It was the only thing he said, other than a few grunts as he thrust into me. It hurt, as I expected it would, but not nearly as much as the thought of having to start all over with a new fellow. I thought I’d done the right thing.
When he was done, Randall rolled off and straightened his clothes without looking at me. Was that when I knew? Or was it when I said his name and he shook his head in disgust? In a matter of seconds, I lurched from relief to panic. Randall’s shifty eyes, his hurry to get out—I knew what it meant. His words only made it official.
“I was right. You are a whore.”
At least my mother got paid, I thought, the words jabbing like a dagger. You got what you wanted for free.
I’d always prided myself on being smart. Good at schoolwork, but also good at knowing which way the wind was blowing, which way to shift when disaster loomed. I looked at Randall’s smug face, and hate welled up like a fever, goading me into action. My arm shot up, and I clawed at his cheek, my nails ripping into his skin. Then I started screaming.
The commotion attracted a few girls from down the hall, the ones who’d pretended not to notice when Randall came into my room. The housemother was there a minute later. Randall gasped and clutched his bleeding face as I told the story of his vicious attack and how I’d only just managed to fight him off. I cried on my next-door neighbor’s shoulder so I wouldn’t have to watch Mrs. Llewellyn march Randall out.
I never saw him again.
Rules were rules. I was reprimanded for allowing a man in my room and lost my evening passes for a month. An example had to be made for the other girls, Mrs. Llewellyn said. Later, she told me she’d decided not to report Randall to his fraternity or the university—better to keep things quiet, for both our sakes. I’d made a mistake letting him in, he’d made a mistake getting drunk and “frisky” (her word), and I’d taught him a well-deserved lesson. It was all best forgotten, with only two months left until I graduated.
It wasn’t enough time to land myself a new husband. Once I left school, I had to start over from scratch.
I wondered where I’d be now if I’d put my mind to teaching. Really worked at it. But I hadn’t. Ma had set me on my course, and I’d stuck to it. But I’d never forgotten Randall’s face when he looked at me as if I were a piece of trash. I couldn’t risk Ma slipping up and saying too much about her past or mine. It would destroy me to see that same look on Matthew’s face. To know that love could turn so quickly to hate.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ma was on her best behavior during the rest of her stay, charming Matthew with her salt-of-the-earth, plain-talking style. I’d never seen him laugh with such genuine warmth. When Hank pulled up the front drive on her last day, Matthew looked genuinely sorry to see her go.
“Mary, there’s something I’d like you to have,” he said, pressing an envelope into her hands. “This should be enough to set you up in your own place, and I’ve made arrangements with the First Bank of Cleveland so you’ll have a regular monthly income. I don’t want you to worry about money ever again.”
Ma looked ready to choke up. She grabbed Matthew’s arm and pulled him close so she could kiss him on the cheek.
“You’re a blessing and a saint. A dear, dear boy, and I couldn’t be prouder to call you my son.”
I rode with Ma to the East Ridge station and sat with her on a trackside bench while we waited for the train to arrive. Ma was still clutching the envelope, like she couldn’t believe it was real unless she had it in her hands.
“Did you put Matthew up to this?” she asked.
“It was all his idea,” I said. “But I agreed, wholeheartedly. You can’t stay at the Fosters’ anymore.”
“I always thought he’d make an honest woman of me, one day.”
“Well, he hasn’t.”
It came out more harshly than I’d intended, but it was well past time she faced reality. “Everything you do reflects on me and the whole Lemont family. You’ve got to keep your nose clean and stay out of trouble.”
Ma smirked, and I could tell she was considering a snappy comeback, something about trouble finding her no matter what. I glared at her and then at the people who’d begun to crowd around us as the train pulled in.
“This might be just the push Mr. Foster needs,” she said. “Once I’m no longer under his roof, he’ll stop taking me for granted. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re married by Christmas.”
Poor old Ma, still hoping a man would rescue her, too. We stood, and she gave me a fierce hug. “The next time I see you, I’ll be a grandmother!”
I thought with a pang of everything Ma had done, raising me on her own. I’d have nurses tending to my baby day and night. I’d never have to feed my own child or wash out a filthy diaper or worry where the next dollar was coming from. Ma had done her best, and I found—to my surprise—that I was going to miss her. Her matter-of-factness and common sense had been an antidote to all my vague suspicions.
Which isn’t to say a certain weight wasn’t lifted from my shoulders as Hank drove me back to the house. I’d spent days on edge, bracing myself for Ma to make a crude joke or otherwise embarrass me. Now, it felt as if I’d been set free. It was May, four months until the baby was due. Four glorious months I’d be excused from boring social obligations, and I intended to enjoy them.
The Lemonts were always saying Lakecrest was at its best come summer, and finally I understood why. Outside, the landscape beckoned: the blue of the lake, the plush green of the lawn, a rainbow’s worth of flowers blooming across the estate. Sure, I slowed down as my belly filled out; I got tired more easily and took to lounging on the terrace rather than walking along the lakefront path. But my fears about spooky old Lakecrest seemed like a distant memory, especially with Hannah bending over backward to keep me happy.
Hannah and I never talked about my escape to Eva’s, just as Marjorie and I never talked about what I’d seen beneath the library. Hannah’s unorthodox cure appeared to have worked; Marjorie seemed calm and good-humored, and she only rarely poured drinks from the silver flasks she had stashed around the house. She spent most mornings at the East Ridge Tennis Club (“The pro’s a real looker,” she told me with a grin) and afternoons at one private beach or another with what she referred to as “the usual crowd.” Though Hannah was always telling her to wear a hat, Marjorie’s face soon had a burnished glow that made her hair look even more golden in contrast.
There were tiny warnings that life at Lakecrest wasn’t as idyllic as it seemed, things that formed an ominous pattern only when I examined them later. Marjorie whispering intently to Matthew on the yacht when she thought I was below deck. Telegrams Hannah would read with a concerned frown and immediately rip into pieces. Matthew’s evasions when I asked to take a Sunday drive to look at houses for sale.