An Indecent Marriage (4 page)

“Never a girl like you,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

He looked at her as though she were speaking a foreign language. “Nice girls don’t go out with me; don’t you know that yet?”

“Why not?”

He smiled derisively. “It may have something to do with my dear daddy’s drinking habits,” he answered sarcastically. Then they both shrank back into the shadows as the porch light went on above them.

“Who is it?” Jack murmured, his lips next to Jessica’s ear.

“My father locking up.” They waited until the light went off again, and then Jack said, “Where does he think you are tonight?”

“At Maddy’s house. I told her that if he called there she should say I had gone to the library to pick up a book we needed for our homework.”

“Does he usually check up on you?”

“Usually.” Jessica sighed, and Jack considered the enormity of the task before him. A small rational voice warned him that he should cut this girl loose and run, but it was easily drowned out by the clarion call of his emotions, which urged him to pursue her. Moderation was not in his vocabulary or in his genes. What he wanted he went after and got, and Jessica would not be an exception.

“You’d better go inside,” he said, turning her face up to examine it in the glow from a streetlight.

“Okay.” She smiled as he touched her cheek and then released her.

Jessica astonished him by stepping back and diving into the bushes bordering the sidewalk, after a moment coming up with a book pack in her hands. “I stashed this on the way out,” she explained. “I couldn’t go to Maddy’s for a study session without the props.”

Jack grinned. “What a woman.”

Jessica curtsied. “Thank you.”

They became serious again as Jessica shouldered the pack and Jack reached for her hand. He entwined his fingers with hers and said, “I’ll meet you on Monday after third period in 301. Mr. Markel leaves the room open, and it’s always empty. All right?”

“Okay.”

Jack wanted very much to kiss her, but wasn’t sure what her response would be. The timing and the location weren’t what he would have chosen. As he hesitated, Jessica made the decision for him, standing on tiptoe and touching her lips to his cheek. Not one to miss such an opportunity, Jack turned his head and captured her mouth with his. When she didn’t pull away, he put his hands on her shoulders and drew her closer, opening her lips with his tongue. She gasped, and he let her go, crashing back to earth with a thud. Her inexperience was obvious; she hadn’t a clue what she was doing. And yet that one brief embrace was to haunt him all his life, remaining in his mind like the refrain of a nostalgic song: the first time he kissed Jesse.

“Good night,” she whispered, turning toward the house.

“Good night,” he echoed as he watched her cross the lawn and unlock the side door. She glanced back at him, waved and disappeared inside. He stayed a moment longer, aware that something of singular importance had just taken place. Then he put his hands in his pockets and headed home, his thoughts on Monday, when he would see her again.

October and November passed quickly, as time always does for people who are falling in love. Jack and Jessica grew remarkably adept at keeping their relationship a secret, frequently using Maddy, who reveled in the romance of the situation, as a go-between. They met often in school and at school sponsored activities, and occasionally managed trips out of town in Jack’s third-hand car. They were blissfully happy, despite their uncertain circumstances. Jessica deliberately did not consider what might happen in the future; she lived in the present and cherished every day. She and Jack rarely discussed the necessity for caution or for pretending that they were casual acquaintances when others were around. They just did what they had to do and tried to forget why they were doing it. And that autumn they seemed to lead a charmed life, engrossed in each other and oblivious to the outside world that might intrude upon them at any moment.

One weekend just before Thanksgiving, Jessica’s father returned early from a business trip and found his house deserted. He had taken a taxi from the airport and called upstairs to see if he could locate his daughter. Jessica had told him that she would be studying for a midterm the whole time he was gone. He telephoned Madeline, whose mother said she was at swim practice, and then spent the afternoon and evening wondering if his child had lied to him. Finally he called the home where Jean was spending the night, and Jessica was not there, either. It grew late, and Portman wondered if he should alert the police. He knew that he was probably overreacting, but dealing with his children had never been easy for him. He had married in his forties, and now, approaching sixty, he was the sole custodian of a pair of girls he could neither understand nor control. Jean was a seven-year-old enigma, lost in a world of crayons and show-and-tell, and Jessica was a blossoming woman who terrified him with her potential for all sorts of problems. He was standing in the living room, considering what to do, when he heard a car in the driveway. He went to the window and watched a badly abused, twelve-year-old Ford pull up to the side door. It stopped in the glare of the security floodlights on the overhang. His daughter got out on the passenger side as the driver, a tall, dark haired boy with an athlete’s build came around and embraced her, pinning her against the side of the car with a kiss that transfixed Portman, standing unseen behind the heavy draperies.

His jaw hardened as the boy finally released her and Jessica headed for the house, glancing longingly over her shoulder as she did so. Portman heard her key in the lock as the car started up again. He walked slowly toward the hall, his fists bunching with frustration and barely checked anger. He knew the kid who had just been manhandling his daughter. He had seen him around the factory a few times. No wonder Jessica had concealed the obviously intimate relationship. He would put a stop to this. Right now.

Jessica came through the door, humming under her breath, and then stopped short when she saw her father blocking her path. She blanched, almost dropping the keys in her hand, and then regarded him silently, bracing herself for the first volley.

“I thought you said you would be studying all weekend,” he began quietly.

“I thought you said you would be gone until Sunday night,” she countered, her chin coming up.

She was going to be difficult, he saw. No tears or pleas for forgiveness—that was Jean’s style. Jessica faced the enemy and fired back. She might cry from sorrow or sadness, but never in combat.

“The conference ended early. Do you have any explanation for the scene I just witnessed through the window?” he said icily, coming directly to the point.

Jessica’s shoulders slumped with defeat. So he had seen. She had hoped she could hold him off long enough to come up with a suitable explanation for her absence, but her farewell to Jack required no subtitles. Her father knew it all now, and she waited for the bombs to fall.

“Do you know who that boy is, Jessica?” Portman demanded. “Do you know anything about his family, his background?”

“I know that Jack is a wonderful person...” she interrupted, but Portman cut her short.

“As wonderful as his father, the town drunk? My office manager has bailed Chabrol out of jail several times this year alone. When sober he’s the best spinner I’ve got, which is the reason I haven’t fired him, but I will not allow my daughter to keep company with the sort of trash that spends almost as much time in jail as on the job.”

“Jack is not trash!” Jessica answered heatedly. “He isn’t responsible for his father’s problems, and he does everything he can to make up for them. He has two part-time jobs and gives his mother all the money he earns, and he’s going to college next year and...”

Portman held up his hand for silence. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care if the boy is about to be knighted. He comes from the gutter and I won’t have you joining him there. The family lives in a four-room flat, overrun with filthy, smelly brats. The mother speaks some garbled dialect no one but her children can understand. All of them run around in rags not fit for a charity collection.”

“They can’t help it if they’re poor,” Jessica cried, her voice full of outrage at his unfairness.

“Jessica, this not a debate. The subject is closed. You are never to date that boy again. When you see him at school, you may say hello and goodbye to him, that’s all. If I find that you have disobeyed me, I will arrange for your transfer to a private school that will make your previous institutions look indulgent. I’ll send you as far away as possible, to France or Switzerland, and the closest you will get to an adolescent male will be a telephone call from your cousin Jonathan. Do you understand me, young lady?”

“I understand,” Jessica replied in a subdued tone. Arguing would serve no purpose. “May I go to my room?”

“You may. And I hope you’ll find some time to do the studying you seemed so concerned about when I left on Friday.”

Jessica went upstairs and locked herself in her flowered retreat, planning her next move. Not for a moment did she consider obeying her father; the only issue was how to sustain her relationship with Jack now that Portman knew about it. After an hour she had formulated a plan. She emerged from her room and descended the stairs, pausing in the doorway of her father’s study, waiting to be recognized.

Portman looked up from his paperwork and said, “Yes?”

“I have to call Maddy about a homework assignment.”

Her father considered for a moment and then said, “Go ahead. But make it short. I have to make a few calls.”

Jessica went to the hall phone and dialed, wishing for the hundredth time that her father would allow her to have an extension in her room. Maddy’s younger brother answered and it seemed like an eternity before her friend got to the line and said, “Can’t do the trig problems, huh? Me neither.”

“Hi, Maddy,” Jessica said loudly. “I was wondering if you could tell me what pages we have to read for Mr. Maybury’s class.”

There was a pause before Maddy answered, “Jessica, what’s wrong with you? You sound like you’re yelling for the third balcony, and you know Maybury’s class has been a study for two weeks since he’s been sick.”

“That’s right,” Jessica said. “Was it chapter twelve or thirteen?”

Another pause. Then, “Okay, I get it. I knew something was up when Mom told me your father called here this afternoon, and you had told me he’d be away until tomorrow. Is he listening?”

“Probably.”

“Uh-huh, then I’ll ask the questions. What do you want me to do?”

“I’d like you to tell that friend of yours, you know the one who’s so good in French, that I’d like to borrow her notes.”

“You want me to tell Jack something,” Maddy said. She was familiar with the routine by now.

“That’s right. Tell her that I need to see her.”

“When?”

“Tonight,” Jessica whispered into the phone, taking a chance. “Three a.m. at the kitchen door. Tell him to walk. The car might be heard.”

“Jessica, I need that phone,” her father called from the study.

“Right away, Dad,” Jessica caroled back to him.

“Three o’clock in the morning?” Maddy said in an incredulous tone. “Are you nuts? It will be twenty degrees at that hour, and your father’s home. Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“No, it can’t,” Jessica said in a normal voice. “Will you do that for me?”

“Sure,” Maddy said, her shrug coming over the line. “I’ll call Jack right now. You’ll have to fill me in at school. I can’t wait to hear what this is all about. Can you give me a clue?”

“He knows,” Jessica said miserably.

“Who knows what? Oh, your father. He knows about Jack.”

“Bingo.”

“Oh, dear. Well, it had to happen sooner or later. Jessica, are you sure this is a good idea? It’s kind of like sending Jack on a suicide mission, isn’t it? What if your father wakes up and finds him in your house?”

“Just do it, all right?” Jessica said impatiently as she heard her father rise from his chair in the room behind her. “Thanks a million, got to go. Bye.”

She hung up just as Portman emerged from is study. “Phone’s all yours,” she said politely, and escaped to the second floor.

The night seemed to go on forever. Jessica heard her father go into his room around midnight and waited until two to check on him. She pushed the heavy oak door inward cautiously, formulating an excuse for disturbing him if he should happen to be awake. But he was asleep, curled up on his side, and she exhaled with relief, shutting the door and sneaking along the hall. She passed Jean’s room, with its little girl eyelet ruffles and glassy-eyed dolls, and crept down the stairs, taking care to avoid the third one from the bottom, which protested loudly at even the slightest weight.

Once in the kitchen, she leaned against the counter with relief, aware that she was shaking. Maddy was right, she was taking an awful chance, but she had to see Jack and share this burden with him, draw sustenance from his strength. He would come, she was sure of it. He would know by the very nature of the request that she was desperate for his company, and it was not in him to deny her.

She watched the street from the window above the sink, and at five to three he came into view, stamping his feet, his gloved hands in the pockets of his football jacket. His breath made a cloud before his face as he glanced up at the house and saw her. He smiled reassuringly, and as she went to the side door to let him in she already felt better.