Stranger in the House (8 page)

“You didn’t say much about your game this morning,” she observed. “Did Paul enjoy it?”

Thomas peered at the boy, who was disappearing over the ramp down to the beach area. “I don’t know. I guess he did.”

As they came over the dunes, they could see the calm waters of Long Island Sound stretching out across the horizon. Anna walked up beside Paul.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked him.

The boy looked out over the pleasant summer landscape and nodded. “It’s pretty cool,” he said.

Anna felt a surge of happiness at his reaction. She turned to Thomas, who was setting up their chairs on the sand, to see if he had noticed, but Thomas did not look up.

“Well, spread your towel out,” Anna instructed Paul matter-of-factly.

Tracy had found a group of friends who were oiled and giggling, sunning themselves at the foot of the life-guard’s chair. She avoided looking back at her family.

“You’d better put some lotion on,” said Anna, eyeing Paul’s white skin as he removed his vest.

“I’m going to look around,” he said. Anna could see from the comer of her eye that Tracy’s friends were whispering among themselves. One of them pointed to Paul’s high tops and snickered. This started the whole group of them laughing. Paul did not acknowledge them, but Anna was filled with the sick feeling that he knew what they were up to.

Anna watched her son. He made a funny face at a child in terry-cloth trunks who was shoveling sand not far from the foot of his towel. The child laughed delightedly and pointed his shovel at Paul. The young mother, who was keeping a close eye on her toddler, smiled at Paul and then glanced over at Anna as Paul passed by.

“Is that your son?” the woman asked Anna. Anna watched the boy making his way down the beach toward the water. His skin was sickly pale in contrast with the browned bodies on the blankets. She tore her gaze from Paul and smiled at the young mother. “Yes,” she replied.

“Nice young man,” said the woman.

“He’s fifteen,” Anna said softly. “How old is your little fellow?”

The woman rolled her eyes and laughed. “Just two years, and he’s into everything.” As if to prove her point, the little boy waddled down and began to wrestle a pail away from a girl who was playing near a tide pool.

“Jeremy,” the woman cried, and rushed over to separate them. “Give the little girl back her bucket.”

The child settled in a heap near his new friend, and the woman returned to her towel. Anna smiled at her.

“You’re so lucky,” the woman said. “You don’t have to watch him anymore. I can’t wait until Jeremy’s old enough that I don’t have to keep my eye on him every minute.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They grow up so fast,” said Anna, her eyes traveling back to the water’s edge, seeking Paul. For a moment she could not find him. Her heart began to race. She scanned the shoreline anxiously. Then she spotted him. He was wading near the edge of the water, looking out at the ocean. She sighed and turned toward Thomas, who was sitting in a low beach chair, looking through the newspaper.

Anna sank onto the blanket next to his chair. She patted him on the knee, and he lowered his paper.

“Do you want me to put some lotion on your back?” he asked.

Anna nodded and handed him the bottle. He squirted some lotion into his palm, and he began to massage it in a circular motion on her bare back.

“Oh, that feels good,” said Anna, leaning her head back, although she kept her half-closed eyes on the shoreline, where Paul was standing ankle-deep in the sea. “I think I’ll sit and read a few pages of my book.”

“You look tired,” said Tom. “Why don’t you catch a nap for a few minutes?”

“I don’t know,” said Anna. “I want to keep an eye on him.”

“What for?” Thomas cried, tossing the bottle of lotion down on the towel. “He’s not a baby, Anna.”

“I forgot to ask him if he could swim.”

Thomas studied Paul, wading at the water’s edge. “It’s not like he’s going to be swept out to sea,” he said.

Anna heard the impatience in his voice and tried to appease him. “I do need to relax,” she said. “You’re right.” She opened her book, but she looked up surreptitiously every few sentences.

The sun was hot and soothing on her body, and it began to have a soporific effect. After laying the open book on the blanket, she stretched out and gazed across the sand. She had hardly slept all night, and weariness stole over her. The sounds of laughter and radios merged into a pleasant hum as her eyelids started to droop. She began to dream of a small boy in a pool of water and light.

Suddenly a horrible shrieking pierced her dream, frightening the dream child and then dissolving him, as Anna awakened with a jolt. The shrill squawking continued as she scrambled up from slumber, foggy and disoriented, searching for the source. The wail of a child filled her with dread. She looked around and saw a sea gull, perched on the edge of a wire mesh trash basket, a fragment of food in its beak.

“I’ll get you another cookie.” Jeremy’s mother soothed him as the child decried the audacious bird’s theft.

“Shoo,” cried the mother, flapping her hands at the impassive bird, which eyeballed them from its perch.

With a sigh Anna sank down again to her towel. Then she remembered Paul. Immediately she turned over, and her eyes scanned the beach. For a moment she could not see him. Then she realized why.

Paul had not moved far from where he was before, but now a man wearing a loose-fitting shirt, dark glasses, and a baseball cap was standing directly behind him. Both Paul and the man in the hat had their backs to her. The man’s hands were clamped on Paul’s narrow shoulders. “Tom!” Anna exclaimed. “Look.”

“What?” Thomas asked, lowering a corner of his paper.

“That man,” said Anna, rising to her feet, her heart beginning to hammer.

“Where are you going?” Thomas asked as Anna started to run down the beach, her gaze fixed on her son and the man behind him.

She approached the man and the boy and spoke in a voice so loud it made them both jump. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

Paul and the man in the hat turned around and stared at Anna. Paul lowered the binoculars that the man had offered to him and backed away from her. The man, who had been guiding the boy’s sights, frowned.

“I was showing him…” the man said.

Anna tried to grab her boy’s arm, but Paul squirmed away from her.

“What’s the matter?” the boy cried out. “He’s letting me look.”

Anna turned on the man. “What do you want with my son?” she demanded.

“Nothing…” the man protested.

“He was showing me those fish,” Paul shouted.

The people nearby on the beach were staring at them now. All activity around them seemed to have stopped, as the bathers watched the scene.

“Come on, Paul,” Anna insisted, trying to shepherd her son away.

“Leave me alone,” Paul cried, pulling away from her. “Get away from me.”

Anna’s hands dropped, and she looked helplessly from the boy to the man.

The man in the hat drew himself up and took a deep breath. “Look,” he said severely, “your boy asked to look through my binoculars. You’re embarrassing me in front of all these people.”

Anna felt herself shrink as her fright and anger oozed away. She passed her hand over her eyes. Her shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Little overprotective, aren’t you?” said the man, slinging his binoculars back around his own neck.

“I’m sorry,” Anna repeated. “I’m not myself. I was afraid…” Her hands hung limply at her sides. She stared down at an airhole in the sand where some clam was burrowing, wishing she herself could disappear into the cool, dense muck.

“All right,” said the man, pulling down the tails of his shirt. “You should be sorry.”

Anna turned around, her eyes downcast, as Paul staggered up the beach, his pale cheeks flaming. Thomas stood in her path. He was watching her with grim, disbelieving eyes.

Anna shook her head, as if she could not begin to explain.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They walked in silence up the beach, past Tracy, who was hiding her face from the curious stares of her friends. “Do you want a ride home, Tracy?” Thomas asked.

Tracy kept her eyes averted. “No.”

“Call me later, and I’ll pick you up.”

Anna walked up to their blanket. Paul had disappeared over the dunes. He was probably already in the car, hiding from the humiliation she had caused him. Her lips trembled as she bent over to pick up the picnic basket, still heavy with their uneaten lunch.

R
ambo slammed the door on his Chevy in the parking lot of the La-Z Pines Motel, unlocked the door to his cabin, and slammed that, too. He did not bother to turn on the light, although he did switch on the feeble air conditioner in the window. Then he flopped down on the sagging bed and sat there, staring at the drawn venetian blinds.

In his mind’s eye he kept picturing Edward Stewart glaring at him. He shivered, remembering Edward’s stony eyes. A gloomy sense of failure descended on him as he relived their conversation on the golf course. Rambo now realized that he had confronted Edward without any actual proof that the man had done anything. He had just been counting on his being so surprised and scared that he’d give in without a fuss. Besides, he’d had a sign from the Lord that he should do it. He had been sent.

Rambo reached across the bed, picked up his Bible, and began to pore over the marked chapter in the dim light of the motel room. But his eyes refused to focus on the words. After a few moments he snapped the Bible shut and put it aside. Slowly he pulled out his wallet and opened it. He stared at its meager contents a good long time without moving. The room was silent. No divine voices spoke to him, suggesting what he might do next. He faced the bald fact that his money would be gone in a day or two.

He folded the wallet over to insert it back into his pocket. A picture poked out from one of the loose flaps inside. He started to push it back in. Then, instead he drew it out and looked at it.

There was Dorothy Lee, wearing her nurse’s uniform, smiling up at him. It was an old picture, from when she got her cap. She had been so proud of that.

He held the picture gently at its worn corner and thought about his wife. He had done it for her after all. Taken the boy. She wanted a baby so badly, and he couldn’t give her one. The adoption people wouldn’t even talk to them because of all the times he’d been in the hospital, locked up. So he had taken the kid. And look where it got me, he thought.

Dorothy Lee had always been after him to carry a picture of the boy, but he never wanted to. He wouldn’t have a picture of that devil child anywhere on his person. It was bad enough when he’d had to look at his actual face. It set Rambo’s teeth on edge just to think of the boy, who had ruined his life like this.

Once she had gotten that kid, it was almost as if she’d forgotten her husband, he thought. As if she hadn’t cared for him anymore, just the kid. He could picture her, sitting there in the dark trailer on the daybed, watching TV, the kid cuddled up in her lap. She’d be crooning to him and playing with his hair and ignoring her husband. Rambo looked down again at his wife’s picture and he could hear her dear voice inside his head. You’ll never know what it’s like to be a mother, Albert. A mother’ll do anything for her child.

Even when he used to remind her that Billy wasn’t really hers, Dorothy Lee had just ridden right over him. I am his mother, she would say, as if he was born from me. Albert sighed, and traced that sweet face with his fingertip. What would she think if she knew her Billy was living right next door to that man in the gold-eagle car? Oh, she’d be in a right fury over that. She’d be praying day and night for that boy.

And then a voice spoke aloud in the room. Not the Lord’s voice, but his own. “The mother,” Rambo said.

For a long time he sat in silence, turning his idea over and over in his brain. Then he crossed one leg over the other and rested the open Bible on his bony knee. Maybe there was a way he could honor Dorothy Lee’s dying prayers, and still get out of this mess.

Edward closed the pages of the Princeton alumni magazine which he had been staring at and put it down beside his dinner plate with a sigh. He and Iris were seated at the table in their cavernous dining room.

Iris reached across the table to an untouched basket of rolls and picked one up. She tore off a piece and held it in her fingers. “How was Paul today,” she asked. “What’s he like?”

Edward peered disapprovingly at the roll in her hand and then picked up his fork and held it poised over the seafood salad in his plate. “I don’t know,” he said. “He seems like an ordinary boy.”

Iris slipped the piece of roll into her mouth and chewed it with tiny bites. Then she leaned forward and looked earnestly at her husband. “Does he seem to be adjusting to the situation all right?”

Edward’s eyes traveled from his wife’s questioning face down to her sleeveless piqué sundress, where one of the seams revealed a small gap just above her thickening midriff. Edward gripped the fork he was holding and reached over toward her.

Iris looked at him in confusion and then flinched as she felt the cold tines of the fork press into her skin through the hole in her dress.

Edward’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Iris, you are splitting the seams of your clothing.”

Iris drew back from the table, her face flushed, and folded her arms across her body in an effort to cover the gap in her dress. “I didn’t notice it when I put it on.”

“It would behoove you to be a little more observant when you dress,” said Edward, wiping off the tines of the fork on his linen napkin.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she muttered.

Edward finished off his seafood salad in silence as Iris picked at the food on her plate.

“Are the arrangements complete for the party?” Edward asked without looking up at her.

Iris bit her lip and nodded.

“Well?” Edward demanded, gazing at her impatiently.

“Yes!” Iris exclaimed.

Edward sighed. “You needn’t shout, Iris.”

“I…I talked to the florist and the caterer today, and everything is set.”

“Oh, you may cross the Wilcoxes off your guest list,” said Edward. “They won’t be coming.”

“That poor man seemed so upset when he left this morning. Is something wrong?” Iris asked.

“It is business, Iris,” said Edward. “It does not concern you. Simply cross them off the list.”

The maid came into the dining room to clear off the dinner plates. Iris lifted her plate and offered it up to her and then noticed Edward staring at the hole in her dress. She quickly lowered her arms to her sides.

Edward picked up his alumni magazine again and turned the pages. He found that he could not really concentrate on the articles, however, for his mind was distracted by the day’s events. But it was easier to pretend to read than to look at his wife and the maddening hole in her dress. She had no shortage of clothes, although she had to squeeze herself into most of them these days.

He wondered for a moment what she planned to wear to the party. He didn’t want to be ashamed of…her in front of his guests.

“Iris,” he said, “I hope you have a decent dress for the party. One that fits.”

“I do,” she said.

The maid returned to the dining room and quietly put a bowl of ice cream down in front of each of them.

Iris smiled gratefully at the maid and picked up her spoon. “It’s that blue dress,” she said, “the one I wore to the ballet benefit. I received several compliments on it.”

Edward watched with revulsion as she lifted a spoonful of ice cream to her open lips. He stood it as long as he could, then with a deft movement he rolled his magazine up into a tube and rose slightly from his chair. Thrusting his wrist forward, he plunged the tube of slick paper into Iris’s bowl of ice cream. Iris let out a cry as the melting cream splattered up over the front of her dress and magazine page corners curled into the dessert bowl.

“Iris,” he said evenly, “why, when you are already bursting out of your clothes, are you eating a bowl of ice cream? You don’t need that,” Edward informed her. “It will only add to your weight problem.”

Iris stared down at the bowl as Edward lifted the rolled-up magazine and placed it gingerly on the serving tray on the sideboard.

“Now,” he said, “please, go upstairs and change out of that dress.”

Wiping her lips and the front of her dress hastily with her napkin, Iris stood up shakily from the table. Edward picked up his spoon and began to eat his ice cream as she left the table. In the dining room door Iris stopped and studied her husband for a moment with a resentful gaze. Then she left the room.

Edward glanced over at the magazine with its one soggy end on the tray. He rang the bell impatiently for the maid to come and remove it. It was a shame, really, that he had had to sacrifice the magazine to teach Iris a lesson. He always derived such satisfaction from reading it, for each issue confirmed his suspicion that few of his classmates had done as well as he had, although most of them had started out with advantages which he hadn’t enjoyed.

It had not been easy for him. While the other boys frittered away their time on football games and the camaraderie of their posh eating clubs, he had held a job in a local diner to supplement his scholarship and had been forced to live off campus in the home of an old woman who was bringing up her orphaned grandson and needed the money.

At least it had been quiet there, and he had been able to study. He had paid no attention to the woman or her grandson, until that one bad time. He had left his term paper on the kitchen table for a few minutes, and when he came back the child had accidentally spilled a glass of chocolate milk on it. Edward had not thought to make a backup copy on the school’s computer.

He pretended that it was not a problem. But, when the old woman and the boy were out shopping, he had gone into the garage and loosened the wheels on the boy’s bike, so that the next time he went out for a ride, the wheels fell off and the child hit the pavement on his head. Edward had watched from behind the curtain in his room as the child lay still as death, the blood from his head pooling on the sidewalk. The boy needed a dozen stitches, and Edward felt satisfied. The old woman never accused him of anything, although she did ask him to leave the next day. It was an inconvenience, finding another room, but it had been worth it.

Edward shook his head and looked back at the alumni magazine, which the maid was now lifting, tray and all, from the sideboard. He had certainly come a long way since those days. He wanted to make a note to send the alumni magazine a notice of his purchase of the Wilcox Company.

He reached into his pocket for his leather note pad and pulled out, as well, the matchbook cover from the La-Z Pines Motel. Instantly his mind returned to his preoccupation of the whole day. At first he thought he had handled it so well. Intimidating Rambo like that. But as the day wore on, he was not as sure of himself.

The man might be a lunatic; but he was on the loose, and whether he had any proof or not, he knew a terrible secret about Edward. There was no guarantee that Rambo would keep silent if the police caught up with him. There was no way that Rambo could prove the story, of course. The police would have no case against him. But, there were other dangers besides the legal one. More than a few people would gloat to see him disgraced. So many people were envious of him. He thought, for a second, of the alumni magazine, shuddering at the thought of an item detailing the ugly accusations that could be made against him.

His concentration was so absolute that he did not hear Iris when she returned to the dining room. She inched into the room and stood behind her chair, wearing a different dress.

Edward gave her an annoyed glance.

“I was thinking,” said Iris tentatively. “Perhaps I could go to a health spa for a few days next week. I’ve been thinking of doing it anyway, and I could trim down a little.”

Edward picked up the coffee cup that the maid had brought in to him. “It’s unfortunate that you didn’t think of going before this party,” he said.

Iris shrugged. “I think I’ll go on Tuesday.”

Edward opened his hand and looked down at the matchbook in his palm. There was only one way to be sure that Rambo’s story would never reach the wrong ears. He had no choice, really. As long as Rambo was alive, nothing was safe.

“You’re sure you don’t mind, Edward?” Iris asked from the doorway.

“Iris,” said Edward, “I’m sure I don’t care.”

Anna loosened her hair and removed the rest of her clothing. She lifted her summer nightgown off a hook in the closet and held it to her breast. She turned around and looked at her husband who was sitting up in bed, but he did not glance up at her. He seemed to be concentrating on the book he was holding. She pulled the nightgown over her head with a small sigh and walked over to her dresser to pick up her brush.

Thomas lowered his book and watched her as she pulled the brush back, her hair fanning out and then drifting softly to her shoulders. “I assume you’re sleeping up here tonight,” he said in a gruff voice.

Anna dragged the bristles across her scalp. “I’ve locked up,” she said. “I guess it will be all right.”

Thomas stared over the top of his book at the foot of the bed. Then he looked down blindly at the page.

“I can’t tell how he feels about being back…with us,” said Anna. “I mean, I don’t expect him to feel at home right away. We have to be patient. Everything is strange to him. Sometimes I think he likes us a little bit. Of course Tracy’s behaving terribly. But what else could you expect with a teenage girl?”

Anna came over to the end of the bed and placed a hand on his leg, which was covered by the sheet. “Tom, I’m sorry about what happened at the beach today. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. And the kids.”

Thomas kept his eyes on his book and spoke in a tight voice. “You didn’t embarrass me,” he said.

“I think I was just overtired.” She climbed into the bed beside him and pulled up the sheets. “I’m hoping we can have a quiet, relaxing day tomorrow, although we’ve got that party tomorrow night.”

“I need to go to the garage and pick up the car tomorrow,” he said. “And I want to get some stuff for the lawn.”

“Maybe when you get back, we can all do something together,” Anna ventured.

“I told Tracy that she should take Paul to the animal shelter with her tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, no, Tom. Why?”

“Why not? They need to get acquainted. You just got finished saying that you want her to help…”