CUTTER ISLAND:
JULY 1965
I REMEMBER STANDING on the ferry, at the stern, watching as the island came into view. Our boat was full to bursting and it seemed that most everyone knew everyone else. Mom, David and I were the outliers. We knew no one on this island.
Mom had rented us a cottage as a lark. One of her friends gushed about the place and so Mom had to give it a try. She rented the house for the months of July and August and, although David protested about the length of our stay, Mom was adamant. She was going to experience island life and needed the whole two months to do it. David finally gave in and here we were, riding on the ferry, approaching the busy wharf. It was July 1, 1965 and I was fifteen-and-a-half years old.
As the captain expertly maneuvered us into the dock, I noticed a boy standing nearby. He had a lobster trap in his arms and was lifting it to an older man who stood at the back of a fishing boat. I thought the boy was cute. He looked maybe a little older than me, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. His body was lean, bordering on skinny, but he was obviously strong by the way he held the trap. He had dark brown hair, a lank of which kept falling forward into his eyes. He hesitated a moment as he lifted the trap onto the boat, staring at the ferry. With one hand, he brushed his hair from his face. Then the older man yelled something at him, and he turned away.
I continued to watch him, hoping he would look in my direction, but he didn’t. My attention was then diverted when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Time to debark, Andrea,” said David. “Help you mother and grab one of those grocery bags. I’ll take care of the luggage.”
I nodded, not meeting his eyes, then pulled away from him and went to help my mom.
The deckhand began off-loading all the suitcases and, when David saw this, he rejoined us, taking the grocery bags from my mother’s arms.
“Let’s get the hell off this boat,” he said. “I’m ready for a cocktail.”
My mother laughed. “David, it’s only half-past ten! A little early, don’t you think?”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere, dear,” he replied as he followed her up the gangplank.
I trailed behind them watching the activity on the wharf. The boy I’d noticed before was now standing a few feet away from the gangplank, talking with a group of people who had been passengers with us on the ferry. They chatted for a minute, then the boy dashed over to where the luggage was piled and picked up a set of golf clubs.
As he lifted them onto his shoulder, our eyes met and he grinned at me in a funny, sort of lopsided way. Embarrassed to have been caught staring, I quickly looked down, pulling on my baseball cap to shield my eyes.
But, unable to help myself, I peeked out again. The boy was still looking at me and somehow seemed crushed by my indifference to him. Instinctively, I smiled and when he grinned back, my heart began to pound and I stumbled slightly as I stepped onto the wharf.
“Watch what you’re doing, Andrea,” scolded my mother. “We don’t want to have to fish you out of the water. Now, bring those groceries over here and don’t drop them.”
I did as my mother directed, still keeping one eye on the boy. He exchanged a few more words with the man from the boat, then quickly began to gather up some suitcases to carry them to a waiting truck.
A tall, slender blonde interrupted him and I watched as they talked, flirting with one another.
“Andrea, don’t stare,” said my mother in a stern tone of voice. “It‘s rude. I wonder what’s keeping David.”
My stepfather had left us with our luggage and walked to the parking lot hoping to find the car that came with the rental cottage. The rental agent told my mom that he would make sure that it would be waiting for us at the wharf when we arrived.
When David finally came back, he looked irritated and upset.
“I can’t find it,” he said, glancing around the wharf.
“You can’t find it?” echoed my mother. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he replied testily.
“There aren’t too many cars left,” I interjected, pointing at the lot. “I’ll bet it‘s that one over there. It looks like a Chevy.”
David frowned, ignoring me. “Wait here,” he said to my mother. “I’ll go ask that kid. He seems to know his way around.”
I wandered away and sat down, dangling my legs over the edge of the pier, watching as David approached the same boy I’d noticed before.
They exchanged words, then they both walked toward the parking lot. The boy led David to the car I had pointed to earlier. I watched them talking for a moment before they walked back to my mother and the luggage.
“It’s that rust bucket over there,” David said with distaste. “Maybe you can call the rental agency and see if they can get us something better.”
My mom nodded. “I’ll do it in the morning. Let’s just get to the cottage, okay? Now where has Andrea gotten to?”
Realizing she was looking for me, I quickly got up and jogged back to where she stood.
“Told ya so,” I said to David.
My mother scowled. “Watch your tongue, young lady. I won’t have any of that sass. Say you’re sorry.”
David waited, staring at me.
“Sorry, David,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
He smiled and put his arm around me, his hand gripping my upper arm tightly. “It’s okay,” he said. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
He kissed me on the cheek, then instructed me to bring the bags to the car. He pulled a couple of bills from his pocket and offered them to the boy.
“No, thank you,” the kid said, refusing the tip. “I’m happy to help.”
He turned from David and grinned at me, then took the suitcase from my hand.
“Here,” he said. “Let me take that.”
I blushed. “Thanks.”
With his help, we got all the luggage to the car and, while David loaded the trunk, the boy motioned me aside.
“Hi,” he said. “You’re Andrea?”
I frowned. Sometime between stepping onto the ferry and standing there on the wharf with that boy, I had made a decision. I would not be Andrea any more. At least, for this summer, I would be someone new . . . someone I’d always wanted to be.
“No, not Andrea,” I said. “I’m Andi . . . Andi with an ‘I’ not a ‘Y.’”
I’ll never forget how he smiled at me when I said that.
“Okay, Andi-with-an-I,” he responded. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jake—Jake-with-a-J.”
I laughed. This kid was sharp. And cute. I was about to respond—to keep the conversation going—when my mother called to me. I could tell by her tone and the expression on her face that she was irritated and it would be to my disadvantage to incur her displeasure further.
“I gotta go,” I said. “See you later.”
“Not if I see you first,” he quipped.
We both laughed and exchanged a few more quick words, then I ran to join my impatient mother and David in the car.
As we took off, I watched out the back window, hoping that I would be lucky enough to bump into Jake again before the summer was over.
And I did. I saw him again a couple of days later, on the 4th of July. He and an older man, whom I found out was his uncle, were building some sort of a pit on the beach behind our cottage. I watched them from my bedroom window for a while as they dug it out and then lined it with stones. When all was done to Jake’s uncle’s satisfaction, he added some driftwood, lit a fire, and took off in his truck. Jake was left behind, sitting by the pit, reading, and every once in a while, he’d get up to check the fire and, I assumed, stir the coals.
I sat back down on my bed. This was my chance. If I wanted to be a different girl this summer—Andi, not Andrea—then this was my opportunity.
Decided, I threw on the first T-shirt I could find and tugged on my cutoffs. Grabbing my baseball cap and sunglasses, I ran downstairs to the living room where Mom and David were watching golf on TV.
“I’m going to go down to the beach,” I yelled.
My mom barely nodded as I ran out the door.
When I approached him, Jake was immersed in his book and didn’t notice me.
“Hi, Jake-with-a-J,” I said.
We sat and talked for a while. About what, I can’t remember now. Probably books. I do know that he surprised me. He was far more intelligent than I first thought he would be, being an island kid and all.
He explained to me about the lobster bake and that this was a traditional family thing.
“Will you be at the bake tonight?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, I think we have tickets.”
I was about to say more when I heard someone calling to me from the cottage. It was David. I wanted to ignore him, but knew I’d better not.
“I have to go,” I said, reluctantly.
“Wait up a sec,” Jake said, grabbing my hand. “You want to sit with me at the bake? I have to work it, but I do get to eat. It might be a little later than everyone else, but it’ll still be hot and a full meal.”
I smiled. “Sure, I’d like that.”
“Cool,” he grinned. “I’ll see ya later.”
“Not if I see you first,” I laughed, echoing his joke from the day we arrived.
He grinned and I gave him one last smile before I turned and ran down the beach to our cottage.
“Who was that kid you were talking to?” asked David as I walked up the steps to the back deck of the cottage.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Just a boy. He‘s tending the fire for tonight’s lobster bake.”
“Okay. But you be careful. I don’t want you to get too friendly with the locals.”
“Why not?” I asked, irritated.
David sighed. “They’re not our class, Andrea. That boy, whoever he is, is not like the boys you go to school with at the academy. He’s probably the son of a fisherman. Island people.”
“And that‘s a bad thing?” I asked. “The kids I know at the academy are creeps and snobs. If he’s not like them, then that’s a plus to me.”
David was about to start in on a lecture when my mother came to the door and interrupted.
“Come on, David,” she said. “We’re on an island. It’s an adventure. If Andrea wants to have a little summer romance, more power to her. You hover too much. Let her be for once.”
I looked at my mother, surprised she’d come to my defense.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said gratefully. “He seems like a nice boy. He asked me to sit with him tonight for the bake. I said I would. I hope that’s okay.”
David scowled again, but my mother put her hand on his arm giving him a subtle warning that he should stop objecting.
“I think it would be fine for you to have dinner with this boy,” she said. “Your stepfather and I will be busy getting to know the other guests so it will be good not to have you underfoot. Now, I need you to help me in the kitchen with the hors d’oeuvres. I’ve invited the Jacobs from the cottage next door for cocktails before dinner.”
“Sure,” I said, giving David a satisfied smirk, then I followed her inside.
When we finished putting the final touches on the crab puffs and other appetizers, I wandered back outside to the deck. The beach was beginning to fill up and I could hear music coming from the radio next door. Kids were playing in the water and the sound of happy laughter echoed in the air.
A truck was now parked by the lobster pit and people were busy unloading food, utensils, paper plates, and all the other stuff needed for the bake. Jake was still there, talking to one of the women as he carried a card table over to where they were setting up.
I watched him work, noting how different he was from other boys I knew. At home, I went to private school and, as I’d said to David, most of the kids were snobs. The boys there had never worked a day in their lives. All they cared about were sports, girls, having a good time, and getting into college. Jake, I could tell, had probably starting working as soon as he was able. As a result, he had a maturity about him that was missing in those privileged kids I knew at home.
But what of me? Was I one of those kids, too? Is that how Jake saw me?
I knew I wasn’t one of them. But, if I wasn’t, what was I?
I thought about how I’d bantered with him on the wharf and how it’d been me who approached him on the beach. These were not the actions of the girl I used to be. That Andrea, who walked the school corridors, eyes cast down, trying to avoid the snickers and lewd gestures of her classmates, had disappeared. I was Andi now.
It must be this island, I thought. No one knows me here and I can reinvent myself . . . become a new person. Andi—not Andrea. Here, I can forget that shy, lonely girl. I can be a different girl . . . one a boy like Jake might ask to go on a date.
“Yikes!” I exclaimed as that thought crossed my mind. He’d already asked me on a date. Well, sort of a date. I glanced at my watch. It was getting late and I needed to get ready.
I took one last look at the beach, which was now bordering on crowded, then ran in the house to shower and change. I had a date!
“And how did that first date go?” asked my doctor.
I sighed. “I can’t describe in detail what the evening was like. It was too magical . . . too surreal. We seemed almost like a couple of old souls who had known each other forever. Conversation came easily.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Oh, everything: books, school, the island, Boston. Did you know that mussels that are grown wild have pearls just like oysters?”
My doctor shook his head.
“Well, they do and we collected a bunch of them as we ate. I often wonder what happened to them. I wrapped them carefully in my handkerchief, thinking maybe I could get them strung into a necklace or something. Oh, I knew they were probably too small for anything like that, but, still, I thought I would try. But that’s all water under the bridge now, I guess. I’m sure my mother disposed of them without a thought, just like she disposed of me.”
I hesitated, staring down at my hands, tears threatening again.
“What happened next?” my doctor asked.
I looked back up at him, grateful that he’d not probed further and, instead, given me the go ahead to continue on.
After we ate, Jake asked me to go with him and some of the other kids to another beach to watch the fireworks. I wasn’t sure my mom or, more importantly, David, would let me go. Jake stayed at the fire pit helping his uncle pack everything up, while I ran back to the house to ask.
When I got there, everyone was still out on the deck. Some of the guests were dancing, while others conversed near the makeshift bar. Everyone was drinking and I could tell some, including David, were pretty drunk.
No one noticed me at first and I took that as a good sign and looked around until I found my mother. She was dancing with a man I’d never seen before and I waited impatiently until the song ended to tap her on the shoulder.
“Mom, can I talk to you?”
My mother turned, obviously annoyed, a scowl blossoming on her face. “What is it, Andrea? Can’t you see I’m busy.”
“It’ll just take a minute, Mom. Jake . . . the boy I ate dinner with . . . asked me to go with him and a bunch of other kids to the next beach over to watch the fireworks. Can I?”
My mother’s face softened a bit and she was about to answer when David came up behind her, putting his arms around her waist.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Andrea,” he said. “We know nothing about those kids.”
“What’s the harm, David,” replied my mother. “Andrea’s young. She doesn’t want to hang out with us old folks. Let her have some fun with kids her own age.”
“Island kids,” David said derisively. “There’ll probably be plenty of beer and drugs, too. Is that what you want for your daughter, Cheryl?”
My mother pulled away from him, a frown on her face. Then she turned back to me.
“Maybe David’s right.”
I was about to protest, but, at that moment, Jake appeared at my side.
“Hi,” he said, politely. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Jake Chambers. My uncle is the one who put on this bake tonight.”
My mother smiled at him. “You’re the kid from the wharf the day we arrived.”
Jake nodded.
“You remember him, David. He helped us with the bags and wouldn’t take any money for it.”
David nodded, glumly. “Yeah, I remember him.”
“Nice to meet you again, Jake,” my mother cooed. “Andrea tells me you want to take her to watch the fireworks with other kids her own age. Is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re all going to Sandy Cove. It’s just one beach over. Just beyond those rocks.”
Jake pointed down the beach toward a cliff of massive black rocks that jutted out to the sea.
“There’s a trail through the rocks. It’s not dangerous or anything. We’ll only be fifteen minutes away from here.”
“What about alcohol?” David interjected. “Will there be drinking?”
“No, sir. No drinking or smoking.”
My mother smiled. “Okay young man. Just be sure to have her back here directly after the fireworks. No lollygagging.”
David opened his mouth to object, but I quickly gave my mom a hug, thanking her. Then I grabbed Jake’s hand, and, together, we ran down to the beach.
“How were the fireworks?” my doctor asked.
“I really can’t say,” I responded. “I was like in a dream. Sitting with Jake, his arm around my shoulders. Oh, we did the usual oooohs and aaaahs when the sky lit up, but I think we were really more into each other. He introduced me to all the other kids and, contrary to what he’d told Mom, there was plenty of beer available, but we just had one each. Then we went down the beach where he spread his blanket in a nest of rocks. We talked a lot.”
“Did you and he have any physical contact that night? I mean, other than holding hands.”
I smiled. “Yeah. He kissed me. And, it was nice. I mean, he didn’t try to force his tongue down my throat or anything like that. And, he wasn’t all hands either. Just soft, gentle kissing. Yeah, it was special.”
“Did you get home on time?”
“Yup. He brought me back right after the finale. We made a date for the next day to play golf. After that, we were pretty much inseparable.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Oh, just about anything: books, current events, school. I remember one conversation we had about the war in Vietnam. Things were beginning to escalate back then and President Johnson had just sent over a bunch more troops.”
“Go on.”
“Well, with that and all the bombing we were doing, it looked to me like the war was going to last for a very, long time. Politically, I always leaned to the left. Jake had just turned sixteen in 1965 and in a couple of years would be eligible for the draft. His plans at that time were to work with his father after graduation—no college or anything. But he was smart—so smart—I just couldn’t accept that he’d probably be sent over to some foreign land to die in a useless war.
“So, I tried to change his mind. I remember, we were sitting on the grass in front of the clubhouse. It was a weekday and there weren’t too many golfers out so Jake had time to kill. We were talking about the war . . . .
“So, do you think you can get a deferment, you know, family hardship and all?”
Jake frowned. “Naw, no way. If anyone in the family gets that, it’ll be my brother. I’ll just have to suck it up and serve my country if my number comes up.”
“Why not college?” I asked. “You’ve got the brains. You could get an educational deferment. Get your degree . . . be anything you want.”
He laughed. “Don’t think so. My grades aren’t that good. Anyways there’s not enough money to pay for it even if I did bring my GPA up. No, I’m going to be a lobsterman like my dad. And, there’s nothing wrong with that, you know.”
I could see he was beginning to get irritated. He idolized his father and, even though he might want to break away, saying so would constitute some kind of disloyalty or betrayal.
He turned away from me and stared off toward the sea. I placed my hands on his shoulders, and leaned over so my face was close to his ear.
“I don’t mean to be pushy about this,” I whispered. “But, you know, you don’t always have to play the hand you’ve been dealt. Think about it. You could do it. And as for the money thing, there are scholarships.”
He turned to face me. “I know,” he said. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, I promise.”
He leaned over and kissed me softly, then grabbed my hand. “Now, I’m getting hungry. You want to walk down to the Clam Shack and get a burger?”
“And that was the end of the conversation?”
I laughed. “No. I brought the subject up many times over the weeks we were together. I guess I had daydreams that he’d be in college and would invite me up for Homecoming Weekend and stuff like that. What foolish dreams they turned out to be.”
“What else was going on between the two of you? Physically, I mean.”
I sighed. “We did the stuff most kids do. We necked, made out.”
“And, how was that for you?”
“At first, I was scared, but Jake was so gentle, so sweet. It was different from what . . . what I had experienced before. And, as July faded away and we knew we only had a few more weeks together, well, things got more intense between us. I was falling in love, you know.”
“Were you ever intimate with him?”
I hesitated, taking a deep breath. “Once.”
“Tell me about it.”
It was mid-August and we had gone to a party down at Sandy Cove. After a while, we wanted to be alone, so we walked down past the island church to a beach called Preacher’s. Not too many people went there . . . it was small and the beach was full of pebbles and stones. But we liked it because we could be alone there.
The night was hot and humid and, after necking for a while, I pulled away.
“I’m hot!” I exclaimed.
I remember how Jake grinned. “You sure are!”
“No! I mean hot, hot.”
As I spoke I gazed out at the sea. The cool waves were beating gently against the shoreline as the moon, in its full phase, shone down, illuminating everything.
“Let’s go swimming,” I said.
Jake frowned. “Good idea, but we don’t have any suits.”
I grinned at him as I stood. “We’ve got our skivvies, silly. And, I’m going in.”
Laughing, I walked away from him, down toward water, pulling my T-shirt over my head as I moved. As I dropped it into the sand, I looked over my shoulder. He hadn’t moved and was still sitting on the blanket, staring at me in either shock or amazement.
“You coming?” I asked as I unbuttoned my cutoffs and slipped them down my legs.
Kicking them aside, I was now clad in only my pink bikini panties which left very little to the imagination.
Again, I looked back. He was still just sitting here.
“Well, what’s it going to be? I’m going swimming.” As I spoke, I began jogging into the surf, yelling back at him the one insult that I hoped would spur him to action.
“CHICKEN!”
Laughing, I waded until the water was up to my thighs, then dove under and began swimming out to where I knew there was a drop-off. When I reached it, I stopped. My toes could barely touch the bottom and I treaded water as I turned back toward the beach.
It was deserted. Our blanket was empty and there was no sign of Jake anywhere. For a moment, I panicked, thinking that maybe I’d gone too far and that he’d left me.
“Jake!” I called. “Come back!”
Just then, I felt something grab me by the bottom and lift me in the air.
“Wha . . . !” I exclaimed.
“Now who’s the chicken?” he asked as he tossed me into the water.
I landed with a splash, went under, and came up sputtering.
“No fair!” I cried, splashing him.
We horsed around for a while, acting like little kids, playing in the water. But it wasn’t long before the fact that we were two virtually naked teenagers alone on a deserted beach came roaring back.
He slipped up behind me, putting his arms around my waist, pulling me close. He leaned over and kissed my shoulder. And, then he said those three words I wanted to hear more than anything.
“I love you.”
My heart leapt so high I thought it would burst from my chest as I turned in his arms.
“I know you do, Jake,” I said softly, kissing him.
We clung to each other, our passion mounting. Finally, I pulled away and gazed into his eyes.
“Make love to me,” I whispered.
He looked surprised and pulled further away. “You sure? Is this what you really want?”
“Yes,” I said, “with all my heart.”
He kissed me again, then lifted me into his arms and carried me back to the beach where we lay down on the blanket.
“I . . . I’ve never . . . ,” he stammered. “Is this . . . is it your first, too?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Me, too.”
I pulled him down to me and we kissed and fondled each other. Then, he reached for his jeans, pulling a condom from the pocket.
“You’re sure,” he asked. “Really sure? I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”
I remember looking at him and feeling so full of love that night. So safe, and so happy.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Now, hurry.”
“And, how was it?” asked my doctor.
“Well, I have to admit we were clumsy, neither of us really knowing what to do. I know, I know. I’d been down this road before, but it was entirely different. This time, I wanted to do it. And, I know I lied to him when I said it was my first time. But, you know, in a way it was. I’d asked him to ‘make love to me’ and, seriously, had anyone ever made love to me before? No. I’d been forced to have sex. Raped. Not love. So, I didn’t really lie . . . this was my first time.”
“I understand. But did intimacy with Jake give you physical pleasure?”
“Yes, some. But it was more than just a physical joining. For a brief moment when he was inside me, it was as if we had melted together. I couldn’t have told you where he ended and where I began. And, that’s when I knew how much I loved him.
“And, when it was all over, I cried. Not for the reason you’re thinking and not for the reason Jake was thinking. I cried because something had been stolen from me when I was just a little kid . . . I cried because I couldn’t give him what he thought I’d given him.”
My doctor nodded. “I understand. Go on. What happened then?”
He held me while I cried, saying over and over again how sorry he was and that he loved me. My tears were finally all spent and I pulled away from him.
“I’m okay,” I said, giving him a smile. “It’s just a girl thing. Crying is mandatory.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
He smiled, relief written all over his face, and kissed me on the nose.
“It’s getting late. I’d better be getting you home.”
“No,” I protested. “Not yet. Can’t we stay a little longer? Tell me about the stars again.”
He glanced at his watch. “Well, sure. A little longer, but let’s get dressed first. It’s getting a bit chilly and I don’t want you to catch cold.”
“Okay,” I nodded.
We quickly pulled back on our clothing. He sat on the blanket, his back propped against the rocks, then he held out his hand to me and pulled me onto his lap. I stretched out, resting my head against his chest, as he gazed up at the tapestry of stars laid out before us.
“Okay,” he said, pointing to the sky. “See that cluster over there? That’s Orion.”
I listened with one ear as he began to relate the Roman and Greek myths about the stars. My eyes grew heavy as he talked, and, feeling safe and secure, I drifted off to sleep.
The next thing I knew he was shaking me gently.
“Andi, wake up.”
I took a deep breath as I opened my eyes. “What time is it?” I asked.
“Way too late. Around two, I think. My watch stopped. We both fell asleep. I’m for sure in trouble now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Out on a week night after midnight is automatic grounding at my house. Doesn’t matter if it’s summer or winter, it’s the law. What about you?”
I stood and stretched. “Oh, probably nothing. Mom’s on the mainland. My grandmother is in the hospital in Florida and Mom had to go there last week to look after her. We don’t expect her back until Sunday or Monday.”
“What about your stepdad? Won’t he be worried?”
I laughed. “David? Lately, he hardly knows I exist. Don’t worry, I can handle him. But what about you? How long will you be grounded?”
“Probably just a few days,” he replied as he folded the blanket. “I’ll have to work on the boat with my dad and help my mom out at home. Stuff like that. And, no phone calls. But, I’ll be free by Saturday. Speaking of which, there’s a big party being thrown at Sandy Cove. You want to go?”
“Sure.”
“Great. I’ll meet you at the lamp post at seven-thirty.”
“Okay. But, just in case my mom comes home early and I do get in trouble, if I’m not there, go ahead without me. I’ll figure out a way to sneak out and meet you on the beach.”
Jake grinned. “Sounds like a plan. Now, let’s get you home.”
He draped his arm about my shoulders as we hurried up the path to the road. The streets were dark and deserted with only the occasional street lamp to light our way. Soon, we approached the one at the end of my lane.
“Okay,” said Jake, leaning over and kissing me softly. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“Right.”
I started to leave, to go down that lane toward home, but stopped and looked back at him.
“I love you, too, Jake-with-a-J,” I yelled. “See you on Saturday.”
He nodded, smiling broadly, as once again I turned and, this time, ran toward the house.
He waited, eyes upon me, until I opened the door, then turned and disappeared into the night.
I stood in the doorway watching him go, then tiptoed inside. The house was dark with no sign of life. I assumed David had gone to bed long before and I quietly made my way up the stairs. I stood in the hallway for a moment, listening for any indication that he might still be awake, and, satisfied that all was well, walked to my bedroom and opened the door. Closing it behind me, I reached for the light switch.
“About time you got home, you little slut.”
The ceiling fan light clicked on, illuminating the room. David was sitting on my bed, a drink in his hand, eyes glaring at me.
I held my breath, waiting.
He stood and came toward me, his mouth contorted into a vicious snarl. Frightened, I backed toward the door, one hand reaching desperately for the knob so I could escape.
But he was too fast and anticipated my move. His hand lashed out forcefully, striking me in the face.
I reeled backward, momentarily seeing stars, as my head cracked against the doorframe.
“And what were you and that ignorant island kid doing all night? You spread your legs for that little creep?”
Still stunned, I slid down the wall to the floor, staring at him. His eyes were wild—like those of a rabid animal. But even more frightening was the fact that he was sexually aroused. He was dressed for bed, wearing boxers and a silk robe, and I could see the outline of his erection jutting against the thin, cotton fabric of his shorts.
He either saw or felt my eyes on him and, smiling, reached down and fondled himself.
My mind raced. It had been two or three years since he’d come after me sexually. Why was it happening again now? What had changed? Was it because of my relationship with Jake? Was he jealous? Or was it because of the violence he had just exhibited and the resulting pain he had inflicted upon me?
I didn’t know the answers, but I was sure that this time I was in real danger.
I shifted my eyes back to his face as I tried to inch my way along the wall, away from him. Still smiling, he stepped closer, his hand no longer in his shorts, but balled tightly into a fist.
“I think you’re going to have to be punished,” he said softly.
As he spoke, he leaned forward so close that I could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Yes,” he said, reaching for my arm. “You need a good, hard spanking.”
Truly frightened, I tried to pull away from his grasp, my eyes shooting around the room, searching desperately for a weapon or way out.
A pair of scissors sat benignly on the nightstand. I’d used them to cut an article out of the paper earlier that morning. The stand was only about two feet from where I sat on the floor, but, to me, it seemed miles away.
He had me by the forearm and was pulling me painfully to my feet.
Close to panic, I stopped struggling and pretended I’d given up.
“That’s a good girl,” he said as he yanked me roughly to my feet. But as soon as I gained my balance, I lashed out at him, kicking with my foot and catching him firmly on the shin.
Startled, he let go of my arm and I lunged desperately for the nightstand.
Realizing my intent, he quickly recovered and grabbed my wrist just as I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the scissors. I kicked at him again as hard as I could, and, at the same time, leaned over and bit his hand, drawing blood.
Surprised by my aggression, he dropped my wrist and stepped back.
“You come near me again and I’ll cut you,” I screamed, holding the scissors high, blade pointed at him. “You may want to hurt me, but I’ll hurt you first!”
Stunned, David took another step away from me and stood in the middle of the room. He looked down at the wound I had inflicted on his hand, then pulled a handkerchief from his robe pocket and wrapped it to staunch the flow of blood.
“Round one to the little slut,” he said, grinning. Then, he turned and walked out of the room.
I stood frozen watching him leave, afraid his departure was only feigned and that, if I let down my guard, he would once again pounce. So, I waited patiently in the middle of the room, praying that he wouldn’t return. I don’t know how much time passed, but, finally, still grasping the scissors tightly in my hand, I ran to the door and slammed it shut. There was no interior lock, so I grabbed a chair and wedged it under the doorknob, hoping that, at the very least, its falling would give me a warning if he returned. Then, I climbed into bed, putting the scissors under my pillow, and pulled the covers tightly around me.
“Your stepfather’s behavior was out of control, wasn’t it?” stated my doctor. “You weren’t expecting it.”
“No, I wasn’t. Since I started dating Jake, David had pretty much ignored me . . . like I didn’t even exist. But that night, he was crazy angry . . . jealous. And I think that anger aroused him. I think he might have killed me if I hadn’t gotten to those scissors.”
“How did his behavior make you feel?”
“Frightened. Very frightened. And guilty . . . like I’d done something wrong . . . something to make it happen. Like it was all my fault.”
My doctor nodded. “Did you think about calling the police?”
I shook my head. “No. If I had, I would have had to tell everything and I couldn’t . . . I just couldn’t do that. I was too ashamed.”
“What about your mother? You’ve said she was kinder to you that summer. Did you think about calling her?”
“It crossed my mind, but I didn’t do anything. Instead, I huddled under the covers in my bed, waiting to see if he’d come back. I finally fell asleep and was surprised how late it was when I woke up.”
It was after eight o’clock the next morning and I was still dressed in the clothing I’d had on the night before. I glanced in the mirror after I got out of bed. I had an ugly bruise on my cheekbone—a souvenir of David’s attack the night before.
Cautiously, I removed the chair from under the doorknob, opened the door a crack, and peered out. The hallway was empty and the door to the master bedroom where David and my mom slept was ajar. I could hear the radio blasting downstairs and could smell bacon cooking.
Quickly, I grabbed some clean clothes from my dresser and tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom. Once inside, I locked the door, stripped, and got into a hot shower.
After I was done and dressed in clean clothes, I walked out into the hallway. David was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up and smiling.
“Breakfast is getting cold, Andrea. Come on down. I won’t bite.”
He laughed as he said that last bit, then spread his hands out in front of him in a gesture of conciliation. “Peace?”
My stomach growled as I stood silent at the top of the stairs, not knowing whether to believe him or not.
“Okay,” he said. “Have it your way. The food is in the kitchen, in the warmer. I’m going to the mainland today to meet a client. Just be a good little girl and clean up the dishes when you’re done. Okay?”
I didn’t answer him, but sat down on the top step and waited. He laughed again, shaking his head, grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door. I listened for the sound of the car and, when I heard it going down the drive, I stood and cautiously went down the stairs.
He was gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, I went to the kitchen where, in the warmer oven, sat a plate piled with eggs, bacon, and toast. I ate hungrily, emptying the plate. Then I did as he’d asked . . . I cleaned the kitchen.
Afterward, I walked down to the wharf, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of Jake. His father’s boat was tied up at the far end and I could see the two of them working on deck. I sat down, dangling my legs over the water as I watched them. It was comforting to know he was near, and, feeling safe again, I leaned back, letting the sun warm my face.
I let my mind go blank for a while until I heard the sound of the boat heading out to sea. I gazed back at it, once again catching sight of Jake. He looked in my direction and waved. I waved back and watched until they motored out of sight.
With nothing to do now on the wharf, I returned to the cottage, grabbed my journal, and headed to Preacher’s Cove. My mind was full of confusion as I tried to find a way out of the mess I’d gotten myself into. I was terrified of David, who, it seemed to me, was exhibiting signs of a split personality or possible schizophrenia.
I thought about packing a bag and leaving. I’d read about places called communes that were popping up all over New England where kids could find safe harbor or sanctuary. But, there were also stories about cults that camouflaged themselves as peace and love communities and, at fifteen and alone, I knew I would be easy prey for them.
I wondered if Jake would run with me. But if I told him the ugly truth, would he still want me? I didn’t know and couldn’t take that risk. Anyway, if I did tell him, he would insist on going to the police and I would end up in foster care or maybe even juvenile detention, neither of which I thought I could survive.
No, I was trapped and, at that juncture, I could see no way out.
“You said you kept a journal?” my doctor asked.
I nodded.
“Do you have any idea what happened to it?”
“No,” I responded. “I put it away in my desk at the cottage before everything blew up. I suppose my mother has it. Why?”
My doctor sighed. “What was done to you was criminal—against the law. However, because you were committed here, it could be said that the stories you’re telling are just flights of fancy . . . accusations made by an angry and disturbed young girl. However, if your journal could be found, it would independently corroborate your testimony. Understand?”
“Yeah, I get it. But what good would it do? My mother would probably destroy it, if she thought it could hurt her.”
“Yes, most likely she would, if she were aware of your writing. Was she?”
“I don’t know. Maybe or maybe not. She never really paid much attention to what I was doing.”
My doctor sat quietly for a moment, thinking, then jotted down some notes before he looked back up at me.
“Okay. Let’s put that aside for now. What happened next?”
I stayed at Preacher’s until almost seven. I knew David would probably be back at the cottage by then and was afraid of what might happen when I got there. But I had no place else to go.
When I walked in, I found him sitting in the dining room, a notebook in front of him, surrounded by several small white cartons. He looked up from his work when I entered the room.
“I got Chinese. Get a plate and take it to the living room or upstairs. I don’t care which. I have work to do.”
Dismissing me with a wave of his hand, he turned his attention back to the notebook.
Grateful, I did as he’d instructed and piled my plate high with food. I hadn’t eaten all day and was ravenous. David continued to be absorbed in his work so I took the plate to my room where, once again, I wedged the chair under the doorknob before sitting down to eat.
After I’d finished, I lay on my bed, thinking. David was acting as if nothing were amiss . . . as if the night before had never happened. Would that last? I didn’t know, but I had only about thirty-six hours until my mother would be returning and I knew he would never try anything with her around. If I could just make it through tonight and tomorrow, I’d be okay. And tomorrow was Saturday and I’d be with Jake.
I thought again about telling him. If I did, maybe he’d let me stay with his family for a while. I let myself embrace that daydream, thinking how wonderful it would be to be part of a loving family like his. But all too soon, I heard footsteps on the stairs and reality came crashing back.
I grabbed the scissors from under my pillow and waited. I sensed him hesitate for a moment in front of my door, but then he walked on and I heard the master bedroom door open and close. Lying back down on my bed, I breathed a sigh of relief. I checked the clock. It was late. Not knowing what else to do, I got under the covers and tried to sleep.
I woke the next morning around six. The house was quiet. Assuming David was still asleep, I changed and made my way down to the kitchen where I toasted an English muffin and ate it on my way to the beach.
It looked to be a beautiful day and I was beginning to feel optimistic. Things seemed good. David was back to ignoring me, I would be safe with Jake that night, and my mom would be back on Sunday. Maybe, just maybe, I would weather this storm.
I spent the day at the beach, writing, reading, and collecting sea glass. At five o’clock, I headed home. It was time to clean up and get ready to meet Jake.
The car was in the drive when I arrived, so I knew David was there.
I cautiously went inside. As I approached the stairs, I could see him sitting in the living room, reading.
“Will you be here for supper?” he asked without looking up from his book.
“I’m just going to grab a sandwich,” I replied. “There’s a party down at Sandy Cove I’m going to.”
He didn’t say a word, just nodded, as he used a marker pen to underline something in the book.
Assuming this meant I had permission to go, I raced to the kitchen and quickly made myself a tuna sandwich, grabbed a Coke, and went upstairs to my room.
By seven, I was ready, but knowing Jake wouldn’t be at the lamp post for a while, I sat down at my desk to write in my journal. A knock on the door surprised me.
“Andrea, are you decent?” asked David from outside.
I got up and began to open the door. “Yeah . . . .”
My words were cut short as he slammed his body into the door, opening it wide, and sending me sprawling on the floor.
“Wha . . . ?” I cried as he loomed over me.
Grinning, he reached down and grabbed me by the hair, pulling me up to a kneeling position. He was wearing a robe and swimming trunks and he pushed his pelvis suggestively in my face.
“Going out with that island brat? Going to spread ’em again for him tonight? I think not. No, I think you’re going to stay home tonight and take care of business here. And, once you do that, we’ll see about that punishment you deserve.”
I tried to twist away from him, but his grip on my hair was too strong and it felt as if he were pulling it out by the roots.
His face had turned beet red and sweat was pouring off of him, so much so that drops of it splattered against my forehead, sliding down my face, mingling with my tears. I could sense, and almost feel, the violence building within him.
“Put your hands behind your back,” he commanded, taking a roll of duct tape from the pocket of his robe. “You’ve proved once already you can’t be trusted.”
When I didn’t comply, he let go of my hair and slapped me soundly across the face. Before I could recover, he grabbed my hands and forced them behind my back where he bound them together with the tape. Then he moved back in front of me, slipping his hand inside his trunks while he leered at me suggestively.
“I’ll tell,” I cried, despite my fear. “This time I will. I’ll tell Mom!”
David laughed. “And just what do you think she’ll do? What, Andrea? You think she’ll toss me out? You think she’ll throw her arms around her poor abused child? Is that what you think?”
He waited for me to respond and, when I didn’t, he grabbed my face in his hand, pinching my cheeks together painfully.
“No, she won’t do that, will she? She’ll know it’s all you fault. You know that, don’t you? And what will she do? Tell me, Andrea.”
Again, I just stared at him.
He bent over so that his face was directly in front of mine. He was breathing heavily, and his breath smelled stale and disgusting.
“We’ve talked about this before. Don’t you remember?” he laughed. “Well, I’ll tell you again. She’ll send you away. Erase you . . . like you didn’t ever exist. That’s what she’ll do and you know it.”
He spoke angrily, shouting out the words, his spittle spraying over my face. I tried to twist out of his grasp, but he held me firmly. Tears of pain and shame fell from my eyes and moved down my cheeks, over his fingers.
“Okay,” he said, releasing me. “Now, be a good girl and do exactly as I say and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you go meet that kid tonight. Are you going to behave?”
Feeling utterly helpless, I nodded.
“Good. Now, first thing you’re going to do is take care of me here.”
As he spoke, he pulled his penis from his shorts. It was half-erect and he stroked it as he moved closer to me.
“No biting,” he said sternly. “Just wrap those soft lips around it. Pretend it’s that island kid’s. That should get you going.”
Not seeing any alternative and wanting this over as quickly as possible, I obeyed.
“That’s my girl,” he crooned as he pushed himself at me.
Nauseated by what he was making me do, my meager dinner threatened to explode from my stomach. A fresh bout of tears streamed down my face as I tried to shut down my mind to the horror that was occurring.
A sound from the hallway distracted me for a moment and I opened my eyes.
David had left the door to the bedroom open and, with my limited view, I could see that there was a figure now standing in the doorframe.
My eyes grew wide as I tried to pull away from David.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he exclaimed, placing his hand forcefully on the back of my head and pushing it forward.
Violently, I twisted away from him, shaking my head back and forth, as the figure in the doorway stepped into the room.
“Mom!” I cried.
David whirled around, surprised to see my mother standing in front of him, her face stern and uncompromising.
“Cheryl . . . ,” he stammered.
“Shut up!” she said angrily. “And get out of my sight.”
He stood frozen for a moment until she stepped sideways, pointing toward the door.
“I said get out of my sight! Pack your bags and get yourself to the mainland. I’ll deal with you later.”
“Cheryl, let me explain.”
“Not, now! Go!”
“But the ferry . . . I don’t think there’s one for hours.”
“Sweet Jesus. Use your head. Take a water taxi, swim. I don’t care. Just get the fuck out of my sight.”
I watched him take a deep breath, nod, then quickly leave the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Mom, thank God,” I cried. “Help me!”
She stared at me for a moment then walked slowly to where I was still kneeling on the floor.
“My hands, Mom. Untie me.”
She walked behind my back and, only hesitating for a second, leaned over and ripped the tape from my wrists, tearing the skin.
I screamed.
Taking no notice of my pain, she walked back in front of me and, without hesitating, pulled back her hand and slapped me as hard as she could.
“You filthy little whore,” she spat at me. “You think I didn’t know what was going on between you and him? Mmmm? You think I’m stupid? Well, I’m not the stupid one here.”
She walked away from me, over to the window, pulling a cigarette from her purse and lighting it.
I was in shock. How could she blame me? I was just a child—her child.
She sat on my bed, watching me, a small smirk playing on the corners of her bright red lips. She took a drag on her cigarette.
“Now, what are we going to do with you, Andrea? Any ideas?”
I wrapped my hands nervously in my T-shirt, trying to soothe my torn wrists.
“I don’t know what you mean, Mom,” I finally answered. “I just want to be left alone.”
She laughed unpleasantly. “Left alone? Well, I think we can arrange that. You’re going to go away. There are places for girls like you . . . places where they’ll teach you discipline . . . where behavior like yours is punished, and punished severely.”
“But I don’t want to go away,” I pleaded. “It wasn’t my fault. David . . . he . . . he hurt me . . . he did this to me. He’s the one who should be sent away. He’s sick. He’s been after me since I was just a little kid.”
“Shut up!” she screamed, rising from the bed and walking to where I now sat huddled on the floor. She took a deep drag off the cigarette until the end glowed red. Then she reached out and held the lit tip close to my face.
“You’ll only speak when spoken to from now on or you’ll be punished. You understand?”
Afraid she would burn me, I nodded vigorously.
“Good. Now, get yourself cleaned up while I make some phone calls. We’re leaving here tonight.”
She didn’t wait for a response, just turned and left the room, closing my door firmly behind her.
I leaned back against the wall, trying to absorb what had just happened.
She’d known!
This thought bounced back and forth across my mind as I tried to comprehend what she’d revealed. It wasn’t long before everything came clear to me.
She’d known all along about David and his proclivities. And, she’d given him tacit permission to abuse me . . . to use me most horribly when I was just a child. But, now . . . now that I was older, she saw me as a rival . . . someone to be wary of . . . someone she found herself jealous of. So, she set it all up: the seeming vacation on an isolated island, her newfound affection for me, and subtle encouragement of my relationship with Jake. And, lastly, her absence and surprise reappearance . . . all orchestrated so she would have an excuse to get rid of me.
The depth of this betrayal washed over me and I felt a pain in the pit of my soul so sharp, I thought it might destroy me.
Slowly, I rose and gazed at myself in the mirror. My right cheekbone sported a deep purple bruise and my eyes were swollen from crying. My T-shirt was dotted with blood from a cut on my lower lip.
I gripped the nightstand, my legs threatening to give way, and closed my eyes to try to regain my composure.
“Jake,” I said aloud.
Just the sound of his name galvanized me and I shrugged off my despair. My mother had told me to clean up and that’s what I would do. But leave with her that night? I didn’t think so.
Decided, I hurried to the bathroom where I cleaned the blood off my face and hands. I took a hot shower and, after drying my hair, applied makeup to cover the bruises on my face and arms. Then I went back to my room and changed into clean clothes.
Convinced I looked presentable, I walked out to the stairs, stood on the landing, and listened. My mother was talking to someone on the phone saying something about an incorrigible child who needed discipline.
I took a deep breath, returned to the bathroom, and opened the medicine cabinet. Sitting prominently on the second shelf was a bottle of pills. I stared at it for a moment and without thinking, grabbed it and pocketed it. Then I tiptoed down the stairs and out through the front door.
Once on the porch, I knew time was of the essence. Letting the screen slam behind me, I leapt down the steps and began to run to the main road. Behind me, I could hear my mother yelling, but I didn’t stop. Jake was only fifteen minutes away at Sandy Cove and I ran to him as if my life depended upon it.
“Here,” said my doctor, handing me his ever-ready box of tissues.
“Thanks,” I said, using one to wipe my eyes and another to blow my nose.
“That was a powerful insight you had about your mother. Did you think about going to the authorities then?”
I shook my head. “No, I only wanted to get to Jake. That daydream—the one about staying with his family—well, it was all I could think about. It was what I clung to as I ran to the beach. I knew that, one way or another, I would never return to that cottage . . . to that life. So, I ran.”
“Go on. What happened when you got to Sandy Cove?“
I took a deep breath, composing myself. I was reaching the home stretch now and wanted to get it right.
When I arrived at the path that led to the beach, I slowed down, trying to calm myself. I didn’t want to make a scene in front of a bunch of kids, so I took a moment, finger-combed my hair, pinched my cheeks for color, and, then, feeling ready, walked casually toward the bonfire that was blazing not far from the end of the path.
Rock music blasted from several transistor radios, all turned to WBZ Boston. Two boys, friends of Jake’s who I knew from the golf club, sat by the fire drinking beer and laughing. As I approached, one of them looked my way and pointed.
“Hey, Harry, check it out! It’s Jake’s main squeeze . . . his summa girl.”
The boy name Harry looked at me, then back at his friend, and both of them started laughing, hysterically.
Puzzled, I glanced down at myself, afraid something was buttoned incorrectly or worn inside out . . . wondering what had engendered such fierce amusement. Finding nothing wrong, I waited until their laughter subsided.
“Have you seen Jake?” I asked.
My question was answered by another round of loud hoots. Finally, wiping tears from his eyes, the boy with Harry stood and pointed down the beach.
“He’s there. Go on down. You’ll find him all right.”
I nodded and thanked the boy, which got them both giggling again.
For a second, I thought about asking them what was so funny, but my need to see Jake was stronger, so I ignored them and walked in the direction the boy had indicated.
I passed a group of girls dancing and laughing. Everyone was drinking and they all seemed pretty high. Scanning the beach for Jake, I became aware of sounds coming from couples making out in the seclusion of the rocks that lined the shore.
I stopped and stood staring ahead. The beach looked fairly deserted and I was beginning to think that maybe Jake had already gone home and that the boys by the bonfire were just teasing me. I was about to leave when I caught sight of a couple standing near a rock outcropping.
The girl shook her head, her long streaked blonde hair shining in the moonlight. The boy had his hands on her waist and I watched as she took one of them and moved it up under her tank top, placing it on her breast. The boy leaned close and kissed her as he let his hands roam over her body. Then he pulled away and I could see his features clearly.
It was Jake.
Without thinking, I shrank back into the shadows, hugging myself tightly; afraid I might fall to pieces. I felt like a ship whose anchor had been roughly yanked from its mooring by a violent riptide . . . left to drift aimlessly out to sea.
I heard the girl laugh, then say something I couldn’t make out.
Not wanting to see or hear more, I turned and jogged back down the beach, this time ignoring the laughter of the boys by the bonfire. Tears blinding my eyes, I was surprised when I felt a strong hand grip my shoulder.
“Hey, sweetheart,” a male voice drawled. “You look like someone just kicked your dog. You okay?”
I turned around, yanking my shoulder from his grasp and was surprised to find Pete, the older kid who usually bought the beer, standing behind me.
“I’m . . . I’m okay,” I said softly.
He reached up and put his hand gently on my cheek. “Well, you don’t look okay. You and Jake have a fight?”
I didn’t answer and tried to continue on my way, but, not to be deterred, he put his arm around my shoulder and began walking with me.
“You want a beer?” he asked.
Suddenly thirsty, I nodded.
“You stay right here. I won’t be a sec.”
He jogged back to the bonfire and grabbed a can from the cooler, then returned to where I stood.
“Here you go,” he said, handing it to me. “Now don’t you cry anymore. Jake will come around. He’s nuts about you, you know.”
Taking a sip of the beer, I nodded again.
“Okay, then. You want me to see you home? Or, can you make it there yourself?”
“I can make it myself,” I said. “Thanks.”
“No problemo, sweetheart. You be careful now.”
He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek then turned back toward the bonfire.
I watched him for a moment, then walked away. I knew now where I was going and what I was going to do when I got there.
It was after ten when I arrived at Preacher’s. The tide was on its way in and the light from the moon glistened on the exposed seaweed and eelgrass.
I sat on the rocky shore, unmindful of the wet sand, hugging my knees to my chest.
It was all over.
I had no home and no one left to run to. I was done.
Taking a deep breath, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bottle of pills I had stolen from the medicine cabinet.
Quaaludes.
I read the label. The pills were 150mg. each and the prescription was for fifty pills. The instructions were to take one to two pills as needed for insomnia. The name of the patient the drug was prescribed for was my mother’s.
I emptied the bottle into the palm of my hand and counted the pills by twos. There were thirty-four left. I stared at them for a moment and then, two by two, I tossed them into my mouth, washing them down with the beer Pete had so graciously provided for me.
Then, when there were no more left, I gazed sadly at the moon shining off the water. And, finally, dry-eyed for the first time that night, I lay down in the rocky sand to sleep.
I turned in my chair to gaze out the window of my doctor’s office as the memory of that night washed over me. Lying in the sand, I’d felt hollow . . . emptied out . . . as if all that was Andi had vanished, leaving only a barren husk behind.
What a fool I had been to think I could reinvent myself that summer. I would always be the girl nobody wanted. So, I’d closed my eyes and welcomed sleep . . . a sleep I wanted never to wake from.
But fate intervened.
“He came for me,” I finally said, turning back toward my doctor.
He nodded. “Yes, he did. Tell me what you remember.”
“It was as if I were floating,” I replied. “I felt myself lifted . . . like in a dream. Then I heard his voice.”
As I spoke, I closed my eyes, reliving the moment.
“He kept saying my name, over and over . . . as if trying to call me back from the void I had slipped into. I guess I must have moaned or done something that let him know I was still alive, because he lifted me into his arms and began carrying me up the beach. I was drifting in and out of consciousness as the drugs took hold, so I don’t really remember anything clearly. Just that he was with me . . . and, somehow, I knew he still loved me. I think that’s what made me hold on . . . on to life.
“Next thing I remember is a woman slapping me lightly on the face and barking orders at Jake. After that, there’s not much until I was in the hospital and they pumped my stomach. Then, finally, I woke up here.”
My doctor smiled. “Yes, here. And, now that you’ve finally opened up, the hard work can begin. But first, I think you deserve a reward.”
I looked at him, puzzled, as he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a white envelope.
As he handed it to me, I grinned. It was a letter from Jake.
“I think this time,” he said. “You can read it alone. Take it with you. We’re finished here for today. But remember what I said. We’re not done. The hard work is still to come. I’ll want to see you three times a week for the next month so we can work through everything you’ve revealed. Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “And, thanks.”
He looked at me, puzzled. “Thanks? For what?”
“For everything . . . for being patient and not giving up on me.”
He smiled. “Just doing my job. Now, go. Read your letter and then get some rest.”
For the next few weeks, my doctor and I spent long hours together, talking. I worked hard trying to understand all that had happened to me. Guilt and shame were so much a part of my psyche that it was difficult to accept that I was blameless. But despite the tears and pain caused by reliving my nightmare, talking about it gave me a sense of freedom I hadn’t enjoyed for years. I still had many issues to work through and knew that some part of the darkness that surrounded me for more than half my life would always be there, ready to haunt me.
About a month after my suicide attempt, we were at the end a therapy session and I was about to leave when my doctor waved me back to my chair.
“I have something to tell you, Andrea,” he said as I sat down. “Remember when we spoke about your father . . . about the possibility that he had died some years back?”
I nodded. “I didn’t believe it then and I still don’t believe it now. I’m sure he’s alive.”
My doctor smiled. “Well, I did some looking around and you’re right. He is very much alive. Your mother lied on the intake papers. He’s working in Southern California as a screenwriter, just like you said. I spoke with him last night.”
I took a deep breath. “You spoke with him?”
“Yes, Andrea, and he was completely unaware of your current status. Your mother told him you were in school in Switzerland and wanted nothing to do with him. He says that for years he sent letters, birthday cards, and presents to you via your mother, but they were all returned unopened.”
I sat still, not knowing what to say. My emotions were, again, conflicting. On one hand, I was happy that my father was alive and hadn’t completely abandoned me. But, on the other hand, there was a simmering anger beginning to build in the pit of my stomach.
“He wants to see you,” my doctor said. “In fact, he said he would fly out today.”
“He’s coming here? Today?”
My doctor smiled. “His plane will be landing late this afternoon. I expect he’ll be here tomorrow to see you, but I told him I couldn’t guarantee that you’d agree to it. It’s your decision, Andrea.”
I leaned back in my chair, not knowing what to say, holding my breath.
“Does he know?” I finally asked.
“About your stepfather?”
“Yes.”
“No, I didn’t go into specifics with him, but I could, if you want me to.”
“What about my mom? Have you talked to her, too?”
“No, Andrea, I haven’t and wouldn’t without your permission. I would, however, like to report what happened to you to the district attorney’s office. But, again, I won’t unless you tell me it’s okay.”
“And, if I did, what would they do?”
“Get a search warrant to look for your journal, for one thing. And, hopefully, get your stepfather off the street so he can’t do to anyone else what he did to you. Then there’s your mother. She needs to be held accountable for enabling him and turning a blind eye to what was happening to you. I just want to see justice done, Andrea.”
I sighed. “Would they put my mom in jail?”
“Possibly. I don’t know.”
I sat quietly thinking, an image of my mother parading before my mind’s eye, a smug smile on her face.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Do it. And talk to my dad, too. I’ll agree see him afterward. Okay?”
“Good. I think you’ve made the right choice. He wants to be a part of your life. How big a part—well, that will be up to you.”
The next day, I waited, but no one came to see me. At four o’clock, I was ushered into my doctor’s office.
“Sit down, Andrea,” he said.
“He didn’t come,” I said as I flopped into the chair. “Guess you were wrong about him wanting to be part of my life.”
My doctor smiled. “No, I wasn’t wrong. He does want to see you. It’s just—well, finding out about what happened to you was hard for him to take. He’s angry and paralyzed by guilt. I think he may have used today to confront your mother. I tried to talk him out of it . . . tried to convince him to let the authorities handle things, but I don’t think he listened. He left a message on my answering machine that he’d be here to see you tomorrow. You still open to it?”
I nodded. “Sure, but if he doesn’t show tomorrow, that’s it. I can’t take too much of this.”
“I know. Now, you go on to supper. We’ll talk again after you visit with your father.”
The next day, I was playing cards with a couple of the other kids when one of the orderlies approached.
“Andrea, you have a visitor.”
I dropped my cards on the table. My father was here.
I took a deep breath, then smoothed down my hair with my hands.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m ready.”
The visitors’ room was large, furnished with card tables and chairs. Today, a weekday, it was almost empty. I stood outside the door in the corridor, gazing through a large window into the room. On a couch in front of an ancient television set, a man sat, alone. He was staring down at his hands and looked nervous. He glanced up when the door opened and I walked in.
I would have recognized him anywhere. He hadn’t changed much, just a little heavier than I remembered. His hair was still as red as mine, but peppered here and there with silver, his eyes still a striking blue-grey.
He stood when he saw me enter.
“Andi?” he said, his voice shaking a little. “You look so grown up. I can’t believe it.”
I tried to smile. “Hi, Dad. Let’s sit at one of the tables. It’s easier to talk that way.”
He nodded and walked with me to one of the card tables. We sat down opposite each other.
Minutes passed. Neither of us spoke. Finally, he took a deep breath and let it out.
“I’m so sorry, Andi,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know. Your mother told me you were in school somewhere abroad. I tried to stay in contact. If I’d known what . . . what was happening . . . what that bastard did . . . I . . . I would have come and taken you out of there. But I didn’t know. Believe me, I wanted you.”
He let that sentence hang. His eyes were pleading with me and I knew what for. He wanted absolution and forgiveness . . . for me to say “It’s okay, Daddy” and tell him it wasn’t his fault. But I couldn’t do that.
“How hard did you try?” I finally asked. “Did you ask Mom for the phone number of the school? The address? Did you ever try to come see me? Write to me? Tell me, Daddy, how hard did you try?”
He had no words. I could see tears welling in his eyes, but still I gave him no mercy.
“No answer? Well, I’ll answer for you. You didn’t try very hard. You could have tried harder. You know that. You gave up on me too easily. I was your little girl and you threw me away.”
The last sentence I spit out angrily and I could see it shook him up. His face looked like he’d been bitch-slapped. Tears slid down his cheeks. Unable to meet my hard gaze, he stared down at his hands.
Again, silence reigned.
“My doctor says you went to see her,” I said after minutes had passed.
My father looked up and nodded. “I did. I was angry . . . I wanted to kill that bastard.”
“Well? What happened?”
“They weren’t there. Neighbors said they’d left the country and weren’t coming back. I spoke with the D.A.’s office. They think they were tipped off about the investigation. In any case, and for whatever reason, they’re gone.”
I nodded, somehow not surprised, then reached out and took his hand.
“It’s okay,” I said, softly. “I’ve made my peace with it. I’ll never have to see them again and that’s enough for me. It’s time to move on.”
He looked up at me, surprised. “Yes, move on. That’s why I’m here. Your doctor says you’ll be discharged soon. Is that right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. In a few weeks.”
“Well, I want you to come to California. Live with me. I have a house not far from the beach. You’ll love it. And, if you want, we can get you enrolled in college.”
His face had taken on a hopeful expression, as if somehow I’d let him off the hook.
“Are you still with Sherry?” I asked.
He sighed. “No, we broke up about a year after little Pete was born. I’m with another woman now . . . we live together. You’ll love her.”
I had to force myself not to laugh. My father was not a man who stayed alone for long.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “But I’ll have to decline. I’m not leaving here. My doctor has a job lined up for me at the local pediatric hospital. His wife is a nurse there and she set it up. I’ll have a place to stay nearby, too . . . at a rooming house that caters to residents and student nurses. I appreciate the offer, but I’m not moving to California.”
“But what about school? Don’t you want to go to college and get a degree? If medicine is what you’re interested in, you could be a nurse or a doctor.”
I smiled. “I already have my associate’s degree and I’ll continue to take courses at night. Don’t worry. I’ll get my bachelor’s. But it will be on my terms, not yours or anyone else’s. Someone once said something about the need to be the architect of your own life. That’s what I want to be.”
He looked at me with what I interpreted as new respect.
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “You run your life any way you want. But would you let me be a part of it? I’ve missed so much already. I don’t want to miss any more.”
I grinned at him. “Sure. I think I’d like that.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay, you’ve got a job and a room, but what about clothes? And, a car . . . you’ll need one, won’t you? Will you let me help you with that?”
“A car,” I mused. “I don’t even know how to drive.”
“We’ll get you an instructor. You’ll learn in no time. Say yes, Andi. Let me help you.”
I chewed on my upper lip, thinking for a moment. “Okay,” I finally said. “Let’s go shopping.”
I got a pass from the doctor to go to town the next day. True to his word, my father bought me everything he could think of: dresses, coats, jeans, shoes, hats, and such. We took all our purchases to the rooming house where he paid the rent for six months in advance and slipped the landlady some money to make sure I had a new mattress on my bed and a comfortable chair for reading.
Then he took me to a car lot down the street and purchased a slightly used, cherry-red Volkswagen Beetle. He asked the salesman about driving instructors, then made some calls and set me up for my first lesson in six weeks, around the time I anticipated being discharged from the hospital. In the meantime, he rented a parking space for the vehicle in a garage downtown.
After all this had been accomplished, tired from the day’s outing, he took me to a Chinese restaurant for dinner, then back to the ward.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “You really didn’t need to do all this, but I do appreciate it.”
“I’m happy to help you any way I can, honey,” he replied. “I have to go back to the coast tomorrow, but I’ll stay in touch. You call me anytime, collect. And, I want you to come visit first vacation you get . . . and Christmas, too, if you can swing the time off. I’ll pay for your ticket.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling. “I’ll try. You have a good flight home.”
I kissed him on the cheek and turned to go inside, but he pulled me back and hugged me tightly.
When he let me go, I saw there were tears in his eyes. “It sure is good to have my little girl back again,” he whispered. “I love you, Andi.”
“Love you, too, Dad,” I said.
He squeezed my hands then turned to walk back to the parking lot. I watched him go, not sure how I really felt. I loved him, but did I trust him? He’d left me once, all too easily. Would he leave me again?
Sighing, I called up to the ward through the intercom and waited until they buzzed me in. Then, I returned to what I thought of as home: a twin bed on the ward of a psychiatric hospital.
The next few weeks were full of hard work. My doctor was relentless, opening up all of the secret hiding places in my soul. My father, having returned to L.A., called once a week to check on my progress and continued to press me to move in with him and enroll in college. I continued to decline.
“We need the space, Andrea,” my doctor said one day. “You’re far too healthy to be occupying a bed here. It’s time you had a chance to experience life outside.”
I looked at him, surprised. I thought I had at least a week or two left before discharge.
“You’re discharging me now?” I asked. “I thought . . . .”
“Yes, I am,” he interrupted. “Not that I don’t think there’s still work to do. That’s why I’m referring you to someone on the outside: Dr. Slavin. Her office is in the medical complex not far from the hospital where you’ll be working. Here’s her address and phone number.”
He handed me a business card.
“Dr. Helene Slavin,” I said reading it. “You think I’ll like her?”
“I’ve met her a couple of times at professional meetings. She’s nice. And she specializes in abuse cases. I think it’ll be a good fit.”
“Okay. But are you sure? What if I can’t make it on the outside?”
“I have confidence in you, Andrea, and, if you need it, here’s my number. Call me.”
He handed me another card which I quickly pocketed.
“And another thing . . . .”
He let his voice trail off as if searching for the right words. His face was once again serious.
I leaned back in my chair, waiting.
He tapped his fingers on the desk, taking a deep breath. “You know I reported your abuse to the district attorney’s office.”
I nodded. “Yeah. My dad told me David and Mom had skipped town. Went somewhere abroad.”
“That’s right. They must have gotten wind of the investigation. David is very well-connected, as I’m sure you know.”
“So? They’re gone. Why are you telling me this now?”
“I wanted you to know. The police searched the house. All of your mother’s and David’s things were gone, but yours were still there. They found your journals, Andrea. Everything you told me has now been corroborated.”
“So? What good does that do, if they’re gone?”
“I just thought you should know. If they ever come back, they’ll be arrested.”
We were both silent for a moment, then I smiled.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I just want to put it all behind me.”
“Good,” he said, nodding. “However, there is one loose end you still need to tie up.”
I stared at him, puzzled, as he pulled an envelope from his desk drawer and handed it to me.
I recognized the handwriting on the front immediately. It was a letter from Jake. I hadn’t gotten one for about a month and had thought that he’d finally forgotten about me.
“What are you going to do about this young man?” my doctor asked. “Are you going to answer him? Let him know you’re still alive? You could go see him now, you know.”
I leaned back again and ran my fingers through my hair. There was nothing I wanted more in the world at that moment than to hop on a bus and make my way to Maine and show up on his doorstep. But I knew that would be wrong.
“Return it to him,” I said, handing the envelope back. “Unopened. It’s time he got on with his life just like I’m getting on with mine. I’ve held him back for far too long.”
“Just return it? Isn’t that a little harsh? Doesn’t he deserve to know that you’re okay? Think about it. He might think you died . . . might even think it was his fault.”
I choked back tears, nodding.
“Yes, of course. Could you write him and let him know I’m okay and that I’ve been discharged?”
My doctor hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“But, that’s it. Don’t tell him where I am.”
My doctor frowned. “Okay. I’ll write to him, however, I have to tell you, I don’t agree with your decision. But it is your decision.”
He stuffed the unopened letter back into his desk, then rose from his chair.
“This is goodbye then,” he said. “I wish you the best of everything, Andrea. Don’t forget to call Dr. Slavin, okay?”
“I won’t forget,” I said as I reached out to shake his hand. “And, thanks for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you. You’re the best.”
An awkward moment passed after we shook hands. We had sat in this room together once or twice a week for five years and, now, we would probably never see each other again. He was the closest thing to a real parent I had ever had.
He smiled. “It’s time for the fledgling to leave the nest and try her wings. I know you’ll do just fine, Andrea. Enjoy the world outside. There are so many adventures awaiting you.”
I nodded as he turned away from me and gazed out the window. Knowing this was my cue, I took a deep breath and walked out the door, never once looking back.