Pam caught it before it shut and called after him, “Can I take a bus?”
“No.”He trotted down the steps.
“When will I get to Maine?”
“When I say so,” he called and disappeared into a waiting taxi.
That March vacation was the most miserable of Pam’s life.Her emotions were raw, made worse by memories of past March breaks.She tried to keep busy.She read a lot, doodled and sketched a lot, and several times she dragged Marcy to the movies with her.Once she went shopping with Hillary, who had been good enough to volunteer when Pam told John that last year’s spring clothes didn’t fit.
It rained on and off through most of the vacation, so Pam couldn’t go out much.She did spend one day under an umbrella window-shopping on Newbury Street.Butthe best day was the one she spent at the museum.It was peaceful there.Thanks to Patricia’s attempts to make her a perfectly cultured young lady, she knew enough about the masters to appreciate their work.For a time, they diverted her mind.
John was out often.Of the fourteen days Hettie was gone, he was home for dinner only five times.Knowing that he could as easily have eaten out those five nights and done without Marcy, Pam was livid.She avoided him when he was at home, fearing repercussions if she vented her anger on him.But the strain built up inside her.She was grateful when the vacation ended and she could immerse herself in school again.Being busy helped.But the pain was still there, deep down inside, and the longing for Timiny Cove went on.
Then John threw a party.It was his first as master of the townhouse and was a coming-out party of sorts.At least, that was what Hillary told Pam in a moment of pique.“He’s invited everyone who’s anyone.It’s his way of announcing that he’s a big man now that he’s the head of St.George Mining.He’s out to impress.Even hired someone to make all the arrangements.I told him I could do it, but he said I didn’t know how.Is that fair, Pam?I have good taste, and I’m competent.So I haven’t had the experience planning parties.How will I ever get the experience if I don’t try it now and again?”
Pam loved Hillary.She couldn’t understand why she wanted to hang around John in the first place, but given that she did, Pam hurt for how he treated her.“You’d arrange a great party.I liked what you did on Valentine’s Day.”Hillary had invited John and a few friends from theGlobeto dinner at her small Back Bay apartment.Since one of those friends had asked to bring his daughter, Hillary had insisted that Pam come, too.The apartment looked adorable, the food was delicious, and the fresh flowers that filled the place were arranged with an eye for art—not that John appreciated that, but Pam did and was lavish with praise.
What John had thought of the rest of the party, Pam didn’t know.He never shared his feelings about Hillary with her, although she put in good words as often as possible.She liked it when Hillary was around and wouldn’t have minded at all if John decided to marry her.
Marriage wasn’t the issue then, however.The issue was the party he was throwing, for which he had assigned Hillary the role of passing through the crowd making sure that everyone had access to the bar, the wine tray, and the caterer’s spread.
Pam was beginning to wonder what her own role would be.She didn’t know if she was even invited.John hadn’t said anything about buying a new dress, and she would need one, she knew.
A week before the party, he settled the matter in a way that instantly banished all thought of buying a new dress.“I want you and Marcy in Timiny Cove for the weekend.This place will be a madhouse before the party.You’ll only be in the way.”
The fact that he didn’t want her at the party might have hurt if the alternative weren’t so welcome.She counted the days until she could leave, spent every free minute thinking of what she was going to do first, and second, and then after that.She didn’t share the extent of her excitementwith John lest he realize how much it meant to her and cancel the trip out of pure malice.She tiptoed her way around him through the course of that week, trying to be invisible, not giving him the slightest cause for anger.
Between the excitement and the fear, she barely made it through the week.She didn’t sleep well, didn’t do well in school.On Thursday night, when she felt certain he’d say something, he didn’t.He wasn’t home when she ran in from school on Friday afternoon, and within thirty minutes she and Marcy had the car packed and were off.
Not until they were out of the city and on the highway headed north did Pam feel safe.She relaxed back in her seat.The excitement was there.Increasingly, though, it wasn’t the only feeling.She remembered the last time she’d been north, when they had buried Eugene.So much had happened since, and it all came back—the fear, the grieving, the anger, the worry, the loneliness.By the time she and Marcy arrived in Timiny Cove, she felt choked by it all.
Running into the house, which Deenie kept open and fresh, she dashed to her room and changed into jeans and the old shirt her father had given her to use as a paint smock years before.It wasn’t as big on her as it once had been, but under its rainbow of spatters, it was loved.Back downstairs, she took a twill jacket of his from the closet.It smelled old and familiar.
“Pammy?”Marcy joined her in the hall.
“I have to go out.”
“Deenie left dinner.I could heat it.”
“A little later?”Pam asked.She swallowed against the hurt in her chest.“Maybe you should visit your mom.”
“I’ll wait here for you.”
“Don’t, Marcy.I need some time.Visit your mother.I’ll feel better that way.”
Marcy hesitated.“You sure?”
Pam could only nod.In the next instant, she was out the door and running down the street.It was suppertime in Timiny Cove.Those few people who were still in their yards or on their porches waved as she ran past, but she didn’t stop.She ran to vent the anguish she felt inside, ran on and on, not caring that her hair came free of its ribbon or that the ribbon floated to the ground on a gust of evening air.She didn’t feel the coolness, didn’t feel a thing but the need to keep running and running and running.
By the time she reached Cutter’s she was out of breath but no more peaceful than she’d been before.Banging on the door, she yelled, “Cutter?”She waited, panting, never quite standing still, before banging again.“Cutter!”
When he didn’t answer, she sat on his front step, pressed herself to the rail post, hugged her knees to her chest, and waited.She didn’t consider the possibility that he might be off doing something private and adult on a Friday night, that he might not be back until late, that he might not be back until morning or even the one after that.She just pressed herself to the rail post, hugged her knees to her chest, and waited.
It wasn’t long before she heard the roar of his cycle.She stood.He slowed the instant he saw her.Barely taking his eyes from her, he parked the cycle under a shelter by the house.Scooping up a brown paper sack, he came to whereshe stood.He didn’t speak, simply looked, taking in each of her features one at a time, until his eyes met hers.
Pam felt the same choking sensation she’d experienced earlier, the crowd of emotions, so long stifled, now gathered and working their way into her chest and throat.She tried her best to produce a smile, but there was desperation in her high and broken voice.“Take a walk with me, Cutter?”
His fingers grazed her cheek.“You bet.”Setting the paper sack on the porch by the door, he took her hand and led her around his cabin and into the woods.
