Mister Death's Blue-Eyed Girls (16 page)

Paul nods. "That's what I think. Why else was he sitting there on the bridge?"

"Maybe he was waiting to kill Ellie and Nora." Charlie slides his arm around me and holds me tight, protecting me from what didn't happen but could have.

"Wait," I say, scared of what I'm about to say. "If he was going to kill us, why didn't he? He had a perfect opportunity."

"Those other kids were coming," Ellie says patiently. She's explained this before.

"But we got in his car," I say. "He could've driven us somewhere and killed us. If that's what he wanted to do."

They all look at me. "What are you talking about?" Paul asks. "Are you saying Buddy didn't do it?"

"Why would he want to shoot Ellie and me?" I ask, kind of losing track of my own argument. "It was Cheryl he was mad at. Not us."

"You saw him on the bridge," Paul said. "At the scene of the crime."

"Yeah," Charlie put in. "You had incriminating evidence."

"Then why didn't he run and hide before we got there?" I ask, back on track now. "Why would he hang around if he'd just ... if he'd..." The word "killed" sticks in my throat like a curse too horrible to say out loud.

Charlie strokes my arm. "What's wrong with you? Buddy did it. He should be electrocuted."

"That's too good for him," Paul says. "Put him in front of a firing squad and let him feel what Cheryl and Bobbi Jo felt."

I drink some more beer. I remember Buddy's face at the cemetery. How sad and lost he looked. How alone. "But what if he didn't do it?"

"What, are you in love with this guy or something?" Charlie asks me.

I know he's kidding, but I feel awkward, like a dumb kid. "I just don't believe he did it. And I feel sorry for him. How would you feel if everyone thought
you
did it?"

"But he
did
do it." Paul sounds angry now.

Charlie and Ellie agree.

And that's when I tell them I saw Buddy at the cemetery. "He looked terrible."

Paul stares at me. "That proves it. Murderers always go to the funerals of their victims."

"I'm surprised the cops didn't take him in for more questions," Charlie says.

Paul shakes his head. "They must not have seen him."

"Why didn't you say something?" Charlie asks me.

"It was a burial," I say. "I couldn't just shout, 'Look, there he is.' " By now I'm about to cry. They're all turning against me.

"Hey." Charlie touches my cheek. "It's okay. You believe what you believe—even if you're totally wrong."

"And she is," Paul mutters.

"Come on," Ellie says. "We've all had a really bad time. Don't make it worse by arguing."

Paul leans back in his seat. "Anybody else want another beer?" He gets out the church key and opens four bottles.

I take one and sip it. My mouth is starting to feel funny. A little numb, like when the dentist gives you a shot of Novocain. Is this my third beer or my fourth?

"I don't know about you guys," Charlie says, "but I could use some fresh air."

"How about a little stroll around the reservoir?" Paul opens his door and gets out. The rain has stopped and the stars are out. We follow Paul carefully down a steep, rocky path, slippery with mud. At the bottom, we stare across the dark water. There's no moon. Just stars. Ellie and I find the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. Paul points out Orion and Cassiopeia's chair. Charlie thinks he sees the North Star. That's the sum of our astronomical knowledge.

We sit on a ledge of rock. The boys gather sticks and twigs and chunks of logs and start a fire. In the woods behind us, crickets chirp. Somewhere a bullfrog croaks. Paul and Charlie put the rest of the beer in the water to keep it cool.

"Do you believe in God?" Paul asks us.

"Do you?" Charlie asks.

"I asked
you.
"

"Yeah, but you can answer, can't you?"

"I do," Ellie says.

I stare at her. "Even now? Even after this?"

"I have to," she says. "Without God there's nothing, and that means they'd be dead and that's all. D. E. A. D. I want to believe they're in heaven, and you can't have heaven without God."

"Or hell," Paul puts in.

"But, Ellie," I whisper, "how could God let them die like that?"

"My father says we can't understand why God does what he does."

I'm thinking my mother said the same thing, but she didn't sound like she really believed it. Does Mr. O'Brien believe it?

Paul laughs. "That's why he's God and we're not."

Charlie opens another beer. "You mean we're not smart enough to be God? Even after eating the apple and all?" He laughs too.

I look at the sky. The universe, world without end, going on and on and on, impossible to imagine. Stars and suns and planets spinning. No God sitting on his throne up there, with angels and cherubim and seraphim praising him. And no souls of the faithful departed basking in perpetual light. Just space. Dark, cold, empty.

Charlie nudges Paul. "So anyway, do you believe in God or not?"

Paul shrugs. "I don't know. I think I'm an agnostic. Especially after what happened."

I surprise myself by saying, "I'm a pantheist." The word pops out of my mouth, and as soon as it does I decide yes, that's what I am. I also think I must be drunk, which makes me laugh.

"What the hell is that?" Paul asks.

"I read about it when I was doing my report on Wordsworth—you know, the poet we studied in English." I wave my arm at the woods and the hills and the reservoir. "God's in the sky and the trees and the water, all nature. He's way too big for churches and priests and ministers. He's just this huge gigantic force in everything, and he doesn't give a damn about us. We're just, just—ants. Ants. Stupid little ants. Who cares if we get stepped on?"

"And all this time I thought you were a Catholic," Charlie says. His arm slides around me, hugs me, and I try to relax against him, but I'm all tensed up.

"She
is
a Catholic." Ellie looks at me like she wants to ask, What's wrong with you? Are you crazy, are you drunk?

Yes and yes. Probably both. I lie back on the rock. The sky is spinning now, the rock is spinning, I'm about to break the laws of gravity and fly into outer space. I start to laugh, I laugh until I cry.

Charlie lies down beside me. "Don't cry," he whispers. His lips find mine and we start kissing, real kissing. I love the way his mouth feels, I love the taste of his tongue, I love the touch of his hands, and I don't stop him even when he unfastens my bra and touches my breasts. I know I should, I know it's a sin, but I don't care. I just want to keep doing what we're doing because it stops me from worrying about death and insanity and whether there's a God or not. I'm beginning to think it's okay if Charlie's shorter than I am. I'm beginning to think maybe I love him.

Charlie's hand slides under my skirt and moves up my leg, past my knee, heading toward my deepest, darkest place. I pull away from him, suddenly scared of what we're doing or about to do. "We better stop," I whisper.

"Yeah, I know." Charlie sits up with a sigh. "I guess I should take you home, Long Tall Sally."

I look at him, scared he's mad, but he smiles and takes my hand, pulls me to my feet, kisses me.

I smooth my skirt, he tucks in his shirt. We cling to each other, unsteady from the beer or something. I don't know. Really woozy. Dizzy, silly. I wonder what he was about to do, what it would have been like. I wish we could lie down and hold each other tight and sleep with each other all night. Not do anything. Just be together while the stars and moon spin round and round.

Charlie picks up an empty beer bottle and hurls it at a rock in the water. It smashes.

Ellie jumps up, frightened. Her blouse is half unbuttoned, her hair has slipped out of her ponytail. We look like two girls from a
True Confessions
story. I hope we won't be crying tomorrow morning.

"I thought it was a gunshot," Ellie whispers.

Paul hugs her, kisses her, comforts her. Charlie throws another bottle. I throw one. We laugh hysterically. The sound of glass breaking is exhilarating. We find bottles left by other people and throw them.
Crash, bang,
it's like the Fourth of July without sparkles.

After all the empties are broken, we stagger up the path to the parking lot, stumbling, slipping, falling. My purple skirt is ruined forever. My favorite favorite skirt, my favorite favorite blouse with the pretty little purple flowers. I'm going to be in so much trouble when I get home.

In the car, Ellie asks, "What time is it?" She sounds sleepy and slurry.

Charlie strikes a match and looks at his watch. "Oh my God," he says. "'It's two o'clock in the morning and we've danced the whole night through'—or is that three o'clock? Can't remember how the song goes. Two o'clock? Three o'clock?"

"Shut up, Charlie," Paul says. "It's late and these girls are in trouble."

"Oh my God," I say, "are we pregnant?"

Everyone laughs. "Not that kind of trouble," Paul says.

"Whew," Ellie says. "
That's
a relief."

While Paul drives me home, Charlie and I make out in the back seat. He French kisses, he touches my breasts, but when I feel his hand moving up my leg again, I pull away. He sighs and looks at me, his face a blur in the dark. We hold each other tight. "Ooooh, baby," he whispers. We start kissing again. It's like we can't help ourselves.

All too soon Paul stops in front of my house. The porch light is blazing bright, casting the railing's sharp-edged shadow across the yard. My father's shadow stretches down the sidewalk toward the car. He's sitting on the top step, his face hidden by the light behind him.

"Goddamn," Charlie whispers. "We're in trouble now, Long Tall Sally." He gets out first and opens my door. Together we walk up to the house. My father's on his feet now, waiting. I don't need to see his face to know how mad he is.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cunningham," Charlie says, "for getting Nora home so late." He sounds scared, but he stands there facing Dad.

I hang back, reluctant to get too close to my father. I've been in trouble before for little stuff, but this is the worst thing I've ever done. If he smells beer on me, I'll be grounded until I'm twenty-one. How will I explain my muddy skirt, my wrinkled blouse, my scuffed-up shoes?

"Where the hell have you been?" Dad shouts. A light goes on across the street. He's waking the neighbors. I cringe beside Charlie, speechless with humiliation.

"We were just driving around, sir," he says, "and I got a flat and—"

I hear a car door open. Ellie says, "We're really sorry, Mr. Cunningham. Please don't be mad at Nora."

My parents love Ellie. She's the sort of girl they want me to be friends with—in the Honor Society, already applying to colleges, a good Catholic. What I've done can't be too bad if Ellie did it too.

My mother appears on the porch. She's wearing her old blue chenille bathrobe and she has curlers in her hair.

"Where have you been?" she asks. "It's two thirty in the morning. I've been worried sick." She looks at Ellie, still standing by the car. "Your mother and I have been on the phone all night. You need to go straight home."

"We were about to call the police," Dad adds. "They let that kid go, the one who did it. He could have—"

"We were so scared," Mom interrupts. "How could you be so inconsiderate?"

Charlie's backing away now, still apologizing. Paul says, "I'll take Ellie home right now."

"I don't want to see you around here again," Dad tells Charlie.

I watch Charlie get in the car, a short guy with a crewcut. His suit pants are muddy. His shirt is still untucked in the back. He looks back at me, lifts his hand in a little wave, tries to smile.

"Get inside," my father says to me.

A few more lights are on in the neighboring houses. Billy has his face pressed against the screen door, making a hideous face at me which no one else notices.

"Go back to bed," Mom tells him.

"You woke me up yelling at Nora," he mutters. "I just wanted to know what's going on."

"Bed," Dad shouts. "Now!"

Billy runs up the steps so fast he trips and almost falls. I start to follow him, but I'm not fast enough.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dad asks.

"You look like something the cat dragged in," Mom says. She's taking in my untucked blouse, my uncombed hair, my muddy skirt. Her eyes narrow. She thinks the worst, I can tell. "What have you been doing?"

"Nothing," I say, even though I know she knows exactly what I've been doing. "We were just driving around, you know, talking about stuff, and we stopped at the reservoir and the path down to the water was slippery and I fell, that's all."

"You've been drinking," Mom says.

"No," I whisper.

"Smell her breath, Tom."

Dad leans toward me, sniffs. "Where the hell did you get beer?"

I want to say, "At your favorite liquor store," but instead I say, "Paul and Charlie had some beer in the car. Ellie and me had one, that's all, just one. I didn't even finish mine. I didn't like it. I..." Finally I stop lying and stand there, silent and ashamed.

My parents stare at each other. Suddenly they look tired. And old. It's my fault. I feel so sad and so sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. Sorry for everything I've done and will do that will make them older and tire them out.

"Go to bed," Mom says in a flat voice. "It's late. We'll talk about this in the morning."

I leave them standing at the foot of the steps, sure they're watching me climb the stairs, taking in my muddy skirt and wrinkled blouse, thinking the worst of me. Disappointed in me. Angry. I'm all alone except for my friends.

Wednesday, June 20 2:30
A.M.

 

H
E
sees his brother from his bedroom window. It's very late. Where the hell has he been all this time? Who's seen him? Has he spoken to anyone?

He watches him open the front gate and come up the sidewalk. The rain stopped a long time ago, but he can see how muddy and wrinkled his father's suit is, how it hangs on his brother like something a dead man might wear on his way home from the cemetery.