Chapter 1 Part III

It’s too cold to run this morning, Michelle concluded merely by listening to the creaking of the trees and the whistling of the pines. She buried her face into her pillow, anticipating the cold about to touch her, to make her outsides as cold as her insides had been since August. She eyed the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock. 6:05. Ten minutes and she would get up and fix her hair.
She heard Mark, her older brother, leave the house on his way to the ferry. He was working as a mail carrier now, making good money at a reliable job, just like her father. He and his girlfriend would be moving in together soon on account of the baby they were expecting. Michelle’s stomach twisted at the thought of a baby. She felt ill and closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. Relax, she thought, just relax.
But Michelle couldn’t relax. The weakness and the emptiness inside her felt worse today, like she might never find the strength to get out of bed - like she was caught in an undertow that would surely carry here right out White Head Pass into the open Atlantic. It had been this way since it happened - since the cold and rainy day at the end of the season when she had been left alone to mind the shop. There was not enough work for two people so Beth went home even though it was really Michelle’s turn.
Her ten minutes were up. Beth rose slowly, feeling weak, and stood uncertainly beside her bed. Indoor Track after class, she thought wearily as she walked to the dresser. I need my running shoes. Beth dressed slowly, her hands cold and distant, almost as if they were not her own. As she pulled on her jeans she glared at her thighs. They are so big - too big for a runner, she thought for the millionth time. She cinched the belt around her waist, aware of the sloppy look that all the extra fabric of the jeans had bunched up under the belt. No help for it. I’ll just wear a longer shirt.
As she got into her baggy pink blouse she made note of the fat hanging from her triceps, the bulge of her stomach. Her eyes lingered on that bulge and she placed her hands there. “You’re shrinking, hear me? Shrinking.” She addressed her stomach, willing with all her might that it be so, squeezing her skin tight in two clenched fists, treasuring the pain. Someday, she thought, it will be just like it was before it happened. I won’t even remember that it ever was.
It’s almost like that now, Michelle mused, it’s just the two of us that know about it and he won’t say a thing. He broke the law after all. She felt the anxiety rising in her, pushing on her chest so that she couldn’t breathe and collecting in her stomach. Her eyes felt unfocused and her head began spinning. She put her hands over her eyes, shielding her view of the bedroom instead of the image she wanted to erase.

She was closing up. It was late in the season and the remains of a tropical storm were passing through. The few tourists that remained were holed up in their cabins, packing up their things or playing cards while they waited for the weather to clear. It was so dead at the shop that Tom told one of them to leave early when he stopped by to do the inventory that afternoon. Although it was her turn, Michelle knew that Tom believed she was the most responsible worker. The one he most trusted to close up alone.
“I suppose I could stay.” Beth said, “It is my turn.”
“No. Why don’t you get going.”
“You want to come over after you’re through?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Beth grabbed her raincoat and headed out. Michelle started closing up, she covered the few ice cream containers that they had opened that day. She wiped down the steamer and took the hot fudge of the heat. She worked her away through the sandwich station, cleaning and covering. The only thing she left was the coffee. The only thing people are going to be looking for tonight is a cup of coffee, she reasoned.
She leaned her elbows on the counter, listening to Casey Kasem and the American Top 40 as she watched the clock. Forty-five minutes to close. Maybe she should just eat dinner now instead of at Beth’s house. Michelle walked back over to the sandwich station and made herself a ham and cheese sandwich. She cleaned up again. Twenty five minutes to close.
Michelle reached behind the cash register for a notepad and pen. She began to compile the list of things she needed to buy before school starts. “Class of 1992” she wrote at the top of the sheet, “Senior Year!”
1. New track clothes
2. New running shoes
3. dress socks
4. new bra
5. jeans
6. discman
She looked up again. Only 10 minutes to go. It was unseasonably dark outside - the end of summer and stormy weather combined to make it as dark as night. No one else will be in tonight, she concluded. What’s the harm in closing a few minutes early? She ripped the list from the top of the notepad, folded it in even eighths and placed it in her pocket. She walked out from behind the counter and stepped outside of the door. The warm and humid air swirled round her as she took down the “Open” sign. She turned and walked back into the shop, closing and locking the door behind her. Now the only thing to do is to take care of that pot of coffee, she mused.
She was not even back behind the counter before she heard a tapping on the window. She turned to see Billy Smith smiling through the glass.

Michelle walked to the bathroom and started brushing her teeth while she waited for the curling iron to heat. She put just a dab of toothpaste on the brush but started gagging all the same once she felt the thick gel in her mouth. She sped up her brushing, willing herself to keep her composure for just another moment. She spit into the sink, still choking back her gag reflex and filled her mouth with a handful of cold water from the tap. Rinse it clean and don’t swallow a drop. That’s all it takes, she reminded herself.
The curling iron was hot. Michelle started in on her hair, working from the top down each side. She curled her feathered hair up and back, working tirelessly to insure that each hair was in its place and applying a generous amount of hair spray. Her task completed, she glanced at her face in the mirror – her freckles standing out against her peaked skin, her crooked teeth and, she pinched her neck disgustedly, double chin.
“Michelle, I’m on my way to school. Do you want a ride to the boat?”
“Yes please. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“I’m going to warm the car. Come out when your ready.”
Unplugging the iron, she took one last look at herself, full of loathing – an ugly package for an even uglier interior. Not quite thinking about what she was doing but aware that it was exactly what she wanted to do, Michelle pushed the hot curling iron against her wrist. Holding it there as she felt her flesh burn. “You’re nothing special to look at,” he had said as he walked back toward the door of the shop with his coffee. “You were never going to get it any other way.” The sob that escaped Michelle’s lips as she removed the hot metal from her blistered skin echoed against the cold tiles which were just as hard and smooth as the marble countertop she felt on her cheek while his hand had her pinned by the throat. She turned from her reflection and left the room, picking up her track clothes and descending the stairs. She removed her wool coat from the sofa and shook off some of the cat hair. She pulled it on and struggled to lift the pink canvas bag in which her books were stacked neatly. Her arm shook violently as she hoisted the weight of it onto her shoulder. Michelle stepped outside to join her mother in the car, the cold winter wind passing through her as if she wasn’t there at all.