Suddenly (20 page)

“Don’t you find me attractive?”

“Very, but you’re my patient, for one thing, and for another, you’re a child.”

“I’m not a child. I’m eighteen. And I’m Dr. Pfeiffer’s patient, now that Dr. O’Neill is dead.”

Now that Dr. O’Neill is dead
. Mara would be
shrieking
if she could see him then. Focusing on that thought, he moved aside and reached for Julie’s shirt, but she moved with him.

“You are,” she said, “the most attractive man in this town.”

He stretched the shirt over her shoulders, only to find that the sleeves were inside out. He took it back off and set about righting them.

“Half the girls at school are in love with you.” She put her lips to his jaw.

He tugged harder at the sleeves of the shirt, fixing one and attacking the other.

“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what’s bothering you. I’ve done this before.”

“Spare me, Julie,” he warned as he pulled the second sleeve through. He hurried the shirt to her shoulders, only to find that he had hemmed her to him. Her hands went to his belt. One slipped lower.

“You do want me,” she said with a victorious grin.

“No,” he shouted, and stepped back. “No,” he said more quietly, holding up his hands in token surrender. “I’m flattered. You’re a beautiful girl. But anything between you and me is impossible.”

“I felt it,” she taunted.

“What you felt,” he said with a sigh, “was the difference between a boy’s body and a man’s. And what you did,” he added with gravity, “was an invasion of my privacy.” He put his hands on his hips. “Now, I can easily walk you back through town with your shirt off, so that everyone can see the goods, but if that isn’t what you had in mind, I’d suggest you button your shirt.”

She buttoned the shirt, but her eyes said that she didn’t believe he hadn’t been aroused. The occasional smirk she shot him as they walked back to Reels said the same thing. He was relieved when she ran off to join her friends. She had begun to make him feel like a eunuch, but he wasn’t that by a long shot. He had a normal, healthy appetite for attractive women—an appetite that would have been well satisfied even then, had it not been for Lacey’s trying to tell him how to run his life. He could tell her a thing or two right back. It struck him that he ought to.

He crossed the street, walked back the way he had originally come, turned the corner to the Tavern parking lot, and slid into his car. Minutes later he was on his way to the Weeble estate.

He pulled up in front of the garage, climbed the narrow stairs to the apartment above, and knocked on the door. He could hear the sound of Tucker’s own rock band, Henderson Wheel, which had hit it big to the tune of three successive platinum albums. He knocked again, louder.

“Yes?” Lacey called over the music.

“It’s me. Peter,” he tacked on, because he wasn’t sure what his reception would be. He hadn’t talked with her since the night he had walked out of the Tavern and left her behind.

She was a long time in opening the door, and then she wore a long robe and a sober expression. “You should have called first. I’m very tired.”

“I won’t stay long,” he said, and went past her into the apartment. He waited to hear the door close. When it didn’t, he turned to find her standing with her back to him and her hand on the knob. Her blond hair spilled down her back to the point where the robe cinched in her waist, just above the gentle flare of her hips. He felt a sharp tightening at his groin.

He returned to her and buried his face in her hair, pushing the door closed as he pressed into her.

“Peter, don’t,” she protested, and tried to move away, but his arms hemmed her in.

“I know I’m a bastard,” he said before she could, “but we have unfinished business, you and me.” He began to knead her breasts.

She squirmed. “Don’t do that.”

He let her turn herself around before he pinned her to the door, and while he moved against her, he held her face with one hand and lowered the other. “You like it. I know you do.”

“Peter—”

“I know just what places feel the best”—his hand found its mark—“especially when you aren’t wearing underwear. Did you do this for me?”

“How could I have?” she cried, exerting a steady pressure against his chest. “I didn’t know you were coming. Peter, I don’t want—”

He stoppered further words with his mouth and devoured her lips while he stroked her, but even as he felt her body begin to move to his rhythm, she tore her mouth away.

“You have
no right
to walk in here like this,” she panted, pushing against him weakly, “and expect me to put out.”

“But you love it,” he said, opening her robe, then his pants. He felt powerful and male, hard as a rock, ready to explode.

“Damn it, I don’t want—”

“You do, yes, you do,” he said, holding her less gently. He ground his mouth against hers at the same time that he drove into her. He didn’t know whether her cry was of pain or pleasure and didn’t care, because the need inside him was too great, too male, too total.

The door behind her rattled under the force of his thrusts, but it, like the band of her legs around him, was something far removed from the tension building, building, building inside him. He ground his teeth together, bit out a guttural cry, and reached a climax that seemed to go on and on. In its midst he was aware of nothing but the extraordinary pleasure that had taken him over.

Very, very slowly, he regained an awareness of where he was, of the boneless slump of his body against Lacey and the raggedness of his breath against her neck. It was another minute before he felt her rigidity.

Drawing back, he met eyes that were cold as ice. After slipping from beneath him, she tied her robe as she crossed the floor, closed her hand around a stone obelisk that stood on the coffee table, and faced him again. “I think you’d better leave. Now.”

The way she was holding the obelisk kept him where he was at the door. He rezipped his pants. “What are you upset about?”

“I don’t want you here. I didn’t want you here in the first place, but you barged your way in. You’re a rude man, Peter.”

“Ahhh. You’re pissed at me because I left you with the bill the other night.”

“The bill was nothing. I could afford to pay it. But you walked out when I dared to criticize you. I hadn’t realized how insecure you are.”

“There you go, psychoanalyzing again.”

She was shaking her head even before he stopped speaking. “Not psychoanalyzing. Stating the obvious. You can’t take the least bit of criticism, and you can’t take rejection. That spells insecurity to me, and it’s the last thing I’m looking for in a man. Contrary to what you choose to believe, I
don’t
need you, Peter. I’ll be heading back to Boston in a month. It’s been nice, but it’s over.”

He wasn’t sure he believed her. After all, he was the best Tucker had to offer, even for one last month. “Are you annoyed because you didn’t come?”

She shot a sound of exasperation at the ceiling. “
Listen
to me. It’s
over
. We’ve had some fun, but the fun is done. Don’t even
think
of coming here again. If you do, I’ll prosecute.”

“Prosecute?” he asked. “Prosecute
what?
” He wasn’t getting tripped up in that one. “What happened just now wasn’t rape.”

“Maybe not in the end, because, you’re right, you know the buttons to push. But another time you won’t be getting
near
the buttons. I’ll call the cops first.” She shifted her hands on the obelisk. “Now, leave.”

Peter gave her a last, long look. She was attractive, but far from the best lover he’d had. He didn’t need her, not by a long shot. Let her finish her work and go back to Boston. He could function just fine without her.

With a shrug, he opened the door. “It’s your loss,” he called over his shoulder as he trotted down the steps. With the slam of the door above him, another small chapter in the book of his loves ended, which didn’t bother him in the least. Another would begin. He was a big man in town, an important man, a respected man. Women loved that. He wouldn’t be alone for long.

N
OAH WAS AMAZED AT HOW WELL HIS PLAN
gelled. He wasn’t sure whether the credit could be laid to the plan itself or to the fact that he had any plan at all. Mount Court had been stagnant for so long. The prospect of someone doing something new and untried created instant enthusiasm.

Permissions arrived by fax from each of the parents involved, along with more than one encouraging phone call. The equipment was donated by a graduate who had gone into the business of orienteering and was curious, given the reputation of the current Mount Court student body, to see how it would be used. Noah called on old contacts to provide two professional climbers, a young married couple who would offer him badly needed backup in exchange for a welcome, albeit small stipend.

He picked his group with care, selecting the thirty students and four faculty members he felt most needed the challenge. The male-female split was even, as was the division among sophomores, juniors, and seniors. He included Sara in the group for the same reasons that applied to the others, plus several more. The mountain climb was, first and foremost, an exercise in group cooperation and trust. If all went as planned, there would be a bonding among the participants. He wanted her to experience that. He also wanted her to see that her father wasn’t the bad guy everyone thought, but that he was experienced, knowledgeable, and adventurous.

The night before the trip, he called the faculty members to his house and told them his plan. They were resistant, but he had been expecting that. The four had the same kinds of attitude problems as the kids, which was precisely why he had included them.

“Katahdin?” one asked. “That’s ambitious, for a group that’s never climbed a mountain before.”

Another shook his head warily. “If the new emphasis here is on discipline and academics, missing classes is a big mistake.”

“Taking those kids is the mistake,” a third warned. “Your list includes some of the worst troublemakers in the school. They’re apt to go on a sit-down strike halfway up.”

“They won’t,” Noah said. “They’ll be too scared of being left behind. We’ll leave tomorrow afternoon, immediately after class. It’s a four-hour drive to Baxter State Park, which means that we’ll reach the base camp in time for dinner.”

“Are there decent restaurants nearby?”

Noah slowly shook his head. “We cook.”

“Us?”

“You four, plus two guides, plus thirty kids, plus me. Everyone helps, everyone eats. We’ll spend the night at the base camp and set off from there before dawn.”

“Before dawn.”

He ignored the echo. “All we’ll have to carry are small day packs. The vans will meet us at the other side of the mountain tomorrow night to drive us back here, so we’ll only miss a day of classes.”

“Why go during the week and miss any classes at all?”

“Because I don’t want this mistaken for any old weekend hike. It’s serious stuff. An impromptu part of the curriculum. It’s as important as any class they have.”

“But if it’s a four-hour drive from here to Baxter State, we could be getting back in the middle of the night. How can you ask the kids to go to classes on no sleep?”

The question came from Tony Phillips, a math teacher, football coach, and ex-player who was the laziest one of the bunch. Noah wasn’t surprised that he would be worrying about sleep—and not about the kids’ sleep, either. He was thinking of himself, no doubt about it.

“Kids can push themselves when they want,” Noah said with a confident smile. “They’ll sleep like logs Friday night.”

“But we have practices Friday afternoon and games Saturday.”

Noah nodded. “Right, and the kids will be grumbling about that, which is why I need you all to be upbeat and encouraging. They can do it all, climb Katahdin and still make practice and their games, and they’ll be feeling on top of the world. The point of this is to give them a sense of achievement.”

Abby Cooke, who taught history, made a dubious sound.

“What?” Noah asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“It didn’t sound like nothing. Do you have reservations about the plan?”

She hesitated, then said, “Actually, yes. I do. These students have no appreciation for mountain climbing. They couldn’t care less. There won’t be any sense of achievement.”

“Maybe not,” Noah admitted. “Then again, they just might. I’m not looking to kindle an interest in mountain climbing, just give them a taste of success. I’ve been with groups like this before. Even the most reluctant are usually touched in some way.”

There was silence, then, “What’s the weather forecast?”

Noah shrugged. “Whatever.”

There was another silence, then, “When will the kids be told?”

“They’ll get notes at the end of their last class asking them to report to the auditorium. You four and I will be there to explain what’s happening and give them a list of the things to put in their day packs. They’ll have half an hour to get ready, then we leave. I already have the okays of their parents. Any other questions?”

“Just one,” said Gordon McClennan, who taught Latin. “Can we opt out?”

Noah shook his head slowly.

Gordon looked around. “But why
us?
”

Because you four are lazy and bored, he thought. Because I’d put money on the fact that none of you has ever tried anything like this before, because you’ve all been thorns in my side since I took this thankless job, and because you could use the exercise.

Diplomatically he said, “Because you have better rapport with the students we’re taking than some of the others. You’re right; this is a difficult group. These kids aren’t used to roughing it. They aren’t used to exploring the great outdoors, or functioning as a group, and they sure aren’t skilled in survival techniques, which is why I have two hired hands to help teach. Not that we’ll be in any danger, assuming everyone pays attention and follows either their lead or mine, but Katahdin is no snap. The operative word is ‘challenge.’ That’s what this is about.”

*   *   *

Noah said as much to the students who gathered in the auditorium the following afternoon. They looked horrified and shot one excuse after another his way until, finally, losing patience, he said, “This trip is not optional.” He looked at his watch. “You have thirty minutes to get ready and meet at the bus.”

“What if we don’t?” one of the boys asked. Noah knew him well. He had already broken enough rules to put him in extra study halls for a month.

Now Noah smiled. “Funny you should ask that, Brian,” he said. “Your parents thought you would. They said that if you don’t go, you can spend next weekend with them,” which was the last thing Brian would want, given the friction between his parents and him. Noah’s gaze spread. “I have similar promises from others of your parents.” He rubbed his hands together. “Any other questions?”

Thirty minutes later they were off. Noah sat alone behind the bus driver. The other front seats were empty, as were the four immediately behind. Beyond that, all the way to the back of the bus, were successive pairs of grim faces.

They reached the base camp on schedule. There they met up with the hired hands, Jane and Steve, and not a moment too soon, as far as Noah was concerned. Not only were the faculty members as unwilling participants as the students, but not a one of them knew the first thing about cooking on a small camp stove, much less digging a latrine, much less raising a tarp.

Working from a prepared list that separated friends and troublemakers, he divided the thirty students into groups of five plus one adult, then went from group to group detailing what had to be done. Jane and Steve backed him up, taking over with their own and adjacent groups while Noah circulated. Grunts, moans, and muffled oaths notwithstanding, the students cooperated. They seemed to understand that no one would eat until the cooking was done and that the more everyone chipped in, the sooner that would be.

Dinner consisted of beef stew from a can, rolls from the Mount Court kitchen, and hot apple cider. Through it, Noah moved from one small circle to another, answering questions and fielding complaints. The girls were the worst of the complainers, protesting the food, the bugs, and the lack of bathroom facilities and talking wistfully about being back at school as though Mount Court were paradise. The boys weren’t into complaining as much as swaggering around as though they knew just what had to be done when and were bored with the entire show.

Noah had assigned Sara to a group of what he considered to be the least troubled of the students, but he spent no more time with that group than he did with the others. He didn’t dare approach her, though he was dying to know what she was thinking and feeling. Favoritism would backfire for sure.

When everyone had finished, he made a second round of the groups to make sure the clean-up was done properly and explain what would be happening the next day. Then he passed out tarps and demonstrated how to stretch them between trees to form a shelter for the night. He made a final round to make sure that the tarps were secure.

The rain began at midnight and continued for several hours. Noah wasn’t sleeping so soundly that he didn’t hear the group that stole into one of the vans to sleep, but he didn’t force them back out. The others would be feeling that much more pleased with themselves come dawn, and, indeed, that was what happened. There was razzing galore of the van sleepers. He might have taken pleasure in the satisfaction of those who had remained outside if those hadn’t quickly joined the others in grumbling about the ungodliness of the hour.

At least the rain had stopped. The air was damp and chilly, though the chill eased with the coming of light. Breakfast consisted of apples, oatmeal, and hot chocolate and was eaten to the tune of intermittent squabbles, which Noah deliberately ignored. When everything had been cleaned up, the vans took them another forty-five minutes to their starting point. After Noah described the trails they would be taking to the top of the mountain, the pace they should keep, the difficulties they might expect to find, and the rules they were to follow, they set off.

Those who had been wearing sweatshirts and sweatpants soon peeled them off and either wrapped them around their waists or stuffed them into backpacks as the air warmed. They walked in a long line that snaked through the trees, six clusters of five students and one adult each. Noah led; one of the experienced climbers and his group took the midpoint; the other and her group brought up the rear.

Noah listened both to the mountain sounds and to those of the climbers immediately behind him. He could hear their hiking boots on the dirt path enough to know that they were keeping up with him. He wanted to think that they were getting into the spirit of the thing, though he suspected that their silence was defiance.

Two hours of easy hiking up the mountain, they reached Chimney Pond, where fresh water and a ranger awaited. The air had begun to cool; sweatshirts and sweatpants went back on. They snacked on gorp and water and, after refilling their bottles, moved on.

They followed Cathedral Trail until the trees thinned and grew stunted. Noah put on a wool sweater and waited while the others did the same.

“This was where Thoreau turned back,” he called down in an attempt to goad the kids on. “He was tired. Thought he’d never make it to the top.”

There were grunts and mutterings. He caught the words
wimp, smart
, and
nuts,
a mixed review that left him in the dark as to the success of his ploy.

They passed the treeline. Earth gave way to open expanses of rock. The clouds thickened. “What if it rains?” one of the girls behind him asked, less complaining than apprehensive.

“We have rain gear,” he answered gently. “It’ll keep us dry.”

“Won’t the rocks be slippery?” another asked.

“Not terribly.”

“The more slippery the better,” one of the boys called. “We could use some excitement. This is pretty boring.”

“You call that boring?” Noah said. He turned to study the view, which was spectacular even in spite of the clouds. Growing up in the Southwest, he had adored climbing the desert hills and imagining himself two hundred years back in history. The hills were higher here, greener, and the sense of history every bit as rich.

“When will we be able to see the top of the mountain?” a girl asked from close by his side.

He waited for a small group to gather around him. “It’s right there.” He pointed. “Wait. The clouds are moving…. There. See?”

“That’s so far!”

“It must be
freezing
up there.”

“We can’t make it.”

“Sure we can,” he said. “It looks farther than it is.” He slid off his backpack and took out a windbreaker.

“But it’s in the clouds. We can’t go there.”

“Sure we can,” he repeated. By this time the lower climbers had caught up. He saw Sara in their midst and called, “Add another layer,” in her general direction. “It’ll get colder before it gets warmer.”

“This is nothing compared to what we ski in,” one of the boys said. He was the captain of the soccer team and one of the few who hadn’t yet put anything on over his shorts.

The others were busy pulling sweaters from their packs and hurrying into them. Noah, who had taken a wool hat from his pack, gestured the boy aside. In a voice that wouldn’t carry beyond them, he said, “I’m sure you’ve seen worse, Ryan, but the fact is that it could be damn cold up a little farther. Once you get chilled, you’ll have a hard time warming up.”

“I’m fine,” Ryan said, and returned to his friends.

Noah pulled on the hat along with a pair of wool mittens. He looked down the line, relieved to see that many of the others had done the same, including Sara. When the backpacks were in place again, he led them on.

They scrambled over the rocks for an hour before stopping for peanut-butter crackers and more clothes. When an argument broke out in one of the groups, he started toward it, then stopped. Ryan was saying that it wasn’t cold; his group was telling him that it was, and that he’d slow down the others if he got cold later on, and that that wasn’t fair. In the end he put on a sweatshirt and sweatpants. Noah was pleased, in part because he didn’t want the kid to freeze for the sake of his pride, in part because group dynamics were finally kicking in.