Don't Look Back (12 page)

Vanished

“Katherine, wake up.” My mother’s voice invades my dream, and the bright sun shines through my eyelids, causing me to squint even in my sleepy state.

“Mum, close the curtains. It’s too early!” I moan back at her, turning toward the wall to escape the brightness, every muscle in my body screaming from my lovemaking with Matthew.

“Katherine, you have fifteen minutes to get dressed and meet us in the car. We’re leaving. I left your clothes on the chair, and I’ve already packed for you.” Her tone is irritated, slightly raised with emotion, and I can tell her decision is not negotiable.

“What? Why?” I bolt up in bed, in shock over what I’ve just heard. “Mum, we can’t, please.” Tears
overwhelm me as her words sink in. Emotion squeezes my windpipe shut as my sleepy brain tries to make sense of what is happening.

“Fourteen minutes, Katherine.” Cold-faced, she sternly walks out of the room and closes the door. I frantically jump up and look around the room. My suitcase is gone, my bag is gone, my clothes from last night are gone. All she has left me are my toiletries and clean clothes.

“Mum!” I yell over the banister and down the stairs. “I need my bag!”

No answer.

“MUM!” I yell louder, slightly hysterically.

“Eleven minutes, Katherine.” My mother appears calm and collected, holding her cup of tea at the bottom of the stairs outside the kitchen.

“Mum, I need my bag. PLEASE! What did you do with it?” I ask again, a little nicer this time.

She sighs heavily. “You’re not having it, Katherine, and everything is packed. Get dressed and be downstairs in … ” She glances at her watch. “Ten minutes.”

Damn! This is a losing battle. I need to get my bag so I can call Matthew and explain this insanity. His letter with his telephone number is in my bag. He probably is wondering what happened to me last night, and now we are leaving without any explanation. This isn’t fair. They are constantly ruining my life. I have no choice but to wait until we get to wherever we are going and call him from there to explain.

I make it downstairs with a minute to spare as the clock in the kitchen chimes 7:30 a.m. My mum takes my pajamas and my toiletry bag from me, and
we head directly to the car. Sally and Jonnie White are both in their dressing gowns and slippers, cups of steaming tea in hand, standing outside to see us off. Their usual cheery faces are somber this morning as they avoid eye contact with me and mumble goodbyes from a distance. I resign my battle, silently climbing into the backseat of the car, knowing full well there is nothing I can do at this point. I stare blankly out the window as we drive through Harptree bright and early on a Saturday morning. Tears stream down my face.

Emotionally drained from crying and physically drained from the night before, I eventually fall asleep in the car. It isn’t until we stop that I wake up and look around. I realize we are at a hotel.

“Where are we? What are we doing here?” I ask groggily, confused. We are supposed to spend a few more days with my grandparents.

“We changed our flights, and we’re leaving in the morning,” Peter responds. “Your mother and I feel it’s in your best interest to get you home immediately and start preparing for Pepperdine, preparing for your future.”

“What the fuck, Mum?” I explode, no longer able to contain the volcanic emotions inside. I’m irate that Peter thinks he knows anything about what’s in my best interest. This is his fault. He is always the cause of the misery in my chaotic life, and once again, she is putting him ahead of me.

“How dare you speak to your mother that way?” He jumps in protectively, trying to act fatherly, but I ignore him. He isn’t my father!

“Why? WHY?” I shout at her, tears streaming down my face, but my mother stares straight ahead,
refusing to look at me, void of any expression or emotion. Silence is always her greatest weapon.

“Is this because I came home late last night? Because of Matthew? You can’t stop me, mum, I’m almost eighteen, and soon I can do whatever I want,” I declare. “You can take me back this time, but I will return to Matthew, and I will NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS,” I scream, “EVER!”

Once my screaming fit has stopped, my mum calmly exits the vehicle and heads toward hotel registration, leaving me in the car guarded by Peter. My tears flow endlessly; my head pounds, and I feel sick. Hatred consumes me. I feel helpless; I am a pawn in my parents’ game until I am an adult. I have no money, I do not have my passport, and right now I cannot even access my own belongings. I need a few minutes away from them to call Matthew, to at least let him know what is happening, to try and explain.

After Peter returns the rental car, we settle into our room, and I finally get my bag and suitcase back. I frantically search them for my letter, but I can’t find it. I check all the side pockets, every nook and cranny, but the letter with Matthew's phone number is nowhere. Disheartened, I realize I must have misplaced it back at the Whites’ house; most likely, I left it upstairs by the telephone. My heart sinks with this knowledge. Is this fate’s way of stepping in? My only other option is to mail him a letter somehow before I leave. At least that way, he will get it within a few days, as opposed to a few weeks if I wait until I get back to California.

I search the hotel desk drawer for some stationery, and I try to find the right words to
explain what is happening.

My Dearest Matthew
,


You were sleeping when I woke, so I left quietly, not wanting to wake you. You looked so beautiful and peaceful. I ran back and sneaked in, but I guess my mum discovered that I had stayed out with you all night, and I am pretty sure she put the pieces of the puzzle together
.


They packed me up and we are at the airport. We leave in the morning. I wanted to phone, but I lost the letter with your telephone number. Thankfully, I remember your address, so I am hoping this helps explain. I am so sorry. This isn’t how I planned things to end. I am so upset, and I cannot stop crying
.


I do not regret one moment of last night, and I will count the days until I turn 18. They cannot control me forever, and hopefully in a few months, you and I can start our lives together and never be apart again. I hate my mum right now; I don’t think I can ever forgive her. I can’t wait to get back to you. Please write soon
.


I love you with all my heart
,


Kate


I seal the envelope, write his address on the front, and set it in my bag. I will try to sneak some change from my mum’s purse to buy a stamp from the front desk before we leave tomorrow. Peter brings up food from the restaurant, but I am not hungry. Instead, I shower, repack my suitcase, and climb into the hotel bed. Pulling my legs up close to my chest, I cry myself to sleep.

In the morning, Peter runs downstairs to get coffee while my mum is in the shower, so I manage to sneak a pound coin from her purse and slip it into my jeans pocket. As we leave the hotel on our way to the airport, Peter is outside watching for the
shuttle bus, and my mum is busy at the gift shop picking up some last-minute items. I seize the opportunity and quickly walk the few steps to the reception desk. I slide my letter onto the counter. An older lady tapping on her computer looks up and smiles, greeting me politely.

“Good morning,” she announces loudly.

“Hi ... um, do you sell stamps?” I glance over my shoulder at the shop to make sure my mother isn’t watching.

“Yes. A first class stamp will be thirty-six pence, please.” With a smile, she puts her hand possessively over the envelope. “I can take care of that for you, if you’d like,” she offers, taking my letter.

I pass her the one pound coin, and she gives me my change. Without counting it, I scoop it up, mutter a thank-you, and rush off before I can be discovered. I feel an enormous sense of relief when I make it back outside to Peter, glad that in a day or two Matthew will receive my letter and understand what has happened.

My mother leaves the shop a few moments later, briefly stopping by reception one last time. She smiles and chats with the lady who sold me my stamp, and then she joins us outside as the shuttle bus pulls up. We load our luggage, take our seats, and start our journey home in silence. An hour later, I find myself in terminal three at Heathrow Airport, attempting to keep myself entertained by strolling around the duty free shops while my parents follow me. The boarding announcement can’t come fast enough.

CHAPTER 14

Pepperdine

I write to Diana as soon as I return, and I write again to Matthew. In both letters, I explain the situation in depth. Neither replies before I have to leave for school in the final days of August, and by the time I settle into my dorm and the first quarter of classes, my eighteenth birthday has passed. It is mid-October before Diana’s letter reaches me at the university.

Sitting on my bed in my shared dorm room, I am shell-shocked by what she has written. Diana tells me that when she received my letter in late August, she was worried sick because I had never shown up in Harptree to see her. She says she has written to me at my parents’ house, but I never replied, so she was relieved to get my recent letter along with my
new address at the university.

She goes on to say how sorry she is that my parents took me back so unexpectedly; she agrees that they must have discovered I spent the night with Sully. She’s gone to Sully’s flat several times, as I have asked her to do, but she repeatedly missed him. Terry went round again on the first of October and was shocked to learn Sully had moved out. Someone new is living there, and they say the previous tenant has moved to Australia.

Diana explains that Terry didn’t believe it at first, but he went to Sully’s mum’s house, and Mrs. Sullivan confirmed that it is true. Sully left at the end of September. Apparently, he applied for a skilled migration work visa for Australia, which was expedited and approved, and just like that, he packed up and left. Diana promises to write again with any further news, and with Sully’s address if Terry can get it.

Australia? Why? My heart stops. I don’t know if it will ever begin beating again.

Fall quarter passes in a fog. Diana writes again but with no further news. She says Terry has asked for a forwarding address from Sully’s mum, but she said she hasn’t heard from him yet. All I can do is wait and hope that Matthew will eventually reach out to me. Days turn to weeks, weeks to months, and months to quarters. Eventually, my freshman year at college comes to a close, summer passes again, and fall approaches as the cycle begins once more.

A new dorm room, a new roommate, new classes, and a new boy who is determined to get my attention. Brock Gilbert is in my sociology class—
six foot three and about two hundred pounds of solid, tanned muscle. It is impossible even for me to overlook him on campus. He strolls around in shorts, a tank top, and flip flops, with a backpack slung over one shoulder and his shoulder-length blond hair blowing in the breeze. He has deep, gorgeous green eyes and perfect teeth, and he surfs every morning at dawn at the beach off Main and Fifth.

At first, I honestly try to ignore him, but his persistence works to his advantage, and since I find him physically desirable, my heart starts to beat again. I know I am in trouble when I catch myself walking on the beach in the mornings just to see him riding the waves in his wetsuit. On one of these mornings, we “bump” into each other and end up going for coffee. We have been together ever since.

Brock is charismatic, cocky, and very popular. His arrogance and sarcasm entertain me, and I find him daring and exciting. He comes from a long line of attorneys and takes his education seriously, but other than that, his life revolves around high and low tide and a cold beer. His surfboard is his most priceless possession, and we spend all of our free time on the sand.

Brock is a good kisser; his lips are full, and I love how his hair mingles with mine when we make out. He always tastes like the ocean, and his skin is hot from the sun. In the evenings, I join him at his place, a family-owned two-bedroom beach cottage located off campus close to the shore. After dinner and a few beers I usually end up straddling his butt, massaging his back with lotion, moisturizing and hydrating his parched, tanned skin.

His tan is a dark golden brown except for the white line peeking out beneath his boxer shorts. The muscles of his back and shoulders are firm beneath my fingers, and I work hard coaxing them to relax. On his left shoulder blade, he has a tattoo of a cross with a rose entwined in it, which I find sexy.

These massages often lead to sex—they’re a form of foreplay. This is how it happened the first time, and pretty much every time since. Sex with Brock is intense, hot, and fierce. Brock is big everywhere, and gathering from some of the positions he tosses me into, he is experienced. Brock and I do not make love. It is raw, physical, and always a good workout, but it does not compare to what I experienced with Matthew.

In June of 1991, at the end of my junior year, Brock asks me to move into the cottage with him. We have been together for almost two years. He has already graduated with his bachelor’s degree and is preparing to start graduate school in the fall. Deep down I know his parents are putting pressure on him, wanting Brock to think about settling down. The family has high hopes for Brock in California’s political arena, and to be honest, I think they see me as a perfect trophy standing next to their son. My English heritage adds an air of sophistication that they believe can enhance Brock’s career.

He catches me off guard when he asks me casually one evening after an aerobic sex marathon. Tossing me aside onto the now unmade bed, he slides the used condom from his still protruding erection, tosses it into the trash can, and struts off, unashamed and naked, to the kitchen in search of a
cold beer. I lie staring at the ceiling fan; the cool air feels wonderful against my moist skin. My hair is pasted to my face, Brock’s sweat acting like glue, and I peel it off carefully, trying to tame my matted locks as my breathing gradually returns to normal. The sun is setting, and the room’s orange glow fades with each passing moment. I hear the flush of the toilet, and Brock walks back in, beer in one hand, his favorite body part in the other.