Ivy Secrets (24 page)

“It happened so fast,” Charlie said.

“I’ve been so worried,” Peter said.

“I thought he was trying to rape me.”

“It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone.”

“Hold me, Peter.”

“I am holding you.”

“Kiss me, Peter.”

He kissed her hair, her forehead, her dry lips.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he said.

She touched his cheek and looked through the lenses of his glasses, into his soft brown eyes. Behind them, within them, she saw love.

    The days became a whirlwind of physical therapy to rebuild her strength, naps to rebuild her soul, and plenty of visitors to rebuild her spirits. More than a week after she’d awakened, Charlie settled back on the pillow her mother had just plumped, as she tried to convince her to return to Pittsburgh.

“I’m fine now, Mom. I want to stay here.”

“I thought mothers were supposed to know what’s best.”

“I’m sure they do. But you’ve raised me to be independent,
to think for myself. I want to stay at Smith, Mom. I’ve worked too hard to leave now.”

Connie picked up the blue plastic pitcher and poured Charlie another glass of water. Then she straightened the daisies that Marina and Tess had sent.

“Besides, Mom,” Charlie continued, “what about the other kids? You’ve been gone a long time. I’m sure they miss you.”

With a small sigh and a shake of her head, Connie folded her arms across her stomach. “I was so frightened. You’re my baby, too, you know. I was so frightened.”

Charlie reached out and touched her mother’s hand. “I’m okay now, Mom. I promise I’ll call every day.”

Connie scowled. “Every day?”

“Every day.”

Reassured by the doctors that Charlie was on the mend, and satisfied that her daughter’s friends would look after Charlie, Connie kissed Charlie’s cheek and finally departed for home.

Marina and Tess brought Charlie her books and assignments; Peter spent countless hours helping her catch up on her work and helping her fill out endless insurance forms. Thankfully, her medical coverage was sufficient to pay the mounting bills. Three weeks into her rehabilitation—six weeks since the accident—Charlie’s doctor proclaimed her ready to leave the hospital. The night before her release, there was a knock on her door.

“Come in,” Charlie said, as she stood facing the mirror, trying to cover the deep purple scar on her forehead with a lock of hair. She expected to see Peter or Tess or Marina, but standing in her doorway was Vance Howard.

“You don’t look sick to me,” he said.

Charlie smiled. “I’m not. What are you doing here, Vance?”

He laughed and thrust a bouquet of white roses at her. “Are you kidding? You’ve been the talk of both campuses. ‘Smith sophomore saves herself from abductor,’ I believe the headlines read.”

Charlie groaned. “God, how embarrassing.” She took the roses. “These are lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should come. I know you and Peter Hobart are … well …”

“Well, you’re right. We are.”

Vance nodded. “I just wanted you to know if there’s anything I can do, please call me.”

Charlie frowned. “Thanks, but I don’t think—”

He cleared his throat. “I mean through my father’s office or anything. He pulled some strings, you know. Got Willie Benson put away where he belongs.”

Charlie nodded. “I knew he’d been caught, but I didn’t know your father …”

Vance shrugged. “All in the line of duty to his constituents.”

“Well. Thank you.”

Vance nodded toward the books spread across Charlie’s bed. “How are you doing? With your schoolwork?”

“Not great. It would be easier to catch up if I didn’t have such a full load. Plus, I’m switching my major to economics. So that doesn’t help.”

“You could stay for summer school.”

Charlie laughed. “Sorry, I have to go home and work this summer. Help pay my expenses next year.”

“I thought about that,” he said. “And I want you to know that if you’d like to stay here, I’m sure I can get you a job in my father’s office.”

“Really?”

The door opened and Peter walked in. At the sight of Vance, he shot a look at Charlie. “Sorry. Didn’t know you had company.”

“I was just leaving, Hobart. Don’t get nervous.” He tipped a hand to Charlie. “My offer’s open,” he said and he ducked past Peter.

“Thanks, Vance,” Charlie answered. “I’ll think about it.”

Peter asked as soon as the door had closed behind Vance, “What offer?”

Charlie shrugged and stepped into his arms. “Is that any way to say hello?”

    “I don’t want you to stay in Northampton this summer,” Peter said. “Especially with Vance Howard.”

They were sitting on the peacock bench outside Morris House. It was a warm spring day, but Charlie felt a cool
breeze on her neck. The first thing she did after her release from the hospital was cut her hair. Short.

“What I do this summer has nothing to do with Vance,” Charlie protested. “Besides, I don’t even think he’s going to be here.”

Peter stared at the ground. “His father only made the offer because it’s good public relations. He saw the chance to make himself look good—to help out the poor Smith sophomore who was almost killed but survived the terrible tragedy.”

Charlie smiled. “I doubt Willie wanted to kill me. He didn’t push me down that hill, Peter. I fell.”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t care. I don’t trust politicians and I don’t trust their sons.”

Charlie took Peter’s hand. “Staying here will give me the chance to make up a few credits I’m going to miss, and it will give me the chance to earn some money. I have to earn money, Peter, you know that.”

He broke away from her grasp and stood. “I’ll give you the damn money.”

Charlie laughed. “No, you won’t. I have to do this myself.”

“Why? To prove to me you’re not after my money?”

“No,” Charlie answered, but did not add,
to prove it to myself.

“But I won’t be here!” Peter began to pace. “I told you, I have to work in the business this summer.”

“I’ll see you in the fall. When you’re at Harvard.”

“The fall is a long way off.”

Charlie scanned his lean body as he stood now, his back to her. Beneath the thin knit of his polo shirt, she could see the outline of the hard muscles that spanned his shoulders—crew muscles they called them, from the hours of rowing that Peter endured. She wondered how it would feel to touch those muscles, she wondered how it would feel to touch his entire body—naked. They had not yet made love. She felt they had barely known each other before the accident, yet now it seemed they had been together for years.
Tragedy
, she reasoned,
must bring people closer.

Charlie sighed, then reached out and touched Peter’s waist. “What’s really bothering you, Peter?”

He paused a moment, then turned to look at her again. “It’s Vance,” he said. “I’m afraid he’s going to steal my girl.”

He’s jealous
, Charlie thought with not a small feeling of joy.

“Peter,” Charlie said. “Trust me. Please. Next year I’ll need you more than ever. Marina has decided to go to London for her junior year. And Tess is determined to go to Italy, even though her mother is against it. She wants to be an artist. She’s going to learn to blow glass.”

“We’re not talking about Tess or Marina. We’re talking about you. Us.”

Charlie stood quickly. Her head went light, her vision blurred. She steadied herself against Peter. “Damn you. You’re not listening. I want to stay here and study. I want to stay here and work. It’s a perfect solution.”

He brought his hands to her face. “There’s a better solution,” he said. “Marry me.”

Charlie caught her breath. “What?”

“You heard me. Marry me.”

“Peter …”

He turned his back to her again. “I love you, Charlie. Marry me.”

“Peter …” she moved close to his back and put her hand on his shoulder. “Peter, I have to see this through. I want an education.”

“What about me? Do you want me?”

She ran a finger across the nape of his neck. “Yes. I want you. I want you very much.” She lightly kissed his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

“You don’t need a college degree to marry me.”

Charlie said nothing. She didn’t have the courage to tell him how she really felt: that a Smith College degree might prove to Peter—and his mother—that she could “make it” on her own, that she didn’t need the Hobart fortune to find her way in life.

They stood for a moment in silence.

Peter raised his head as if studying the cloudless sky. “I love you so damn much, Charlie.”

She put her face against his back. “We’ll get through this. But it’s too soon to get married.” As she said the words, Charlie wondered why she was saying them. Wasn’t Peter the man she wanted? Wasn’t the life he offered the one she’d
dreamed of? Then Marina’s sapphire and diamond ring came into her mind, and the humble look of pride on her father’s face when he accepted it. “I’m not saying I won’t marry you,” she continued. “I’m only saying I want to wait. I need to feel healthy again. I need to get strong. Can’t you understand that?”

He turned and took her in his arms. “Yes. I’m just so jealous of Vance Howard I can’t stand it.”

“And I,” Charlie said, “can’t stand him.” Then she kissed his lips, and he kissed her back, and they held each other tightly for a very long time.

    The summer passed quickly. Charlie attended classes in the morning, worked in the afternoon, and studied at night. There was little time to do anything else and few people around to do anything with. Vance was interning in Washington for the summer, much to Peter’s approval and Charlie’s relief. As Peter predicted, Congressman Howard had made the most of the situation, with photos of him with a fatherly arm around the “unfortunate” Smith sophomore appearing in newspapers throughout the state. Charlie didn’t care. She only knew she had two more years to get her degree; Peter had two years ahead of him for his master’s. And she prayed he wouldn’t change his mind about marrying her by then.

Letters arrived from Marina and Tess, who, by summer, were already settled in Europe for their junior year.

Marina’s first letter described the wedding of the century as “the most dreadful carnival in the history of womankind,” and cited that Alexis was “more impressed with herself than at any other time in her life.” Charlie laughed. She missed the princess already.

Tess did not send a letter until the end of August. It was short and merely explained that she was learning to blow glass from the masters. She also mentioned that her instructor—Giorgini Ghedini—was an absolute charmer.

Charlie forfeited returning to Pittsburgh the last two weeks of the summer in order to work full-time. The opportunity was here; the money was good. Besides, she had Labor Day weekend to look forward to. Peter had mentioned that
maybe—just maybe—he could work it so Charlie could come to the “cottage” in the Hamptons and meet his mother.

On Wednesday evening before Labor Day, Charlie stood in her room, in front of the mirror, examining the scar on her forehead. It had faded from purple to dirt brown but still served as a grotesque reminder of the incident on the path. She’d never told anyone—not Peter, not her doctor—about the recurring nightmares she had of being attacked by that odd little man with the misplaced eyes and high-pitched voice. She hoped the nightmares would, like her scar, soon begin to fade.

The telephone rang in the hallway, and Charlie went to answer it. It was for her; it was Peter.

“How you doing?” he asked.

She leaned against the wall and smiled. “Fine. Missing you.”

“Me too you. Did you get your grades yet?”

“I aced my classes.”

“That’s my girl.”

A glow swelled inside her. Charlie liked making Peter proud; she liked that he cared.

“Is everything all set for the weekend?” she asked in a rush of excitement.

Peter paused. Charlie felt her glow dissipate. “I’m afraid we have a problem.”

“Oh, no.”

“Sorry, babe. My mother made other plans.”

Other plans?
What could be more important than meeting the girl her son wanted to marry?

“You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”

Charlie swallowed her pride.
It’s okay
, she told herself.
I didn’t have anything to wear anyway.
“A little. But there’ll be another time.” Something made her add, “Won’t there?”

Peter laughed. “Of course. Don’t be an idiot. I told you, it’s just that she made other plans.”

She wanted to ask if his mother simply didn’t want to meet her; she wanted to ask if she’d been angry. And part of Charlie wanted to ask if he’d really asked his mother at all, that maybe he’d decided the girl from Pittsburgh wasn’t good enough for him after all. She squeezed the phone cord and told herself to stop being so paranoid.

“I have another idea,” he continued. “How about if I
come and get you, and we take off for Cape Cod for the weekend?”

“Cape Cod?” Was he asking her to go away with him—just the two of them? Did that mean they’d get a room together … sleep together? Was it time?

“Do you think you could stand me for an entire three-day weekend?” Peter was asking. “I’d ask my mother to come along, but like I said, she has other plans.”

Yes
, Charlie thought,
it is time. It is time we saw each other again. It is time we made love.
“How fast can you get here?” she heard herself ask.

Peter laughed. “Friday about noon. I’ll pick you up, okay?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said with a smile. “That’s great.” After she hung up, she stayed leaning against the wall for a moment. She would take her last paycheck from Congressman Howard’s office and buy some clothes for Cape Cod. And a nightie. A very sexy nightie. The kind that no woman in her right mind would wear to sleep in.

    Labor Day weekend was only the first of every weekend away. On Cape Cod they stayed at Mostly Hall, a charming Victorian in the center of Falmouth, where they fed each other apple-stuffed French toast in the morning, and decided that bed and breakfasts were definitely meant for them. They took the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard and rode bicycles out to Gay Head. And they made love. Over and over, they made love, on the dunes at dusk, in their canopy bed at night. It was wonderful, sweet love. And Charlie knew it had been worth the wait.