Gerald's Game(79)

But let's face it, Jessie thought. I got off with barely a scratch compared to what could have happened... what does happen every day. It doesn't just happen in places like Peyton Place and along Tobacco Road, either. My father wasn't the first college-educated, upper-middle-class man to ever get a hard-on for his daughter, and I wasn't the first daughter to ever find a wet spot on the back of her underpants. That's not to say it was right, or even excusable; it's just to say that it's over, and it could have been a lot worse.

Yes. And right now forgetting all that seemed a much better idea than going through it yet again, no matter what Punkin had to say on the subject. Best to let it fade into the general darkness which came with any solar eclipse. She still had a lot of dying to do in this stinking, fly-filled bedroom.

She closed her eyes and immediately the scent of her father's cologne seemed to drift into her nose. That, and the smell of his light, nervous sweat. The feel of the hard thing against her bottom. His little gasp as she squirmed on his lap, trying to get comfortable. Feeling his hand as it settled lightly on her breast. Wondering if he was all right. He had begun to breathe so fast. Marvin Gaye on the radio: "I love too hard, my friends sometimes say, but I believe I believe... that a woman should be loved that way..."

Do you love me, Punkin?

Yes, sure-

Then don't worry about anything. I'd never hurt you. Now his other hand was moving up her bare leg, pushing the sundress ahead of it, bunching it in her lap. I want...

"'I want to be sweet to you,"" Jessie muttered, shifting a little against the headboard. Her face was sallow and drawn. "That's what he said. Good Christ, he actually said that."

"Everybody knows... especially you girls... that a love can be sad, well my love is twice as bad..."

I'm not sure I want to, Daddy... I'm afraid of burning my eyes.

You have another twenty seconds. At least that. So don't worry. And don't look around.

Then there had been the snap of elastic-not hers but his-as he set the old Adam free.

In defiance of her advancing dehydration, a single tear slipped from Jessie's left eye and rolled slowly down her cheek. "I'm doing it," she said in a hoarse, choked voice. "I'm remembering. I hope you're happy."

Yes, Punkin said, and although Jessie could no longer see it, she could feel that strange, sweet gaze on her. You've gone too far, though. Back up a little. Just a little.

An enormous sense of relief washed through Jessie as she realized the thing Punkin wanted to remember had not happened during or after her father's sexual advances, but before them... although not long before.

Then why did I have to go through the rest of that awful old stuff?

The answer to that was pretty obvious, she supposed. It didn't matter if you wanted one sardine or twenty, you still had to open the can and look at all of them; you had to smell that horrible fish-oil stink. And besides, a little ancient history wasn't going to kill her. The handcuffs holding her to the bed might, but not these old memories, painful as they might be. It was time to quit bitching and moaning and get down to business. Time to find whatever it was Punkin said she was supposed to find.

Go back to just before he started to touch you that other way-the wrong way. Go back to the reason why the two of you were out there in the first place. Go back to the eclipse.

Jessie closed her eyes tighter and went back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Punkin? All right?

Yes, but... it's a little scary, isn't it?

Now she doesn't have to look into the reflector-box to know something's happening; the day is beginning to darken the way it does when a cloud passes over the sun. But this is no cloud; the murk has unravelled and what clouds there are lie quite far to the east.

Yes, he says, and when she glances at him, she is enormously relieved to see he means it. Want to sit on my lap, Jess?

Can I?

You bet.

So she does, glad of his nearness and warmth and his sweet smell-the smell of Daddy-as the day continues to darken. Glad most of all because it is a little scary, scarier than she imagined it would be. What scares her the most is the way their shadows on the deck are fading. She has never seen shadows fade quite like this before, and is almost positive she never will again. That's perfectly okay with me, she thinks, and snuggles closer, glad to be (at least for the duration of this slightly spooky interlude) her father's Punkin again instead of plain old Jessie-too tall, too gawky... too squeaky.

Can I look through the smoked glass yet, Dad?

Not yet. His hand, heavy and warm on her leg. She puts her own hand over it, then turns to him and grins.

It's exciting, isn't it?

Yes. Yes it is, Punkin. Quite a bit more than I thought it would be, actually-

She wriggles again, wanting to find a way to coexist with the hard part of him against which her bottom is now resting. He draws in a quick hissing mouthful of air over his bottom lip.

Daddy? Am I too heavy? Did I hurt you?

No. You're fine.

Can I look at it through the glass yet?

Not yet, Punkin. But very soon.

The world no longer has the look it gets when the sun dives into a cloud; now it seems as if twilight has come in the middle of the afternoon. She hears the old hooty-owl in the woods, and the sound makes her shiver. On WNCH Debbie Reynolds is fading out, and the deejay who comes in on top of them will soon be replaced by Marvin Gaye.