Chapter 20 20

When the worst of the muscle spasm was over—at least she hoped the worst was over—she leaned against the mahogany slatted rung at the head of the bed and gasped for a moment with her eyes closed.Her breathing slowed down—first a gallop, then a trot, and finally a walk.Thirsty or not, she felt surprisingly good.Part of it, she thought, was the old joke.The key phrase of the joke is: "When I stop, it feels so good." But, until five years ago, she was an athletic girl, an athletic woman (well, ten years ago, I'm afraid).She's still aware when her endorphins are surging.That's absurd, given the circumstances, but it's not bad.

Maybe not absurd, Jesse.Maybe useful.Those endorphins keep the brain awake.This is one reason why people work better after exercising. And, indeed, her mind was clear, and the worst panic had been blown away like industrial smog in the face of a strong wind.She felt very rational in herself.She felt perfectly sane again.Otherwise she would never have believed it was possible.She found evidence for the enduring adaptability of the brain and the insect-like will to survive small perils. Everything happened, and I haven't even had my morning coffee yet.I think. The image of the coffee—black, in her beloved cup with a ring of blue flowers in the middle—made her lick her lips.Also made her think of today's show.Today would be here at this very moment if her body clock was right.Men and women all over America -- most not in handcuffs -- are sitting at kitchen tables, drinking juice or coffee, eating bagels and scrambled eggs (maybe one of those cereals, it's said to calm your heart , and revive your stomach at the same time), they are watching Brant Scott wish a couple of centenarians a happy birthday.There's going to be some guests -- one's going to talk about what the minimum loan rate is, and what's the board of the Federal Reserve Bank or something.Another guest will show the audience how to keep their pet Chinese puppy from biting slippers, and another will show his latest directorial film...and neither of them will realize that an accident is happening in western Maine .One of their somewhat loyal viewers couldn't tune in to their show this morning.Because she was handcuffed to a bed within twenty feet of her naked, dog-bitten, maggot-ridden husband.

She turned her head to the right and looked up at the cup.Shortly before the drama began, Gerald had inadvertently placed it on his side of the bedside stand.Five years ago, she recalled, the cup didn't seem to be there.But as Gerald's nighttime Scotch intake increased, so did his other beverages during the day—mainly water.But he also drank diet sodas and iced teas.To Jerrod at least, the term "drink problem" was not a euphemism but a fact without hyperbole. Alas, she thought faintly.If he did have a drinking problem, he's cured now, don't you think? The cup is right where she put it down.Of course, if the visitor the previous night hadn't been a dream (don't be silly. Of course it was a dream, said the wife nervously), it must not be thirsty.

I want to get the cup.thought Jesse.I also have to be extra careful lest I get another muscle cramp.Is there a problem? No problem, this time it's easy because it's so easy to reach.No balancing act is required.When she picked up the replacement straw, she found an added benefit.As it dries, the insert is rolled up along the fold.This strange geometric construction looks like an ingenious origami craft, and it works much better than it did the night before.It's easier to get to the last few sips than to reach for a glass.Jessie listened to the crackling sound of the bottom of the glass as the weird straw tried to suck up the last few drops.It occurred to her that if she had known she could "cure" the straw, she would have wasted a lot less water on the bedspread.But it was too late now, and it was useless to cry when the water was spilled.

A few sips of water only awakened her thirst, but she had to bear it.She put the glasses on the shelf, teasing herself.Habit is a formidable little animal, even under such strange circumstances it is a formidable little animal.At the risk of another full-body spasm, she put the empty glass back on the shelf instead of letting it fall off the side of the bed and shatter on the floor.why?Keeping things clean is important, and here's why.That's one of the things Sally Mecht teaches her babes.Her squeaky little wheels were never getting enough grease, and she was never quite alone—her little darling would go to extremes about everything, including seducing her father, so that things really went her way. desire to develop.

In the eyes of her memory, Jesse saw the Sally Mechter she had so often recalled: cheeks flushed with rage, teeth gnashed, hands clenched into fists on her ass. "You'll believe that, too," said Jessie softly. "Would you, you wicked woman?" Not fair, part of her brain replied uneasily.It's not fair, Jesse. But that's fair enough.She knew that Sally was far from an ideal mother, especially during the years when she and Tom were trudging along like a wreck pulling garbage.Her behavior at that time was often paranoid and sometimes irrational.For some reason, Will was almost entirely immune to her censure and suspicion, which at times scared her two daughters to death.

Now those dark days are gone.The letters Jesse received from Sanlia were the old woman's mediocre essays.The old woman now lives for Thursday night bingo, and she sees her child-rearing years as a time of peace and happiness.Apparently, she didn't remember yelling that the next time Maddy forgot to wrap her used tampons in toilet paper and throw them in a trash bag, it would kill her.Nor did she remember that on Sunday morning—Jessie couldn't understand why—she stormed into Jessie's bedroom, threw a pair of high-heeled shoes at her, and stormed out again. Sometimes, when she gets notes and postcards from her mother - it's all right here, dear.Got a letter from Maddy who always writes to me on time.My temper has calmed down, my appetite has improved—Jessie felt an urge to grab the phone and call Mom, to blow it off: Did you forget everything, Mom?You forgot the day you threw your shoe at me and broke my beloved vase.I cried because I thought you must have known, he must have finally broken down and he told you everything, even though it would have been three years since the eclipse by then!You forget how often you scare us with your screams and tears?

It's not fair, Jesse.Unfair and disloyal. That might be unfair, but that doesn't make it an unreal event. If she had known what happened that day— Jessie thought again of the image of the woman in the flail, and there she was, but disappeared so quickly that she was barely recognizable, like a flash of advertising: bound hands, hair Covering her face like a penitent's visor, she was pointed at with contempt by a small crowd, mostly women. Her mother might not say it outright, but yes—she would believe it was Jessie's fault.She really might think it was a deliberate seduction.It's not exactly about squeaking wheels involving precocious babes, is it?Her knowledge of a sexual affair between her husband and daughter probably kept her from leaving the house, and she did.

Does she believe it?Surely she would have believed it. This time, the humble voice finally didn't bother with the symbolic protest.Jessie suddenly realized something: what had taken her almost thirty years to figure out, her dad knew then.He knew the real facts, as he knew the strange sound effect in the living-dining room of the lake house. That day, Dad used her in more than one way. Jessie thought he was going to have a rush of mixed emotions at the realization of this uncomfortable thing.After all, she had been used as bait by a man whose primary duty was to love and protect her.She didn't feel that way.Perhaps, it was partly because the endorphins kept her spirits high, but she knew it had more to do with openness.However rotten that thing was, she finally got rid of it.Her dominant emotion was surprise.She was surprised that she had kept this secret for so long, and she still had a very uncomfortable confusion.She was sitting on Papa's lap that day, looking at the huge round mole in the sky through two or three panes of smoked glass.How much of what happened in the last minute or so influenced, directly or indirectly, the choices she made later on?Was her situation the result of what happened during the eclipse?

Heck, that's going too far.she thinks.Maybe it would have been different if he had raped me.However, what happened on the platform that day was really just another accident, not a major accident.Just that—if you want to know what a major accident is, Jesse, look at the situation you're in here.I might as well blame old Mrs. Gillette for spanking my hand at the lawn party when I was only four that summer.Either it was a dream I had as I was walking down the river of life, or I had to be punished for the mistakes I made in my past life.Other than that, what he did to me on the platform was nothing compared to what he did in the bedroom.

No need to dream about that part of it anymore, it's right there, clear and within reach.