The Slow Moon (18 page)

Thirty-seven

I
T WAS THE
first of July when Tom returned from a four-hour practice at Casey’s house and found his parents watching for him in the yard. His father stood like a broad-chested statue. From the look of them he thought he was in trouble. Maybe they knew about Johnny. Or maybe all his secrets were known. As he got out of the car, he tried to think of how he might defend himself.

“Where were you?” his father asked, but his voice sounded almost jolly. “Your mother called around but couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I went to—”

“Get ready,” he said. “We’re leaving as soon as you pack.”

“Where are we going?”

“Peter’s docked in Norfolk, Virginia,” his mother said. She walked behind them into the house. “He’ll be there for several days, and we’re going to see him.”

“Our stuff’s already in the car,” said Mr. Canady.

“But we’re playing in Sweetwater this weekend. They booked us months ago.”

“They’ll have to play without you,” his father said. “They can get along without you for one night, I guess.”

“You want to see Peter, don’t you?” his mother said.

“Well, sure, but—”

“Get packed. I want to get on the road. We don’t want to hit the late-afternoon traffic.”

As he packed he realized that he didn’t mind leaving town. With the dismissal of charges against Crow, the police had grown even more suspicious about Crow’s friends. Mr. Hollis and Coach Post had asked Tom questions every time they saw him, and last night Hollis saw Tom coming out of the drugstore and called him to his car.

“Sophie went away for a few weeks. Did you know that?” Hollis said. “Maybe, while she’s away, we can get people to talk about what they know. So, if you hear anything, anything at all, I want you to call me.”

“No sir,” said Tom. “There’ve been rumors about some boys from Chattanooga. That’s all I heard.”

“What about boys from around here?” Hollis asked. “The sheriff thinks this is local.”

“I haven’t heard that,” Tom lied.

“Well, I have. They seem to think it’s more possible that Sophie knew the ones who attacked her.” He paused for a moment.

“I don’t think that’s right.” Tom’s voice grew whiny. “I know that’s what they’re saying though.” The deputies had questioned Tom several times, even at the trial they put him on the stand.

“I’m told that Bobby liked Sophie, that he pursued her for a while,” said Hollis.

“Yeah, Bobby was hot for her, but he’s hot for a lot of girls.” Tom hoped that Mr. Hollis couldn’t tell how clammy his face was, how the blood had left his head.

“You all right?” Hollis asked him.

“Sure. I was sick last night, but I’m okay now.”

“You better go on home,” said Hollis. As Tom turned to leave, Hollis added, “The sheriff might question you some more.” His words felt like a warning. “If you know anything, Tom, you should tell them. If you withhold information, you can get into trouble. Very deep trouble.”

Now Tom pretended to doze most of the way to Virginia. He had wanted to drive, but his father wouldn’t allow it. After checking into a motel, they made plans to meet Peter for dinner, and Tom said he needed to call Bobby and tell the others that he couldn’t play the gig in Sweetwater that weekend. His parents left to get a drink at the bar.

Bobby wasn’t at home, so Tom dialed Johnny’s number. Johnny answered.

“Hey. I just wanted to call, see how you are. We’re in Virginia now, to see Peter. He wants to take us out on his ship, I think. Anyway, I was gonna come see you tomorrow, but I can’t now.”

“I don’t want you to call me anymore,” Johnny said. “I already told you. I don’t want to see you either.”

“You afraid Crow will find out?”

“That’s not it. I told you already.”

“But we can still hang out, right?” Tom was pleading.

“No,” said Johnny. “Listen. Stop calling, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll stop calling.”

“Stop everything. Okay? I mean, if you don’t, I’m going to say something.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said.”

“Right, like you’re going tell about us.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Johnny.

“Je-sus, don’t get weird on me.”

“I’ll make it sound like something else, like it was your fault.”

“What the fuck are you saying, Johnny?”

“Nothing. I gotta go.” He hung up.

At dinner Peter told his family how he was learning to land a jet on a carrier in the ocean, and Mr. Canady looked transfixed by his son’s words. The next day Peter would give his family a tour of the ship. He might take Tom up in a plane. Tom tried to act pleased, but all he could think about was what Mr. Hollis had said and Johnny’s threat. He was glad now to be away, and hoped that in his absence the tension might die down.

“How is Crow, Tom?” Peter asked. “I know he was acquitted, but did they find the guys who did it?”

“Not yet.” Tom reached for the basket of rolls. He took two.

“They will.” Jack Canady sounded sure. “Charlie says he thinks they have some suspects and that they are close to an arrest.”

“Crow’s all right,” Tom told Peter, “or at least he’s getting better. We’ve been playing again—a few gigs.”

“Still trying out for that Knoxville competition?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll attract some girls there.” Peter nudged Tom, nearly spilling his water. “Being in a band is almost as good as wearing a navy uniform.”

“It’s all been so sad,” said Mary. She ate small bites. “So sad.”

“They’ll find them,” said Jack. “It was a brutal thing. Not at all like South Pittsburg. Of course, you never know. Maybe that girl brought it on herself.”

“I hope they catch the bastards,” said Peter.

Tom nodded and kept nodding. For a long moment he was unable to swallow his food.

Thirty-eight

G
RACE AND
S
OPHIE
were not alone until the evening. Grace’s mother and father took them first to a restaurant and then back to the house.

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Grace.

“Me too.” Sophie pulled Grace into the room and closed the door.

“What’s the matter?” Grace did not say it, but she thought Sophie looked terrible. Sophie was thin, her skin looked like plastic, rubbery, her expression one of forced reasonableness. “Are you all right, Sophie?”

“That’s not the right question.” Sophie lay down on the bed, her legs curling into a fetal position.

Grace locked the door. “What do you mean? What do you want me to ask?”

“Do you know what happened to me?”

Grace nodded and approached the edge of the bed, quilt folded neatly, a white rug with large soft loops. “I think I do.”

Sophie parted her lips but didn’t speak, then plunged ahead. “I’m hardly ever sick, and in fact when I was five, or six maybe, I decided not to be sick, ever, and I haven’t been—not really—just a headache sometimes. But now, since this happened, I feel sick all the time, nauseated, you know? I feel like I have the flu all the time. I threw up every day for two weeks.”

“You did?” Grace didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know how you did it.”

“How I did what?” Sophie sat up.

“You know, how you stood the thing that happened to you.”

“I didn’t have any choice,” said Sophie. “And you can say it.” She took a deep breath. “You can say the word
rape
in front of me.”

But Grace couldn’t say it.

“Do you think that I’m different now, because of what happened?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well, but I mean, do you see me in a different way”—she nodded once—“because of it?”

“You’re my friend, Sophie. I still see you as my friend, but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know if we can talk about things anymore, you know, like about boys.”

“You told me about Garvin and you. You can still talk about him. I want you to.”

Both girls changed into their pajamas, tiny tops that barely covered their midriffs, and long, baggy, soft cotton pants.

“They had a trial,” said Sophie, “but the wrong person was on trial. I didn’t say anything, I just let it happen, because I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure what happened, Grace.”

“Are you still not sure?”

“Remember when I told you about Crow and how we were going out?”

“Yes.”

“We had talked about doing everything that night, but he had to stop because he forgot his condom. It happened while he was gone.”

“Oh.” Grace waited. “But he didn’t do it?”

“No, but I wasn’t sure for a while. I couldn’t remember anything. Even now. My doctor said I might remember more if I left town.” Sophie lay back, sprawled on the bed, looking away from Grace. She didn’t want to see Grace’s face.

“Crow wrote me notes, but I didn’t answer. He gave me a present on my birthday. Some oil paints and a set of Isabey brushes, and he made a tape of songs we liked. I know he feels bad about leaving me there.”

“Why didn’t you tell them he didn’t do it?”

“I couldn’t remember. And he ran away. So I wondered about it. I didn’t know what to think. My mother said we had to make some kind of accusation, or else it wouldn’t look right for me. And the D.A. was all fired up to nail somebody fast—”

“Sophie.” A wave of dread flew over Grace’s face.

“Everything’s gone,” said Sophie. She felt pushed down into a small box, smashed into a form that might never unbend. “I don’t even feel like I’m human anymore. My mom…” She sat up, hating the life that had turned into this impossible rattling. A few strands of hair fell along her cheek.

“What about your mom?”

“She treats me different. I don’t want to be different to her.
She’s
the one who’s different. I don’t even like her.”

“What’s she like? When I talked to her on the phone, she seemed okay.”

“You don’t know. She’s calling the sheriff’s office every minute, she cusses them, and she’s so mad all the time. She wants me to be mad like that. She’s mad at me for not being mad.”

“But you are, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but Dr. Brooks says I’m not acting like a victim. He says that’s a good thing. He thinks that’s good.”

“But you are a victim.”

“Not for the rest of my life, Grace.” Sophie backed away as though something around her were radioactive. “I don’t want to feel like this the rest of my life.”

Grace flinched. “So you came back here.”

Sophie’s small pale mouth lifted into a smile. “I wanted to see you. And to be someplace different, someplace I used to be. To see if I can remember.”

The cat scratched outside the bedroom door, and Grace opened it to let him in. “Hey, Bruno. C’mere, Bruno.” The cat was huge and yellow, weighing nearly thirty pounds—affectionate and rumbling. Grace rubbed his head, but Bruno went straight toward Sophie. “He remembers you. Look at that.”

Sophie scratched his neck and head. “I’m glad
some
body remembers,” she said. The cat licked Sophie’s arms. Sophie looked around the room. “Are those new curtains?” White eyelet-lace curtains swung in a wave at the window. The breeze brushed Sophie’s face and arms, and in that one moment she tried to think of herself as worthwhile.

Grace’s mother went to work the next day, and the girls walked to the swimming pool down the road. They packed up some sandwiches, cookies, and chips to take with them. They would stay all day. Bruno followed them down the sidewalk.

“Go home, Bruno. Go back home now.” He continued to follow, then turned in another direction, not caring.

The pool was full of teenagers who seemed to all know each other, but many of them greeted Sophie with welcome and surprise. She felt good and settled herself happily into a chair. She was glad that no one here knew what had happened. Grace sat beside her.

“Go swim, if you want,” said Sophie.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I will. Not yet.”

“I’ll wait for you.” Grace didn’t want to leave her friend, not even for a minute.

Sophie waved her off and said, “Just be normal with me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Then go swim. I swear, I’m tougher than I look.”

Grace’s carefulness with her—it was not something Sophie had expected to be a problem. Grace removed her shoes and ran to the diving board. “Watch this!” she yelled. “I can finally do a jackknife. You’re next.”

Sophie saw Grace’s body fold in and out again, elastic before hitting the bright water. “Do it again,” she yelled.

“You think I can’t do it again?”

Sophie’s request wasn’t a doubt or a dare but rather the wish to see her friend in a state of suspension over the water, a shiny moment of mindless ease, and she felt the ease of it being given to her.

Grace came toward Sophie, smiling.

“That was perfect,” Sophie said.

“Now you do it.”

Sophie’s first few tries were disastrous and funny. The laughter of her friends did not feel like jeering. It was comforting, familiar as old radio music. So she kept trying, almost making it, hearing applause as she pulled herself out of the water. “Almost there!” one boy yelled. “Keep your head tucked.”

So she did, and the jackknife was formed above the board, above the blue water, a holding pattern, like some magic moment before she slipped carefully and silently into the wash of clapping and cheering.

“Talk about perfect!” Grace said, handing her a towel. “It took me a week to learn that.”

“Well, I tried it a week’s worth of times,” said Sophie. She fell onto her chair, sagging comfortably like a small child. “Oh,” she said. “I could stay here forever.”

The girls, half naked, their bare legs and bare midriffs shining with water, settled into the privacy of talk.

“What do I look like, Grace?” Sophie asked.

“You mean right now?” Grace laughed, not realizing the solemnity of the moment, not wanting to acknowledge it. “Your hair is sticking up in back.”

“But what do I look like to you now? I mean, I don’t know anymore. I wash and dry my hair and put on makeup, but I can’t really see my face anymore, or my body. A few days ago I caught a glimpse of myself in a window, and what I saw surprised me—my reflection surprised me. I’ve gotten thin, but still, what do I look like?” Her voice fully commanded Grace to give her an answer.

Grace had listened intently, nodding like a student who didn’t quite understand. “You look great,” she said. “Sophie, you always look beautiful. I thought you knew that. You’re thin but not too thin. You look good, but you look scared too. Your whole body moves like it’s scared, like you’re about to jump away at any minute.”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s what seems different about you—that’s what makes me treat you in a different way. It’s not because of what those men did—it’s more like what you’re doing now. How you seem to be afraid somebody’s going to say something wrong to you.”

“I’m not afraid of that.”

“But you act like you are.”

A ragged edge of pain moved right through Sophie’s chest and down her spine and up into her head. She felt dizzy.

Grace shifted to get up. “Let’s get dressed and walk to town,” she suggested. “Okay?”

“Sure.”

Sophie felt dazed by the realization that Grace (and probably everybody at home, even her mother) saw her differently; and that even back in Montana, where she thought people would not see the white, shapeless bones that had become her body, nothing could be hidden.

That night Sophie felt restless in the closed trap of her body. She fretted herself to sleep, trying to figure out how she could go back to being herself again. And just before she went into dream she felt her body above the blue water, her head tucked as if in prayer, and her bones light again, suspended, then cutting through the water like a blade.