The girl’s going to get herself raped, Donna thought. If Sandy ever dressed like that…
Donna climbed down the porch steps and crossed the parking area to their cabin. She had to wait while Sandy finished in the bathroom.
“Do you want to eat here at the Inn?” Donna asked. “Or should we try our luck in town?”
“Let’s go into town,” Sandy said, her voice eager. “I hope they’ve got a Dunkin’ Donuts. I’m dying for a doughnut.”
“I’m dying for a cup of coffee.”
“Java Mama.”
They went outside. Sandy, squinting, opened her denim handbag and took out her sunglasses. Their round lenses were huge on her face. Donna, who rarely wore sunglasses, thought they made her daughter look like a bug—a cute bug, but still a bug. She was careful never to mention the resemblance.
“What did Aunt Karen say?” Sandy asked.
“She said to tell you hi.”
“Were you gonna play tennis today?”
“Yep.”
“I bet she was surprised.”
“She understood.”
They reached the roadside. Donna pointed to the left. “Town’s that way,” she said. They started toward it. “From the way Aunt Karen sounded, I don’t think she’d ever heard of Malcasa Point. It is a beautiful place, though, isn’t it?”
Sandy nodded. Her sunglasses slipped down her nose. With a forefinger, she poked them into place. “It’s pretty around here, but…”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“No, tell me. Come on.”
“How come you told Aunt Karen?”
“Told her what?”
“Where we are.”
“I thought she ought to know.”
“Oh.” Sandy nodded, and adjusted her glasses.
“Why?”
“Do you think it was a good idea, telling her? I
mean, now she knows where we are.”
“She won’t tell anyone.”
“Not unless he makes her.”
They stepped off the roadside and waited on the rutted shoulder until an approaching car whooshed by.
“What do you mean, ‘makes her’?” Donna asked.
“Makes her tell. Like he used to make you tell things.”
Donna walked in silence, no longer enjoying the cool, piny air. She imagined her sister stretched naked on a bed, tied firm, Roy beside her using a cigarette lighter to heat the shaft of a screwdriver.
“You never saw what he did to me, did you? He always locked the door.”
“Oh I never saw that. Not what he did in the bedroom. Just when he hit you. What did he do in the bedroom?”
“He hurt me.”
“It must’ve been awful.”
“Yeah.”
“How did he hurt you?”
“Lots of ways.”
“I bet he does that to Aunt Karen.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Donna said. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“When can we leave here?” the girl asked nervously.
“As soon as the car’s ready.”
“When’ll that be?”
“I don’t know. Axel went out there this morning with a man from the service station. If it doesn’t need repairs, we can go as soon as they get here with it.”
“We’d better,” Sandy said. “We’d better get out of here fast.” 2.
They chose to eat breakfast at Sarah’s Diner across from the Chevron station. After seeing the selection of doughnuts displayed on a counter-top cake stand, Sandy decided against them. She ordered bacon and eggs, instead.
“This place is gross,” she said.
“We won’t eat here from now on.”
“Ha ha.”
Sandy put a hand underneath the table, and crinkled her nose with disgust. “There’s gum under the table.”
“There’s always gum under tables. Some of us have sense enough to keep our hands off it.”
Sandy sniffed her fingers. “Gross.”
“Why don’t you go wash your hands?”
“I bet the john is really the pits,” she said, and got up from the table as if eager to verify her theory.
Smiling, Donna watched her step smartly toward the far end of the diner. The waitress came and filled Donna’s heavy, chipped cup with coffee.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome, sweetie.”
She watched the waitress head for another table. Then the opening door caught her eyes.
Two men entered the diner. The emaciated one seemed far too young to have white hair. Though nicely dressed in a blue leisure suit, he had a harassed look like a refugee. The man beside him might have been his keeper. With deep blue eyes in a face that made her think of carved, highly polished wood, he had the confident look of a cop. Or a soldier. Or the guide in Colorado, many years ago, who led her and Karen on a deer hunt with their father.
The two men sat at the counter. The strong one had light brown hair neatly clipped above his shirt collar. His wide back filled the tan shirt, pulling it taut. The black belt looked stiff and new in jeans so old that one of the belt loops hung loose, dangling over his rear pocket. His rubber-soled hiking boots looked older than the jeans.
As if attracted by the intensity of her gaze, the man looked over his shoulder. Donna fought an urge to turn away. She met his eyes for a moment, then glanced at the next man, then on down the counter casually. She lifted her coffee cup. Steam no longer rose from the coffee. An oily film on the dark surface reflected swirling colors like a rainbow, or spoiled roast beef. She drank, anyway. Setting down the cup, she allowed herself another glance at the man.
He was no longer watching her.
Disappointment shadowed Donna’s relief.
She drank more coffee and watched him. His head was turned as he listened to the nervous, white-haired man. A shoulder blocked her view of his mouth. She saw a slight rise on the ridge of his nose, apparently from an old break. A scar slanted from the corner of his eyebrow down to his cheekbone. She looked back into her coffee, afraid she might again attract attention.
When she heard quick, familiar footsteps, she saw the man’s head turn. He glanced at Sandy, then Donna, then looked back at his friend.
“All clean?” Donna asked, perhaps too loudly.
“They didn’t have anything to dry my hands on,” Sandy told her, and sat down.
“What’d you use?”
“My pants. Where’s the food?”
“Maybe we’ll be lucky and it won’t come.”
“I’m starved.”
“I guess we can give it a try.”
The waitress soon came, bringing plates of eggs, sausage links, and hash browns. The food looked good, oddly enough. As Donna sliced into her sausage, her stomach rumbled loudly.
“Mother!” Sandy giggled.
“Must be a thunderstorm on the way,” Donna said.
“Can’t trick me. That was your gut.”
“Gut isn’t polite, honey.”
The girl grinned. Then, with an expression of wrinkled distaste, she picked a sprig of parsley off her hashbrowns and flicked it over the edge of the plate.
Donna glanced at the man. He was drinking coffee. As she ate and talked with Sandy, she looked up at him often. She realized that he wasn’t eating. Apparently he and his friend had only come into Sarah’s for coffee. Soon they got up from the counter.
The man reached into his hip pocket as he headed for the cash register. His nervous friend protested, and lost. After he paid the bill, he took a thin cigar out of his shirt pocket. He unwrapped it. As he wadded its cellophane wrapper into a tiny ball, he scanned the area near the counter, probably searching for a trash container. Finding none, he stuffed the ball into his shirt pocket. He clamped the cigar between his teeth. His eyes swung suddenly toward Donna. They fixed upon her, held her stunned like a doe in headlights. The eyes stayed on her while the man struck a match and sucked its flame to the tip of his cigar. He shook out the match. Then he turned, and pushed through the door.