“It’s okay.She won’t hurt you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me.”
She did, of course.She trusted him with her life.Tucked up against him, she wasn’t half as frightened as she’d have been if she were alone.
The old woman didn’t stop shuffling until she stood directly before them.Her watery eyes focused on Cutter.Pam felt him nod a greeting.Then Bumble looked ather, and Pam felt skewered.She managed a small smile.“Hello.”
Those watery eyes stared at her for what seemed an eternity to Pam.Then a wizened hand came from the pocket of something that looked like a worn gunnysack, which was layered over a faded smock, which was layered over a frayed dress—all three in varying shades of dun.The hand disappeared into another sack, this one of canvas.It was burgundy and looked far newer than the rest of her.
When the hand came out, it was clutching a sprig of flowers, which she promptly extended to Pam.“Wi’zalis,” the little voice buzzed.
“Wild azaleas,” Cutter interpreted softly.He gave Pam a gentle nudge at a spot on her back that Bumble couldn’t see.
Pam took the flowers.She’d seen wild azaleas in the woods before, but never ones as delicately pink.When Bumble gestured toward her nose, Pam smelled them.Their scent was nearly as delicate as their color.
“Thank you,” she said.“They’re lovely.”
Even before she had the last word out, the old woman turned and resumed her shuffling trek through the woods.Holding the flowers to her nose, Pam watched the wrinkled figure until it blended into the forest and was gone.
“Weird,” she whispered then.She rested comfortably against Cutter for another minute before lowering the flowers and looking up at him.What hit her, though, wasn’t the intent look on his face but his scent.It was familiar in the way of something long taken for granted, new in the way of an awakening.He didn’t smell of aftershave likeJohn, or of leather jacket like Robbie.He smelled of earth and of sweat, of man.
Feeling a fluttering in the pit of her stomach, she drew away from him and stood.Holding the flowers to her nose again, she said, “I should go.”
Cutter rose.“Can I take you to supper?”
She couldn’t think of anything nicer, but she felt strangely awkward.“We can make something at your place.”They’d done that many times, then had eaten out on the porch.It was fun and familiar.
But Cutter shook his head.“I’d like to take you out.I haven’t ever done that.You’re looking so pretty and grown-up.Let me.”
Her heart melted.
“There’s a steak place over in Norway,” he went on.“We could celebrate your finishing school for the year.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It may be the last time I’ll see you for a while.”
Abruptly, she felt close to tears.Just then she would gladly have given up her trip for the few weekends she might have in Timiny Cove.She had passed seven weeks before without seeing Cutter, but never being quite so far away.Only now did she realize the comfort she drew from knowing he was just three hours away.
“Okay,” she said softly.
So they went back to his place while he showered and changed, then he took her out to dinner.She had eaten at fancier restaurants and had better food, but she’d never treasured a dinner the way she did this one.The memory of it stayed with her through the long drive back to Boston later that night, and the tense days that followed.
Chapter 13
John allowed her to go on the trip.She wondered if he did it because somehow he knew she was having second thoughts herself, but any reservations were gone by the time she was to leave.Hanging around the house for the first time in months, she found herself thinking about the past and the future, brooding about things she couldn’t change.She was on edge even when John wasn’t at home.She knew that if she spent the summer at home, regardless of how many weekends she spent in Timiny Cove, she would be a basket case come fall.
The trip was fun.Pam easily made friends, saw Yellow-stone, the Grand Canyon, San Francisco, Beverly Hills, and Las Vegas.She would have kept going when the seven weeks were finished if it weren’t for missing Cutter.And, of course, there was school.
Despite her good intentions, the fall semester didn’t get off to quite the start for which she hoped.John wasright, she knew.If she paid attention in class, did all the assignments, stayed home and studied more, she would do better.But it was hard to pay attention in class when her mind kept wandering.The same went for homework.There was always something better to do in the afternoons than to study, and as for the evenings, if she could linger at a friend’s house so that she didn’t have to return to the townhouse and John, she was happier.
She was his whipping boy, the one he lashed out at when any little thing in his own life wasn’t quite right.He found fault with what she was doing, how she was doing it, where she was going, and with whom she was going.He never yelled—he was always in control—but his words were sharp, quite effective in telling her how irresponsible he thought she was.In moments of pique she wondered what she’d done to deserve his torment, but when those moments settled and she thought clearly again, she knew.She was Eugene’s daughter.John took one look at her and was defensive.By the same token, he had come to represent everything negative in her life.
Come late October, when her midterm grades came in, he imposed a weekday curfew.When three nights running she dashed in late filled with excuses, he took the car away for a week, but that didn’t slow her down.She simply arranged for transportation with her friends.On various occasions he threatened to cut off her allowance, to disconnect her phone, to sell her car—but none of that would have crippled her.John was the materialistic one, far more so than she.There were things that meant more to her than a telephone or a car.
It took him a while, but he finally came to thatrealization.So when her term grades arrived at the end of December showing no sign of improvement, when she came in at two in the morning from a party he’d told her not to attend, when she ran off the next day on a ski trip to Vermont without asking permission, he lowered the boom.