Life Penalty (21 page)

He didn’t fit the description of Cindy’s killer, Gail reminded herself, but then appearances could be altered.

“These buses take forever,” she said, walking beside him toward his car.

“Helps if you stand by a bus stop,” he told her matter-of-factly. “Where you headed?”

“Livingston,” she said, searching his face for a sign of recognition.

“Livingston? That’s kind of far. I’m not going that far.”

“Wherever you’re going will be fine,” she told him quickly.

They reached his car, which was parked around the corner under a No Parking sign. The youth was a fast walker and the cold propelled him more quickly still. Gail had to run to keep up. The car was two-toned, red and gray, at least five years old and impeccably maintained. The interior was plush burgundy velour. There were no errant tissues on the floor or old gum wrappers such as Gail was always leaving lying around the inside of her car. Gail slid
into the front seat. A boy and his car, she thought, as he put the key in the ignition and started the engine. It started with no trouble at all.

“Sounds good,” the boy said proudly.

Gail silently cursed her own car stuck in the lot. “You obviously spend a lot of time on it,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “This here’s my baby.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get a ticket,” she told him as he pulled away from the curb. What the hell was she doing?

“They never give tickets,” he said confidently. “I park there all the time.”

“You come here a lot?” He nodded. “Don’t you go to school?” she asked. Where was he taking her?

“Sometimes,” he smiled. “You from the truant office?”

“No,” Gail said. “Is that what you guys thought?”

“Crossed our minds. Somebody’s mother?” he asked.

“Is that why you offered me a lift? To find out what I was doing?”

“Naw, I don’t care what you were doing,” he said honestly. “I just didn’t want you to freeze your ass off with the cold.”

“You were worried about me?” Gail laughed, wondering where they were going.

“Well, you’re not the usual run-of-the-mill hitchhiker, you gotta realize. I mean, well, you know what I mean.”

“I’m old?” Gail asked, surprised to find herself enjoying the conversation.

“Well, not old exactly. Older. You look like somebody’s mother,” he qualified.

“I am,” Gail said quietly. “But I have girls.” She didn’t bother correcting herself.

“Oh yeah,” he said, as if he knew, “girls are a lot easier. My mother’s always telling me that.”

‘“She wouldn’t be too happy to find out you’re not in school this afternoon.”

“Probably not,” he agreed, and continued driving, turning the comer. Gail wondered again where they were going. She had lost track of the streets and could be anywhere. But the thought frightened her only momentarily. “How come you were hitchhiking?” he asked.

“My car wouldn’t start.”

“I didn’t think you were a regular. You looked kind of stiff,” he said, his voice assuming a curiously paternal tone. “You gotta be pretty careful. There’s a lot of crazy people out driving the streets. You never know who’s liable to pick you up. A friend of mine was hitchhiking once and this guy stops the car and she’s about to get in, you know, when the guy driving motions her over to his side of the car and tells her she’ll have to get in from his side because the door on the other side isn’t working. Well, man, she backs off right away ’cause of course what’s happened is that this guy has rigged the car so that the door on the passenger side doesn’t open and once she gets in that car, she’s trapped.” He let out a deep breath. “Now, this girl hitchhikes all the time, so she knows the ropes. She knows what to avoid, and she’s street-smart.” He looked Gail up and down. “You don’t look very street-smart,” he told her.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

“Thanks for the ride,” she told him when he stopped to let her out.

“Don’t hitchhike anymore,” he told her. “Go to school,” she replied.

She stood on the comer and watched him disappear down the street. Where was she? And what was she going to do now? She checked her watch. It was getting late. Jennifer would be home from school. How was she going to explain where she’d been and how she was dressed? She looked down at her baggy pants and old worn-out shirt, only partially covered by the buttonless, thin gray coat she
had recently purchased from the Salvation Army. It would hardly escape Jennifer’s notice.

Oh well, she thought, she’d have until she found a ride home to think up a suitable excuse.

She waited until the youth’s car was out of sight before she brought one foot down off the curb and thrust her right hand out in the air, hesitantly raising her thumb. It was almost ten minutes later when another car pulled up, and the driver, a well-dressed businessman in his mid-forties, bent over and opened the door on the passenger side.

“Where are you going?” he asked with a smile.

Gail relaxed immediately. She was too cold and exhausted to deal with another slim, fair-haired youth. “Livingston,” she told him eagerly.

He looked doubtful but then agreed. She climbed in beside him and he pulled back into the traffic.

“Cold enough for you?” he asked after several minutes.

“Freezing,” she answered.

“Feel like a cup of coffee?” he smiled after a few minutes more. “Or a drink? A drink would warm you up nicely.”

“No, thank you,” Gail said. “I’ve got to get home.”

“Husband?” he asked.

‘“He likes his dinner on the table when he walks in the door,” Gail embellished, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable.

“What does he think of his wife hitchhiking?”

“‘I’m sure he wouldn’t like it.” Gail noticed that the man’s eyes kept glancing at her body.

“What else do you do that your husband doesn’t like?” he leered. She pulled the thin coat tight across her chest.

Gail ignored the suggestion implicit in his question and looked out her side window. The man made no further attempts at conversation, and gradually Gail began to recognize the familiar Livingston streets. “This is fine,” she said, feeling tremendously relieved. “Right here.”

He stopped the car. Gail was about to reach for the door handle when his hand on her knee stopped her.

“Say, pretty lady,” he said casually, an afterthought almost, “I just drove you a hell of a distance out of my way. I think I deserve a little something for my time and trouble.”

“Please get your hand off me,” Gail said steadily.

“Come on, darling,” he continued. “Just French me a little.”

“‘French’?” Gail asked, removing his hand and sneaking her other hand toward the door, her eyes holding onto his with an unspoken promise.

“Yeah,” he answered, his hands moving to the zipper of his pants. “You know, darling, with your mouth.”

He lifted his hand to bring her head down. Suddenly, Gail pushed her door open and jumped out, his hand slapping against the side of her hair as she made her escape.

“Bitch!” he yelled as Gail ran from the car. She heard the screech of his tires as he threw the car into full speed. He obviously didn’t want to stick around any longer than she did. Gail stopped running, tears stinging her cheeks. She found an empty garbage can by the side of the road and threw up inside it.

Gail was still feeling shaky when she got home. Jennifer was in the living room playing the piano. She jumped up as soon as she saw her mother.

“Hi. You look frozen. Where have you been? My God, where did you get that coat?”

Gail discarded it quickly in the rear of the closet.

“I’ve had it for years.”

“Where’s your nice red one?”

“At the cleaners,” Gail lied.

“What are you wearing?” Jennifer gasped. “Where on earth did you find those clothes?”

“I was helping Laura move some furniture around at her office,” Gail told her, surprised how easily the lie came. “I didn’t want to ruin anything nice.”

“Laura?” The question was more of an exclamation.

“Something wrong?”

“No … Just that Laura called before, wondering where you’ve been. She said she’s been trying to reach you for days …”

“Did I say ‘Laura’? I’m sorry—I meant Nancy.”

“Since when does Nancy have an office?”

“Since she decided to get one,” Gail said impatiently, walking past her daughter into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator door. She took out the leftovers from the night before and laid them on the counter. Jennifer was at her elbow.

“Where’s the car?” Jennifer asked, catching Gail by surprise.

“I had to take it in,” Gail lied again.

“How’d you get home?”

“I walked.”

“You walked all the way from Harold’s garage?”

Jennifer’s face registered appropriate shock.

“It’s not that far.”

“It isn’t?”

“Jennifer, have you done your homework?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.” Jennifer grabbed a carrot from one of the plates and sat down with it at the kitchen table.

“Don’t do that,” Gail said.

“Don’t do what? Sit down?”

“Grab food off the plates. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Sorry. Didn’t think you’d mind one carrot.”

“Well, there’s not a whole lot of food for supper,” Gail
admonished, surveying the meager fare, then swinging around abruptly. “Jennifer, do you ever hitchhike? I want an honest answer.”

“Sometimes,” Jennifer answered reluctantly, sensing trouble.

“Jesus Christ,” Gail muttered, slamming her fist down onto the counter.

“I don’t anymore,” Jennifer told her quickly. “I haven’t since …” She broke off.

“If I ever hear of you hitchhiking again,” Gail began slowly building, “for whatever reason, you’re grounded for six months. Do you understand me?”

Jennifer regarded her mother with growing concern. “Yes.” She lowered her eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Gail cried again. “How stupid can you be?”

“What brought this on?” Jennifer demanded. “Did someone get hurt or something? Has something happened to somebody we know?”

“Does somebody have to get hurt for you to use your head?”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“I don’t want you ever to hitchhike again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Jennifer cried. “I’m not arguing with you.”

There was silence. Gail turned back toward the sink. “And something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” she said slowly, carefully. “What’s that?” Jennifer asked warily.

“Eddie.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened in surprise. “What about Eddie? I thought you liked him.”

“I do,” Gail agreed quickly. “But you’ve been dating each other exclusively for almost two years now, and I think it might be a good idea if you were to start dating other people.”

“Nineteen months,” Jennifer corrected. “And I don’t want to go out with anybody else. I love Eddie.”

“How do you know you love him if you have nothing to compare him with?”

“I don’t need to compare him with anybody!”

“Sweetie,” Gail pressed gently, “I’m not suggesting that you stop seeing him, just that you see other boys too.”

“‘I don’t want to see other boys! Where is all this coming from?”

‘“Okay, okay,” Gail said, backing off. “I just thought I’d mention it. Will you do me a favor and think it over at least?”

“No.”

Gail and her daughter exchanged stubborn glances.

“Julie called before and asked me to have dinner over there tonight. I said I didn’t think so, but if it’s all right with you, I think I’ve changed my mind. You’re only serving leftovers anyway, and this way there’ll be plenty for you and Jack. Is it okay if I go?”

“Only if your father picks you up and brings you home.”

“He will,” Jennifer told her, getting up and reaching for the phone. Gail pretended to be busy as Jennifer talked easily with her ex-husband’s wife. “He’ll pick me up in half an hour.”

Gail nodded but said nothing as her daughter left the room.

F
riday morning Jack insisted that he and Gail get away by themselves for the weekend. They needed some time together
alone
, he stressed; they needed a couple of days to get away from everything and everybody.

He chose Cape Cod.

The first time that Gail and Jack had been to Cape Cod had been on their honeymoon almost nine years before. Then it had seemed, as everything had seemed to her in those early days, a magic place. Now, though even the most jaded could hardly dismiss its charm, it seemed much more commonplace. While the magic want had been waved lavishly across certain sections, giving added vibrancy to the paint of the old wood cottages that lined the streets and conjuring up the word “quaint” from the old Patti Page song, in other areas the magic had been applied in too desultory a fashion. Quaint had given way to tacky. Even in October, tourists seemed to outnumber the natives. The sand dunes seemed smaller, the salty air less pleasing. For eight years Gail had though Cape Cod to be paradise on earth. Now she knew there was no such place. One town was the same as another. While before, Gail felt only peace and serenity when she and Jack walked these streets, arms intertwined, now she was aware of every automobile horn and faulty muffler. The formerly
romantic breezes were harsh against her cheeks. She longed to escape them but was afraid to suggest to Jack that they go inside.

Once she had resigned herself to the trip, Gail had found the drive up from Livingston to be a pleasant one. It was sunny; the weatherman was promising a relatively mild few days. Even the traffic had moved along at a decent clip. There were only two accidents along the way and neither seemed from her vantage point to be particularly serious. She had wondered briefly as they passed one car that had been rear-ended by another what it would be like to be rammed sharply from behind, to collide with another car at a high speed. How would it feel, she wondered, to witness the sudden explosion of her flesh as another automobile plowed right through her body? Would she feel anything at all?

Jack regularly consulted his new map (“What happened to all my maps?” he had asked before they left the house, and had been forced to purchase a new one at the gas station) even though he knew the way, and could probably find Cape Cod blindfolded.