I Know What You Did Last Summer (16 page)

This month, however, there had been something else. A growing
restlessness. A nervousness within herself. She could not put her
finger on the reason.

Something's not right, she had thought

More and more often on the days on which she substituted and had
to remain after hours to make notes for the regular teacher's
return, she had called home to see that Julie was safely back from
school. She had all but stopped her own evening activities, the
meetings and plays and card parties which she often attended with
women friends. She felt she should be at home.

"In case," she told herself, trying to laugh. In case of what,
she did not know.

But tonight she did know. Tonight there was a reason. She had
not been able to rid her mind all day of the picture of Julie as
she had been the night before, standing in the kitchen, looking at
her with pleading in her eyes. Pleading for what? What did she want
or need?

"Mom," she had said. "Mom, I do love you so much."

How long, how many years, had it been since she had burst out
with something like that? It had been almost as though she were
begging for something, asking for help.

"Mom," she might have said, "I
need
you!" It had been
in the voice if not in the words.

Something is wrong, Mrs. James thought now, staring at the
untouched cup of coffee on the table before her. If I knew what it
was, I could fight it, but I don't know. I can't even begin to
imagine.

Julie bad gone to her room to dress for her date with Bud. The
sound of her record player flowed down the stairs and the music
trickled into the living room, mingling with the scents and
sounds of spring.

It was a beautiful night and, Mrs. James realized with growing
apprehension, it was a night when something terrible was going to
happen to somebody.

* * *

Mr. Rivers tilted his chair back against the kitchen wall and
asked, "Axe there any more potatoes?"

"Of
course,
there are. If there's anything we've always
got, it's potatoes." His wife wiped the back of her hand across her
forehead and opened the oven to take out the bowl. "Elsa, don't you
go digging into them, now. Dad needs to eat, but you don't
need any extra helpings."

"You want me to look like Helen, is that it?" Elsa said
irritably. "We
¹
!, you might as well forget it. I'm not
about to starve myself like she does in hopes some TV station will
offer me a contract."

"Helen's got will power," Mr. Rivers said, helping himself to
the gravy. "It's gotten her where she wants to go."

"And she hasn't cared who she wa2ked over
to
get
there."

Mrs. Rivers turned away from the oven. She was a thin,
sallow-faced woman who for one brief time in her teens had been
mildly pretty. Since then the advent of baby after baby, housework,
ill health, and the constant weight of financial problems had
combined to give her a look of permanent exhaustion. The
violet eyes, which had been her gift to her second daughter, looked
oddly out of place in her drawn face.

"I don't like to hear you talk that way, Elsa," she said. "It
sounds like you begrudge your sister a happy life."

"Well, I don't see where she deserves one," Elsa said with a
burst of feeling. "It's just not fair that she should have it
all-looks, a marvelous job, all kinds of money. What has she done
to earn all that, I'd like to know? Helen's never had a thought for
anyone but herself in her whole life."

"She helps out here," her father reminded her. "She sends a
check every pay day."

"Not as much as she could. Not so much that she can't buy
anything she wants for herself. She's selfish, Dad, and you
know it, but you'll never admit it. Helen's always been your
favorite."

"Dad doesn't have favorites among his children," Mrs. Rivers
told her, "any more than I do. We love all of you just alike, and
we're glad for anything good that happens to any one of you. You'll
have your chance, Elsa. Your luck'll turn. You'll meet some nice
boy."

"Like Barry Cox?"

"Maybe. Who knows who you'll meet."

"I know," Elsa said bitterly. "If 11 never be anybody
handsome and rich like that. It'll be somebody who's a perfect
nothing, and I'll marry him because nobody else asks me, and we'll
live in a house like this and have a million kids just like you
did. And we'll live on mashed potatoes."

"Talking about kids," her father said shortly, "go look in on
'em, will you? It sounds like they're tearing the living room
apart."

"I'm glad Helen's boyfriend got hurt," Elsa said. "Maybe this
will show her she can't have everything perfect."

She got up from the table and left the room. Her voice floated
back to her parents-"What do you kids think you're doing? Get those
trucks off that sofa!"

Her mother shook her head.

"What did we do wrong?"

"We didn't do anything wrong," Mr. Rivers told her. "We did the
best we could, all things considered. Like you said, there'll be a
life for Elsa if she gets out and looks for it and stops using her
sister for an excuse not to."

"But she's right in a way," Mrs. Rivers said softly. "Helen
is
selfish. And she does seem to have
everything."

"No, she doesn't," her husband said softly. "Not nearly. When
she finds somebody to love her, then maybe she'll have everything.
But the way she's going, that'll take a good long time. First
she'll have to learn to think past herself to somebody else."

"But she's so pretty," Mrs. Rivers objected. "There's not a man
in this world who wouldn't want Helen. Just look at the Cox
boy!"

"I didn't say 'want her,'" Mr. Rivers said gently. "I said 'love
her.' And about her looks-" He got up from his chair and put his
hands on his wife's stooped shoulders. "I'll tell you one thing,
honey: Helen may be pretty compared to some girls, but she'll never
hold a candle to her mother."

"Do you think he knows?" Mrs. Cox asked nervously. "Do you
think Barry guesses that he isn't going to walk again?"

"Why do you say something like that?" Mr. Cox asked her. "The
doctor told us that isn't definite. There's still hope."

"But he said if a week passed and there wasn't some sign of
movement in his legs-"

"A week hasn't passed. This is only the end of the second
day."

They had just stepped from the elevator into the hospital
corridor. Evening visiting hours had begun, and friends and
relatives of patients, many of them laden with books and flowers,
moved past them in hurried little groups.

Mr. Cox turned to regard his wife with a kind of despair.

"Sometimes, Celia, I almost think you're wishing this fate on
Barry. You're so glad to get him firmly anchored under your thumb
that you don't even mind the fact that he might be restricted to a
wheelchair."

"What a dreadful thing to say!" Mrs. Cox was sincerely
shocked. "Of course, I mind! This is a horrible thing to have
happened to Barry! Still, I don't begrudge a minute of the time
I'll be spending taking care of him. He's my son, my own baby. I'll
do everything I can to make life pleasant for him when he comes
home."

"Face it, Celia," Mr. Cox said quietly, "you've done your best
to run that boy's life for him since the day he was born. You
couldn't stand the thought that any part of it might be something
that didn't include you. No wonder he started rebelling
during his last year of high school, picked up a girl you didn't
approve of, started smoking pot and driving like a madman. A boy
needs some breathing room if he's ever going to grow into a
man."

"He's had all the breathing room he could possibly want,"
Mrs. Cox said angrily. "We're sending him to college-he's been
living at a fraternity house-"

"He's here at the University because you didn't want him moving
out of town. And the fraternity house is something you gave in on
to keep him from taking an apartment somewhere else."

"If you're accusing me of not loving Barry-"

"I'm not accusing you of that" Mr. Cox reached out with an
unaccustomed gesture and took both her hands in his. "I'm not
saying it's all been your fault either. If I'd been home more, if I
hadn't been so wrapped up in my work, you wouldn't have had to
center your life on Barry.

"What I am saying is that we've got to face the situation and do
something about it. When Barry leaves the hospital, he'll have to
come home with us, yes. But not to stay. If the worst comes true,
if our son never walks again, he is not going to spend the rest of
his life with us."

"What are you saying?" she gasped. "How can you possibly suggest
that we just throw our crippled child out on the street!"

"You know perfectly well that's not my meaning. Just because a
man can't walk doesn't mean he's destined to be a helpless invalid.
Barry can continue college, graduate, and go into some line of work
that he can handle from a desk. He can drive a car with hand
controls. He can support himself, live where he likes,
travel-
without us.
What I'm saying is that we're going to
give him a chance to grow up."

Releasing her hands, he turned abruptly and started down the
hall.

After a startled moment, Mrs. Cox hurried to catch up with
him.

"But that girl," she exclaimed, "that Rivers girl, what are we
going to do about her? In the weakened state that Barry's in,
somebody will have to protect him from opportunists. What if he
should decide-"

"Mr. and Mrs. Cox?" As they drew opposite Barry's room, the
white-haired doctor was just coming through the doorway. He
pushed the door closed behind him. "I have some happy news for
you."

His lined face looked unaccountably younger than it had that
morning.

"Your son just moved his left foot"

"He did?" Mr. Cox stopped so suddenly that his wife bumped into
him from behind. "He moved his foot? Then that means-"

"It means that we're on the road up," the doctor said warmly.
"I'll take time, of course, and extensive therapy, and I
can't guarantee that he's going to be back on the football field
any time soon. But if Barry can move his foot, he's going to be
able to move his legs. And if he can do that, he'll walk."

"Thank God!" Mr. Cox let out a long breath of relief. "Do you
hear that, Celia?"

"Yes," his wife said softly. "Oh yes!" She reached for the knob
of the closed door. "Oh, I can't wait to see him!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to," the doctor told her. "Barry has
asked that he be given some time without visitors."

"But we're not visitors!" Mrs. Cox objected. "We're his
parents!"

"He has had a telephone extension brought in," the doctor said,
"and he's making a call. It's odd the way these emotional jolts
affect people. The first thing he said when he realized the
significance of what was happening-seeing his foot move under the
sheet-was, 'I've done a terrible thing.'"

"A terrible thing?" Mrs. Cox repeated. "Why, Barry's never done
a wrong to anybody in his life. What could he be thinking of?"

"He said he lied to somebody," the doctor said. "It was all
pretty confused. You know, he's been under sedation and he's still
a bit groggy. He said he'd lied to somebody, and he had to
straighten it out before it was too late."

"I don't understand," Mr. Cox said, frowning. "He hasn't seen
anybody but us since the accident. Whom could he have lied to? And
about what? You'd better let me talk to him."

"I'm sorry," the doctor said firmly, "but he's making a phone
call and he was very definite about wanting to make it when he was
alone."

The telephone began to ring in Helen's apartment. It rang twelve
times before it stopped.

The man in the low-seated lavender chair sat quietly until it
had finished. Then he flexed his strong hands and laid them flat on
his knees. There was a smear of yellow paint across the back of one
o
f
them.

He had come in easily, for the doors to the balcony had
not been locked. Now there was nothing for him to do except
wait.

chapter 17

Helen could hear the telephone ringing as she climbed the steps
and hurried along the terrace toward her apartment. She had stayed
at the pool much longer than she had intended.

Collie's abrupt leave-taking had been noted not only by the
schoolteachers but by everyone else within eye and earshot. So,
swallowing her anger, Helen had swum back and forth a while longer
and then climbed out of the water to join the progressively
enlarging crowd of young people who were gathering around the pool
to enjoy a period of after-work relaxation. She had accepted a
beer, something she seldom indulged in, from the lawyer in
Apartment 107, and had laughed and chatted with such vivacity that
she was soon surrounded by a circle of masculine admirers.
Even after the schoolteachers had given up and gone to their
rooms for dinner, Helen had remained, sipping and talking and
watching the evening settle.

When the gas lights around the pool went on, she glanced across
at the lawyer's watch.

"I've got to get changed," she said, "and get down to the
studio."

"Why change?" the lawyer asked jovially. "You'd be a hit as is!"
But Helen had gotten to her feet, laughing, tossed the empty beer
can into his lap, and circled the pool to mount the stairs.

She could hear the muffled sound of the telephone when she
reached the second balcony, and she quickened her footsteps. The
apartment door was unlocked, so this did not detain her.
Nevertheless, the moment her hand touched the receiver, the phone
stopped ringing.

"It's making a habit of that lately," Helen said aloud. "Well,
maybe whoever it is will phone back. Or maybe it was Elsa and I'm
lucky to have missed her."

"Do you usually leave your apartment open?" a voice asked
her.

The sound, so unexpected, was like a cold hand on her neck.
Helen whirled in panic and then, with a gasp of relief, felt all
the defense drain out of her as she saw the man in the purple
armchair.

"Oh-Collie! You scared me to death. What are you doing
here?"

"Waiting for you." He had changed out of his trunks and was
neatly dressed in a sport shirt and trousers. His hair, still wet
from the pool, was slicked down across his forehead. "You took your
time about coming up. I thought maybe something had happened to
you."

"I was having a good time down there," Helen said defiantly. She
crossed the room and turned on the light at the far end of the
sofa. "I thought you said you had a date tonight. Did you decide
not to keep it?"

"There's plenty of time for that," Collie said. "My date's not
till eight I thought maybe I'd better explain to you what
it's going to be."

"You don't have to do that," Helen told him. "I don't have any
strings attached to you. You're free to date anybody you want
to."

"True," Collie said. He got to his feet and pulled his chair
around so that it blocked the doorway. "Sit down, Helen. Over there
on the sofa. Now, about my date-"

"I told you," Helen said, "that it doesn't matter."

"Don't interrupt I know what you told me. The thing is that I'm
going to do something interesting to my date tonight. I'm going to
kill her."

"You-you're-going to do
what?"
She knew that she could
not have heard him correctly, but the words had been so clear. She
stared at him blankly. "You're making a joke, and I don't think
it's funny."

"It's not funny at all." Collie's face was set and
expressionless. "Killing people is never funny, whether you do it
with a gun or a grenade or a bomb or with your bare hands. If you
run somebody down with a car, a little kid on a bike going home to
his mother, that's not funny, either. Not for the kid. Not for his
family."