Cancel All Our Vows (16 page)

“Sure, Hank,” she said. She finished her drink and handed him the glass. He trudged off. Jane turned and looked up toward the camp. The lights were on and through the window she could see Dolly and Martha just beginning one of their interminable variations of Canasta. She shivered again, reached and found a towel and draped it around her bare shoulders.

Hank called her and she went up to the table. He said, ‘B’er mix your own, honey. Hit me allofa su’n. Drink’n all day See’f I can make that porch swing. Love you kids. Really do.”

He lumbered away. She heard his feet fumbling on the steps, heard the porch creak, and then heard the springs and chains as he stretched out on the swing. It thumped once against the wall and creaked softly and then was still. She made a stiffer drink than before, telling herself that it
would last longer. She went back down to the dock and lay flat on her back and put the towel over her. The dock seemed to sway under her. The stars circled and she shut her eyes hard and opened them and squinted, trying to make them stop moving. They would stop and then begin to move again. She rolled over onto her stomach, awkwardly placed the towel across her bare back. Drunker than a skunk. Puh-lastered, Janey. All your fault, Fletch. Anything I do, it’s your fault, all of it. Every bit of it. Might as well do a good job of it, now I’m started.

She sat up and drank the stiff drink down without a pause. She tried to throw the ice out of the glass, but the glass slipped out of her fingers. It made a funny thumping sound and she puzzled about the sound until she had to crawl over on her hands and knees and look down off the dock at the waterline. Though it was in the velvet shadow of the dock, she could see that the glass had hit the yellow rubber life raft that the children had been playing with. It was drawn up on shore.

“Good thing,” she said aloud. “Four dollar glass. Ought to have a life raft around every time you drop a glass.”

“Be pretty handy wouldn’t it?” a deep voice said.

She sat back on her haunches and peered up at him. “Sam! Gee, I thought for a minute there it was going to be Fletch. Everybody came back from the dance, huh?”

“I didn’t go. Changed my mind at the last minute. Darling, what’s wrong with you?” He sat on his heels beside her and took her hand.

She giggled. “Rebellious wife. Got myself stinky. Serve’m right. Hank says men’re polygamous. That right, Sam Rice? How’d you get a name like Rice? Sea food and rice is very nice.”

He stroked her hand. “Poor baby. He’s giving you a bad time, isn’t he?”

It was comforting to have somebody stroke her hand and murmur to her in such a nice soft deep masculine voice. She knew that it was just a little bit too pleasant, but she pushed that thought away from her. “Cute Sam Rice. Oh, God, I think I’m going to throw up.”

“I know what will fix it.”

“Don’t want to fix it. Want to throw up and stop spinning.
You’re spinning and the dock is spinning and all the stars are going around. See?”

“We’ll stop all that spinning,” he said in that nice low voice that made the back of her neck feel furry. He dropped easily off the dock to stand in the water. He reached his arms up to her. “Sit on the edge, honey, and I’ll lift you down.”

“Why?”

“We’ll take a little moonlight swim, that’s all. Clear out the cobwebs.”

“You promise things will stop spinning, honey? I don’t call you honey. I call Fletch honey and you’re not Fletch.”

“If Fletch was here he’d take you swimming.”

“Really? Would he?”

“Of course he would.”

“Okay then. Catch. I’m heavy as lead, Fletch says. Solid as a rock.”

He lifted her down. “Like feathers. Come on now. Hold onto my hand. We’ll wade out.”

“Gee the water feels warm.”

“That’s because the air is cold,” he said patiently.

They waded out. Water was a warmth moving up her thighs. She pulled her hand free and lunged forward. She could not time her stroke properly, and she wallowed and splashed and took in a mouthful of lake water. She stopped and coughed, treading water.

“You okay?” he asked.

“It’s wonnerful. Really.”

She tried again, counting grimly to herself until her stroke seemed to adjust itself and she began to slide through the water properly. Sam came up beside her and she said, “Race you, sonny.” She kicked off before he could say yes or no, driving hard toward the center of the lake. Water flashed white in the moonlight. She saw him out of the corner of her eye as she breathed, and she drove herself to greater effort.

Suddenly, as she reached forward, his hand closed on her wrist. “No fair,” she sputtered.

“I can’t race you, darling. You’re making a big circle.”

She stared at him. She was winded. Suddenly swimming in a circle was the funniest thing in the world. She
guffawed and gasped and laughed until her stomach hurt, laughed there in the moonlight until again she gulped water and coughed it out.

“Better float before you drown yourself, Janey.”

“Janey. I haven’t been called that since I was a kid.” She rolled onto her back, lazing on the warm water, fluttering her feet each time her legs started to sink. Sam floated beside her.

“How are the stars doing, Janey?”

“They’re standing still like good little stars. My, it’s a lot better.”

“Dr. Rice took care of you.” He moved closer and slid his arm under her neck. She was too happy and warm to object. Sam was a nice boy. It was moonlight. And it would be just too darn stuffy to get stuffy out in the middle of a lake.

“Say,” she heard herself say, “I haven’t been called Janey since I was a kid. And I haven’t been kissed under water since I was thirteen.”

“Then take a deep breath.”

She laughed and turned toward him in the water and his arms were around her tightly and his lips were on hers and he held her close and they drifted under water, turning slowly, bobbing up again. She was facing him and she laughed, leaning back, her arms around his neck, laughed up at the stars and the moon, and felt his hands slide down to her waist. And he pulled her close again and they kissed and his hands were learning her body, and she laughed again and heard the lost shrillness in her own voice. And somehow he had gotten the top of her suit down around her waist, and she was turned so that she floated again, and he was beside her. She looked down and saw the fullness and the startling untanned whiteness of her breasts, and saw his huge brown hand on her right breast, and she turned and made a crazy whimpering sound as she looked into his face that was like brown stone in the moonlight, feeling his other hand working gently as it peeled the tight suit down, pulling it off over her unresisting feet so that she floated there, naked in the moonlight, her body bone-white where the sun had not touched it, and whimpering again as he turned her, and again the kiss, and the water
folding them under, and the hardness of him against her, and the craziness of the moonlight. And he held her and she felt the long tug of his muscles as he swam slowly toward shore, towing her, his hands on her, touching, moving on her, keeping her in that warm whimpering helplessness. And she saw the edge of the dock against the sky. He stood up, lifting her in his arms, and she held tight, holding her face against him to keep the world from seeing her. He walked with the water whispering around his legs, then slowly set her down in the velvet shadows, laid her down in the rubber raft, and she kept her eyes tight shut so that no one could see. And he was over her with his breathing hard against her cheek. She held him and her hands slid up across the broad hard shoulders and the neck and touched, then, the wet stubble of the cropped haircut, and it was wrong because her hands, doing that, always touched the softer hair of Fletcher. Fright and realization exploded in her and she suddenly writhed hard, twisting and writhing to get away from sudden incredible nightmare.

They fought almost without sound in the black dock shadow, and he was frighteningly strong. He lay pinning her down with his long hard body. She had fought this way in dreams. He caught her right wrist and pinned it down on her left side, her own arm across her chest helping to hold her down. Her left hand touched coolness and her fingers closed on it and she knew it was the glass that had slipped from her hand. She held it like the haft of a knife and hammered the solid base against the side of his head, expecting him to go slack, as she had hit him as hard as she could. He grunted and groped for her hand She hit him again and as she tried to strike the third time, he found her wrist and his fingers slid down to the glass and twisted it out of her hand and threw it aside. She could not scream out in her fear and terror. She felt as if her throat had closed. She hit him weakly with her left fist and he caught her hand again and pinned it and then he moved upward a bit and she tried to twist out from under him, but she was caught there motionless in the deep shock of invasion.

She lay with the slow tears squeezing through the lids of
her closed eyes. And she felt as though she were apart from herself, as though she had died and her soul were high in the night over the dock, looking down with cold detachment, so that it could see the lighted windows of the camp, the stringy man who snored on the porch swing, see into the black dockside shadow where a woman lay impaled in traditional sacrifice, accepting in numbed slackness.

She lay there making no sound while he was heavy against her, his breathing slowing and deepening. She kept her eyes shut and he went away from her. The rubber raft shifted a bit as he got to his feet. She turned half onto her side, knees bent and pressed close together. She opened her eyes and saw him. Just his head and shoulders were in the bright moonlight and his back was to her, the black shadow making a diagonal line across it. He bent over and he was invisible, just something moving in the darkness. He straightened up again, a bit unsteadily, and she realized he had pulled on his swimming trunks. He put his hands on the edge of the dock, leaped lightly up, turning to sit on the edge of the dock, facing her. His head and torso were a silhouette blocking the stars. The moon made a faint highlight on the top of a hard thigh. She watched him and saw him look and lean back and find cigarettes. He lit one and the match flame shook as he held it to the end of the cigarette. He tossed it toward the water and the night was so still that she heard the faint hiss of it striking the water. She did not want to move or speak ever again. Her mind would move to fit itself around the enormity of what had happened, and then slide uneasily back into the nothingness of just lying there.

“Better put your suit on,” he said in a low casual tone. His voice had a surprising flatness. “It’s by your feet.”

She said, almost wonderingly, “Why … why did you keep on when you knew I … when you knew I didn’t want you to?”

“You were asking for it, honey. Don’t try to kid me and don’t try to kid yourself. If you had objections, you should have kept your suit on.”

“Oh, God,” she said softly. “God!”

“Don’t hoke it up. It isn’t the end of the world. Put on your suit, will you?”

She sat up slowly. Her body felt pulped and bruised. She reached down in the darkness and searched until she touched her wet suit. It was inside out and she straightened it slowly and found the front and got it over her feet and pulled it up her legs. She lay back and arched her body and pulled it over her hips.

The top edge of the strapless suit was elasticized. She stood up slowly, pulled it up over her breasts. It fit snugly.

He was fingering the right side of his head. He said, “I’m beginning to get a bitch of a headache.” His tone was petulant, abused.

“Sam … all that talk this afternoon. The way you talked to me. I thought you were …”

“Were what? Setting you up, maybe? I don’t know. For God’s sake, let’s drop the subject. Maybe it was a mistake. You weren’t what I’d call co-operating, anyway. Keep up this line of chatter and I’ll be curling the ends of my mustache and sneering. What the hell got us onto this Victorian scenario anyway? You trying to make a big deal out of this or something? Relax, even if you couldn’t enjoy it.”

“But I …” She had to explain to him, to let him know, somehow, that it was more than that to her. Much more. And before she could find the words, the nausea came again, and the stars wheeled. She turned blindly toward the water and stumbled on the rounded edge of the inflated raft and went down heavily onto her hands and knees in the shallow water.

She was blind sick. Wrenchingly. Gasping for air. And she was aware that he was beside her, that he held her head, dispassionately helpful. When it was over he lifted her and made her sit on the bulbous rim of the raft. He got a towel and dipped it in the lake and wiped her face with a rough tenderness. She sat huddled and miserable and began to cry, struggling to cry silently, yet unable to keep from articulating her sobs. Through her tears she could sense his irritation and frustration. He put his arm around her and she dug her head into his shoulder and, after long minutes, brought the tears under control. The infrequent
sobs sounded like hiccups. She found a clean part of the towel and dipped it in the lake water and bathed her eyes.

“That,” he said, “I guess you didn’t fake. Dammit, Janey, what gives with you?”

“I … don’t know. I just don’t know what I’ll say or do. I can’t face Fletcher. He’ll sense it. Everything was so … g-good between us and …”

“Don’t start again, for God’s sake. Look, honey, I’m beginning to get a hint of what the hell you’re talking about. Haven’t you ever cheated before?”

“Nobody ever had me before. Except Fletch. Nobody.”

He was silent for some seconds and then he said, “Sweet Jesus!” His voice was full of awe. “I thought you were … well, just trying to give that impression. You know. A standard line. Not at all unusual.”

She was quite suddenly aware that his arm was still around her shoulders, that he was sitting there, holding her calmly, twisting words around, turning it inside out so that it was somehow going to end up all her fault, her fault entirely.

She twisted away from him, hating him with a sudden frightful violence. “You … you filthy bastard!” she said. Her voice broke.