The Bay At Midnight Part 31

"They couldn't pin it on him because the girl was a tramp," Grandma said. Then she nudged me with her elbow. "It's your turn, Julie."

"I think that's terrible," my mother said, as I drew a card from the stock. "Rape is rape, whether the girl is a tramp or not."

I liked that they were talking about something to do with s.e.x in front of me. I felt like I had crossed some kind of threshold when I got my period and was no longer considered a child in their eyes. I knew rape meant s.e.x forced on a woman, but I couldn't understand how that could happen. How did a man do that? How did he pry a woman's legs open? Imagining s.e.x-even mutually desired s.e.x-was so hard for me. I remembered trying to force that tampon inside myself. It had been impossible. If s.e.x was so difficult to accomplish to begin with, then how could rape occur?

"Well, she did did have a reputation," Grandma was saying. "Libby said Madge was furious that anyone would think her son would do something like that." have a reputation," Grandma was saying. "Libby said Madge was furious that anyone would think her son would do something like that."

My mother laughed. "And the last thing anyone wants to see is Madge Walker furious," she said. "Remember the time her husband accidentally spilled a drink on her at the clubhouse?"

It took a moment for the name to sink into my distracted mind. Madge Walker. Walker.

"What's her son's name?" I asked.

"I don't know," Grandma said. "But she only has one."

Oh, my G.o.d, I thought. How many Walker families could there be in our tiny community? I thought. How many Walker families could there be in our tiny community?

"Bruce," my mother said. She looked at Grandma. "That's it, isn't it? Bruce?"

"Maybe," Grandma said with a shrug.

My heartbeat kicked into high gear and I stared at my mother's face. She was concentrating on her cards, not making the connection between the Bruce Walker who was a possible rapist, and Bruno, the boy who hung around with Isabel's crowd of friends. Mom had even allowed Isabel to go for a boat ride with Ned because Bruno was with them!

And now I'd sent him out to visit my sister, who would be alone with him, in the dark.

"So the police decided he really didn't rape that girl, right?" I asked as I discarded a seven of clubs. I didn't care what card I got rid of.

"The girl was...loose," my grandmother said, "so they couldn't prove it one way or another. Even though she had bruises. That's why you always have to keep your reputation clean." She wagged a finger at me.

"Well, even if it wasn't actually rape-" my mother pressed a tissue to her eyes again "-he's doing things he shouldn't be doing."

"It was rape," my grandmother said. "Libby was sure of it."

My grandmother and mother continued talking about the neighborhood gossip, while my mind drifted even farther away. I remembered how unsure of himself Bruno had looked on his boat that afternoon when I suggested he talk to Isabel. He'd seemed intimidated and vulnerable. A rapist wouldn't look so unsure of himself, I thought. He had to be innocent. The girl probably lied just to get him in trouble. But when I went to bed for real at around eleven o'clock, I couldn't sleep. Was there a chance I had set Isabel up to be harmed? Was she still at one of her girlfriends' houses? Should I sneak out and try to find her? I wished I could use the phone, but it was on the living-room wall, too close to my parents' bedroom.

I moved over to the other bed in my curtained cubicle so that I could peer through the window. It was as dark as dark could get; I could barely make out the ca.n.a.l. The water and the woods and the sky were all the same shade of navy-blue. I sat there, listening to the crickets in the woods next door, feeling my options slip away from me as the minutes pa.s.sed. I suddenly remembered Bruno talking about Isabel in Ned's car, using his hands in a wordless allusion to my sister's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Oh, G.o.d. Oh, G.o.d.

It would be all right, I told myself. Maybe Bruno wouldn't even show up. Then Isabel would come home, angry with Ned. That would be good. Maybe that would be an even better outcome for me-until Ned told her he'd entrusted me with the message that he would not be able to meet her. I hadn't thought about that, about how annoyed Ned would be with me when I said I'd forgotten to give her his message. That would probably mess up any tiny chance I'd had with him to begin with.

The word rape rape kept slipping back into my mind. Was Bruno really a rapist? I thought of the girl who'd accused him. kept slipping back into my mind. Was Bruno really a rapist? I thought of the girl who'd accused him. She had bruises, She had bruises, Grandma had said. Grandma had said.

I got off the bed, unable to stand it anymore. The clock on my night table read eleven forty-five. I'd spent too much time thinking and not enough time acting. I was going to the beach. I quietly descended the pull-down stairs, thinking that if the current was moving in the direction of the bay, I would take the boat. If not, I would run to the beach. I wished I could take my bike, but it was in the garage and if I opened the garage door, I would wake up everyone in the house.

I should get Ned, I thought as I walked onto our porch. I should admit to him what I'd done and have him go with me. This was important enough, serious enough, for me to come clean with him.

I quietly left my house, then raced across the sand to the Chapmans' back door. I lifted my hand to knock, but hesitated. The Chapmans' house was dark, not a light on. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't knock on the door, wake up his parents, and have to explain my stupid scheme to all of them. Certainly they would get my own parents involved and that would just waste time. I turned around, and although the night was very dark, I could see the outline of their Adirondack chairs, four in a row, as I ran back to my own yard and our dock.

The current was lazy, probably on its way to slack tide, but it was still pulling in the direction of the bay, and the water sparkled with phosph.o.r.escent jellyfish. I'd seen that glittery display of light before, but not yet this summer, and I decided it was a good sign, for no reason other than that I needed to think positively about what lay ahead. I untethered the boat and climbed down the ladder, then used the oars to push out of the dock.

The current caught the runabout and carried it slowly toward the open water of the bay. I sat near the motor, clutching the tiller handle to keep from being pulled against the bulkhead. How much time had pa.s.sed since I'd checked the clock? Five minutes? Ten? The second I hit the end of the ca.n.a.l, I would start the motor and head toward the platform. Bruno probably wouldn't be there yet if it was not quite midnight, and I would tell Isabel that I'd forgotten to give her Ned's message. She'd get in the boat. I'd bring her home. And what if Bruno was already there? I'd make up something on the spot. Anything. I just wouldn't let her stay there alone with him.

"Come on. Come on." I urged the boat as it neared the bay. I was certainly far enough from the house to start the motor now. I pulled on the cord but received only a sputtering reply. I yanked again. And again. The motor was behaving as it had the day I took Wanda and George to the river, only this time I didn't have George to get it started for me. I drifted into the bay as I fought with the motor. A slim finger of panic ran up my spine as the dark expanse of water surrounded me, and an unexpectedly stiff breeze pushed me away from the beach that was my destination. I had had to get the boat started. I yanked several more times, my arm aching with the effort, my fingers burning, probably blistered. For a moment, I stopped pulling the cord. I looked in the direction of our beach, trying to see the platform. Without the sound of my sputtering motor, the air was quiet, blowing lightly and steadily into to get the boat started. I yanked several more times, my arm aching with the effort, my fingers burning, probably blistered. For a moment, I stopped pulling the cord. I looked in the direction of our beach, trying to see the platform. Without the sound of my sputtering motor, the air was quiet, blowing lightly and steadily into my my face. And then I heard it: a scream. face. And then I heard it: a scream.

I stood up, nearly toppling overboard, spinning my arms to stay upright. "Isabel!" I called, but I felt the breeze steal the words from my mouth and carry them behind me.

One more scream cut through the air, this time forming a word: "Help!" "Help!" It was Isabel's voice. I was sure of it. It was Isabel's voice. I was sure of it.

I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Izzy!" I shouted. "Izzy!"

I dropped to my knees in the boat again, tugging with all my might at the cord to the motor. I was barely aware that I was sobbing-sobbing, shouting, calling for my sister-and all the while fighting with a boat that carried me deeper and deeper into Barnegat Bay.

CHAPTER 37.

Lucy.

1962.

The moment I woke up in the attic, I knew I was alone. The reading light was on in Julie's curtained bedroom, but the silhouette in her bed was a bulbous mountain that could not possibly have been her body unless she'd gained fifty pounds since the evening before. The windows were all open, the night sounds of crickets and lapping water sifting through the screens on a breeze. The curtains had not yet been pulled around Isabel's bed and I could see that the white chenille spread was still tucked neatly beneath the pillows. I stiffened with the panicky feeling that was my companion when I found myself alone in the attic. I held my breath, trying to listen. Was someone behind the chimney that rose up through the middle of the attic? Or maybe in the bathroom, standing behind the curtain?

I tried not to lift my eyes to the ceiling, but I couldn't seem to help myself. And there it was: the man's head. I wouldn't scream like I did that one embarra.s.sing night. I was going to get out of there, but I wouldn't scream like a baby while I was doing it.

I must have lain there for three or four minutes, my body paralyzed by fear, before I was able to sit up. I moved slowly and quietly, so as not to alert anyone who might be hiding behind the chimney or in the bathroom. I tiptoed to the door, but I nearly fell down the stairs in my race to get away from the attic. In the living room, I stood in the darkness, heart pounding. Where was everyone? The whole house was dark. What time was it? Julie was probably sleeping out on the porch, and Isabel must have stayed over at Mitzi's or Pam's house.

I walked down the hall and stood outside my parents' room. Daddy was in Westfield, but I could hear the comforting sound of my mother's even breathing. That was all I needed. I went back to the living room and lay down on the soft cus.h.i.+ons of the sofa, inhaling the musty smell of the old upholstery as I drifted off to sleep.

"Lucy." My grandmother's voice woke me up. She stood in the living room with a pile of plates, ready to set the porch table for breakfast. "Did you sleep here all night?" My grandmother's voice woke me up. She stood in the living room with a pile of plates, ready to set the porch table for breakfast. "Did you sleep here all night?"

I opened my eyes, confused for a moment, then sat up on the couch. "Uh-huh," I nodded. "Isabel wasn't home and Julie slept on the porch."

"What are we going to do with you?" she asked, walking out to the porch. I watched her glance in the direction of the bed. "Where's Julie now?" she called back to me as she set the plates on the table.

"I don't know," I said. "She must have gone upstairs."

"Go get her and tell her it's breakfast time," Grandma said. "Are you sure she slept down here? The bed doesn't look like it's been touched."

Still feeling groggy, I climbed the attic stairs. Julie wasn't in her bed. Her night-table lamp was still on and I walked behind her curtained cubicle to turn it off. I could see where she'd sloppily piled her bedspread beneath her sheet to try to fool me. I was not in the least worried. She'd probably slept on the porch, gotten up early and made the bed-which I had to admit was was unusual for her-and then headed out to go crabbing or fis.h.i.+ng. unusual for her-and then headed out to go crabbing or fis.h.i.+ng.

I put on my bathing suit and pulled my shorts on over it, then went downstairs again. The morning smells of coffee and bacon were already strong in the air and I could see my mother taking her seat.

My grandfather carried a plate of bacon through the living room.

"Good morning, suns.h.i.+ne," he said, tousling my hair with his free hand.

"'Morning, Grandpop," I said, following him out to the porch.

"Where are Julie and Isabel?" My mother looked at me as I took my seat at the table.

"I don't know," I said. "I thought Isabel slept over at one of her friends' houses."

My mother frowned. "Whose house, do you know?" she asked. "I don't remember giving her permission."

I shook my head. "I don't know," I said.

"Is Julie upstairs?" my mother asked.

"Uh-uh. I thought she slept out here."

My mother glanced at the bed, as my grandmother had twenty minutes earlier. I watched her frown deepen. "I made that bed the day before yesterday," she said. "It looks untouched."

Grandpop stood up so suddenly the table s.h.i.+vered as his thighs brushed against it. He was staring toward the dock. "The runabout's gone," he said. We all turned as he pushed open the screen door and walked into the yard. We watched him look right and then left when he reached the fence by the ca.n.a.l. From where I was sitting, I could see two small sailboats heading in the direction of the bay.

Grandpop walked briskly back to the house and onto the porch. "I don't see her," he said. I felt frightened by the worry in his voice, and I dropped my slice of bacon onto my plate, no longer hungry.

Mom stood up. "I'm going to call Mitzi's house," she said. "Although..." She looked puzzled, turning to Grandma. "Why would they both be missing? And the boat? It doesn't make any sense."

"Don't get worked up," Grandma said to her. "There's a logical explanation, I'm sure."

My mother called Mitzi's house, then Pam's. Isabel was not at either one, and the girls claimed not to have seen her since late the night before when she'd left Mitzi's to come home. I watched as my mother hung up the phone after speaking with Pam. She was facing the Chapmans' house, and although there were several walls between her and Ned Chapman, I knew that was who she was seeing in her mind.

She took off her ap.r.o.n and walked quickly out the back door. Grandma and I sat at the table, not touching the food. "We're all getting worked up over nothing," Grandma said.

Grandpop stood at the screen door, his gaze on the ca.n.a.l as he waited for my mother to return. In a moment, I saw her run across the yard toward our porch. I'd never seen my mother run before and I knew something terrible had happened.

Grandpop pushed open the screen door for her and she rushed onto the porch.

"Something's wrong," she said. "Ned hasn't seen her since yesterday morning. And Joan Chapman said she was up at sunrise this morning sitting in their yard, and she noticed that our boat was gone even then. She thought you'd taken it out for an early fis.h.i.+ng trip."

I stood up, starting to cry, wringing my hands together like an old woman.

"We should call the Marine Police," Grandpop said.

My mother looked toward the Chapmans' yard, where I could see Ned untying his boat from their dock. "Ned's going to take his boat out to look for them," she said.

Grandpop pushed open the screen door again and stepped outside.

"Where are you going?" Grandma asked.

"With Ned," he called over his shoulder to us.

"I'm calling Daddy." My mother started toward the French doors that led into the house from the porch. "He needs to come here-"

"You're jumping to conclusions," Grandma said. "Don't you think-"

My mother spun around to face Grandma. "Mother!" she said, sounding more like Isabel than herself. "They are both missing. missing. The boat is missing. It makes no sense. Something is wrong." The boat is missing. It makes no sense. Something is wrong."

Grandma had gotten to her feet, her arm tight around my shoulders. "You're upsetting Lucy," she said.

"Well, maybe she should should be upset." My mother walked past us into the living room. be upset." My mother walked past us into the living room.

My grandmother let go of me, muttering something in Italian as she began clearing the forgotten food from the table. I walked to the screen door until my nose was right up against the wire mesh. It smelled like dust and metal, a smell I would always equate with that moment, as I watched my grandfather and Ned in the Chapmans' boat, speeding toward the bay.

CHAPTER 38.

Julie.

1962.

Sometime during that horrible night, my boat hit land. I'd hoped I'd run aground on one of the small shrubby islands in the head of the bay, but I was so disoriented by darkness and anxiety that I wasn't sure. The water barely made a sound as it lapped against my boat, and crickets and frogs created a steady barrage of white noise behind me. The mosquitoes were invisible and insatiable, buzzing in my ears and dive-bombing my arms and legs and face. I was so rarely afraid of anything in those days, but I was filled with fear that night.

I cried over what Bruno might have done to Isabel, and I prayed that she'd managed to escape from him before he could hurt or rape her. I pictured her running home, barefoot and possibly naked, never stopping to catch her breath until she'd reached the safety of the bungalow. If she was unharmed, I promised G.o.d, I would never have another impure thought, never tell another lie, never again disobey my parents. I needed to change my ways. I was a terrible girl.

I sat in my boat, afraid to get out of it because I did not know what I might step on in my bare feet. Suddenly my world was not safe. For the first time, I thought I knew how Lucy felt in the dark attic. I would not make fun of her again. I would treasure my sisters. Please, please, G.o.d, let Isabel be all right! Please, please, G.o.d, let Isabel be all right!

When it was apparent I was going nowhere, I lay down on the bottom of my boat. I wished I had a towel to cus.h.i.+on the hard and unyielding floor, and that's when I remembered that I'd left Isabel's towel on the other side of the ca.n.a.l. I cursed myself; I'd made one mistake after another that day. I tried to get as comfortable as I could with the mosquitoes trying to eat me alive. Above me, a few stars shot across the dark bowl of the sky, but I could take no pleasure in being a witness to them, and I drifted into a fitful sleep, the sound of my sister's scream echoing in my head.

I awakened beneath a pink sky, the rising sun just beginning to heat the air above the bay. I jerked up suddenly, remembering where I was and why, and yelped with the pain in my neck from sleeping on the hard surface of the boat. I had to turn my whole body to look around me, to see that I was indeed on one of the small islands in the head of the bay, so far from our beach that I could not even see the platform in the water. If my boat had missed this island, who knew where I might have ended up?

There were a few other boaters in the water. I could see a couple of sailboats in the distance and a runabout like mine with two men in it, probably fis.h.i.+ng. I stood up, balancing carefully, and waved my arms.

"Help!" I called. "Please help me!"

The fishermen didn't seem to hear me, and the sailboats never changed direction.

I heard the sound of a motor and turned around to see a ski boat shoot past my little island. I waved my arms frantically, screaming "Hey! Over here!" as I tried to get the attention of the four people in the boat. I thought I'd failed, but then the boat circled around and headed toward me.

The young man at the wheel stopped the boat about ten yards from the island, obviously afraid he'd run aground if he came any closer.

"You stuck?" he called to me. There was another guy in the boat with him, along with two girls. A pair of skis jutted up from the floor.

"Yes," I said. "I couldn't get the motor...I mean, I stalled and can't get it started again." I didn't see the need to tell him how long I'd been out there. I was itching all over from the mosquito bites. G.o.d, I wanted to go home! I would gladly take whatever punishment was meted out. I just wanted away from the mess I'd gotten myself-and my sister-into. I wondered if she'd had to go to the hospital. Did you go to the hospital if you were raped?

The guy in the boat pulled off his T-s.h.i.+rt, jumped into the waist-high water and waded over to me. He came on sh.o.r.e, then climbed into the runabout. He was much younger than I'd thought, probably only sixteen or seventeen. He worked at the motor, yanking the cord over and over again, but with even less luck than I'd had.

"It's dead," he said. He stood up, looking down at my motor, shaking his head. "Get in our boat and I'll take you to...where do you want to go?"

"I live on the ca.n.a.l," I said. I wanted to be home in the worst way.