The Houseguest (21 page)

As it was, she did not dare return immediately to the bosom of the Graves family. It was far too soon even to attempt to explain her motives in assisting Chuck's escape. She could see no reason to believe that they would honor the simple fact of her debt to the person who had saved her life a few hours earlier. They were obviously the sort to give vindictiveness precedence over any secondhand emotion. She was only an in-law: her rescue might provide a kind of relief, but it was hardly comparable in force to the sense of injury of which Chuck was the ongoing occasion.

To acquire full forgiveness she would probably have to recapture Chuck singlehandedly, an achievement unlikely of accomplishment at best: as it was, she had no idea of where he might be found.

The Graves family was now moving towards the house, the two men leaving a trail of water. They were also bickering futilely as to the relative fault to be assigned to each member with regard to the latest debacle. Lydia of course shared maximum infamy with Chuck himself, for it appeared conclusive that she was a full co-conspirator. But not even Audrey was declared blameless, failing as she had to maintain surveillance on the switch that controlled the floodlights.

As to Bobby, according to Doug he had dropped Chuck's feet too soon, else despite the darkness they could have carried to fruition the project to hurl the houseguest into the water. To which Bobby's countercharge was that if his father had not too long kept a grasp on Chuck's shoulders, they could have lowered their captive to the concrete and merely waited out the brief period of darkness, resuming once the lights were on again.

It took all of Lydia's strength to withstand the awful suspicion that she would never succeed in making common cause with her in-laws, lacking as they were in fundamental values. Their moral tackiness was unbelievable. They had been ready to take human life, but they were apparently incapable of dealing in earnest with any issue of the spirit. She was continuing to discover what it meant to be utterly alone. The personal sense of uniqueness she had cultivated when amidst her own family was hereby revealed as pathetically naïve. She had been special only through the indulgence of those dear people. It was chagrining to reflect that in her own context she had been quite as spoiled as Bobby was in his.

From her place of concealment she now watched the Graveses walking in silhouette against the illumination coming from the house, a house that seemed much more radiant than that which they had left: every interior light must be on. Lydia had only too recently learned that anything unusual was much more likely to be sinister than charmingly eccentric. Her family-by-law, however, continued to plod homewards as if nothing were out of order but their plan to drown the houseguest. If she sounded an alarm that proved false, they might well take out their frustration on her. Perhaps they had no limits whatever and would find her a convenient substitute for Chuck.

These self-pitying projections were brought to an end by the sudden extinguishing of all electric lights on the property. The house joined the pool area, the woods, and the sky in one unconditional medium of blackness so assertive as to be palpable: it seemed as though you could grasp a handful of it, like snow, and pack it into a hard ball and hurl it at—

She shouted at her family and ran after them, miraculously failing to encounter any of the obstacles that might have tripped her up.

“Get down! He's inside! Don't give him a target!” She then collided with a person but stayed on her feet.

It was Doug. He spoke unevenly. “You've got your nerve.”

“We can't go into that now,” said she. “He must have doubled around and got into the house.”

Bobby's voice came from nearby. “Is this another of your filthy tricks?” His overemphasis of the final consonants led Lydia to understand that his teeth were chattering. Both of them had been soaked to the skin, and nights at the shore could be colder by many degrees than the days, especially, as now, when the wind had risen.

“I just didn't want him murdered,” Lydia said. “I don't want him to win.”

“I can't stand being c-cold,” said Doug, as if speaking to himself. “It's the only thing that gets to me.”

“Here, dear,” said Audrey. She moved past Lydia, bumping her slightly. It seemed as though she might have embraced her husband. Lydia could now begin to discern some slight differentiations in the darkness. She tried to find her own husband, however, without success, perhaps because he could see better than she and intentionally eluded her.

She said, “He'll be watching for us on this side. So you stay here and keep his attention on you. Meanwhile, I'll slip around to the other side of the house, go in and bring back warm clothes for everybody.”

“Don't listen to her, Dad,” Bobby said heatedly. “It's just another dirty trick. She's been behind this whole thing, I'm convinced.”

Lydia moved swiftly to challenge him. “Oh, are you really, Bobby?”

Already doubt could be heard in his voice. “Well, dammit, it's going to take some explaining.”

“Listen here,” she said to the now dim suggestion of her husband's figure. “I heard you before.
You
wanted to call off the whole thing.
You
didn't want to drown him.”

Bobby's tone turned hangdog. “I was under pressure. You don't understand, Lydia. This is something new here. Ordinarily we don't have any problems with a houseguest, do we, Mother?”

Audrey responded. “But those are the ones we
invite
, Bobby! That's the difference.”

“I'll tell you,” Doug said, shivering audibly, “I'm just about ready to c-capitulate. L-1-let's face it, he's whipped us. That happens. I don't know what it is, luck or fate or something. G-goddammit, I'm cold! I'm going to give myself up and get into a sweater and drink hot chocolate.”

His tone was that of a wanted criminal under siege by the police, and he spoke as if surrendering to Chuck would bring him the approbation of all right-thinking people.

But Bobby surprisingly proved of sterner stuff. “No time to let down, Dad! Is he going to be more decent than he was before we almost drowned him?”

“I have it,” said Audrey. Apparently she was still hugging her husband, though to little effect. “Hugo's old blanket is still behind the back seat in the wagon.”

Lydia recognized the name in reference as that of a pet Weimaraner, deceased as of a previous summer or two. Bobby claimed to have been fonder of the animal than it had been of him, but Lydia pointed out that dogs cleave to those whom they live amongst, less to occasional visitors to a household: he had spent most of his time at college or in summer pursuits like tennis camp.

“I'll go get it!” he nevertheless said now, and plunged into the even more profound darkness in the direction of the car-park.

“The hell with that!” Doug said desperately. “I'm going inside.” But Lydia could now see well enough to discern that Audrey was struggling to restrain him and if unaided would soon lose the contest. She allied herself to her mother-in-law and hugged the wet Doug from the opposing side.

“Damn!” he cried. “Damn you women!” But he was not proving to be as strong as Lydia had assumed: the ladies were winning now, and fairly easily.

No sooner had she made that assessment than Doug ceased all resistance, and naturally she and Audrey relaxed their grasps—at which their captive burst from them and dashed towards the dark house along the path of flagstones.

Lydia pursued him, catching up at the door that gave access to the pool area. “Doug,” she pleaded. “Don't surrender. We can win this thing. You'll see.”

He was trying unsuccessfully to turn the knob. “It's locked,” said he. “I'm locked out of my own house!” He turned to her, as if she might actually have an answer. “This is the ultimate in degradation. He's in, and I'm out.”

“Well, so are we all.”

“So far as I'm concerned,” Doug said icily, “your right to include yourself is highly questionable. If it weren't for your intervention, this devil would be safely drowned by now and we'd be back indoors, warmed by a blazing fire, once again in possession of that which is ours. And no grand jury in the world would indict us for what was so obviously an accident. All the unpleasantness would soon be over, and the rest of the summer would lie before us, to be enjoyed in the usual way.” He pincered his thumb and forefinger. “We were
that
close—and
you
, and nobody else, made the difference!” He had forgotten he was cold.

“But now he and I are even,” Lydia said. “Don't you see that? I have paid him back the life I owed. He's fair game to me now. Can't you understand?”

“I don't give a damn for your moralizing!” cried Doug. “He's taken my house!”

She saw that no verbal argument could earn her reinstatement. Once again, action was called for. Though ordinarily she resented aggressive maleness, she would have welcomed it now. Instead of blaming her for his inability to cope, why did he not handle it with the virility that was his by natural definition? Why did she once again have to prove that she was not helpless?

As usual she derived energy from resentment. She started around the house towards the bathroom window by which she had lately left it.

All five doors of the station wagon were locked. The vehicle stood lower than normal: then with his improved night vision Bobby saw the slashed tires, and next those of the car parked alongside. This vandalism struck him harder than anything yet. It was so wanton. They were up against an implacable enemy. To be so savagely punished for committing no crime! He swore that after winning this war—and they must!—he would be merciless henceforth. Woe be to the person who crossed him. Not until he had lost his innocence was he aware that he had had so much. He understood that it was not necessary for him utterly to believe or to disbelieve Lydia's arguments—on any subject, but especially with regard to personal relations: after all, even though being his wife, she
was
someone else. Giving her the benefit of the doubt (as he should in view of their yearlong connection if for no other reason), she would surely emerge with a decided advantage over everyone else he had ever known, even if she would never again be seen as exactly perfect.

Meanwhile here he was, frustrated in his purpose as usual: he absolutely could not return to his father with another failure. He searched the edge of the parking area for a sizable stone, found one, removed his shirt and wrapped the rock in it, and in what took several blows against the shatterproof glass, finally battered a hole in the back window of the station wagon of sufficient size to admit his hand. He unlocked the cargo door and claimed the ex-doggy blanket, which still smelled of the late Hugo, with whom, though not for lack of trying, he had never developed a rapport. Indeed Hugo was quite capable of barring his entrance into either of the Graves residences unless one of his parents was present. In the current situation, it could have been predicted that a living Hugo would have shown marked partiality for Chuck Burgoyne.

Having snatched the blanket, Bobby crouched in silence for a while to determine whether his sounds of forced entry, though muffled by the shirt, had alerted the enemy. But when nothing happened he was emboldened to enter the wagon and crawl forward to the glove compartment, where he found a flashlight with, incredibly, fresh batteries. Armed so poorly, and though Chuck remained in command of the house and all vehicles were immobilized, Bobby was convinced that the tide of battle had now turned in favor of his family.

He returned to his wet father, who was unprecedentedly being hugged by his mother. He gave him Hugo's blanket.

His father was not so demoralized as to refrain from saying, “Phew. This thing is pretty high!”

Bobby looked around. “Where's Lyd?”

“Who knows?” said his father. “She's gone again. Maybe joined
him
once more.”

“No,” Bobby said firmly, though he admitted to himself that it could well be true. “No, she's helping us now. Take my word for it.” Now that he could see better, what he observed were all those windows that reflected only the black of night and forest: a darkened house, irrespective of tenants, seems a sinister place. “She's gone around the other side to sneak in someplace. What we should do here is create a distraction, to occupy Chuck so he won't hear her.”

But his father was still obsessed with regaining bodily warmth, stamping the ground and mumbling. Finally he said, “The smell is really something, after all this time. Hugo must have puked in this blanket.” He glared at his wife. “Why'd you still keep it?”

“So that it would come in handy now,” was her waspish answer.

Bobby thought it essential that the good feeling that had been established between them, as exemplified by the hugging, should not be allowed to dissipate.

“I miss him!” he said. “And he never even liked me.”

“No, Bobby,” his mother replied. “He never really got to
know
you.”

“Oh, he was a fine old fellow,” said his father, who surprisingly enough had been close to the dog: at dinner Hugo might come and insert a heavy head between the table and his lap and be tolerated.