The Diary (14 page)

Elizabeth felt heat spread through her cheeks. The passage related to concubines, but it seemed directed at her. She wasn't alone in thinking so, either, because she caught glances in her direction from several of her fellow congregants. By the time the reverend launched into his sermon, all eyes were on her.

“These are troubled times,” he began, peering over his half-rims as if into the very gates of hell. “We're seeing many of our fine young men off to war, and while I know that takes precedence for many of you, let us not forget: There's a war on the home front as well. A war against the moral decay that has infected the youth of today. More and more young people are defying their elders, listening to rock-and-roll music, engaging in lewd behavior.” Here he leaned forward, his gnarled hands gripping the lectern, his censorious gaze sweeping the congregation before coming to rest on Elizabeth. “Even fornicating outside the sanctity of marriage.”

Elizabeth sat rigidly in her pew, acutely aware of being the center of attention. Her mother, beside her, drew in a sharp, hissing breath, and Elizabeth could feel waves of shame radiating off her like heat from the wood-burning stove that warmed the church in winter. Hadn't she warned Elizabeth about this very thing? And now it had come to pass. Elizabeth was learning just how much a woman relied on her virtue to get by in society. Without it, she might as well be walking around with a scarlet A on her chest, subject to the slights and insinuations, dirty looks, and cold shoulders of all those who placed themselves on a higher moral plane.

These past weeks had brought a flood of such indignities. Irma Chamberlain, in line behind her at the butcher shop, sniggering to her companion after Elizabeth had put in her order, “I'm surprised she didn't ask for one of the cheaper cuts.” Mr. Carducci at the bank asking for proof of identification before he would cash her paycheck, even though he knew perfectly well who she was. Kate Nichols, who was on the community book fair committee with her, suggesting that certain titles be excluded—titles of a sexual nature, she'd added pointedly. Those were just the worst offenders. She'd lost count of all the unreturned phone calls, the so-called friends—who would have stopped to chat before—who only nodded in passing when she encountered them on the street, and the party and luncheon invitations that had dried up overnight. Nowadays, the only invitations came from men making unwanted advances, most of whom wouldn't have dared to do so in the past.

At home, it was her mother's scorn she had to endure. These days, Mildred barely tolerated her presence, letting her know with every cool word and look of disdain that she was skating on thin ice.

Elizabeth supposed she ought to consider herself lucky that she was still employed—for the time being, at least. Her boss had been away on vacation these past few weeks. Tomorrow morning, when Mr. Arno returned to work, she'd learn the status of her job. The best she could hope for was that the gossip hadn't reached him yet, but that would only buy her a day or two at most. Once he learned of her indiscretion, she didn't doubt that Mr. Arno, a staunch family man, would send her packing.

The prospect would have made her even more miserable than she already was, but she was too beaten down to fret about it much. With the rest of her life in tatters, what was the loss of a job? These days she could hardly concentrate on her work. All she'd been able to think about, while typing up invoices and filing paperwork, was AJ. Since her fateful visit to the police station, she'd seen him only once, the day before he'd left town.

They'd met for breakfast at a diner off Route 9, and when he'd told her he was going away again, she'd asked in what she hoped was a normal tone, “For how long?” She'd struggled to maintain her composure while poking listlessly with her fork at the scrambled eggs on her plate.

AJ was vague. “Hard to say. A few months, maybe more.” They were seated by the window, and as he leaned to take a sip from his coffee cup, a ray of sunlight briefly illuminated his face, highlighting its angles and the tiny lines like brushstrokes at the corners of his eyes.

To Elizabeth, a few months seemed an eternity. “What about the job you were promised?”

He shrugged, letting her know what she'd already figured out for herself: The job offer had dried up. “Something else will turn up,” he said. He didn't seem too worried about it. “One of the advantages of life on the road—there's always fresh territory,” he added with a smile.

“You'll stay in touch, won't you?” Her voice sounded thin and anxious to her ears, that of a fretful child seeking reassurance.

“Are you sure you want that?” AJ gave her a long, searching look.

“Why wouldn't I?”

“I don't want to make it any harder on you.”

She understood what he was saying and replied with a toss of her head, “You mean my reputation? People are already talking. Let them. I don't care.” Brave words, but on the inside she didn't feel so brave.

“You should care.” AJ's tone grew stern as he eyed her across the scarred Formica table. In that moment, he looked strangely formidable, his mouth hard and his eyes like rivets in a steel plate. “You have your whole life ahead of you. This'll all die down eventually as long as we don't give them anything more to gossip about. You'll marry Bob and live happily ever after. End of story.”

She looked down at the scarcely touched food on her plate. “What if I want a different ending to the story?”

“You feel that way now, but once you've had a chance to think it over—”

She didn't let him finish. “I broke up with Bob,” she informed him. At AJ's look of surprise, she added, “Yes, I know what people are saying, that he's the one who broke up with me. But I couldn't let him find out on his own. I had to tell him about us before I went to the police.”

“Which I expressly asked you not to do.” AJ sounded almost angry that she'd gone to the police against his wishes.

It wasn't the reaction she'd anticipated. She'd thought he would be happy that she had ended her relationship with Bob. A little gratitude wouldn't have hurt, either. Hadn't she saved him from possible jail time?

“You didn't honestly expect me to sit back and see you accused of something you didn't do?” she demanded.

“I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself.” He forked up the last of his eggs and shoved them into his mouth, washing them down with a generous swig of black coffee, which might have been bitter medicine, judging from his grimace. She was reminded of the old, arrogant AJ who'd been such a source of aggravation all those years in school. “You, on the other hand,” he went on, using the business end of his fork to make his point, “don't seem to get what's at stake here. Look at you. You have what I could only dream of growing up. Only someone who doesn't know what it's like to have nothing, to
be
nothing, would willingly throw that away.”

“You sound just like my mother,” she replied, hurt.

“Maybe you should listen to her.”

“Next time I will!” Her eyes stung with the tears she was holding back. “In fact, if this is how you feel, I don't know why you even bothered to say good-bye. It's obvious you don't care about me.”

She tossed her napkin down and started to get up, but AJ was too quick for her. His hand flashed across the table to grasp hers by the wrist, nearly overturning her coffee cup. His eyes met hers, and she saw the heat burning its way through the ice. At last she understood: He was angry precisely because he
did
care. Enough to want what was best for her, as opposed to them.

Her heart leaped, and in that instant she felt as close to him as when they'd lain naked together in the grass.

“I don't have anything to offer you. Not yet.” He sounded as if he, too, were struggling to contain his emotions. The hand gripping hers loosened. With his thumb, he lightly stroked the inside of her wrist. “But I will someday. Then I'll come back for you. That much I can promise.”

“I'll be waiting,” she told him, as if there had ever been any question that she would.

But now, after weeks of receiving no word from him other than those few innocuous lines scrawled on the backs of postcards, she'd been left to wonder if he would keep his promise. The uncertainty, along with the slings and arrows she'd been forced to endure, had weakened her resolve. Had she really known what she'd be in for when she first headed down this road? If she had, would she still have had the courage to speak up in AJ's defense? She liked to believe she would, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. The fact was, she missed her old life almost as much as she missed AJ and would have done just about anything to get it back.

Anything but prostrate herself before hypocrites like Reverend Freimuth.
The old goat
! she thought as she sat seething under the collective gaze of the congregation. He had no business singling her out when he was hardly above reproach himself. Wasn't it a known fact that in his younger years he'd had more than a twinkle in his eye for the young ladies?

The same obstinate streak that had gotten her into so much trouble propelled her to her feet now. She wouldn't sit there meekly bowing her head while the minister rained down abuse on her. Whatever she'd done, right or wrong, it was no one's business but her own. “Excuse me, Mother, may I get by? I'm suddenly in need of some fresh air,” she said loudly enough for everyone in their pew and those around it to hear. The pastor paused in the midst of his sermon, his gaze seeking the source of the disruption, but she didn't stick around to listen to any more of his ranting. Holding herself erect and forcing herself to walk at a normal pace, she made her way down the aisle amid the stares and murmurs of her fellow worshippers.

It wasn't until she was outside, away from all those prying eyes, that her strength gave way. Weak-kneed, she leaned against one of the fluted columns flanking the arched double doors to the church, closing her eyes and taking slow, deep breaths in an effort to calm herself Oh, God, what had she done? Now she could never show her face in church again. Certainly not that church. She might not have a place to live, either, if her mother decided to throw her out of the house. She didn't even have Bob to go to anymore. Bob, who'd always been her rock. No longer could she pick up the phone and hear his reassuring voice at the other end letting her know everything would be all right, or look into his kind face and know that whatever happened, he'd always be there for her.

What had she done?

She was leaning back, eyes shut, when she felt a gentle hand on her arm. She opened her eyes to see Ingrid peering at her with concern. A wave of gratitude washed over her. She knew her friend had risked embarrassment in slipping outside to comfort her, and she'd never loved her more than she did then. If Ingrid had been making herself scarce since the scandal had broken, Elizabeth told herself it was only because she was wrapped up in wedding preparations.

“Are you all right?” Ingrid asked.

“I think so. I'm not sure.”

“Nothing broken?” It was an old joke between them.

Elizabeth managed a tiny smile. “Only my pride.”

“That was quite a scene back there.” Ingrid tossed a glance over her shoulder at the church's closed doors.

“I know. Wasn't it awful? The way he singled me out? How dare he!” Elizabeth pulled herself upright, the shame and self-recrimination of a moment ago giving way to heated indignation.

“Maybe he did go a little too far,” Ingrid acknowledged without seeming to share Elizabeth's indignation.

Elizabeth was too incensed to notice. “I'll say! Why, the old goat has some nerve. He's not the only one, either. All those people whispering behind my back? Most of them have no room to talk. Irma Chamberlain, my God, do you remember what a reputation she had in school? And that awful Mrs. Crenshaw and her do-gooder ways—I heard she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar with that last fund-raiser of hers. They're all a bunch of hypocrites, if you ask me.”

“Does that include me?” Ingrid asked quietly.

“You?” Elizabeth belatedly took note of her friend's subdued demeanor. Feeling suddenly uneasy, she nudged Ingrid, attempting to coax a smile out of her. “Come on, Gigi, you know me better than that.”

But Ingrid didn't warm to the use of her childhood nickname. Nor was she rushing to Elizabeth's defense as she once would have—like the time in their junior year when Sissy Carroll had nastily accused Elizabeth of making eyes at her boyfriend and Ingrid had retorted that she wouldn't have to worry if she bothered to make herself presentable. Now Ingrid merely stood regarding Elizabeth with a pained expression. “Do I? Lately I feel like I don't know you at all.”

Stung, Elizabeth shot back, “How can you think that?”

“How can I not?” Ingrid sounded as if she were the injured party. “The way you've been acting lately, I hardly recognize you anymore. First sneaking around with AJ and not breathing a word of it to me. Then breaking up with Bob, the sweetest, kindest man who ever lived. And you expect me to understand? What is there to understand? From where I sit, none of it makes any sense.”

“You're my best friend, Gigi. Of course I wanted to tell you,” Elizabeth hastened to reassure her. “But I knew that if I asked you to keep it a secret, I'd only be dragging you into something you wouldn't want to be part of.”

“Well, you've succeeded in doing that anyway, haven't you?”

“I'm sorry,” Elizabeth replied, hurt. “I didn't know you cared so much about what other people thought.”

“I care about
you
, you idiot,” Ingrid cried, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Don't you see what you're doing? You had everything a girl could ask for, but clearly it wasn't enough. And now look at what you've done. No wonder people are gossiping about you. What did you expect?”