Where Yesterday Lives (12 page)

“What did you say?” Troy asked quietly, breaking Jane’s flow of memories.

“We said we’d do whatever we could to help.” Jane shifted, restless.

“You don’t have to go on, hon. Not if it’s too hard.”

She reached out to touch his face. “Yes, I do. You need to know this. We heard nothing from Dad that night, and early the next morning Ellen left the house. She said she’d be back later and not to worry about her.”

“Did Ellen ever tell you where she went?”

Jane nodded. She had, indeed.

With the sun still making its way into the sky, Ellen had driven to Magnus Park and found it empty. The tourists had recently returned to their homes in Chicago and Detroit and the town was noticeably quieter. She walked through the thick grass toward a shady knoll overlooking the water. No one would bother her there.

She stared at the blue-green bay and thought about the position her father had left them in. His actions tore at her loyalty to him as nothing else had.

After a while, her thoughts drifted and she considered her own life. She had missed so many classes at North Central the year before that she had been placed on academic probation.

“You’re a smart girl, Miss Barrett,” the dean had told her. “We would welcome you back should you change your study habits. But we will have to limit your course load until you can show an improved attendance record.”

The probation was her fault. The reason, of course, was Jake Sadler. When he wanted to see her, she went regardless of her schedule. What was a history class when she could spend an afternoon with Jake?

After being put on probation she figured that perhaps she
did not need a college degree, after all. She had not told her parents, but she planned to drop out of school and enroll in a course for legal secretaries. But her father’s disappearance had changed everything.

A gentle breeze blew off Lake Michigan that day, and Ellen stared beyond the bay toward the open water. For the first time in her life she realized how utterly dependent the six of them were on their father. She thought about Jake and their plans to marry someday Certainly she relied on Jake and would do so even more if they married. If he left she would be heartbroken.

But she would not be broke.

She later told Jane that in those solitary moments she decided she would never be financially dependent on Jake or any other man. She would never wonder where the next house payment was going to come from.

Suddenly the idea of quitting college seemed utterly ludicrous. She would reenroll at the community college. She would attend her classes, regardless of Jake’s persuasive invitations. She would work harder than ever to earn high grades and then she would transfer to the University of Michigan where she would work until she had her bachelor’s degree. Jake had made her forget her dreams, but now they were convincingly clear. She would study journalism and become one of the best reporters ever.

When she married, she would never place her husband under the financial strain her father had been living with. She stood up, brushed the sand off her shorts, and headed for her car.

“It was a turning point for Ellen.” Jane turned to meet Troy’s eyes. “She told me she knew it with everything in her. Even her walk was different, more confident, the picture of determination.” A wry smile tipped her lips. “She said there would be no notes left on bedroom pillows for Ellen Barrett. No matter what happened with Dad, she was sure of that much.”

“Sounds like a defining moment for her,” Troy said, and Jane nodded.

“It’s strange, though, how the same event affected each of us so differently.” She sighed and forced herself to continue.

When her father didn’t return home by Saturday evening Jane did something she hadn’t done in months. She called Clay’s friend and found out where the band was playing that night. By then she had saved up enough money to buy a small used car. After dinner she drove ten miles along the shore of Lake Michigan to Charlevoix where the party was already underway.

“I moved through the crowd of drunken, drugged party-goers and wondered what I was doing. I thought about my father and his eternal comparisons and I had the strange sensation that I was someone other than Jane Barrett, almost as if I no longer had any attachment to the Barrett family whatsoever.”

She closed her eyes, fighting the tears. Troy squeezed her hand, offering her silent encouragement as she went on.

“This tall, dark-haired stranger with bloodshot eyes came up to me then. He looked me over, and I could tell by his expression that he liked what he saw. I guessed he was about twenty years old, completely stoned. But his approval fed something …a hunger, I guess, deep inside me. He was handsome in a dangerous way and he dressed like one of the band members even though I had never seen him before. I—I smiled at him.”

How she regretted that smile. Even now, so many years later, she wished desperately that she’d just turned and walked away

“I’m the new drummer, and you’re Jane Barrett, right?” His words had been slightly slurred.

“How do you know?” Jane had batted her eyes, playing with him.

“Everyone knows about Jane Barrett. Used to be Clay’s girl. The only blond who ever dumped Clay on his royal behind.”

He laughed at the thought and put his hand on Jane’s bare shoulder. She savored the sensation and felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach.

“It’s warm in here.” His voice was husky. “Let’s take a walk.”

Jane had looked into the young man’s red-rimmed eyes and decided no harm could come from taking a walk with someone who thought she was beautiful. She nodded and allowed him to slip his fingers between hers as they turned and headed for the door.

“Hey Squid-man, where you headed?” The voice could barely be heard above the din of the party, and Jane turned to see another band member making his way toward them.

“Taking a walk,” the dark-haired stranger shouted in reply, squeezing Jane’s hand tighter. “Be back before the next set.”

The band member smiled and flashed an okay to the couple as they headed out the door. They walked more quickly than Jane would have liked and headed away from the party, down a narrow sidewalk that led to a private beach. In a matter of minutes the roar of the party had disappeared, and Jane felt suddenly awkward in the silence between them. She wondered if she was crazy, walking hand in hand with a perfect stranger, someone so stoned he probably didn’t remember his name.

He glanced at Jane, tripping and nearly pulling her down on top of him. As he struggled to regain his balance he laughed. “You sure are pretty, Jane. Clay must have been messed up for weeks when he lost you, huh?”

Jane wrinkled her eyebrows, not sure what he meant. “Clay was a jerk, to be perfectly honest.”

“Yeah,” the young man laughed as if he’d heard the funniest line ever. “Right. A jerk.”

They stepped off the paved sidewalk and began walking on the sand. There were clusters of bushes and trees along the beach and dozens of dark places.

“Let’s go back.” Jane tried to twist her hand free from the stranger’s. “I’m cold.”

He stared at her, the laughter gone, and tightened his grip. “We can’t go back now, we haven’t had any fun yet.” He turned toward her and pulled her into his arms, holding her fast, kissing her hard.

Jane pushed him away and wiped her face with the back of her hand. She was suddenly terrified. “We took our walk, now it’s time to go back.”

Suddenly the stranger shoved her hard with both hands so that she fell backward onto the sand. The spot was pitch dark, surrounded by dense brush. In the distance she could hear water lapping softly against the shore. A faint scent of honeysuckle from a nearby garden mingled with the smells of the bay

“Hey!” she cried. “What do you think—”

“Shut up! Don’t pretend you don’t like it. I heard all the stories from Clay You’d tease him all night and never give in. Well, you’re gonna give in tonight, baby. Right now.”

In an instant, he ripped at her clothes.

“No! Get away!” Suddenly she thought of the one person who had always saved her from trouble and she screamed his name. “Daaad! Help!”

The stranger laughed at her as he pinned her to the ground. “Your daddy’s not going to help you now.”

She screamed again and fought to be free of him. But she was no match for his strength and he slammed his hand over her mouth.

“Don’t say a word, or you’re dead. Got it? Just relax and enjoy it. Let old Squid-man teach you a thing or two about teasing.”

For what seemed like an eternity the stranger savagely raped her. When it was finally over, he stood and kicked her in the ribs. “You look like something a cat would bury.” He laughed cruelly, then bent down, picked up a fistful of sand, and threw it at Jane’s face. “Good for nothing witch,” he snarled. “You tell anyone about this and I’ll say you begged me for it.”

Jane waited until the sounds of the party began to fade before she crawled back into her torn clothing. She wiped the sand from her eyes and mouth and made her way through the
shadows back toward her car. When she got home, she slipped into her room, changed her clothes, and ran a finger over the painful bruises on her arms and legs. There was blood on her underwear and she stuffed them in a bag, which she buried quietly in the trash.

Then she stared in the mirror at the woman she had become that night and wondered at the lengths she had gone to convince herself she did not need her father’s love.

“Daddy,” she whimpered at her reflection. “I only wanted you to love me for who I am. Oh, Daddy, I miss you.”

She cried herself to sleep that night and every night for a month.

Jane fell silent, hanging her head. Twelve years had passed since that horrific night, but she could still feel the pain, still smell the musty wet sand and the sickly sweet honeysuckle.

What must Troy think of her? Fear filled her, but she pushed it aside and turned to look at him. He watched her, his eyes filled with pain and compassion. He opened his arms, and with a sob of relief Jane collapsed in his embrace. She cried deep, gut-wrenching sobs.

“Th-that,” Jane said when she could speak again. Tears streamed down her face as she lifted her head and stared into her husband’s eyes, “was how I lost my virginity The same week my dad left.”

She sobbed loudly, painfully.

“Shhh, it’s okay, honey” Troy stroked her back, speaking words of love, telling her how proud he was of her for finally trusting him with the truth. “I love you, Jane. I’ll always love you.”

“I loved my dad. I wanted his love,” she cried. “I wanted it so badly. Then he left, and I tried to find it somewhere else. Instead I got raped.”

With a shuddering sigh, she straightened. The memories had left her exhausted, almost dizzy. “Dad came home a week later and found another job. Six months after that, he was rehired by the college.”

Troy’s arms came around her and he held her tightly. Jane would always remember the expression on Troy’s face. He obviously understood now. By the time her father had returned home, the damage was already done. How could she grieve his death, when, in her mind, her father hadn’t existed for more than a decade. He had died twelve years earlier on a musty, sand-covered beach in Charlevoix, Michigan.

O
n Sunday morning, two days after her father’s death, Megan and her mother attended an early church service. For forty-five minutes the priest droned on about being a servant of the church and how best to imitate the lives of the saints. Not once did he make reference to their father’s death.

Afterwards, arms linked, Megan and her mom made their way back to the family van where they were silent for a moment. The service had been a disappointment for her mother, Megan could tell. The poor woman had hoped to receive some comfort from her church family After all, they had belonged to St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church for twenty years.

“That was terrible,” Megan said quietly as they drove out of the church parking lot.

“It was a bit disappointing,” her mother conceded, keeping her eyes on the busy tourist traffic that congested State Street. The church was located in the Gaslight District where dozens of quaint shops added to the annual draw of tourists. July was the busiest month of all.

“It was more than disappointing. It was sinful. That priest knew we were upset and he didn’t even acknowledge us.” Megan fumed as she tightened her seat belt. Certainly the priest knew who they were and what had happened! Mom had spoken with him the day before to arrange a date for the funeral. “Dad took us caroling to that priest every Christmas for the past twenty years.” She turned to stare out the van window. “And not even a smile or a hand on the shoulder, nothing to help us believe we’ll get through this.”

Megan and Amy had attended the church’s grade school, and their mother volunteered her time as a catechism teacher. The Barrett family had sat in the same pew every Sunday for two decades, Megan thought angrily. But still the priest had failed to help them in their time of need.

As they drove, Megan remembered an incident two years earlier when her father was in the hospital with circulation problems. Mom had called St. Francis Xavier and requested that the priest visit John in the hospital.

“I’m sorry” she was told. “That hospital isn’t in our area.”

“What? It’s only three miles from the church,” her mother had protested.

“I’m sorry You’ll have to contact the priest of a church closer to the hospital. I believe that would be the Catholic church in Charlevoix. That’s the way the system works.”

Overall, Megan believed St. Francis Xavier was undeserving of John Barrett. When they moved to Petoskey her father had offered his assistance in fund-raising, but he was told the church had all the help it could use. Her father never forgot that, and in Megan’s opinion, he never viewed St. Francis the same way he had once viewed St. Thomas in Ann Arbor.

The women drove home in silence and sat outside for a moment.

“I need you to help me clean the house, Megan.” Her mother looked weary, and Megan was worried about her. “We’ll have the girls home tonight, and in a few days people will arrive from out of town. I want the house ready”