In a Moon Smile (32 page)

She swallowed hard, making a mental picture of the motel room and all of its furnishings. She guessed how many steps she was away from the end table lamp. She guessed how much strength she would need, not only to yank the lamp cord from the electrical outlet but to also swing the lamp powerfully enough to stop Russ in his tracks. She had only seconds, she guessed, to make and execute a plan. No room to fail. No room for drama. “You know I love you, Russ,” Becca said in a shaky voice. She felt his hand relax slightly in her hair. “I guess I was just afraid about everything. I just don’t want to lose you.” Becca tried to slow her breathing. She was so damned terrified, her heart felt like it would burst through her chest. “Russ, I’m sorry that I didn’t return your calls or email,” Becca said more strongly, with lots more conviction. “I hope you aren’t mad about that, are you?”

Just as she hoped he would, Russ seemed to soften. He released her hair and cupped her face with his hand. “Mad at you? Oh Becca, you’re my little Lovie. How could I ever stay mad at you?” He sighed and his body relaxed slightly. “So we’re okay?” he smiled. “You and me? We’re all right?”

Becca nodded, added a shaky laugh and smiled. “Russ, you and I are always okay,” she said, praying to sound truthful. “It’s exactly like what you said. We go together.”

Obviously relieved, Russ stepped back and grinned. “So… let’s get those clothes off of my little Lolita. Shall we?”

“I…I feel shy,” Becca said in a soft voice. “It’s been such a long time, Russ. I feel a little bit weird, maybe embarrassed.”

“You’re so sweet, Lovie,” he seemed to be calming. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I love your body. I love you.”

“Well…” Becca struggled for a chance to escape. “Well Russ, you sometimes forget that I’m only sixteen.”

His eyes softened and he kissed the top of Becca’s hand. “You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he said. “Come on, Lovie. Take off those clothes.”

“I know it will sound stupid,” Becca said in a whisper. “But Russ, would you mind turning your head? That way I can take off my clothes and get under the covers without feeling so… you know, I feel shy. Please?”

She could see in his eyes that she won him over. Adrenalin pumped wildly through Becca’s body as Russ chuckled and agreed to turn around. The moment he turned, Becca grabbed the lamp and swung it with every ounce of power she had. When the base of the lamp made contact with the back of Russ’ head, she heard a sickening thud. He fell forward on the bed. Becca scrambled out the door and down the stairs, blindly running toward her car. She flung open the driver’s door but could barely get the key in the ignition. Her entire body shook uncontrollably as she finally turned the key, heard the engine and floored the gas. She didn’t dare turn back to see if Russ had managed to follow her. But then again, Becca had no way of knowing if the hard smash of the lamp maybe knocked him out cold. Being so frightened made her sick. She was trembling, crying. While she drove, Becca began to pray. She asked for safety and forgiveness. The words came out of her mouth like a jumble of sobs. She could not remember when she last cried so uncontrollably. “I want my Mama, God,” Becca sobbed. “I need her. I don’t have anyone else who loves me.”

Before getting out of the car at home, Becca wiped her face on the sleeve of her shirt. She walked in as if none of these awful things had happened. Her father offered a bleary-eyed nod as she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom.

For the next few days, life was quiet. Becca skipped Russ’s calculus class until she overheard a classmate say that Mr. Wildman had taken a leave of absence. She wondered about that. Had he gone home to confess the affair to his wife? What if Darla Wildman confronted her? What if Mr. Wildman resigned and decided never to teach again? Would that be her fault? Becca feared that he might show up in the high school parking lot. What would she do if she found him standing by her car? Maybe Mr. Wildman would be crazy enough to knock on her door at home. She felt vulnerable and terrified. She trusted no one enough to tell them what she had been through. And even if she had reached out, what if the other person blamed all of this all on her? Until that last meeting at the motel, Becca had never been afraid of Russ. But now she closed her eyes at night and often envisioned those crazy eyes. She could still feel his clenched fists, full of her hair.

Becca stayed up late on Friday. Thankful that she made it through the rest of the school week without more problems, she felt mentally exhausted. She lied to girlfriends and said she wanted to stay at home because she didn’t feel well. But the truth was that Becca felt afraid and unsafe. While her dad snored in the living room, she watched some old movies and listened to music in her bedroom. But still, she could not escape an odd feeling of dread. She wanted to believe that Russ would accept her wishes and simply leave her alone. But what if he refused? What might he do to her if he asked her to meet again, but she refused? Her stomach felt queasy, just to admit to herself that he might never leave her alone. Then what? Because of his behavior at the motel, Becca knew that Russ was capable of hurting her. Should she go to the police? No, she didn’t want to hurt his career and family life. She didn’t want the kids at school to know that she had been screwing the math teacher, either. When she finally closed her eyes to sleep, her mind was exhausted with worry.

On Saturday morning, Becca slept later than usual. Usually she was out of bed early, starting laundry, washing dishes, asking her dad for money so she could do the grocery shopping. But when Becca rolled out of bed and slowly made her way down the stairs, she was happy and relieved to find the house empty. A note from her dad was scribbled on a scratch pad near the coffee pot. He was meeting some buddies for golf. Becca smiled, her dad had dropped out of the world as soon as her mom died. Maybe this was a positive sign. If he was playing golf with friends, at least he wasn’t isolating today, dog drunk in the recliner. Becca yawned and stretched on her way to the refrigerator for orange juice. She poured some juice in a small glass, grabbed the morning newspaper and an overripe banana from the fruit bowl and stepped out on the deck, to enjoy the morning sun. But when she unfolded the newspaper to view the front page, the headline punched her in the guts. She gasped and cried out. But no one was around to hear her.

‘High School Teacher Dead: Apparent Suicide.’ There were two color photographs of Russ. One was a headshot from the school year book. The second photograph showed him smiling at nothing, with his wife beside him. Their little boys were smiling happily.

“Oh
my God,” She covered her face with shaky hands. “Oh, God. Oh, no.”

She ran upstairs and changed from pajamas to a tank top and jeans. Then Becca quickly folded the front page and stuck it in her back pocket. She had no idea where to go so she drove to the only place that felt safe, the cemetery.

At her mother’s grave, Becca sat on the grass and unfolded the newspaper story about Mr. Russ Wildman. He was thirty six years old, well respected for his teaching style and well-liked by faculty and students. He grew up in Wisconsin and that’s where he met his wife, Darla. They moved to Indiana when Russ was offered a teaching position. For more than a decade, he was committed to teaching. He also enjoyed coaching the boys track team. He was found in the family garage, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Survivors included Darla Higgins Wildman, his wife of fourteen years, two young sons, Sam and Spencer, his mother, one sister and several nieces and nephews.

Becca crumbled the newspaper page and leaned against the grave marker. “Is it my fault, Mom?” she whispered. “Am I the reason Mr. Wildman killed himself?”

After that day, Becca never spoke Russ Wildman’s name again. She did not attend the funeral. She did not attend the class he taught before he died. She never told one single person about the affair and Becca felt that she deserved to carry such a heavy, ugly secret around. For the rest of her life, no matter what type of happiness might come her way, it would never feel flawless. She would carry this secret like a jagged piece of glass that cut her skin during the moments when she would least expect to be hurt. The affair with Mr. Wildman and the guilt surrounding his suicide was the life experience that stole away Becca’s joy.

Two years after Russ’ death, she moved as far away as possible for college, hoping to leave old ghosts behind and start over. After what she had gone through, Becca was now awkward and easily anxious about social situations. She was so lonely that she cried a lot. And then one day, God answered her prayers. Chesney walked into Becca’s lonely life. Instantly, they were the dearest of friends. Somehow they felt they had known each other for many years. Becca trusted Chez more than she trusted anyone else in the world. She trusted Chez even more than she trusted herself sometimes.

All these years of friendship were treasured by Becca. But still, she had never been strong enough to confide in Chesney. She was too afraid of the story. She was too terrified to hear what the words would sound like in the air, as if they somehow had more power to hurt her if they weren’t locked away in her chest. Chesney teased her a lot about working all the time, with no free moments for fun. But Becca felt safest when her nose was buried in a book. She studied diligently and earned top grades, graduating at the top of the class. Then she immediately enrolled at another university to earn a master’s degree.

Becca promised herself that she would never again find herself in a vulnerable position with a man. There would never be a day in her life that a man could destroy her emotionally, because she was very well protected by old hurts. No man would ever affect her financially, either. Becca Bartlett worked tirelessly to build an accounting firm with a top-notch reputation and a long, impressive list of amazing clients. Her social calendar was frequently filled with lunch dates and dinner meetings. But they were only faces to her. None of the men stirred her heart. None of them made her think twice about being so tightly wrapped in her own layers of pain.

Of course she never told the story of why, but Becca knew that since Russ died she had traveled through life much like a robot; one foot in front of the other, always focused and always in control. So many times, Chesney had insisted that Becca had to be hiding something awful, that she had pain in her eyes that never faded. But Becca never responded when Chesney reached out to her. She stayed with the plan that seemed to work best for her. She wore lovely clothing and designer shoes. She perfected a classy walk and an air of dignity. She used her beauty when necessary then laughed about it later. She was hell-bent on never allowing the world to know that she was the daughter of an alcoholic and she was the mistress of a dead math teacher.

Today though, the moment she saw Chesney’s friend Deke, there was something so profound in his eyes that Becca felt like weeping. Instead, she covered the odd emotion by requesting a ride on Deke’s motorcycle. When she straddled the bike and wrapped her arms around his waist, Becca felt that she had done this hundreds of times before. She felt that she already knew the scent of his black Harley T-shirt. She studied his sun streaked hair, flying freely in the breeze. She wanted to place her hands inside of Deke’s hands. After all these years of self-protection and a glacial feeling in her chest, Becca was touched in that quiet space she rarely visited. Something stirred beautifully in her heart when she looked at him. Of course it sounded crazy, especially to Becca, the absolute queen of control. But she wasn’t worried about explaining it, even to herself. She only wanted to roll around in it, breathe it in, live it. She felt joy.

Soon after Deke drove the motorcycle a few miles south of Chesney’s house, he asked Becca if she might want to stop and enjoy the view for a while. When Deke stopped at the particular lookout point, his smile made Becca feel giddy.

“You will love this place,” Deke said. Then he took her hand as if they had shared these moments for years. “It’s not very well known so it’s always exactly like it is today, serene and still.”

Becca followed his gaze to enjoy the rolling hills, the lushness of untouched meadows and trees. They walked down the ravine to a creek where water rushed over the rocks with a whisper. “Best tasting water in the world,” Deke grinned as he made a cup with his palms. “Coldest water you will ever find, too.”

They sat side by side and Becca put her toes in the cool creek bed. Deke spoke of his artwork and his family. But he asked her lots of questions, thoughtful questions. The kind of questions people ask when they really want to know exactly why your heart beats. He was kind, gentle, authentic. And Becca was grateful that, without knowing her at all, he had given back to Becca what she truly believed was dead. She leaned back in the grass and stared up at the sky.

“This is the first time in such a long time that I haven’t nursed a stress headache,” Becca laughed.

“Oh yeah?” Deke leaned back in the grass too and turned on his side to look at her. “Do you think the pure country air might have something to do with your relaxed state of mind?”

Becca laughed again and propped herself up on one elbow. “Maybe Chez knows a lot more than I give her credit for knowing. When she said the move to Bean Blossom has changed her life, I didn’t exactly understand what she was saying.”

“Maybe you should stick around,” Deke said. “And find out for yourself.”

“Maybe I will,” Becca smiled. “Maybe I’ll do just that.”

Early Saturday morning, Chesney introduced Becca to the rusty old truck she adored. “Jump in,” she grinned. “We’ll take a ride to Nashville and stop at a couple of great antique shops.” Becca eyed the rickety truck and looked at Chesney. “Once you get past the dirt, you’ll like riding in my truck,” Chesney promised. “Come on, Bec, stop acting like such a prissy pants.” Over the roar of the bad muffler, Chesney didn’t hear Becca’s response.