through the halls after a big victory."
Marilee realized that most of William's deprecation was caused
by
jealousy. He would have loved to have been as macho as Wes. Truth be
known, he hadn't outgrown his adolescent envy of his popular classmate.
Being valedictorian didn't have near the cachet of being captain of the
football team. Not where they lived anyway.
But she also knew that what he said about Wes, while possibly
exaggerated, was basically true. She was on the high school faculty
with Wes Hamer. He did strut down the corridors of the school as though
he owned them. He seemed to think that proprietorship was his due as
athletic director. He gloried in the title and all the celebrity and
privileges it implied.
"Did you know that he has seduced his own students?"
"That's gossip," Marilee argued softly. "Started, I believe,
by the
wishful-thinking girls themselves."
William shook his head as though saddened by her naivete.
"You're so
innocent about the ways of the world, Marilee. Delude yourself about
Wes Hamer if you must. But as your older brother, who's looking out for
your best interest, I recommend that you find yourself another hero."
Taking his coffee and newspaper with him, he went into the
living
room. Not unlike their father, William had a routine. He expected
dinner to be ready each evening when he got home from the drugstore.
Following dinner, he read the newspaper while she cleaned up the
kitchen and did any other housekeeping chores that needed doing. By the
time she was ready to settle down in the living room to grade homework
papers, he was retiring to his bedroom to watch TV until he went to bed.
They shared a house but rarely a room.
Without fail, she asked him about his day, but he seldom asked
about
hers, as though her work was insignificant.
He expressed his thoughts, feelings, and opinions freely, but
when
she shared hers, they were dismissed or disparaged.
He could go out in the evening without having to account for
his
time or tell her where he was going. If she went out, she had to notify
him ahead of time, tell him where she was going and when he could
expect her return.
After the second local woman's disappearance, he'd become
particularly vigilant about her comings and goings. Cynically, she
wondered if he was truly that concerned for her safety or if he just
enjoyed exercising authority over her.
She performed the mundane duties of a wife but didn't have the
status of one. She was an old maid, doing for her brother because she
didn't have another man to do for. No doubt that was how people
regarded her, with pitying shakes of their heads and a murmured "Bless
her heart."
William had a life. So did she. His.
Until recently, when everything had been sweetly, marvelously
changed.
CHAPTER 8
TENSION AROUND THE HAMERS' KITCHEN DINING TABLE was as thick
as the
blood-rare T-bone Wes was knifing into. He cut off a chunk of the meat,
dunked it in the puddle of ketchup on his plate, and put it in his
mouth. "You told me those application forms had already been mailed,"
he said, talking around the bite. "I go into your room this evening,
and there they are, the lot of them, scattered across your desk like
birdcage liners. So on top of shirking your responsibility, you lied to
me. More than once."
Scott was slouched in his chair, his eyes downcast. With the
tines
of his fork, he was making disinterested stabs at his serving of mashed
potatoes. "I was studying for semester exams, Dad. Then we spent that
week at Grandpa's house over Christmas. Ever since school started
again, I've been busy."
Wes washed down the steak with a swallow of beer. "Busy with
everything except your future."
"No."
"Wes."
He shot a look at his wife. "Keep out of this, Dora. This is
between
Scott and me."
"I'll start filling out the forms tonight." Scott pushed back
his
chair and laid his napkin beside his plate.
"
I'll's
tart on them tonight." Wes jabbed
his knife toward
Scott's plate. "You finish your
Marilee realized that most of William's deprecation was caused
by
jealousy. He would have loved to have been as macho as Wes. Truth be
known, he hadn't outgrown his adolescent envy of his popular classmate.
Being valedictorian didn't have near the cachet of being captain of the
football team. Not where they lived anyway.
But she also knew that what he said about Wes, while possibly
exaggerated, was basically true. She was on the high school faculty
with Wes Hamer. He did strut down the corridors of the school as though
he owned them. He seemed to think that proprietorship was his due as
athletic director. He gloried in the title and all the celebrity and
privileges it implied.
"Did you know that he has seduced his own students?"
"That's gossip," Marilee argued softly. "Started, I believe,
by the
wishful-thinking girls themselves."
William shook his head as though saddened by her naivete.
"You're so
innocent about the ways of the world, Marilee. Delude yourself about
Wes Hamer if you must. But as your older brother, who's looking out for
your best interest, I recommend that you find yourself another hero."
Taking his coffee and newspaper with him, he went into the
living
room. Not unlike their father, William had a routine. He expected
dinner to be ready each evening when he got home from the drugstore.
Following dinner, he read the newspaper while she cleaned up the
kitchen and did any other housekeeping chores that needed doing. By the
time she was ready to settle down in the living room to grade homework
papers, he was retiring to his bedroom to watch TV until he went to bed.
They shared a house but rarely a room.
Without fail, she asked him about his day, but he seldom asked
about
hers, as though her work was insignificant.
He expressed his thoughts, feelings, and opinions freely, but
when
she shared hers, they were dismissed or disparaged.
He could go out in the evening without having to account for
his
time or tell her where he was going. If she went out, she had to notify
him ahead of time, tell him where she was going and when he could
expect her return.
After the second local woman's disappearance, he'd become
particularly vigilant about her comings and goings. Cynically, she
wondered if he was truly that concerned for her safety or if he just
enjoyed exercising authority over her.
She performed the mundane duties of a wife but didn't have the
status of one. She was an old maid, doing for her brother because she
didn't have another man to do for. No doubt that was how people
regarded her, with pitying shakes of their heads and a murmured "Bless
her heart."
William had a life. So did she. His.
Until recently, when everything had been sweetly, marvelously
changed.
CHAPTER 8
TENSION AROUND THE HAMERS' KITCHEN DINING TABLE was as thick
as the
blood-rare T-bone Wes was knifing into. He cut off a chunk of the meat,
dunked it in the puddle of ketchup on his plate, and put it in his
mouth. "You told me those application forms had already been mailed,"
he said, talking around the bite. "I go into your room this evening,
and there they are, the lot of them, scattered across your desk like
birdcage liners. So on top of shirking your responsibility, you lied to
me. More than once."
Scott was slouched in his chair, his eyes downcast. With the
tines
of his fork, he was making disinterested stabs at his serving of mashed
potatoes. "I was studying for semester exams, Dad. Then we spent that
week at Grandpa's house over Christmas. Ever since school started
again, I've been busy."
Wes washed down the steak with a swallow of beer. "Busy with
everything except your future."
"No."
"Wes."
He shot a look at his wife. "Keep out of this, Dora. This is
between
Scott and me."
"I'll start filling out the forms tonight." Scott pushed back
his
chair and laid his napkin beside his plate.
"
I'll's
tart on them tonight." Wes jabbed
his knife toward
Scott's plate. "You finish your
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