Jane had no desire whatsoever to return to work the next morning. Her foot ached. Well, all of her ached, she realized, smiling and stretching—carefully—as she lay in bed. Plus she had rug burns on her back and behind. Peter had kept her up very late last night and had made it obvious that he had taken her instruction about not touching himself while she’d been away very seriously.
He had been insatiable, making love to her not only on the rug, but bent over the counter next to the cash register—lifting her by the hips so she wouldn’t have to put any weight on her sore foot—and then sprawled over a table from which he’d removed the books with a sweep of his arm.
And again, slowly and tenderly, in the back seat of his car as they parked in their usual place along the driveway to her house.
They had hardly spoken at all, so wrapped up were they in each other; hadn’t talked about what she’d done in Cape Cod or what he’d done while she was away. It was all murmured endearments and ceaseless touching and the sweetness of being together again.
It had been hard to say good night, even late as it was, so reluctant were they to part from each other. But finally Peter had pulled himself away long enough to take her bicycle out of the car’s trunk and stand it beside her. Then they’d kissed good night—several times. If it hadn’t been for her foot, Jane smiled to herself, they might still be standing there now.
As it was, they had plans to meet as soon as they both got off work—which was reason enough to get out of bed, Jane thought.
After showering and getting dressed, she hobbled down the stairs with a bag of the laundry that had accumulated while she was in Cape Cod. Her parents were already having breakfast in the kitchen. Her father jumped up when he saw her limping in with the laundry bag and offered to take it downstairs for her but she smiled and waved him back into his seat and told him she was fine.
She made her way down the basement stairs and over to the area where the washer and dryer were.
And stopped, staring, at the clothing draped over the sawhorse. She could see at a glance that they didn’t belong to her, and she was pretty sure they weren’t her mother’s. Why would she have arranged an entire outfit, including pantyhose and shoes, over the sawhorse? It must have been...
That’s why the door was open!
Jane let the laundry bag fall to the floor. She thought furiously, trying to figure out the meaning of what she saw. Chrissy had gotten into the house, that much was obvious. But what had she done there? And more importantly, had she been alone? Had she and Peter... No, he wouldn’t have done that without discussing it with Jane first.
Unless...
Jane knew how obsessed Chrissy had been with seeing ‘Father Brian’ again. And Jane had discussed the possibility with Peter. Chrissy had somehow convinced Peter that Jane had arranged it—that was it.
Jane’s gaze fell upon the workbench. She wasn’t positive, but she was pretty sure she had coiled the ropes neatly after the last time—and now they were spread carelessly across the workbench.
What the hell was going on?
There wasn’t time to sort it out now; she had to get to work. She quickly stuffed her laundry into the washing machine and started it, then put Chrissy’s things into the laundry bag and hid it under the workbench.
As she climbed back up the stairs Jane made up her mind that she would get to the bottom of this before the day was over or know the reason why.
Chapter Fifty
“...And Mom was out so we had the house to ourselves, and we both just looked at each other, you know? And we started kissing before we even sat down on the couch.”
They were at their usual lunchtime spot, and Suzy was telling Jane, in conspiratorial whispers, the latest installment of her adventures with Joe. The moment Jane had entered the store that morning Suzy had run over and hugged her in greeting and whispered, “I can’t wait to talk to you. There’s no one else I can tell,” and given Jane such a triumphant grin that Jane knew right away what it was about.
But Jane was only half-listening; for once she wasn’t enjoying Suzy’s bright chatter. She’d thought about making an excuse and slipping away to call Peter but had decided it was something they needed to discuss face-to-face; it would wait until the end of the day. But it didn’t make the time pass any faster or the nagging questions stop chasing each other around in her head.
She tried to focus on what Suzy was saying. It was pretty interesting...
“...I asked him if he ever thought about the night I took my dress off in the window and he said, ‘Only all the time.’ Isn’t that sweet, Janey? Then he said he’d give anything to see me like that again and of course I pretended to be all reluctant and said, ‘Oh, no you don’t, Joe Haworth.’ Then I started kissing him again like I wasn’t even thinking about it any more.
“Then I said, ‘If I did...’ and then I shook my head and went back to kissing him, but I knew he wouldn’t let it go now. And he said, ‘What? What?’ and I said ‘No, I don’t trust you, mister. It’s one thing to be up in my room while you’re outside...’ And Janey, he jumped up like a jack-in-the-box and said, ‘Fine, I’ll go!’ It made me laugh. But I pulled him back down again and said, “You big dope, do you think you’re gonna stand out in my yard in broad daylight looking up at my window when my mom’s gonna be home any minute?’
“Oh Janey, he looked so sad! And you know I really wanted to do it anyway. That’s when I remembered what you said.”
Jane blinked. “What I said?”
Suzy grinned impishly. “Yes—about tying him to a chair? I guess you were joking, but I thought, why not? So I didn’t say a thing, Janey, I just stood up and led him over to a chair and made him sit there. There was a basket of laundry waiting to go upstairs so I took a pair of my knee-socks and... Janey, I tied his hands to the chair behind him! It was so much fun! It was like we were playing pirates or something! And all the time, Joe kept asking, ‘What are you doing? Suzy, what are you doing?’ I think he was a little scared, to tell you the truth.
“And you should have seen the look on his face when I came around and stood in front of him! I had to lean down and kiss him again for a while, just to calm him down. Then I stood back and said, ‘Do you still want to see me the way I was that night?’ And he couldn’t even speak, he just nodded! And I wanted to tease him some more, you know? So I said, ‘Joe Haworth, where are your manners? I want you to say, ‘Please, Suzy, I want you to take off your clothes for me.’”
Suzy closed her eyes for a moment and shivered at the memory. “Ooo, I just loved telling him what to do like that. And when he finally figured out that I meant it, he turned red, and kind of stuttered, but he finally said it. And it made me feel soooo sexy! Did you ever do that to Peter?”
Well, Jane thought about replying, a little while ago I made him strip naked and put on a pair of my panties and drive home in them... Instead, she replied, diplomatically, “No, Peter kind of likes being in charge. But it does sound like fun.”
Suzy’s eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed. “Oh, it is, Janie! Just hearing him say that got me so excited that I wanted to tease him some more, so I pretended like I was going to start unbuttoning my blouse—I was wearing this cute little white sleeveless blouse and these tight little shorts—then I stopped and said, ‘Not good enough. I want you to say, ‘Please, Suzy, I want you to strip for me’—‘cause that sounds even naughtier, you know?”
Jane nodded and tried to look impressed.
Suzy went on, “...And by then he’d kind of caught on and was getting real excited himself.” She stopped and stifled a giggle with her hand. “I could see he was getting real, you know, big in his pants but I pretended I didn’t notice. And then, instead of saying what I’d told him to say he said,”—Suzy dropped her voice into a deeper register—“’Suzy Jorgenson, you take off your clothes for me right now or I’m going to come over there and tear them off of you!’”
Suzy guffawed at the memory of it and Jane had to grin at her enjoyment.
“Well, we both knew that wasn’t going to happen, what with him still tied to the chair and all,” Suzy continued. But the way he said it...oh my, that just changed everything! I just said, ‘All right,’ stepped out of my flip-flops and...and...Janey, I stripped down right there in front of him! And then I stood the way I did before, the way you showed me.” She sketched putting her hands behind her head. “It was a lot different, having him right there in the room with me so I could see him looking at me. It felt like I could hardly breathe...and I got such a strange feeling in my...down here.” She glanced briefly down between her crossed legs, then back up at Jane, a hint of worry in her expression. “That ever happen to you?”
Jane nodded and said, “Oh yes. Did it happen more than once?
Suzy nodded vigorously and said, “Uh-huh, but I’ll tell you about it in a minute. So there I was, standing there in front of him in just my undies, and he was just staring at me with his mouth open, and we were both just...” Suzy put on a crazed, wide-eyed expression and breathed heavily through her mouth to show how excited they’d been.
Jane nodded again. “I know the feeling,” she said, smiling.
“Oh, but Janey, that’s not all!” Suzy actually looked around to make sure nobody was in earshot, then leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. I really wanted to kiss him some more, you know, with my clothes off like that, so I went and sat on his lap and we started kissing again and, oh, it was so much sexier like that!
“And Joe, he started moaning like it was hurting him, and I thought he wanted me to stop, so I pulled back, you know? But when I did he started groaning out loud and said something like, ‘Oh god, please don’t stop.’ So I started kissing him again, and that’s when I remembered what you’d said about Peter touching himself—you know, when you took your clothes off that time?”
Jane started to nod and then stopped, shocked by what she knew Suzy was about to tell her. “Suzy Jorgenson...you didn’t!”
Suzy blushed and looked down, then looked up from under eyebrows and nodded. “I feel like an awful S-L-U-T now,” she admitted, “but I felt so sorry for him, and I knew he couldn’t do it himself with his hands tied. So I just kind of let my hand fall down there and said, ‘Aww, poor Joe—is this where it hurts?’ and just sort of ran my fingertips over it. And Janey, he jumped as if I’d plugged him into the wall socket! I almost fell out of his lap!” Suzy burst into giggles at the memory and Jane had to join in.
“Then I kissed him again, real slow and sexy, you know? And then I kind of whispered, ‘We’d better make sure everything’s all right down there,’ and I...” Suzy faltered for a moment, blushed again and finally managed to say, “I...opened his pants and...and...took it out!”
Jane stared at her, eyes wide, eyebrows elevated. Suzy went on in a rush. “I know you told me about what they look like, Janey, but I had no idea it’d be so cute! Like a little baby possum or something.”
Possum?
“...And Joe was just staring down like he couldn’t believe what I was doing,” Suzy went on, “and I was so excited I thought I was going to pass out or something! I was just...I couldn’t stop, you know? I kissed him and said, ‘Is that for me?’ and kind of wrapped my hand around it....”
Suzy’s gaze was focussed inward as she re-lived the experience. She was breathing through her mouth, and Jane found herself more than a little aroused as well.”
“...And then I thought I’d really hurt him, ‘cause he started kind of yelling and thrashing around and then all this...this...stuff started coming out of it! I thought I’d broken it or something, you know? And I got it all over my hand and I jumped out of his lap...” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “You didn’t tell me about that, Janey,” she added, a little reproachfully. “I thought I’d really hurt him!”
Jane whispered back, “Well, how was I supposed to know you were going to do something like that?”
Suzy laughed. “I know, I know—good little Suzy, right? But I thought I was gonna have to call a doctor or something! Joe had to calm me down before he could tell me what was what. He told me over and over how good it felt and that the...the squirting was supposed to happen.” Suzy leaned in even closer and said, “And he begged me to do it again! So I did! I kind of knelt down in front of him so I could get a closer look, and he told me what to do...and it took a little longer, but I made him squirt again! Good thing we were cleaned up and dressed when Mom came home...”
Suzy looked so proud of herself that Jane had to grin and give her a hug. Then she pulled back and said, “And how about you? Did anything else happen to you,” she duplicated Suzy’s earlier downward glance, “...down there?”
Suzy followed Jane’s glance, then looked back up and replied, “Oh yeah! I was feeling all kinds of tingly down there, like I said before, and I didn’t notice right away but I guess I got so excited that I...” She looked away, embarrassed, as she finished, “I...wet my panties a little.”
Jane was immediately reminded of her first encounter with Peter (“Only bad little girls wet their panties.”) and was glad to set Suzy straight. She explained how the moisture was a part of getting excited, then added, in a conspiratorial whisper, “And if you touch yourself there, or better yet, let Joe touch you there, sometimes something even nicer happens—kind of like when Joe, um, squirts. Like a big tingle that goes through your whole body.”
Suzy’s eyes were round with curiosity. “Really? Ooo, I want to try that!” She hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Um...do you really think I should let Joe...uh, do that?”
Jane shrugged. “It’s up to you. You can do it by yourself if you don’t feel right about letting Joe do it.” Then she put a comic leer on her face and added, “But it’s sure a lot more fun with someone else.”
Suzy giggled again, then said, “All right, next time I won’t tie him up! Gosh, I don’t know—he’s liable to die of shock from all the excitement!”
The rest of the day wasn’t nearly as pleasant for Jane. Although her foot was feeling sufficiently better that she hadn’t brought her crutches to work—and she couldn’t be bothered with tying them across her bike baskets anyway—Mrs. Jorgenson wouldn’t allow her to do anything that involved standing up for any length of time, so aside from waiting on the occasional customer when there were too many for Suzy and her mother to handle Jane mostly sat behind the register and fumed. The more she thought about Chrissy invading her house, and what she must have fooled Peter into doing with her, the more infuriated Jane became. She had warned Chrissy to stay away from him!
Jane knew it was largely her own fault. She had started it all—even though Chrissy had more or less asked for it—and it had gotten out of control. Well, now she was going to put a stop to it. She was going right over to Chrissy’s house as soon as the store closed and...and...she didn’t know what she was going to do, but she was going to have it out with her.
As it turned out it happened a lot sooner than she had expected.
The alley door had just closed behind her after she had said good night to the Jorgensons and she was bending, somewhat painfully, to unchain her bike, when she heard Crissy’s voice, full of barely contained rage.
“You little whore.”
Jane whirled to face her and saw that Chrissy was even more of a mess than the last time Jane had seen her. Her hair was greasy and in complete disarray, her eyes were wild. She was wearing a red dress that didn’t fit her at all and was so wrinkled that Jane thought Chrissy must have slept in it more than once.
My dress, Jane suddenly realized. Chrissy had stolen it! Why in the world...
But these thoughts were driven out of her head when Chrissy raised her arm, her hand shaking with the weight of the gun she held in it.
—---------------------------
She had raged all the way home the night before. She had maintained enough presence of mind to make her way up to her room without being seen, but had paced and muttered to herself continuously for several hours, sometimes stopping to have whispered arguments with the girl in the mirror. And when the rest of the house was still she had gone silently downstairs to the basement, to her father’s gun locker. She’d known for ages where the key was hidden, and it was only a moment’s work to take out his old army pistol. He had never let her touch a gun, but she knew he kept them all cleaned and loaded. She had carefully closed the locker again and replaced the key.
Then she had put the gun in the pocket of her red dress and left to find the little whore and kill her.
She had taken her bike, not daring to start her car at that hour, and ridden all the way over to where the little whore lived. She had waited, hidden in the woods near the end of the driveway. Dawn was still hours away and she knew the little whore wouldn’t be leaving for a long time after that, but she was determined to wait. She would show Father Br...Peter how much she loved him.
But eventually not even her rage could keep her upright and she had sat down and leaned her back against a tree, and in spite of her determination had fallen asleep, still muttering to herself.
And when she had awoken hours later, and seen by the position of the sun and then her watch that she had missed her chance, she had jumped to her feet and screamed horribly, frightening birds into flight for hundreds of yards around her.
She had spent the entire day wandering in the woods, exhausted, dirty and hungry. She had found a stream to drink from but the day was hot and muggy and she sometimes forgot where she was and why. She’d thought that maybe God had sent her to some strangely beautiful Purgatory in which to suffer and repent her sins. But eventually she’d remembered what she would have to do to please God and earn His forgiveness.
—---------------------------
And now the moment had come. She would kill the little whore cowering in front of her. This would please God and He would restore...Peter to her. Peter? No, Father Brian. No, Peter! He belongs to me, not this little whore!
She readied herself to pull the trigger. But she was finding it hard to focus on the girl in front of her. There was something about her face: it was wrong. It wasn’t the little whore’s at all, it was...hers.
She was a demon, and had stolen her face!
“Stop looking like me! I’m Jane! I’m Jane-I’m Jane-I’m Jane-I’m Jane-I’m Jane! You’re not her, you little whore, I am! I’ll kill you!”
She tried once again to pull the trigger, but the face! She would be killing herself mortal sin green Purgatory no she’s not me God wants me to...
Her head swam. The gun fell from her fingers.
“No...” she whispered, and crumpled to the ground.
Jane, shaking and gasping for breath, managed to reach out a foot and nudge the gun away from Chrissy’s outstretched hand. She had no idea what had just happened or what to do. She wanted her parents. She wanted Peter. She wanted somebody else to come and...what? Make this go away? Make it not have happened? It had happened and she had to think!
She crouched down next to Chrissy to make sure she was still breathing. And as she did so realized... Oh god, I really did wet my panties this time! She shook off the thought and her discomfort. What to do? Even though she was sure Chrissy had actually meant to kill her, she also knew that Chrissy was sick and that she, Jane, was at least partially responsible for her condition. But there was no way to explain that to the police.
Jane stared at the gun, thinking furiously. She slowly reached out and picked it up, holding timidly between thumb and forefinger, terrified that it might go off somehow. She hobbled further back into the alley and hid it beneath some rubbish.
Then she left the alley and hurried as fast as she could to the nearest store and asked someone to call an ambulance for her friend Chrissy.
Chapter Fifty-One
“...And then I had to call her parents, of course, but I didn’t know what to say. When her Mom answered the phone I went completely blank at first and couldn’t say anything. Finally I just said that I’d found her like that and that I thought maybe she’d been coming to see me. But her Mom said she’d been missing all day and they’d been frantic with worry.”
Jane was sitting in with Peter in his car. He had picked her up at her house as they had planned the night before, but Jane had made him stop in the driveway the moment they were away from the house, and now she was resting her head on his shoulder and he was sitting with his arms around her, listening intently as she told him what had happened.
She was still shaken, and had actually cried a little from sheer relief when she was finally able to rest in his arms again. And now that she’d been able to tell him what had really happened, instead of what she’d told Chrissy’s parents and her own, she was beginning to feel better.
“You didn’t say anything about the gun?” Peter asked.
“No. I didn’t want her to get into trouble.”
“Trouble! “ Peter drew back and stared at her in disbelief. “Jane, she tried to kill you!”
“I know, I know. But she was...crazy, you know? She didn’t know what she was doing.” Jane snuggled closer and looked up at Peter. “And besides...I think a lot of it is my fault.”
Peter looked startled, then nodded and added gently, “Our fault.” He thought for a moment. “That note...” he said, as if to himself.
“What note?
“I knew there was something funny about it. She must have written it herself.” Peter explained what had happened while Jane had been away.
When he was done it was Jane’s turn to nod. She wanted to explain about how Chrissy had tried to blackmail her but decided it would only hurt Peter and didn’t matter now anyway.
“This has all been about ‘Father Brian’,” she said sadly.
Peter suddenly turned away and stared through the windshield as if something outside had attracted his attention. “Not exactly....” he said, his voice distant.
—---------------------------
A few days later, Chrissy awoke in her hospital bed. She had been sleeping a great deal with the help of the sedatives the doctor had prescribed and was feeling much better, physically at least.
The doctor had explained to her and her parents that he thought she was just suffering from some kind of nervous exhaustion, aggravated perhaps by having been outside in the heat all that day, and just needed a few days rest and care. But later, when her parents were gone, he’d asked her quietly if she’d like to talk with one of the hospital’s counselors.
Chrissy had almost agreed, longing desperately to free herself of the shadows that lay across her heart. But she’d held her tongue for shame at the thought of discussing everything that had happened with a stranger, no matter how sympathetic, and shaken her head. The doctor had looked silently at her for a moment, then touched her shoulder, said to let him know if she changed her mind, and left.
She had tried to make herself go through with it—several times almost reaching the point where she thought she could agree—but always lost her courage when the doctor came around to see her. It was a huge weight on her soul, and she knew it was hurting her but she just couldn’t bring herself to speak.
As she lay there that morning, staring up at the ceiling, she thought about Jane and wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn’t told Chrissy’s parents about the gun when she’d had every reason to do so. Chrissy had blackmailed her, threatened her and finally almost killed her, but Jane had obviously said nothing about it. And where was the gun? If her father found out it was missing he would start to wonder...
She lay there for a long time, lost in gloom.
The door opened, and a nurse stuck her head in. “Visitor for you, Chrissy.”
Chrissy tried to rally herself, wondering who it could be; her mother usually came in the afternoon and both of her parents in the evening, and she didn’t think anyone else knew she was there. Unless...no, it couldn’t be Jane. The hope that had ignited briefly within her died away. She wanted so much to talk to Jane.
She was distracted by her thoughts and so was completely unprepared when the door opened all the way and Father Anthony entered the room.
He seemed thinner and more careworn then she remembered him, his clerical suit and collar seeming to hang loosely on him, although his ascetic good looks were still mostly intact. She stared at him in disbelief, her mouth hanging open. Father Anthony pulled a chair around to her bedside, sat and took her hand. His expression was concerned but he smiled warmly at her.
“Hello, Chrissy”
When she continued to stare at him, saying nothing, he went on. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t answer your letter. I was on a silent retreat in a monastery and wasn’t allowed to receive mail or phone calls. I only got back a little while ago and I was so busy catching up with things that I put aside the mail for later. If your friend hadn’t contacted me...”
“Friend?” Chrissy was shocked into speaking. “What friend?”
“A young woman named Jane.” He looked to see if Chrissy recognized the name, then went on. “She’s the one who told me you were here. And about your letter.”
He withdrew it from his jacket pocket and held it in his hand. He looked at her hesitantly. “Do you think you’re well enough to talk about this now?”
Chrissy looked into his eyes and saw both sympathy and sorrow there. Knew that he understood and did not judge her, and even blamed himself to some extent for her troubles and wanted very much to help her.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh yes, Father!”
And then she burst into tears.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The summer was flying by and Jane was determined to savor every moment, though they became increasingly bittersweet with the approach of autumn and Peter’s departure. Peter felt it as well, Jane knew without asking; even at his most loving and playful a thoughtful sadness would sometimes veil his gaze now and he would suddenly hug her so fiercely that she could hardly breathe.
But even though she had no doubt about his feelings for her Jane was terrified that time and distance would change everything. Peter would be starting a new life without her. He would write to her often at first, she knew, and would see her over the Christmas break. But by then he would have new friends; friends who would gradually become more real and important to him than someone left...behind.
She said nothing of her fears to Peter, demanded no promises. But she cried herself to sleep more than once as the day drew nearer.
Still, their remaining time together was blissful and Jane would always remember that summer as a golden period in her life. They spent every possible moment together—and a few impossible ones. Peter once called Jane at work, saying he was at the drugstore down the street and asking if she could meet him outside the back door of her shop for a moment. Thinking that Peter had something important to tell her, Jane had told Mrs. Jorgenson and Suzy that she was going to use the restroom and then had quietly stepped outside.
Peter was already there and before she could say a word had pushed her against the wall, kissing her passionately, the bricks rough and hot against her back. Then he had dropped to his knees, lifted her dress, peeled down her panties and used his mouth to bring her to an orgasm so quickly that almost before she knew what was happening he had straightened her clothing, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, stood and kissed her good-bye and was gone. She had staggered back into the store on shaky legs, wearing a faraway smile and—as Suzy had pointed out with some curiosity—a fair amount of dust on the back of her dress.
Suzy continued to tell Jane about her sexual explorations with Joe and ask Jane for advice. And when it became obvious that Suzy needed more than advice Jane gave her Dr. Weissman’s phone number and went with her to the appointment. Jane and Suzy had become the closest of friends over the summer, a fact that brought Jane a small amount of comfort when she considered the empty months ahead.
Jane planned to continue working at the shop until she graduated. She hoped to save enough to be able to attend the state university by then if she could get a school loan, and her parents thought they’d be able to help out some too, now that there was additional income from the writing Jane’s mother was doing. In fact, the series of articles Jane’s mother had written about Cape Cod had so pleased her boss that she was now an assistant editor at the paper, with her name on the masthead.
Jane’s mother and father had both come along with Peter to cheer Jane on as she took her driver’s license exam, which had pleased Jane no end, even though it had increased her nervousness. She had passed, though, and even though she had figured it would be years before she had a car of her own Peter had surprised her by telling her he was leaving his car in her care while he was away.
This saddened her as much as it pleased her, although of course she didn’t say so to Peter. The thought of his car without him in it; of being reminded of his absence every time she stepped out of her house and saw it in the driveway; of knowing the story behind virtually every stain in the upholstery but not having him there to smile over it with her… Oh god, she missed him so much already, how would it be when he was actually gone?
Then the last few days were upon them. Jane was sunk in gloom although she tried, not always successfully, to put on a brighter face for Peter when they were together.
There was suddenly something different about him now, she sensed. He had seemed worried for a while, preoccupied about something. He had told her it was just the strain of getting everything organized in time, but it had felt like something deeper to Jane. Now there was a lightness there, a clearness in his face. Jane wondered miserably if it was because he had accepted the fact that he was leaving her behind.
Even their lovemaking had changed, it seemed to Jane. For weeks there had been a solemn, almost ceremonial quality about it: very little, and then nothing, of games and playfulness. No Mr. Bad Man, no being tied up or ordered around. Just the sweetness and poignancy of love and farewell.
And now... Jane couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was, again, a lightening in Peter, even though he was as tender and considerate of her as he had always been. Something had changed. She had no idea what it was, but in the depths of her sorrow there suddenly appeared a tiny spark of hope, like a candle at the bottom of an empty well.
The day came.
Peter was going to pick her up; they would drive to the airport together and then Jane would drive his car back by herself. Jane waited by the door. She had made herself as pretty as she could and had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t spoil her make-up by crying—at least until after Peter was gone, and then all bets were off. But she felt as if she were going to a funeral, that her bright dress was a lie and the sunny day outside a mistake. Her breathing was shaky and uneven. Oh god, she was going to start sobbing any second. Why didn’t Peter hurry up?
Suddenly she felt two arms slipping around her waist, and her mother was embracing her from behind. Jane turned and took what comfort she could, returning the embrace, grateful for the love and support she felt flowing into her from her mother.
Then there was the sound of wheels on the gravel drive.
Jane pulled away from her mother and they smiled at each other silently for a moment. Then Jane kissed her mother on the cheek and hurried out the door.
Peter got out of his car and came around to give Jane a big hug and a kiss. He held her at arm’s length, just looking at her with such total love that Jane felt her vow to herself not to cry beginning to crumble, and she bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling. Peter told her how beautiful she looked, then turned and opened the car door for her.
They drove in silence, holding hands. As they rode along the highway towards Boston Jane stole a glance at him once in a while and was astonished, then infuriated, to see a small smile playing around his mouth. Was he happy to be getting away from her? She knew that couldn’t be true, and yet...
She was just working him up her nerve to ask him what was going on when they reached the exit for Logan airport.
And drove right past it.
And when Jane turned to him and saw that the small smile had been replaced by an outright grin, and felt his hand squeezing hers, the tiny candle-flame of hope in her heart began to glow more brightly, but she didn’t dare speak. She felt as if she was holding her breath, although she had no idea what for.
It wasn’t until they had entered Boston and were driving down Beacon Street that she began to suspect what Peter had done. And when they turned onto a side street and parked, and she saw a half-dozen or more young men, sometimes accompanied by what appeared to be their parents and siblings, carrying luggage and boxes into a nonde*********** gray building, she finally dared to believe it.
“Peter,” she murmured, trying to control her shaking voice, “are you...I mean, is this your...” Then her voice failed completely and she simply stared at him, begging him to tell her that it was true.
His eyes were as gentle as she’d ever seen them. “My dormitory, yes. Welcome to Thoreau College, Boston, Massachusetts, miss.”
He turned to face her more completely and took both her hands in his. “It took me a while, but I managed to talk Dad into it. We can’t really afford it but I’ve already found a job in the college bookstore and we took out a slightly bigger loan than we were planning to, that’s all.”
Peter’s gaze turned inward for a moment, then he added, “I think Dad understood that Thoreau has at least one big advantage over Kenton.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth before adding, softly, “It’s a lot closer to you.”
Jane thought that now might be the right moment to cry—she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes—but she forced herself to smile impishly and ask, “Does this mean I don’t get your car?”
Peter’s eyes widened in mock-outrage, and he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her and kissed her hard before replying, in the same bantering tone, “As a matter of fact you do. That’s the only reason I switched colleges, really: so I can come home on weekends and make sure you’re taking care of it.”
The implications of his last remark were not lost on Jane. “You’re...coming home...every weekend?” she asked, her voice faint. “Oh god, Peter...” She threw herself into his arms. And finally allowed herself to cry.
“Of course,” he said softly, next to her ear. “How else am I gonna be able to check up on my car?” Jane laughed, weakly, as she continued to cry. Then he added, “So you’d better take good care of it...or it’s Mr. Bad Man for you,” and stuck his tongue in her ear, causing her to squeal and jerk away from him, now laughing in earnest.
Then she hugged him again, whispering, “Oh yes, sir, please. I’ll show him my panties...I’ll take off my clothes for him...” She began to breathe heavily into his ear. “...I’ll let him tie me up and kidnap me... She gave his ear a moist kiss and, heedless of the people moving around outside the car, let one of her hands drift down into his lap. “I’ll let him put his cock...in my mouth...” She began slowly unzipping him. “...in my...pussy...” She slipped her hand inside his pants and began to stroke him. “...in my...ass... She put her lips right against his ear and continued, “in my...EAR!” Then she suddenly pushed her tongue into it as hard as she could.
Peter, who had been leaning back with his eyes closed as he surrendered to her erotic spell, jumped as if she had given him an electric shock, then turned on her and began viciously tickling her ribs, causing her to giggle even more hysterically than she already was. “You little brat,” he laughed, as she tried helplessly to fend him off, “You are going to get such a spanking when I come home!”
Still laughing, Jane managed to push herself between his arms and hug him again. “Say that again, Peter,” she whispered. “It sounds wonderful.”
She helped him unload his suitcases from the trunk and carry them up into his dorm room. There she met his roommate, a red-haired Texan named Charlie, who tactfully excused himself so they could be alone.
Jane helped Peter unpack, and while he had his back turned to her, hanging clothing in the closet, she slipped her farewell present to him—the one she’d planned to give him at the airport—out of her pocket and under his pillow. She smiled to herself and wondered if Charlie would be in the room when Peter reached under the pillow and discovered the valentine panties she had left for him.
Then it was time to go. Peter walked her out to the car. There was no big farewell scene and Jane was glad because it reminded her that this was not farewell. There was just a hug and a kiss...and a long moment of simply smiling into each other’s eyes, enjoying and wondering at their good fortune in having found each other. Then Jane climbed into the car and drove off, waving at Peter in the rear-view mirror until she could no longer see him.
Although the drive home was a little melancholy with the knowledge that she and Peter would be apart for a while, there were no further tears. Jane was happy. She was loved, truly loved, and she would be seeing him again soon.
And he, like no one else alive, would be seeing her.