The Devil and Danna Webster (4 page)

****

Soon my mother was home and we prepared dinner together. Mom talked mostly about her work at the store, and I talked about school. I never mentioned Kevin. I felt guilty, but I just couldn't tell her, not yet anyway. Always there had been secrets in our house, things kept from me; now I had a secret of my own.

I saw Kevin again the next day in the library. When he caught my eye, he smiled and looked pleased. He sat at the next table. I tried very hard to keep my mind on what I was reading but it wasn't easy. About ten minutes into the period, he sauntered over and slipped a note into my hand. It seemed to burn my skin. I tried to ignore it, but the truth was I could hardly wait to open it.

He wanted to take me out for pizza again that afternoon. I wrote back that I couldn't because I already had plans to study with a friend. When I got up to give him my note, he took my outstretched hand and held it tight just for a moment. The pressure of his hand on mine made my finger tips tingle and my heart start to race. I pulled away from him feeling dizzy.

He read my note and frowned. I watched him writing at a furious pace. He got up to deliver the note, but I never received it. I suppose Mrs. Schirer had been watching us, waiting to pounce again like a hungry tiger attacking prey.

“Young man, whatever you are up to, it obviously has nothing to do with library work! Get out of here and go back to study hall. Consider yourself barred from the library during school hours for the rest of the month.”

Someone let out a gasp and I realized it was me.

“Wait a minute,” Kevin protested, “I wasn't talking or causing any trouble. I have just as much right to be here as anyone else.”

“Out, young man, or I'll call Mr. Arquette!” Better known in our school parlance as Tough Tony, the Enforcer. When that man walked down the hall, students got out of his way fast. It was like Moses parting the Red Sea.

But there was no need to send for the Vice Principal. Mrs. Schirer has amazing presence; there was more strength than I ever would have imagined in that bony body of hers. She led Kevin to the exit in a forceful manner that spoke well of her experience as a school librarian — all eighty years of it, if her appearance were any indication. Kevin stared at her with a furious expression, his dark eyes flashing ominously. If looks could kill Mrs. Schirer would have been laid out in a pool of blood.

“Serves him right,” Joyce whispered. “What a pest.” She primly pushed her glasses above the bridge of her nose. There was just a tad too much spiteful satisfaction in her voice to suit me.

****

At lunch, I saw Caron Moore and Gar Hansen together again. Why that bothered me I couldn't say. At one point, I happened to glance over at his table and just for an instant, our eyes met. I looked quickly away, feeling somehow embarrassed. I felt my cheeks start to flush.

In French class that afternoon, Caron turned around and looked at me in that superior way of hers, as if she were appraising a piece of cheap jewelry in a store window. From the look on her face, I don't think she would have bought me. Lucky I wasn't for sale.

“My brother was asking me about you last night. Of course, I couldn't tell him very much. I don't know you.”

“That's true, you don't,” I agreed.

“You should know that Kevin changes girlfriends the way most people change clothes. I love my brother but he does have his shortcomings. Where girls are concerned, his feelings tend to change fast. He can be very intense, but his interest lasts only for the moment. I'd have to rate him as shallow and fickle, I'm afraid.
Il fait chaud; il fait froid. Vous comprenez
?”

“I understand perfectly.” So perfectly, I felt like punching her cute, up-turned nose, except I didn't do stuff like that, ever.

“I'm just telling you for your own good. Kevin really is different. He never intends to hurt people but he does just the same. He's…” She paused, “Kevin is careless.”

That was, much to my relief, the end of the conversation because Madame Buchard had begun and we all strained to listen.

After class, Joyce and I agreed to meet back at her locker later on.

“I saw you having a real heavy talk with Caron Moore. Is she suddenly becoming friendly?”

“No,” I replied. “She just wanted to warn me about her brother.”

Joyce arched an eyebrow. “Well, I can't say I think much of her, but she and I seem to agree about him.”

“Maybe she just doesn't think I'm good enough for him.”

“I don't think it's that. Seems to me you're
too
good for him.”

“Spoken like a real friend. But, come on, Joy, you don't even know Kevin. It's not fair to judge him on first impressions.”

“Even his own sister told you to watch out. That speaks volumes.”

Joyce was especially patient tutoring me that afternoon. Her mother invited me to dinner, but I refused. I left early so that I could catch the four-thirty bus that went cross-town. It was past five by the time I walked up to the house. As I came along the block, I saw a red car parked up the street from my house. And just as I walked up to it, out sprang Kevin Moore. I groaned inwardly.

“Been waiting for you a while,” he said cheerfully.

“You have?” I just stared at him. I probably looked like a gawking geek.

“Let's go for a drive,” he said, reaching for my arm.

“Can't. I have to go inside now.”

“You‘re driving me crazy,” he said. He put his hand to his head and staggered for dramatic emphasis.

I couldn't help but laugh at his performance. “Is that good crazy or bad crazy?”

“Both,” he said with a smile that displayed his dimple to perfection.

“I have responsibilities,” I told him.

“That's just an excuse. Why don't you want to go out with me?”

“You did warn me you were bad, remember?”

“Bad also translates into good. Like exciting. Besides, I only told you that to get you interested.”

“You mean it was just some kind of line, a ploy on your part? I'm shocked.”

He looked uncomfortable and ran his hand through the wavy shock of black hair, which fell over his forehead. “Okay, I do have a reputation for being wild, and most of what people say about me is true. I'm the black sheep in my family. But I'd still like to take you out. Give me a chance. I can be redeemed.”

What should I say to the guy? I stood there dazed and tongue-tied. Then words came out with hesitation.

“I'll be helping my art teacher again tomorrow. But I guess I could leave earlier — like maybe four o'clock.”

Kevin squeezed my hand. “I'll meet you.” And then he was off in a whirl of action, his sexy car, a blur of red movement. There wasn't a chance for me to say anything more. I stood there gawking long after he was gone.

When I came into the house, I found my stepfather peering out the window. “That boy drove you home yesterday. I recognized the car. He doesn't come from around here, does he?” His eyes narrowed.

My stepfather's disapproval was all too obvious. I was careful answering him. All the times I wished he would talk to me, now suddenly, I wished he wouldn't.

“Kevin goes to school with me. He's the brother of a girl who's in some of my classes.”

“I don't like the looks of that boy. He's too old for you.”

“He's a senior, only two years older than I am.”

“I wasn't just talking about physical age. I've seen his type before. Kids like that have a sense of entitlement. They think they can do anything, have anything they want. That boy's nothing but trouble.”

Mom didn't seem to like the idea of Kevin either. “Your dad was telling me that some boy drove you home,” she mentioned as she dished out the casserole that evening.

“That was yesterday,” I said. So they'd been discussing me, that sucked!

“He was here today again, wasn't he?”

“You might as well know; he wants to take me out.”

“He's older though, isn't he?” My mother's brow furrowed.

“Just a couple of years.”

“Your dad thinks he's been around, that's he's worldly.”

I shrugged. “Kevin might be a trifle sophisticated.”

“Don't you think the first boy you date ought to be someone a little less experienced, maybe a boy your own age?” She smoothed her cotton apron over her ample hips.

“Mom, I don't know what the fuss is about. I'm not a baby! And Kevin isn't some maniac. He's really very nice and he has a great sense of humor.”

“It sounds as if you've already made up your mind about him.” Her brow wrinkled.

“Not really. I don't actually know him that well, but he is interesting. The boys my age seem immature next to him.”

“Now you sound just like Lori!”

Lori again. What was that about? “I wish I could talk to Lori — maybe she would have understood.”

Tears welled up in my mother's eyes. She hurried out of the kitchen. What had I said that was so terrible? Yes, Mom's sister was dead and I mentioned her, but was that any reason for Mom to get so emotional? And they thought I was immature!

Then my stepfather rolled into the kitchen. He smashed the wheel of his chair into the leg of the kitchen table. “What did you say to your mother?” His face flushed with anger.

“I didn't mean to upset her.” I started toward the hall.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

“I'm going over by the ocean to do a little sketching.” His behavior was making me nervous. I wanted to get away until he chilled out.

“It's almost dark!”

“I'll just be gone a little while.”

I didn't wait for a response; I just picked up a sketch pad and drawing pencils from my room and left quickly. I wanted to be left alone. I needed to escape. It seemed to me that my parents were the most unreasonable people in the world. I headed for the beach. I found myself a comfortable spot and began to work. In my drawing, I caught the rhythm of the waves against the sand and the swooping movement of the gulls.

I must have been sketching for about twenty minutes when I suddenly became aware of the presence of someone near me. I looked up and there, of all people, stood Gar Hansen. The setting sun created a halo around his golden hair.

“That looks so real,” he said, glancing down at my sketch. “I'm impressed.” He studied my work more closely.

“It's nothing special,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

“You have a unique way of seeing. I don't know much about art, but I know talent when I see it.”

I wasn't certain how to respond to such a generous comment, so I tried to change the subject. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to tutor you.”

“It really isn't necessary.”

“Hey, I said I'd help you.”

“I told you not to bother. Don't do me any favors.”

“Who said I was?” He shoved his hand through a shock of gold-tipped hair. “Look, I want to help you. And there's no time like the present. Let's get started.”

In a daze, I followed him to his car, a beat-up VW Bug that he'd parked close-by.

“We can study here,” I told him. “I like being by the ocean.”

“That would be fine with me, but it's getting dark. Besides, your mother asked me to bring you back to the house. She said she needed to see you about something. You better go back and talk to her.”

“You were at my house? Of course, they told you I was here, didn't they?”

He grinned at me. “You got it.”

So he'd seen the house, how shabby it was and all. I was mortified. But he was acting very nice to me anyway. Had I completely misjudged him?

“Your car has character,” I said.

He smiled. “Like my wheels? I paid for this heap myself out of my summer earnings. My dad tells me that he did the same thing when he was my age. I fit auto shop into my schedule for this year so maybe I can learn something about maintaining it.”

“Has it been giving you much trouble?”

“Let's just say lemons don't only grow on trees.”

“Would your father buy you a new car if you asked him?”

“Sure — if I asked him, but I don't plan on it.”

My parents were in the living room when Gar and I entered the house.

“We've already met,” my father said, cutting short my tentative introduction.

“Danna hasn't eaten yet,” my mother said. “Maybe you would join us in the kitchen? We've got plenty.”

“Thank you but I've already had an early dinner,” Gar replied. “Football practice makes me extra hungry.”

“Could you handle some ice cream?” Mom asked.

“I can always handle ice cream,” he told her, with a flash of that cute grin of his. I saw my mother smiling back. He did have a nice manner with parents, polite and respectful. Had I imagined he was arrogant? He followed my mother into the kitchen. My father came with us, asking all sorts of questions.

“Dad, Gar is here to tutor me in geometry, that's all! Mom, I can eat later.” I was really annoyed with both of them.

“That's all right,” Gar replied. “You eat now. I can wait. Besides, I really am in the mood for ice cream.”

“Vanilla fudge all right?” Mom asked.

Gar gave her a thumbs up. “My favorite.”

We all sat down around the kitchen table together, and I tried to choke down some dinner while my dad talked football with Gar. They seemed to get on well. In fact, I had never seen my stepfather talk so much to anyone. He appeared to take an instant liking to Gar. Even my mother was captivated. There was no denying that Gar Hansen had a disarming friendly manner when he chose to display it. Mom dished out the vanilla fudge, but I wondered if Gar wasn't dishing out his own fudge.

“So what does your father do?” my dad asked.

I choked on a slice of bread and began to cough. But Gar took the question in stride.

“Dad's a tax attorney.”

“So you want to be a lawyer too?”

“Not certain, just yet. I've been considering engineering. All I know is that if I can get in, I want to go to Princeton.”

My parents looked impressed. He might as well have told them he planned to become President of the United States like Ronald Reagan.

“Well, maybe we better get started on that tutoring now,” I said, somewhat awkwardly.

“Why don't you work in the living room?” Mom suggested. “The light is best in there.” My parents remained in the kitchen while Gar followed me out.

“I‘ll get my book,” I told him.

My mother joined me in my bedroom. “Awfully nice boy,” she said.

“Maybe,” I replied.

“Oh, he is,” she said. “Your dad and I both think so. He's got his head on straight.”

“Whatever that means.”

“Don't be such a sour apple! I think he likes you, Danna.”

I shrugged. “He's only here to tutor me, that's it. He's very popular. There are tons of girls after him. He can pick and choose. Believe me.”

“We'll see,” my mother said. She gave me her exasperating I-know-better-than-you-do look.

“Besides, I thought you didn't want me seeing boys.”

“Well, your dad and I both realize that eventually you are going to start dating. We're just concerned that it be with someone decent.”

“I don't know if you can really tell about that from outward appearances.”

“Maybe not,” Mom agreed, “but it's an indication.”

I wasn't convinced, except there really wasn't any point in arguing with my mother. She didn't understand. We were too far apart in our thinking. It made me feel sad because she and I had always agreed about basic things. But once my mother decides on something, she doesn't change her mind easily. There's a generation gap between us. Her thinking is old-fashioned.

Gar was looking at the display of my stepfather's medals on the mantle when I returned.

“You must be very proud of your father,” he said.

His comment surprised me. I had always felt ashamed of my stepdad because he was confined to a wheelchair. But I kept my thoughts to myself.

We got down to work. It amazed me how good Gar was at explaining things. He had the patience that Joyce lacked. In fact, he was very encouraging and I felt easier when he finished helping me than I had since starting geometry. Of course, I did have the benefit of Joyce's expertise earlier.

“You really are picking this up quickly. I know it's not easy.”

“You've made it seem easy,” I told him. We were sitting side by side on the sofa. I felt his shoulder brush up against mine. Then I glanced over at his profile and couldn't help thinking how handsome he was. The lamplight favored him. He touched my hand in a gentle way. I found that small gesture disturbing but in a good way.

“I'll come over and help you again when I have time. Until the football season is over though, it's really going to be at odd moments.”

“That's okay. I don't mind.”

“So tell me about yourself,” he said. He seemed genuine in his interest.

I was suddenly feeling self-conscious and not liking it. “Not much to tell. I'm an only child and I've always lived here in this cottage near the ocean.”

“And you're a very talented artist.”

I felt my face turn red. “I don't know about that.”

He took my hand in his much larger one. “I know about it. Your folks showed me your paintings.”

“They shouldn't have done that.”

“Why not? They're proud of you.”

I didn't think that was true, but I decided not to make a comment.

“Your turn,” I said, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. “Tell me about you.”

“Not much to tell either. I have two younger brothers and we live with my dad.”

“Not with your mom?” I asked.

“She's gone.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize she was dead.”

“Dead to us. But no, my mom went off to find herself, at least, that's what she told us. She divorced Dad, left all of us. We get a card at Christmas. That's pretty much all the contact we have with her these days. She's in California.”

“I didn't mean to be nosy.” I trained my eyes on the worn carpet.

“You weren't. I didn't have to tell you. Besides, the parents of a lot of kids are divorced. It's common.”

“Maybe your father will remarry.”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. We get along okay without her. It was hard when the guys were really little but now things run pretty smooth.”

For the first time since meeting Gar, I felt really sympathetic toward him. He was wearing a short-sleeved, blue knit shirt, open at the throat, which set off his sky, blue eyes. Only his nose wasn't perfect, the slightest bump on the bridge, which only seemed to enhance his features and give his face more character. Sinewy muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he moved.

“You're staring at me, Danna. Is anything wrong?”

“No, I didn't realize I was staring. I guess my mind was drifting for a moment.”

He gave me an easy smile. “That's okay, you're not expected to function like a machine.” We sat together for a time, just looking at each other.

“You're different than I thought you were at first.” I blurted out the statement without thinking and then knew it was a mistake.

One golden eyebrow rose. “How do you mean different?”

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. “I thought you were stuck-up, but that was before I got to know you today.” I realized I might have been guilty of making a hasty judgment. I could have been a tad unfair in my appraisal of Gar.

“Truth is, I feel awkward around girls.”

I stared at him. “You? You're so popular. I don't believe it!”

His eyes didn't meet mine. “There are reasons. But you seem different from most girls. I feel as though a guy could trust you.” He leaned over and I held my breath because I had the funny feeling that Gar Hansen was about to kiss me. But just then, the telephone rang. The sound of it jarred both of us and shattered the mood.

“Pick up the phone,” Mom called out. “It's for you.”

I picked up on the extension in the living room and said “hello.”

“Is that you, Danna?”

I gasped. I would have recognized his well-modulated voice anywhere. “How did you get my phone number?”