I Know What You Did Last Summer (11 page)

"Could we talk to him by phone?" Ray suggested.

"There's no phone in his room. I already asked."

"What about his parents?" asked Julie. "They get in to see him.
Surely he must have told them who it was who called him right
before he went out"

"They think it was me," Helen said.

"They may have thought that last night, but at that time they
hadn't had a chance to talk with Barry. By now they may have
learned the truth."

"I'll call and ask them," Ray volunteered.

"You?"

"Why not me? Barry and I have been friends for a long time. I
tried to call his folks last night when I first heard about what
happened, but they weren't there."

"Go ahead and try," Helen said. "There's nothing to lose. At
least, you may be able to find out more details about how he
is."

"Fair enough." Ray got up and went over to the telephone. "Do
you know the number?"

"It's there on the front cover of the phone directory.
It's written in red. The other number, the blue one, is the
fraternity house."

Ray took the receiver off the hook and dialed.

The phone was answered immediately by a low, male voice.

"Hello, Mr. Cox?" Ray said. "This is Raymond Bronson."

"Ray?" The man's voice sounded older than he remembered it "Oh,
yes, of course-Barry's friend. I didn't know you were still in
town."

"I haven't been," Ray said. "I just got back from California a
few days ago. I hadn't even had a chance to see Barry to say hi
before I heard about the shooting. A bunch of his friends are real
shook up about it. I said I'd be the one to call you and see how
things are going."

"He's going to pull through," Mr. Cox said. "There doesn't seem
to be any doubt about that now, thank God. His mother and I were
over at the hospital this afternoon, and he seemed to have a
good deal more strength than he had this morning."

"That's great," Ray said sincerely. "Do they think he'll be
playing ball again next fall?"

"Well-that's something else again," Mr. Cox said slowly.
"There's some question. You know the bullet lodged in his spine?
Well, that's a tricky area. An injury there can cause
paralysis."

"You mean, Barry might be paralyzed!" Ray could not keep the
horror from his voice.

"Not necessarily. Well certainly pray not At the moment that
condition does seem to exist below the waist, but that could well
be only temporary. Of course, he hasn't been told anything about it
There's no sense in worrying him until he gets stronger, and by
that time there may be no need. He may be fine."

"I sure hope so," Ray said.

"We all do. You were kind to call, Ray. "I'll tell Barry you're
wishing him well."

"Please, do that And, sir-I was wondering- do you suppose I
might be able to see him?" In the light of what he had just been
told, Ray asked it hesitantly. "It's been months since I saw him
last and I'd really like to talk with him."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question," Mr. Cox said firmly.
"Barry's mother and I are the only visitors he's allowed to
have. He's not up to socializing, as I'm sure you can understand.
I'll pass along your good wishes."

"Mr. Cox?" Ray brought out the question quickly. "Have you had a
chance, from anything he's said, to find out what actually
happened? The phone call that the newspapers made such a big thing
of-has he said who that was? Is there any connection between
that call and what happened after?"

"It seems very doubtful," Barry's father said. "According to
Barry, that call was from Helen Rivers."

chapter 12

"But Helen says it wasn't, and she should know if anybody does."
Julie leaned her head against the back of the car seat with a sigh
of such weariness that Ray turned to glance at her worriedly.

"You holding up okay there?"

"Oh, sure. I'm just fine. Just having a ball." She was
frightened by the note of near hysteria in her own voice.
"Somebody's lying-Helen or Barry or Mr. Cox. Who is it, Ray? And
why?"

They were driving back slowly through the gathering
twilight. The mountains in the east were touched with pink from the
last rays of the setting sun.

Somewhere up there, Julie thought, is the Greggs' house, and
Megan's there now, standing in the yellow kitchen, deciding
whether it's worth it or not to fix a hot dinner for just one
person. And a couple of miles north of that, the Silver Springs
picnic area is growing cool and shadowy. Maybe later tonight
there'll be a moon caught in that pine tree.

"It's like a merry-go-round," she said tiredly, "with everything
going in circles and no answer to anything. Why would any one of
the three of them lie?"

"Maybe they're all telling the truth."

"But how could they be, when the stories are different?"

"I don't mean telling the real truth," Ray said, "I mean the
truth as they see it. Mr. Cox could be repeating exactly what Barry
told him. Barry could have believed the person on the phone was
Helen, even if it wasn't."

"You mean, somebody imitating Helen's voice?" Julie thought
about that for a moment "I suppose it's possible-though, he knows
her so well-"

"He was expecting her to call him. She'd called earlier that day
and left word for him to phone her and he hadn't. If the person on
the phone was a girl or woman, somebody who knew Helen pretty well
herself and was able to copy her voice, and if Barry was
expecting
it to be Helen, he could have been fooled."

"But who would do such a thing?" Julie asked, and then suddenly
a thought occurred to her. "Elsa!"

"Helen's sister?"

"Why not? She's a horrid person and very evidently just as
jealous of Helen as she can possibly be. I remember the first day I
met her-"

Her voice trailed off as her mind flew back to that bright
spring day just over a year ago, when she had walked home from
school with Helen in order to see her prom dress.

It had seemed strange at the time to be going over to Helen's.
Despite the fact that they dated boys who went around together, the
girls themselves had little in common. Helen was not a girl for
confidences and easy friendships and she took little interest in
school activities. Julie, on the other hand, was almost too
involved with clubs and committees and cheerlead-ing practices to
have time for a close, consuming relationship with any one
particular person.

On this day, however, Helen had stopped her in the hall.

"I've got a dress for the Prom," she had said excitedly. "Do you
want to come over and see it?"

Her eyes had been shining, and her face had held the delighted
look of a child who wants to share a marvelous treasure.

It had been impossible not to smile back at her.

"Sure," Julie had said, making a quick decision to skip the Pep
Squad meeting which was scheduled for after school. "I'd love to
see it."

So they had met at the south door and had walked together
through the soft, blue afternoon-an afternoon, Julie
remembered now with a twinge of pain, so much like this one had
been, except that there had been nothing to mar it. It had been a
day filled with light hearts and sunshine and plans for the coming
dance and the wonder of being young and pretty and in love.

Helen's house had been small and shabby and over-run with
children. Two little boys had been fighting in the front yard, and
a blaring TV set had dominated the living room where a solemn-faced
girl of about twelve and a toddler in a wet diaper had sat
mesmerized.

Helen's mother had been in her bedroom.

"She's not feeling too good," Helen had remarked
matter-of-factly. "The noise and the yelling and everything gets to
her when she's pregnant. Come on-my room's at the back of the
house."

That was where she had met Elsa. A heavily built girl,
apparently a couple of years older than Helen, she had been
sprawled across one of the twin beds, leafing through a movie
magazine.

She had glanced up at them as Julie and Helen had come in, and
her eyes had narrowed a little behind her glasses.

"Don't tell me," she had said, "the Princess is actually
bringing home a girlfriend!"

"This is my sister, Elsa," Helen had said. "This is Julie
James."

"The cheerleader." Elsa's voice had been flat. "We hear about
Julie James all the time around here, her and Barry Cox and the
other high-class people Helen runs around with."

"Hello, Elsa," Julie had said as pleasantly as she could. Her
eyes rested on the dress which was spread out across Helen's neatly
made bed. "Oh, isn't it beautiful!"

It was, too. Simple and white with flowing Grecian lines
and a thin gold thread running through the border. As Helen had
lifted the dress and held it up in front of her, Julie had caught
her breath at the effect.

"It's gorgeous!" she had exclaimed. "Just elegant! None of the
rest of us are going to be able to hold a candle to you, Helen!
Where in the world did you find it?"

There was a moment's silence, and then Elsa said, "Well, speak
up, Helen. Aren't you going to tell her?" She turned to Julie. "She
got it at the Good Will Shop. That's where she gets all her
'elegant' clothes. They're things that other people don't want That
dress probably belonged to some society lady who got too fat to
wear it"

"You didn't have to say that, Elsa." Helen's face turned bright
red and she lowered the dress, holding it defensively in front of
her as though to shield herself from the words. "It doesn't look
like it's from Goodwill."

"I think it's wonderful that you found it," Julie said quickly.
"It doesn't matter where. I'm sure it looks better on you than it
ever could have looked on anybody else. Why, if that's the sort of
thing you can find at the Good Will Shop, I'm going to start
shopping there too."

"I don't always," Helen said. "Most of the time I go to regular
stores. It's just that party dresses are so expensive."

"And our lovely Helen can't look like everybody else-she's got
to be a princess." Elsa sat up on the bed. She spoke quietly, but
there was a bitterness in her voice that made Julie wince.

"This is my day off-Monday. A great time for a day off, isn't
it? What can you do on a Monday? The rest of the week I'm standing
on my feet all day behind the lingerie counter at Wards. For what?
To bring home enough money so that Mum can turn right around and
hand Helen enough to buy a prom dress that she'll wear one time and
stick in the back of the closet"

"It didn't cost very much," Helen said.

"Then why didn't you earn the money for it? Why can't you get an
after-school job and toss some pennies into the kitty instead
of taking them out? The A&W Rootbeer place is looking for a
car-hop during the supper hour. All you'd have to do is apply."

"I don't want to be a car-hop, thank you." Helen went over and
hung the dress in the closet. "Come on," she said to Julie, "let's
go get a Coke or something."

"I can't," Julie had said, glancing self-consciously at her
watch. "I've got to get home. Ray's coming over."

She had smiled at Elsa. It had not been easy.

"Goodbye," she had said. "It's been nice meeting you."

"Likewise," Elsa had answered.

Reaching back now in her mind, that was the picture that Julie
had retained-Elsa, heavy-legged, square-faced, hair matted from the
pillow, a slight double chin, and those sharp eyes, glaring through
the glasses, and the bitterness, the terrible bitterness.

"She could have done it," she said now to Ray. "She could have
called Barry and pretended to be Helen. She could even have shot
him."

"You think so?" Ray sounded sceptical. "She's a mess, I'll admit
that, but what's she got against Barry? You don't just go out and
shoot your sister's boyfriend for no reason."

"Jealousy," Julie said. "By hurting Barry, she'd be hurting
Helen."

"I guess it's possible. And the cover-up with the notes and
stuff to you and me-she could have learned about the accident Helen
said they used to share a bedroom. Maybe Helen talks in her sleep
or something."

They had reached the James' house now. Ray pulled up in front,
leaving the motor running.

"You want me to come over later? We could talk."

"I think we've talked enough," Julie said. "My head's churning
now, and I don't see how our hashing it over any further is
going to help. The person we need to talk with is Barry."

"Well, maybe by tomorrow we can." Ray moved as though to touch
her, then thought better of it, and put his hand back on the wheel.
"Take care."

It was not a casual goodbye. His eyes were worried.

"I mean it, Ju. Please, be careful." "You mean-watch out?" "Yes.
And-well, don't go rushing out to meet somebody who telephones
or-you know. We can't be sure it was Elsa. We can't be sure of
anything right now. So-take care. Okay?"

"You too," Julie said. "You take care too." She got out of the
car. The dark was be
g
inning to close in quickly. The sky had
faded from pink
to
purple, and one lone star twinkled
directly above her.

The house lights were on, and when she reached the steps she
looked back to see that Ray was still parked there, watching her.
It wasn't until she was inside with the door closed behind her that
she heard the engine rev and the car pull away.

Her mother was baking again. A bread smell Med the house.

"Julie?" she called from the kitchen, "That you, honey?"

"Sure. Who else?"

For a long moment she stood in the living room, bracing herself,
trying to calm the beating of her heart. Emotional exhaustion from
the afternoon's confrontations threatened to overwhelm her. The
warm comfort of the house, her mother's welcoming voice, the safe,
familiar odors and sounds and feel of home were suddenly more than
she could bear.

"Julie? Aren't you coming out?"

"Right away." Drawing a deep breath to stabilize herself, Julie
went through, the living room and out into the kitchen.

Her mother, who was removing bread from the loaf pan, glanced at
her casually and then not so casually. Her eyes were
questioning.

"What is it, dear? Is something wrong?"

"No. What could be wrong?" Julie motioned toward the bread.
"What's all this baking bit lately? Are you trying to turn us both
into elephant girls?"

"A few extra pounds wouldn't hurt you in the slightest." Her
mother turned back to the job at hand. "Where in the world have you
been? It's after six-thirty."

"Ray picked me up after school. We rode around and talked."

"That's nice." Her mother smiled. "I'm glad Ray's back. I just
wish he'd shave off that silly beard and look like himself
again."

"I sort of like the beard," Julie said. "He seems older with
it."

"I noticed that too, but it's more than the beard, I think. That
year in California matured him a lot I've always been fond of Ray,
as you know, but when I was talking to him yesterday evening,
before you got back from Helen's, it was like talking to another
adult." Mrs. James laughed. "I don't suppose you'd either of
you consider that much of a compliment."

"That's funny," Julie said. "You like it that Ray seems older,
but with Bud, who really
is
a little bit older, you don't
like it at all."

"Well, there's older, and then there's
older.
Bud acts
like my grandfather. "I'm willing to bet he proposes before
he so much as kisses you goodnight."

"I'll let you know. He hasn't done either one yet."

Julie stood, leaning against the doorframe, watching her
mother transfer the bread loaf onto a plate. The overhead light
caught her hair in a glint of silver.

Why, that's gray, Julie thought, startled. She's turning
gray.

She stood frozen, staring at her mother's hair, always so thick
and dark. "Like raven wings," her father had said once, reaching
out a gentle hand to stroke the shining richness. When had it begun
to change? Yesterday? Last week? Last year? Wrapped up as she had
been in her own concerns, she had not noticed.

The veins stood out like thin purple cords in the backs of her
mother's hands as she lifted the cake lid to set it over the plate.
They were no longer a young woman's hands.

"Mom." Julie spoke softly, swept by a wave of tenderness so
great that it bordered on pain. "Mom, I do love you so much."

"Why, honey!" Her mother turned to her in surprise. "I
love you too. Julie, what is it, dear? Something
is
wrong."

For one crucial instant Julie wavered, torn by the temptation to
step forward and throw herself into her mother's arms to weep out
the whole dreadful story. What comfort there would be in letting it
all out at last! To lean upon an adult shoulder, to cry, "I have
done an awful thing! I have been part of an awful thing!" To ask,
"Help me, Mom! Tell me what I should do!" seemed at that moment the
closest thing to heaven.

But she did not do it, stopped as much by the vulnerability of
her mother's face as by the memory of the pact This was a woman who
had borne enough burdens. The responsibility was Julie's, not her
mother's, and pain shared in this case would not be pain
lessened.

So she merely said, "I'm tired, I guess. Exams and everything,
and the excitement about being accepted at Smith. Do you want me to
start getting dinner? Did you have something special planned?"