John was, in essence, her guardian, which put her very much at his mercy.He ran not only the business but the house.He was civil to her, but she needed warmth and laughter.She needed someone to talk with, someone to hug her when she was feeling down.Marcy helped, but she wasn’t family.
John was family, and she was desperate.She felt alone and frightened.So, for a time, she tried reaching out to him.She convinced herself that if she showed a little warmth, he might, too.She was her most pleasant, waiting for him when he came home from work the way Patricia always had.She showed interest in what he’d done with his day.She talked softly.She avoided riling him.
It didn’t work.He seemed to know what she was doing and found it amusing, but when the amusement waned, he turned his back as he always had.He never asked how she was feeling or what she had done with her day, and he certainly never suggested that they spend time together.
Burned once too often, Pam pulled back, but the hurt and the anger lingered.As an escape from those, she devoted herself to school.She went out for basketball to lengthen the day, and she did more with her friends.When she was invited out for a night or a weekend, she always accepted.Thirteen was a social age, and she was a social creature.Forcing other thoughts aside, she sat with her friends in their bedrooms and, for a little while at least, laughed about silly things, poked fun at teachers, plotted ear-piercing expeditions, and dreamed about dating the cutest boys in the upper school.
The laughter died as soon as she came home.The townhouse was too big, too quiet, too empty.Seeing John was torture.He went about his business and seemed to thrive, while she was filled with a pain that swelled, then receded, only to return until she felt she’d explode from it.
By early March she was longing for Maine.It represented all that was right in the world, and although she knew that it would be different without Eugene, she needed to be with the people and things that had meant so much to them both.She hadn’t been there since the funeral.It was the longest stretch in her life that she’d been away.John went up during the week while she was in school.She had asked to go many times, but he always put her off.
“My vacation starts next Friday,” she told him one morning at breakfast.His only response was to turn a page of theWall Street Journal.“I thought maybe Marcy and I could go up to Maine.”She waited through what seemed an interminable silence.“John?”
“Marcy was up there last month, and before that at Christmas.”He continued to read the paper, clearly not considering the issue of Timiny Cove or Pam’s vacation worthy of his immediate attention.
“Her mother’s having trouble, so she had to go up.But you wouldn’t let me go either time.I really want to go now, John.”
“There’s nothing to do up there.”
“There’s nothing to do down here.It’s a two-week vacation.Most of my friends are going away with their families.”
That did draw a rise from him.Lowering the paper, he said, “I can’t take you away for two weeks.”
“I’m not asking you to take me.”That was the last thing she wanted.“I know you’re busy.That’s why I said I’d go with Marcy.”
He stared at her for a minute before returning to the paper.“I’ll think about it.”
“I really want to go.”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
“It’ll be good for you, too.You won’t have to worry that I’m hanging around here with nothing to do.”As if he would.“I really want to go.”
“Say it a few more times,” he informed her, “and the answer will be no.”
She didn’t say it again, and in the days that followed, she hoped against hope that he’d say yes.He kept her in limbo until the Wednesday before her vacation was to begin, when she couldn’t hold back any longer.“Have you decided?”
“About what?”
“Timiny Cove.My vacation.”
“Oh.”He was getting ready to go out, adjusting his bow tie in the gilt-edged mirror that stood in the front hall.He was in a good mood, looking forward to the evening.Pam had been hoping that might help.“I’ve decided,” he said.“I think you should stay here.Hettie wants some time off, so I’ll need Marcy around to cook.”
Her heart sank.“Did Hettie say she had to go next week?”
“I said she could go next week.”
“Then let me go to Maine the week after.”
“She’ll be gone for two weeks.”
“She never takes two weeks.”
“Well, she is this time, and don’t look at me that way.Your interests aren’t the only ones in this house.Hettie works hard—a lot harder than you do.She deserves the time.Do you honestly think that everyone’s schedule should revolve around yours?”
“No, but Hettie is flexible.She doesn’t have family.When she takes a vacation, she usually takes a long bus ride to somewhere she’s never been.She wouldn’t care when she did it.”
“Well, I do,” He reached for his topcoat.“And she’s doing it next week.”Opening the front door, he stepped out.
