
"I'm bushed. See you in the morning," she told me and left.
I sat there listening to the rain. It didn't seem to have let up a bit. I felt my eyelids growing heavy and decided to go to sleep myself. There was a lot on my mind, so many questions and thoughts because of the things my aunt Zipporah had said. I tossed and turned so much that I didn't really drift off until the wee hours.
I was so tired in the morning that I didn't get up when I heard Tyler moving about. I fell back to sleep. When I did get up finally, I found a note on the refrigerator for me. My aunt was reminding me that they wanted me to spend the day in my studio and not worry about working in the cafe.
I showered to help wake myself up and then made myself some breakfast. Aunt Zipporah called to be sure I had read her note and I was okay.
"I hope I didn't upset you last night, Alice." "No. Stop worrying about it."
"Call the cafe if you need anything," she said.
I thanked her. Moments after I hung up, the phone rang again. This time it was Duncan, and he wasn't whispering.
"I'm sorry I was so abrupt last night when you called," he said, "but she was hovering right over me. She was very angry that I didn't call and tell her I wouldn't be home for dinner."
"Now she hates me, is that it?"
"No, she didn't even ask me why I didn't call or where I was. She's like that. She knows."
"Duncan--"
"No, she knows," he insisted. "Anyway, she's punishing me by not taking me along on her church trip today."
"That's a punishment?" I asked, laughing.
"She says I don't deserve God's grace until I show real remorse. She just left."
"Well, I don't think--"
"She'll be gone almost all day," he said, quickly interrupting. "I know you want to get into your painting, but maybe I'll see you later, if that's all right."
"Of course it's all right. You can make me a wonderful lunch."
He didn't laugh. He said nothing.
"Duncan?"
"I'll see. I have a few things I promised I'd get done around the house."
"I'm not going anywhere today," I said. He was silent again. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "I just . . . yes, I'm okay. Forget what I said. I'm sure I'll be tied up with all this. We have a serious plumbing problem. Our submersible well."
"Maybe you should call someone."
"I can handle it," he said defensively. "Forget I called. Sorry," he said and hung up.
"Duncan? Damn," I muttered and hung up the receiver. He was so complicated. One moment he was hot and then he was cold and it was almost impossible to anticipate when and why he would change. What's more, I had no idea what would make him change. It didn't have to have anything to do with me or what I said. He could be hearing voices only he heard. I should know about that.
I thought about my conversation with my aunt Zipporah. She was so right, I had to start thinking more about myself. 1 was getting in too deeply with someone who had as many, if not more, problems as I did.
Don't bite off more than you can chew.
It was good advice.
If you did bite off more than you could chew, you'd only choke.
And I didn't come here to choke.
I came here to be free and happy, to be that baby the stork left on the doorstep, to be my own person.
Maybe it was mean, but I was hoping he wouldn't come to see me.
To shove away my conscience, I dove headlong into my drawing and my painting. Happily, I quickly lost myself in my own imaginative world.
My grandmother didn't realize it when she gave me my name,. but I was Alice and my art was truly my Wonderland.
16 Peeping Tom
. Duncan didn't come around at lunchtime. In fact, I was so involved in my work that I forgot about lunch and didn't think about it at all until I had a bubbling in my stomach and realized that I was getting hungry and hadn't eaten. It was midafternoon by then. I paused to go into the house to get myself something to eat and decided that I would work on stocking my own little kitchen space in the studio to avoid long interruptions. I quickly ate half of a peanut butter sandwich and returned to the studio.
Because there was no phone in the studio, neither my aunt nor Duncan could speak with me. It didn't occur to my aunt until she started calling to see how I was doing, expecting that I would be in the kitchen around lunchtime. She drove Tyler so crazy with her concern that he finally sent her to the house to check up on me by late afternoon. When I heard footsteps behind me, I thought it was Duncan. I was sure anyone could read the disappointment in my face.
"Have you been at it all day?" she asked, smiling to hide her concern.
"Yes. I did eat something," I added quickly. "Can I look at your work?"
"It's hardly anything yet," I said.
I stepped back from the easel, and she gazed at my work in progress.
"That's interesting, Alice. Your doe has an almost human face."
I looked at it myself. I hadn't realized it.
"It's going to he something," she said. She looked around. "You've been at this since you got up this morning?"
"Yes."
"Aren't you getting a little tired?"
"I guess. It's usually not until I stop that I realize it, however."
She laughed. "How about coming back to the cafe with me? You don't have to work, but Tyler's made this fantastic- lasagna special, and you should have some before we sell out."
"Okay," I said and began putting things away.
"Has Duncan Winning been here today?" she finally asked. I knew she had been dying to do so.
"No. He called. His mother was angry at him for having dinner here last night." I described her punishment f
or him. "Isn't that odd? Why would she think that would upset him so much?"
"I'm sure it's difficult for him."
"He's so accomplished in so many ways," I said as we walked out. "Mechanically talented, poetic. Why can't his mother appreciate all that and let him be?"
"You remind me so much of your mother sometimes," she said. "She used to get so angry at the way some of the parents treated their children, but she would then just pretend she was a witch and put a spell on them."
"Maybe she put a spell on her own mother, too," I said, and Aunt Zipporah looked at me strangely. She said nothing else about it, however.
The cafe was as slow as Uncle Tyler had predicted it would be. Most of the time, I sat around talking either with Aunt Zipporah or Cassie, who was suddenly surprisingly open about herself, telling me about her social life and her on-and-off love affair with a boy named Johnny Skyler. She said that whenever he became too serious with her, he would pull back, fearing that he was missing out on something.
"He's so obvious about it, too. He's a terrible liar."
"Why do you stay with him?" I asked her. I didn't want to show how hungry I was for
conversation with other girls near my age, but it was difficult for me not to cling to every word. I was very curious about the way other girls felt about their boyfriends and how they handled the conflicts and problems.
She shrugged, looking like I was the first one who had asked her that question.
-Amusement, I guess," she said.
"How can these feelings, these relationships, be just amusing?" I quickly followed, and she looked at me to be sure I was serious.
"What do you want, true love and marriage before you're eighteen? You can't date unless it's going to be forever? Maybe during your and my greatgrandmothers' time, Alice, but haven't you heard, we're liberated. Girls can be just as casual about the boys they date as boys have always been," she said with some bitterness.
With that attitude, how will she ever find true love? I wondered. But then I thought, Maybe she's right to be as she is. Maybe that was how you never get hurt. I was in the mood to believe that. Duncan hadn't called, and even though I was conflicted about whether I should continue to care or not, I couldn't help looking at whoever came in, half expecting to see him outside with his scooter.
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