North Fork (18 page)

Which I will never forget and thought was absolutely cool because I could tell he wasn't just being polite. He likes the new me. So I was really happy and looking forward to his cousin's wedding where maybe he would be proud to be with me, and to the evening when it would be more relaxed.

The wedding was on this small ship called the Virginia V. It's really old and powered by steam, so even though the engine is right out in the open where you can see it in this kind of pit in the middle of the main deck, it's really quiet. You can stand beside it and talk. The engine is also spotless; you could eat off of it, and the rest of the boat is like brand new too, even though it's nearly a hundred years old. It was a passenger and freight boat on Puget Sound back in the day.

Once the groom had kissed the bride and the ceremony was over, the boat went through the ship canal into Lake Washington. The reception started with people telling stories, some of them funny, about the bride or the groom, or about them as a couple. As we cruised the shoreline, people got into a food line on the main deck or danced on the upper deck. It was a good party, and I thought it was a nice way to have a wedding. Since I had already seen some of the houses along the shore from Brad's boat, I knew what to expect, but it was still fun to look and to imagine what it would be like to live in some of those places.

Brad and I were sitting at a table by the window. The boat was getting close to his house when he said he needed to go to the bathroom, then was going to go back and get some more food. I had eaten enough and was happy looking out the window. It was a perfect day, not too hot or cold or windy, and there were boats on the water pulling skiers or inner tubes, people having fun, families having a day together with kids who waved as we passed. I was having fun too.

Then Jean, Brad's mother, came and sat down next to me.

“Hello, deary, I see you've changed your look.”

I don't know if it's because my first knowledge of her is connected to the fear I felt when I didn't know Brad and thought he was going to rape me, or because she's just plain cold to me, but she makes me feel off balance, like when guys set off my creep alarm. She's beautiful, but she oozes bad vibes, danger.

My first vision of her was in my imagination that night in the car when Brad was persuading me he wasn't a killer pervert by explaining what had happened that day. I pictured her naked, like in a sex scene from a movie. Her face was featureless and this wrestling coach, jock guy was grunting away on top of her as Brad walked in. I'm used to being pretty blunt, but because of Brad, I have to be careful when I talk to her. She's still his mom and he has to work through his disappointment without
me complicating it for him. Being tactful without lying is new to me, so it takes my full concentration and I don't have a lot of confidence.

“Yeah. I guess it was time.”

“Did you change for Brad?”

“It was to get a job so I can buy a car.”

“Oh yes. That cute little town you live in probably doesn't have public transportation. We went to see the tulips once when Brad was little. But you live with the Indians, don't you? Are you part Indian?”

“Not that I know of. My aunt's husband is Native.”

“You and Brad are spending a lot of time together.”

“That's true.” I wanted to say that he was becoming my best friend and that he was one of the nicest people I'd ever known, but I checked myself.

“Well, Natalie, Brad seems quite smitten with you. A mother can tell. So there's something I want you to know now, before this goes any further. Don't for a minute get any ideas about marrying him or slithering in and becoming part of all this. Bradley's last name may be Stanfield, but he's also a Whitfield. And I didn't raise my son to waste his life with some little tramp who thinks she can get her hooks into his money through his innocent heart or by having his baby.

“I'm putting the burden on you. If he tries to marry you, or if you get pregnant with his baby, I will disinherit him, kick him out of the family, and you will be responsible. So have your little fling, but know that it's temporary, and be very careful.”

I couldn't help it. I knew better. I was careful how I worded it, and was kind of proud about how it came out.

“So I get to be Brad's version of your wrestling coach friend as long as it's temporary and not messy, but if we happen to connect and it lasts and maybe we find trust and friendship or even love... I don't want your money. I don't want your life. It
sounds like you're trying to raise Brad to be as miserable as you are, but you're failing. He's screwing up and might actually turn out happy. You're stepping in to try and ruin it. I don't think you can ruin it by taking away money. I think Brad's bigger than that. But we're really just kids. We're trying to be friends, having a little cross-cultural experience. You don't need to panic yet.”

Our exchange was happening quietly. The music and laughter covered our voices enough so that when Brad came up with his plate of food, we could have been talking about the weather. Except for the look on his mother's face. She was pissed. She was facing away from him, and I don't think he noticed. Her practiced smile returned instantly when she saw my eyes shift to him, and she rose from the chair, putting her hand on his shoulder as they exchanged places.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“She's just being a mom, worrying about her boy, not wanting him to be taken advantage of by scheming girls. I don't think she likes me.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing, Brad. Let it go. She was just making sure that my intentions are honorable.”

“What would she know about honor.”

The good part is that we were able to drop it. The rest of his relatives were nice to me. We even danced a little and had a good time. We were pretty tired when the boat docked, but decided to go to the ball game anyway because the stadium was a neutral place and not very crowded since the Mariners were on a losing streak. The captain of the Virginia V let us change out of our wedding clothes in the stateroom behind the pilothouse while the caterers were clearing their stuff off the boat, so we were dressed comfortably for the game.

The Mariners surprised us by winning and I called Trish to let her know I was spending the night on Brad's couch, which I did,
but when I kissed him goodnight before he went into his room, it lasted a long time and it was hard to sleep, lying there in that big house and thinking about him so close on the other side of the door, but knowing his mom was upstairs, hating me. He took me home in the morning and I didn't see his mother.

After I walked out on him in the restaurant, the first time I saw Grant's car parked on our street late at night, I picked up the phone and came very close to dialing. I would have called Natalie, not Bonnie, even though I knew I would end up calling Bonnie too after Natalie helped me build up my courage. I was totally unnerved. But I didn't call. I'm trying to be cool about it, but I'm scared. I mean who wouldn't be. Grant's stalking me. I began thinking about going back; I actually wanted to.

But I'm trying to think it through, problem-solve the way they teach us at school. I have a lot at stake. Going back would be huge. These months of being on my own have made me think a lot. If I'm not ready, stepping back into the Valley will be like falling into the abyss—“the valley and the shadow,” from the Bible. I have to go back strong enough to “fear no evil,” which means standing up to Bonnie and making her tell me the truth about my real dad, and telling her what I really think about Sterling and church and politics, and what I feel about life.

Strange as it may sound, I'm just as afraid of going back to my old life and pretending to be someone I'm not as I am of anything Grant could do to me. At least, in his twisted way, Grant is being honest now.

If I can't go back to Bonnie and Sterling strong enough to come out of the closet, so to speak, it will be worse than if I had just stayed in there, because I've broken all the rules. It took strength to confront Grant about being straight with me, and I got what I asked for, a more honest relationship. Now I know where I really
stand, and even though he totally creeps me out, I know who he really is. I got myself into this, by being stupid and by being brave, and I'm trying to handle it like an adult and find the best way out.

Sometimes when I'm lying in bed and I have the feeling that he's out there, my mind bounces around inside my skull like a trapped bee. My imagination runs wild with possibilities. There are plenty of true stories, and a lot of them happened near enough to cut through any sense of safety-by-distance I might try to create. Besides Ted Bundy and that Green River guy, who had a wife and a regular job and still killed dozens of girls, there's that pig farmer guy in Vancouver who killed women and fed the bodies to his pigs, and those sniper guys who killed people in Seattle because of the older guy's bad marriage. So I lie in bed trying to guess what Grant is thinking. Every sound and every shadow that moves make my heart pound.

Sometimes I'm so scared I cry, and sometimes I get really angry and plot ways to reverse the situation. I've been told all my life that when I'm in danger, I'm supposed to “get help,” like there was a Batman or a Zorro out there for all of life's problems. When I started cutting myself, I knew it wasn't normal and I tried to think of an adult who could show me where to “get help.” I thought a lot about whom I could tell, but there really wasn't anyone.

You'd think a school counselor might be a good option, since they're supposed to be trained to handle emotional stuff. Mrs. Tollefson is nice enough, and great when it comes to helping you think about a career or what college to go to, but if I had told her, it would immediately have gotten back to Bonnie and Sterling. Mrs. Tollefson would have assigned me to some shrink, which might not have been bad if it was the right person, but since Bonnie and Sterling would know, it would have gotten even more stressful. It would be like being in a war and telling your secrets to your
enemy so they could use them against you, like me asking Grant to help me figure out how to protect myself against him.

I thought about telling Mr. Smith by writing about it in my journal. He at least didn't feel like the enemy, but he told us at the beginning of the year that he's required by law to report anything we write about being abused or about things that might endanger us, including suicide, and he could get fired if he doesn't, so that would have been just like going to Mrs. Tollefson.

I've run my options through my mind. If I was still in the Valley with nothing to lose, calling the police would be my first thought. What if I call the police? It will mean answering a lot of questions and filling out forms. As soon as I pick up the phone, I might as well be calling Bonnie too. So I have to consider that and be prepared for it, but that's not the biggest problem. Grant hasn't done anything illegal. He hasn't threatened me. He hasn't tried to break into my house. He just makes himself visible at times and in ways that scare me.

He doesn't park on our street every night and when he does, he doesn't stay all night, but he does it at times that I'm likely to see the car. It gives me the willies. I get this feeling that I'm being watched sometimes while I'm riding my bike to or from work, and I've quit going to the park altogether. I hang out with Ian and Char and their friends as much as I can, which I'm sure they think is a little strange, but they've been good about it. I try to stay in public places when I'm alone. I know he follows me. I see his car way too often. Sometimes it's parked near the restaurant.

Now he's started actually coming in, getting a table and ordering food when I'm on shift. He doesn't stare at me or do anything obviously creepy. He doesn't pretend he doesn't know me either, which would scare me more. In fact, he's polite, but his eyes are cold. He calls me by name and treats me the way someone would if he was a regular customer. He tips exactly eighteen percent.

So, if I call the cops, what would I tell them? When my imagination runs wild I get really scared, and I've had the phone in my hand more than once. I imagine the conversation going either of two ways. I could get a nice lady cop who would be all sympathetic. I could just tell her the story, and she would let me know that I had been a little stupid, but she would be understanding, even though I couldn't tell her that I wouldn't have gotten into the car with him that first day except for all the good luck I was having with people. The nice lady cop I imagine wouldn't want to know my life history or see my ID, but she still would end up saying that since Grant hadn't done anything yet, there wasn't much the police could do. She would start a file and maybe send a patrol car down my street once in a while.

The other extreme would be some pushy guy like Sterling who would want my life story and would make me feel like an idiot, which I don't need because I feel that way already.

So it's kind of strange. If Grant doesn't kill me and throw my body in the Strait or turn it into pellets and feed it to the geese in the park or something like that, there is a good side to all this. There was that moment in the restaurant, the moment of truth, so to speak. I was brave and didn't back down, and even though I had help from the cider, I did what Natalie does all the time: I said what I thought. I was really scared, but I went through with it anyway, and I'm proud of myself even if it did make my life worse.

I know he smells it. I have the door open and he's on the porch. The music is still too loud and the song is about being comfortably numb. Before he knocked, I was trying to get that way. Good thing I was just getting started. Luckily, I'm okay to talk, not like sometimes.

“You know this one, Mr. Smith. I've heard you listening to it too, after school, so it's like I'm doing homework. I was pretty amazed when you played the part about them trashing the school in class.”