Hurricane Days (15 page)

On Sunday afternoon, I took a long walk around campus. I resolved that I was, in fact, straight and just hadn’t met any guy who was as exciting as Adrienne. As images of girls I used to know in high school zoomed into my mind, I batted each one away—the girl with a dazzling smile and long black hair and how my heart had fluttered whenever she walked past my locker, the beautiful basketball player who asked if she could borrow my pen and I suddenly forgot how to speak. Could it be I went to school with exceptionally gorgeous girls? Maybe everyone else noticed them too.

I still felt unsettled. Each beautiful, but troubling memory, locked away in the secret vault in my mind, my own private Pandora’s box, was floating out now. The contents weren’t supposed to be revealed under any circumstances or only after I was dead. I was the daughter of a prominent politician, and my every move was considered a reflection on my family. For that reason alone, I had no choice but to ignore this wild attraction to someone of the wrong gender.

Maybe I was bisexual. That would be better. Then I could keep up a noncontroversial public life and no one would have to know about this other side of me. It was perfect.

Of course, there was one little problem. Boys. They were good friends, and I liked how they said what they meant. I understood them. But the kind of thoughts I was having…they weren’t thoughts I ever had for boys. Whenever I’d kissed a boy in school, it was no different than kissing tree bark. Well, I imagined it was no different. I’d never actually kissed a tree. But I knew that back in my neighborhood in Atlanta, I’d get in less trouble for kissing a tree than for kissing another girl. Memories of Marc’s wet, sloshing tongue still gave me shivers. And not in a good way. I’d have to learn to think of something else whenever I did it. Kissing was overrated anyway. I’d made my plans. I was going to have a husband, dammit. If I was lucky, maybe I wouldn’t have to kiss him too much.

By Sunday night, my decision was made. I’d live a straight life, and all this terror would go away. I felt better already, just like Jan on
The Brady Bunch
when she decided her black wig was a perfect fit. I sat up in bed, studying, beneath the watchful eye of Bette Davis, who, by the way, wasn’t buying any of it.

On Monday, I sat through biology class with my mind everywhere but in the room.

“Cellular mitosis…” I pictured Adrienne the day I called to her outside. Just the way she turned and smiled at the sight of me, with her long, sandy-streaked hair and dark eyes flashing like the devil’s. I sometimes wondered if I wasn’t the William Hurt character in
Body Heat
and Adrienne was Matty Walker, alluring and cunning, inviting me in only to lure me to my destruction. Because even when she smiled, something always felt a little dangerous about her.

“Chromosomes cannot be clearly spotted in the nucleus…” Adrienne had a smile I could dive into and stay in forever. “Next we have prophase and prometaphase…” And the way her lips pointed at the corners. If I could trace those lips with my fingers…

I struggled to win my inner battle. But as everyone gathered their books, I knew deep down I was losing. I wandered listlessly around campus, taking brief note of the clumps of palm trees with concrete cut around them. I wondered about the boy-girl couples I passed, how certain they seemed to be about each other.

Surely there was a boy I hadn’t met yet who could give me some of these feelings. It was a big world, after all. Maybe he was out there. I had to believe… That was it. I decided. By the time I reached the room, there was no way I was a lesbian. The verdict was in. I slammed down the gavel. Case closed. I pulled out my
Bible
and read it frantically before I could change my mind.

That evening, I styled my hair and put on my finest silk nightgown, a straight girl who was casually awaiting her roommate’s return. When I wasn’t checking my appearance in the mirror, I sat upright against my pillow, pretending to read. Waiting. Just waiting. The minutes stretched out like years.
Where was she anyway?

Finally, long after ten, a key clicked in the door. Adrienne burst in, freshly tanned, with a beaming smile and those dark eyes. “Hey!” she exclaimed with outstretched arms. She sat at the edge of my bed and wrapped her arms around me.

I was surprised by the nearness of her, realizing we’d never hugged before. As with most things, I tried to reason through this. Adrienne had been gone on a long trip, so a hello hug seemed acceptable. Her arms were so warm and silky in her sleeveless white T-shirt, which clung tightly to her.

The jury was sent out to deliberate on my straightness again. I nestled against Adrienne’s soft neck and held my breath. It was a hug that would take center stage in my mind for many days after, though it lasted barely a second or two.

“Wait.” She released me and proceeded to dig through her bag. She pulled out a small bottle filled with what looked like sugar. “For you,” she said, handing it to me.

“What is it?”

“Sand, silly. Since you couldn’t be there, I wanted you to see how white it is.”

“Thanks.” She’d thought of me when she was away. Knowing that while she was with Sean, she thought about
me
…that meant everything. That was the most special little plastic bottle of sand in the whole world. I held the bottle reverently. “I’ll treasure it,” I said softly. The words came out without thought. This night was perfect.

“Guess what?” she said excitedly. “We did it.” Now not-so-perfect.

“What?” A lump formed in my throat. I suddenly felt so vulnerable sitting there in my thin nightgown.

“Yeah. We did it, and it was so great!” She looked at me with such high expectations, so I had no choice but to construct a smile to survive the moment.

“That’s great!” I exclaimed forcefully. My stomach was in knots. I wanted to die.

“I think he’s the one,” she added, squeezing my hands.

The lump in my throat began to grow. “Oh, Adrienne. Well, take a little time to get to know each other.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” She jumped up and began unpacking. I stared at the bottle of sand in my hand, watching the granules glitter as I turned it in the light. Then I set it on my nightstand, giving it a place of honor next to a picture of my family. I heard Adrienne’s next words with the attention span of a dog: “Blah, blah, someone’s throwing a party, blah, blah, Sean wants me to go…blah, blah…you should come, blah, blah…”

No, I thought. I preferred to stay by myself and wallow in self-indulgent misery and drama. If I couldn’t spend time with her alone, it felt good to be miserable just thinking about her. That had to be a line from a song…

Moments later, she clicked on “Headbangers Ball” and my least favorite videos came on. I couldn’t hide my disgust. I wasn’t aware that I was actually sneering at the TV.

“What’s your problem?” she exclaimed.

“Nothing. I just hate these.”

“You really do get all worked up over nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing!” I shouted. “Forget it.”
Empty-headed party girl. That’s all she’ll ever be.

I clicked off my light and pretended to be going to sleep, which of course, was impossible. When I closed my eyes, I saw Sean Voight doing unspeakable things to her. What was it about him? His face wasn’t exactly repulsive, although I didn’t think he was as cute as Marc back home. Frankly, Sean was boring. He never said more than two words at a time. He never changed his blank expression. He didn’t look as though a single thought was rolling around in his brain. And the patches of facial hair…they were the final straw. What about him did Adrienne find so attractive, enough to
sleep
with him? I couldn’t bear to imagine it. What he must have done to her, how he must have touched her…I couldn’t go there. Some things had to stay off-limits in my mind.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The betrayal was too much to bear. Robin sat in the kitchen, sipping strong coffee with a definite flavor of mud and waited for the sun to rise. As she pondered her options, the hanging clock that had been in her family since the Civil War ticked back and forth, almost like her heartbeat. She didn’t dare go on TV and suddenly announce she was for gay rights. She’d simply have to withdraw from the race. There was no other choice. By now she was too tired to cry or even feel anger. Her face was frozen in a bitter half-smile; the master planner had not seen this coming.

She glanced again at the clock. Almost five in the morning. Robin had been ignoring her phone messages, but she knew that Lara would be coming over as soon as possible.

“Can I get you breakfast?” Marla, the housekeeper, with whom Robin had a love-hate relationship, was obviously surprised to see her in the kitchen at this hour.

“No thank you.” Robin’s eyes, even her smile, were kinder than usual. When the housekeeper left, Robin took another long, slow sip and returned to the dark bottomless pit of her thoughts.

One question dogged her: Whom should she tell her supporters to vote for now? Two of the other contenders for the Republican nomination, now third and fourth place in the polls, had been interviewed for their thoughts on the scandal. Their words played over in Robin’s head. First was Myron Welles, always dressed in gray and believed to be too wealthy to reach regular people.

“Well, I think the whole thing is just deplorable,” he’d said in his Mississippi drawl. “Here she is, parading around with this woman while talkin’ about the evils of homosexuality. That’s hypocrisy at the highest level. I’ve been married to my wife for thirty-four years. Heck, I’ll even bring my weddin’ album to the debate!” He’d chuckled as he straightened his gray tie.

She couldn’t stand him. Her stomach was sick at the thought of him taking the lead.

Next was Jerry Johnson, the former coach and state senator from Alabama, also originally from Georgia. He had only served one term. So instead of calling attention to his inexperience compared to the other candidates, he presented himself as the good ole boy you could go shoot a deer with. He was hoping to be a last-minute surprise front-runner in the wake of this mess.

“I don’t see how you can enforce the laws you wanna make if you’re already breakin’ ’em.” He’d laughed in his high-pitched voice as microphones were shoved in his face. He was reputed to have arranged for his football players to get lighter sentences when they were accused of sexual assaults just so they wouldn’t miss any championship games.

Definitely not Jerry Johnson.

Then, of course, there was the man in second place, Graham Goodwin. He’d been closing in on her numbers since the beginning of the race. He represented everything she disliked. A former pastor, Goodwin liked to quote the
Bible
whenever it suited one of his opinions. He’d talk about compassion, then go on to suggest that poor people were poor because deep down they really wanted to be poor. He’d talk about honoring the nation’s veterans, then say that programs designed to help them with PTSD and other issues were part of the “fat” that needed to be trimmed from the budget.

Robin rubbed her face and groaned. She despised them all. Maybe the incumbent Democrat Mark Ellis should be reelected. What if she endorsed him… She wondered how controversial that would be, whether it would help his chances or hurt them. If she was going to back out of the race at this late date, she might as well go out with a bang. This was the lowest point she’d ever reached. All that work…only to have it end like this. She was still in mild shock, unable to fully process all that was happening.

Lara Denning barged into the kitchen just as Robin realized it was now five thirty.

“I came to see if you’ve come to your senses,” Lara said.

Robin looked down, stroking her empty coffee mug.

“I’ve set up a press conference for ten—even though I don’t even know what it’s about,” she continued, pulling back a chair for herself. “You think you might want to share that with me?”

“No,” Robin said.

“What? Wha…what?”

“No.”

Lara stared into the steely blue eyes across the table and sat back in her chair. She looked at Robin as if she thought she’d completely lost her mind and she wasn’t sure whether to yell at her or get a butterfly net.

She lowered her voice. “What exactly happened last night?”

“Nothing to concern you,” Robin replied. “I’ll take care of the press conference.”

“But Jeannette needs to know what to say—”

“You’ve all done an excellent job.” Robin was too calm; it probably frightened Lara.

“We’ve
done
an excellent job? What does that mean?” Lara reached for her hand. “You’re not dying?”

Robin smiled. “No, although…” She gazed off to a distant place. “No.” She felt hollow, like there was only a shell of herself sitting there.

“Come on, this is bullshit! I can’t work for someone who keeps things from me!”

“You won’t have to worry about it.” Robin said as much as she could without saying it.

When Lara left that morning, she had no better idea what was going on; Robin saw to that. This wasn’t the kind of thing she knew how to tell those closest to her. It would be shocking to hear it first at a press conference. But that was the only way to keep them from trying to talk her out of it. She wouldn’t be able to tell them why she was doing what she was no matter how hard they pressed. She would take her secret to the grave.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Garnet and gold uniforms moved the ball down the field to the cheers of everyone in the stands. Carol and I stood and screamed at the top of our lungs. “C’mon! You son-of-a-bitch!” I yelled.

“Listen to you!” Carol shouted back. “That’s my line.”

“I was going with the moment.”

“Oh, fumble.”

“No,” I argued. “That was an interception.” We sat down with the rest of the disgusted crowd.

This was the most important game of the season, against our biggest rivals, the Florida Gators. Whenever they were in town, the whole Seminole world was on high alert. Sometimes the excitement could get out of hand. It could even be dangerous, depending on what colors someone was wearing. I knew of the rivalry, but it was quite another thing to experience it firsthand amidst the out-of-control fans on both sides. I myself got swept up in the highly charged atmosphere. In the stadium parking lot, we pointed and hissed at every bright blue and orange bumper sticker we saw. It gave me a good excuse to unleash some of my frustration and, who are we kidding, my rage.