and he knew he shouldnât want the woman who was standing there in front of him, but he just couldnât help himself.
None of her friends lived close by. They lived on the other side of Frederick Road, in the kind of houses where Elizabethâs mother would not be caught dead, to use one of her favorite expressions. I would not be caught dead living there, I would not be caught dead shopping there, I would not be caught dead going on vacation there. Finally, Vonnie had said: âDo you get much choice, about where youâre caught dead?â and it had become a family joke. They had started naming the places where they would be caught dead. Still, their mother was pretty serious in her dislike of modern things. She had wanted to stay in the city, in their town house, which was almost right downtown, on a pretty green square built around the Washington Monument. But, about the time Vonnie turned fourteen, Elizabethâs father had seen a chance to build a practicein the suburbs, where more parents were inclined to seek help for their children. And could pay for it, too, no small consideration. Roaring Springs was a compromise, thirty minutes from her motherâs job at Patuxent Institute, not even ten minutes to her fatherâs office in Ellicott City. It was his daytime proximity that gave Elizabeth her freedom on these summer days. But it wasnât much of a freedom, when one was alone, with all these rules.
She tracked back to the park and began walking along the stream known as the Sucker Branch. If she followed its banks, she would come out at Route 40, not that far from Roy Rogers, maybe a mile or so. At least, she thought she might come out there. She wasnât allowed to walk to the Roy Rogers because it was a hangout, and her parents believed that being idle was what got most kids in trouble. But they liked the idea of her being outdoors on summer days, so if she explained that she was simply following the stream and found herself there by accident and she was terribly thirsty after the walk, that would be okay. If they asked, and they might not even ask. She would go to Roy Rogers, see if anyone was there. If no one was around, she could still get a mocha shake, maybe some fries. Thenâshe was resolvedâshe was going to throw it up, she would learn how to throw up today. Her worries over her body were secondary; she didnât need to lose weight, only the potbelly, if she really did have one, and she still wasnât sure. What she needed was something to tell her friends when they were reunited as high school sophomores in two weeks. She wanted to have something to show for her summer. Unlike Claudia, she didnât have a boyfriend. Unlike Debbie and Lydia, she wasnât daring enough to shoplift, and she had no interest in her parentsâ booze. She had to do something in these final weeks of summer that counted as an achievement, and learning how to throw up was her best bet.
Following the stream, high in its banks after the weekendâs heavy rains, turned out to be much harder than she expected.Mud sucked at her boots, and when she came to the spot where she needed to cross, she couldnât. The unusually deep water covered the rocks she had planned to hop across, and it was moving quickly. She paused, uncertain. It seemed a shame to turn back, after making it this far. She thought she could hear the traffic swooshing by on Route 40. She was close, very close.
Then she saw a man on the other side, leaning on a shovel.
âItâs not so swift you canât wade through,â he said. âI done it.â He looked to be college age, although something told Elizabeth that he wasnât in college. Not just his grammar, but his clothes, the truckerâs hat pulled low on his forehead. âJust go up there, to where that fallen tree is. The water wonât go above your shins, I swear.â
Elizabeth did, taking off her boots and tucking them beneath
None of her friends lived close by. They lived on the other side of Frederick Road, in the kind of houses where Elizabethâs mother would not be caught dead, to use one of her favorite expressions. I would not be caught dead living there, I would not be caught dead shopping there, I would not be caught dead going on vacation there. Finally, Vonnie had said: âDo you get much choice, about where youâre caught dead?â and it had become a family joke. They had started naming the places where they would be caught dead. Still, their mother was pretty serious in her dislike of modern things. She had wanted to stay in the city, in their town house, which was almost right downtown, on a pretty green square built around the Washington Monument. But, about the time Vonnie turned fourteen, Elizabethâs father had seen a chance to build a practicein the suburbs, where more parents were inclined to seek help for their children. And could pay for it, too, no small consideration. Roaring Springs was a compromise, thirty minutes from her motherâs job at Patuxent Institute, not even ten minutes to her fatherâs office in Ellicott City. It was his daytime proximity that gave Elizabeth her freedom on these summer days. But it wasnât much of a freedom, when one was alone, with all these rules.
She tracked back to the park and began walking along the stream known as the Sucker Branch. If she followed its banks, she would come out at Route 40, not that far from Roy Rogers, maybe a mile or so. At least, she thought she might come out there. She wasnât allowed to walk to the Roy Rogers because it was a hangout, and her parents believed that being idle was what got most kids in trouble. But they liked the idea of her being outdoors on summer days, so if she explained that she was simply following the stream and found herself there by accident and she was terribly thirsty after the walk, that would be okay. If they asked, and they might not even ask. She would go to Roy Rogers, see if anyone was there. If no one was around, she could still get a mocha shake, maybe some fries. Thenâshe was resolvedâshe was going to throw it up, she would learn how to throw up today. Her worries over her body were secondary; she didnât need to lose weight, only the potbelly, if she really did have one, and she still wasnât sure. What she needed was something to tell her friends when they were reunited as high school sophomores in two weeks. She wanted to have something to show for her summer. Unlike Claudia, she didnât have a boyfriend. Unlike Debbie and Lydia, she wasnât daring enough to shoplift, and she had no interest in her parentsâ booze. She had to do something in these final weeks of summer that counted as an achievement, and learning how to throw up was her best bet.
Following the stream, high in its banks after the weekendâs heavy rains, turned out to be much harder than she expected.Mud sucked at her boots, and when she came to the spot where she needed to cross, she couldnât. The unusually deep water covered the rocks she had planned to hop across, and it was moving quickly. She paused, uncertain. It seemed a shame to turn back, after making it this far. She thought she could hear the traffic swooshing by on Route 40. She was close, very close.
Then she saw a man on the other side, leaning on a shovel.
âItâs not so swift you canât wade through,â he said. âI done it.â He looked to be college age, although something told Elizabeth that he wasnât in college. Not just his grammar, but his clothes, the truckerâs hat pulled low on his forehead. âJust go up there, to where that fallen tree is. The water wonât go above your shins, I swear.â
Elizabeth did, taking off her boots and tucking them beneath
Similar Books
