The Girl from Charnelle (39 page)

“No, you don't. You don't need to go anywhere. You need to be here with me.”

The door was right there, but Laura could not move. She stood, frozen, near the bed, staring at the woman. “I think you've had too much to drink,” she said.

Mrs. Letig released her arm and then pointed toward the bed. “I'm paying you to be here. Now sit down.”

“I can't,” Laura said, still standing. “I have to go, Mrs. Letig.”

“I told you to call me Anne. Please.”

“Anne…I really think I should leave now.”

Mrs. Letig nodded and then reached out for Laura's hand again, squeezing it more gently than before. “Maybe I have had a little too much to drink. I used to never drink. But I've recently developed a taste for it. I'm not drunk, though. It's important that you know that. I'm not. I'm sorry about what happened before. I really am,” she said. “Just sit back down. Let's finish our conversation.”

Laura didn't know what to do. How did she let herself get inside this room?

“Sit down. I didn't mean to scare you. Now sit down, please.”

Reluctantly, Laura sat again on the edge of the bed. Mrs. Letig picked up her wineglass, saw that it was empty, so reached over to get Laura's glass from the bedside table. She poured half the wine into her own glass, spilling some on the floor. She didn't seem to care.

“Now where were we?”

“Mrs. Letig—”

“Anne.”

“Anne, I'm so sorry about Jack.”

“This isn't about Jack. This has nothing to do with Jack,” she said, taking another drink. She closed her eyes, as if to relish the taste, and said, smiling, “You know what this is about, sweetie.”

She had been a fool to think that this was all about grief. “I'm sorry,” Laura whispered. “I really am.”

“No, you're not the least bit
sorry,
” she said, shaking her head, talking quietly but very deliberately. “You're only saying that because I've got you here, and you can't really bear that I know the truth.”

“I am sorry—”

“I think, honey, it would be better if you didn't talk. He told me everything. Well, maybe not
everything
. I don't think I could have handled everything. But enough for me to get the picture. It was a very tearful confession.”

“I am so sorry.”

“No!” she said, rising again, grabbing Laura's face with both her hands. “Stop right there. Listen carefully to me. I want you to stop saying that. You are not
allowed
to say that. Do you understand? Say ‘I hate you, Anne Letig.' Say ‘I'm young and stupid and selfish.' But don't tell me that you're sorry. We are not lying right now, you and me. My son is in the grave. And I'm staring at the girl, the girl I entrusted with my children, with my dead boy…and I learn that this same girl has been screwing my husband for the past year, that in fact he ran off the road because you told him you were pregnant. Why you told him that, when it was not true, I do not know. But my son is dead. That's what I do know. We are past the point of lying. You got that? We are only telling the truth now. Do you understand me?” She shook Laura's face. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” Laura said.

Mrs. Letig let go of her and sat back down. Laura felt a sickening dread. She realized she had expected this moment, had been waiting to finally be accused directly. Mrs. Letig was right. She was responsible.

“Good.” Mrs. Letig drank the rest of her wine and then took Laura's glass. “Good.”

“What are you going to do?” Laura asked.

“You don't really have the right to ask that question, now, do you?”

Laura shook her head. She no longer felt concern for her own safety. She was instead suddenly worried for Mrs. Letig. “Are you going to hurt yourself?”

“You flatter yourself, girl,” she said, laughing. “That would be convenient, wouldn't it?”

“Anne—”

“Mrs. Letig!”

“What?” Laura asked, confused.

“Mrs. Letig. You call me Mrs. Letig.”

Laura stared at her for second, then said, “Yes, ma'am.”

“If I were to kill myself, then what? You marry John? You raise my son?”

Laura shook her head. “No, I didn't mean—”

“Well, what
did
you mean?”

“I just don't…want you to…hurt yourself,” she stammered.

“Well, what you
want
doesn't really count for a whole hell of a lot anymore. Does it? If things were different, then maybe. Maybe I would kill
you.
Or kill John. If there wasn't Willie. Well, then, it might be a possibility. Maybe a probability. But…Willie's too important. And I am not going to mess up his life because of another trampy little slut of John's. Oh, I'm sorry. You probably think you're the only one.”

She threw her head back and laughed sharply.

“You're not the first one, honey. Did he tell you that? Did he tell you about the other little peccadillo? After Jack was born? She was a little older than you, and he, of course, was younger, and so it was more serious. He actually did leave me and Jack. For two weeks. Ran off to Kansas City. But I wouldn't give him a divorce, and he didn't really want one. Mr. Letig decided he loved Mrs. Letig after all, and he was ready to settle down and be a good boy. But I guess he wasn't such a good boy after all, now, was he?”

Laura didn't move.

Mrs. Letig leaned forward, waiting for an answer. “Was he?”

“No.”

“No, he wasn't. And I suppose I should have known, should have suspected. The way he sometimes looked at you. All those shenanigans out at Palo Duro Canyon on the Fourth. I should have known. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

She pulled her robe more tightly together, closed her eyes, and ran her fingers through her hair.

“And he's still not a good boy, but he came to me. He's a sweet boy, a
charming
boy. But not
good
. I'll give him this, though. In the end, he's an
honest
boy. He told me. And now what am I supposed to do with that information? My son is dead. My husband has been…with a girl half his age.
Jesus!
”

She shook her head and laughed again. Then she stared at Laura, squinted her eyes. “What would
you
do if you were me?” Laura didn't know if the woman really wanted her to say anything. “Well?”

She hesitated and then muttered, “I…I…don't know.”

“No, you don't. Of course you don't. You have no idea. I thought, absurdly, before you came over, that I might just shoot you. Why not? But I couldn't do that. I don't have that in me. I have to do
something,
though, don't I? That's why John told me. So I would
do
something. He wants to be punished. He wants
me
to punish him. But the irony is that he doesn't want to be punished for what he's done with you. He wants to be punished for killing his son.”

Laura began crying again. “That's not true,” she whispered, though she realized as she said it that Mrs. Letig was right.

“Oh, yes, it is. He knows I would never accuse him of that. It
was
an accident. So he tells me this other thing, this thing about you, because he knows I
will
punish him for that. He knows he
can
be punished for that.” Mrs. Letig took the last drink of her wine. “So how?” she continued. “How do I punish him? What would you do?”

Laura looked at the floor, shook her head.

“Well, of course you must know what some of my options are. You must have considered them. You've kept your pretty little mouth shut for the past year. John must have warned you. Maybe he threatened you. This was dangerous business, you understand.”

She nodded.

“He can go to jail if I want him to. You know that?”

“Yes, ma'am,” she whispered.

“Don't
‘yes, ma'am'
me! That's a term of respect. You say that to someone you respect. You got that?”

Laura flinched, afraid Mrs. Letig might strike her. She didn't answer. Language was not her ally.

“So you know that I could pick up the telephone and call the authorities,” she said, her voice quietly threatening. “I could explain, very calmly, what happened. And John would go to jail, maybe not for long, but perhaps long enough. It would happen. He wouldn't even contest it.”

Laura nodded again.

“And you, you would be humiliated. We
all
would be humiliated. But you
are
just a girl, aren't you? And perhaps you are a victim in this.”

Mrs. Letig stood up and began pacing the room but never got far from the door. “Jesus, I can't even remember what sixteen was like.” She waited for Laura to respond, but when she didn't, Mrs. Letig eyed her carefully before she spoke again, standing now beside John's chest of drawers.

“Or we have option number two: If I don't want to publicly humiliate myself, if I don't want more pity than I already get as the mother of the boy who died in the accident, then I could just tell your father. What do you suppose he would do? Huh? Tell me, Laura. What would he do?”

“I don't know.”

“I'll tell you what
I
think he would do. He would, at the very least, beat the shit out of my husband. John is bigger than Zeeke—stronger, younger. But John would let himself be beaten. And beaten badly. A married friend seduces a man's sixteen-year-old daughter. That sort of thing might drive a man crazy. And then what would your father do to
you
? Have you thought of that?”

Laura nodded.

“I guess you have.” She paused and ran her fingers through her hair again. “Then there's option number three: I could leave him. I could take Willie and just go. I have money. You know that. And besides, even though he did not kill our son, he is
responsible
for his death. It's hard for a marriage to survive that sort of burden, you know? People would shake their heads, but they would understand, wouldn't they? None of us would have to endure the scandal. Not me, not you, not even John. Although he would lose
me—and Willie. Just a clean break. And then he could do whatever he wants. He might even decide to kill himself, if our leaving is not punishment enough.”

She crossed to Laura at the bed and knelt before her. Laura leaned back again, afraid. She could smell the wine on Mrs. Letig's breath.

“Or he might run off with you to Mexico, or Galveston, or wherever the hell you want, like your sister did, and
maybe
marry you. But what do I win? I raise Willie on my own. He grows up without a father.” She stood up. “And who will he blame for that? It won't be John. Will it?”

“I don't know,” Laura said, crying again.

“Oh, I think you do,” she said and slapped Laura on the cheek.

She finished Laura's glass of wine and sat back down at her vanity table.

“You're smart. And yes, you've had your own grief, your own little sadness. I know that.”

Laura didn't nod or shake her head, didn't even touch her cheek where Mrs. Letig had slapped her.

“Option number four,” she said. “Do nothing. Perhaps that sounds too weak. But I'm not so sure. We stay together. But we live in a cold house. I could make it
really
cold. Don't let him come to my bed. Force him to punish himself. But what do
I
gain by doing that? Perhaps watching him slowly suffer would be enough?” She looked in the mirror. “Now, is that it? Do you think those are all my options?”

Laura looked down. She did not want to hear any more.

“Answer me.”

“I don't know,” Laura said.

“Look at me.” Laura raised her head, looked squarely at her. Mrs. Letig said, “Well? What do you
think
?”

“I don't know.”

“No, I suppose you don't. Because there
is
another possibility. Something you're much too young to even imagine.” She leaned in toward the mirror and spoke to herself. “I forgive him. John wants to be
punished
. He doesn't want forgiveness. But what if I
do
forgive him? That's a choice, you see. A strategic choice. The Christian thing to do. If I forgive him, if I keep silent, if I say nothing to your father or the authorities, or to my family or his, or to Willie when he gets old enough to understand…if I tell him it's okay and take him back into my bed even though I know where he has been…if I do all that, then what? Do you think that makes me weak?”

She paused, and Laura watched as Mrs. Letig studied herself in the mirror and contemplated her own question.

“No. If I forgive him, then he is in my debt. And it would ensure that Willie has a father and that the three of us are not humiliated any more than we have already been humiliated. It's what women have been doing for years.” She turned to Laura. “Your mother even did it. For a while, at least. And then maybe she couldn't stand it anymore. Left him with the kids, with his own guilt. That took true courage, I believe. Or desperation. Or both. One seldom occurs without the other.”

She leaned toward Laura, took Laura's hands in her own and said sympathetically, “You
are
just a girl. I know that. I even feel sorry for you, and I don't know if that makes me a good woman—or a pathetic one. These are difficult choices, Laura. Aren't they?”

Laura remained motionless. She was reminded of the evening back in May when she lay sick in bed, and Mrs. Letig had sat on the edge next to her and spoken softly about her mother, and Laura had felt—what?—as if Mrs. Letig was an emissary, a woman through whom gifts were being passed.

“But do you want to know the one thing that is clear, Laura? The one thing I know for certain? Go on, nod your head. Because you
do
want to know. What I know for sure is that
I
get to make the choice. I didn't
want
to make the choice. I didn't
have
to know, and I think I might have been happier if I'd
never
known. But now I do know. The secret is out. And it's my choice. Not John's. Not yours.
My
choice. And mine alone.”