Free Book Excerpts

A high school senior in 1958 has an affair with his best friend’s young stepmother. It is an introspective look from the young man’s viewpoint about their struggle to cope with it, and resolve the relationship, especially in 1958.

“Perhaps,” she said as she reached over and put her hands over his hands. “Thanks for sitting with us, Father. It’s been good seeing you again.” She turned to me, getting up slowly. “Let’s go, Jimmy,” she whispered. As she walked passed the priest she brushed him slightly, then turned to face him. “Forgive me, Father.”
They looked at each other for several moments. “Find peace, Carol. I’ll pray for you.”
“Thanks, Father. I hope I do,” she said softly.
I walked passed him as he nodded at me, and I in turn nodded back.
Carol turned toward the alter and genuflected as she left the pew. I let her precede me feeling that she needed to be by herself for a little while. When she reached the entrance area, she reached into the font, faced the alter, and crossed herself with holy water again before exiting. I could feel the priest’s eyes following us but it was not a feeling that made me uneasy. There was nothing in this place that made me feel uneasy.
When I reached the door I could see Carol slowly making her way down the many steps taking her away from the church. For a brief instance I thought I was watching a bride who had just gotten married, exit the church, but there was no groom next to her, only me trailing behind.
At the midway point of her descent she stopped and turned back toward me, waiting for me to catch up, then took my hand again. We went down the steps and walked toward the Fairlane where she let go of my hand again.
She stopped in front of the car, standing between the passenger door and me as if blocking it. “It’s time, Jimmy,” she said in a soft low voice.
“Time?” I asked.
“Time for that struggle to end — one way or another.” She looked up the street and stared in that direction a few moments. When she turned back around to face me she had tears in her eyes. “Your home is up there, Jimmy, just a few minutes away. Do you know what home is?”
I looked at her not knowing exactly what she meant, puzzled by the tears in her eyes.
“Home is where that special feeling overtakes you when you go in the door,” she continued. “It’s where those favorite things like books, toys, even cold chicken in the refrigerator wait for you. It’s the place where those special people who love you — like your mom and dad, are. It’s where all those happy memories, like holidays with your family, live with you — in every room. It’s where you belong.”
“Why are you telling me this Carol?” I asked
“Because you should always cherish your home, Jimmy, and never treat it lightly or threaten it.”
“How could I threaten it?” I asked.
She ignored the question. “We can say goodbye here, this time for good, Jimmy, and you can walk up that street and be home in just a few minutes.”
“I don’t understand, Carol. Don’t talk that way.”
“It’s so easy for you to go home, Jimmy. No one’s stopping you….or…or…”
“Or what?”
She struggled to get it out. “Or you could get in the car and go with me in another direction for a little while….but our relationship will change forever if you do.”
“Will it?”
“Yes it will.”
“For good or for bad?”
“That’s a question I can’t answer, Jimmy. I only know that it will change.”
“What would you like me to do, Carol?”
“I can’t decide for you, Jimmy. It’s your decision.”
I looked up the street and then back at her, wishing I could stop her tears. “That’s not a big decision to make, Carol. You’re right about home. Guess it’s all those things, just like you said. But sometimes it’s not where you should be — sometimes it’s just not time to go back there. Sometimes you just gotta be somewhere else.”
“And where would that be, Jimmy?” she asked, wiping tears away from her eyes with her hand.
I looked straight into those tearful eyes. “With you.”
She put both of her hands up to her face trying to hide more tears, then pulled them away. “Are you sure? It’s an adult decision. I don’t want to hurt you or change that precious attitude you have about life.”
I looked up at the priest who had emerged and was gazing down at us by the door, exchanging glances with him for a few moments. He seemed at peace and I felt at peace watching him. I remembered the words he had spoken inside about not judging people. Then I turned back to Carol. “I’m sure,” I said. “As sure as there’s no such thing as plain vanilla.”
Her body suddenly relaxed and for the first time that afternoon I saw her smile. She took the scarf from her head and shook her head slightly, letting her brown hair blossom around her face and caress her shoulders.
Placing the scarf back into her purse, she motioned for me to get into the car, then walked slowly around to the driver’s side and got in. I watched every step and motion – that graceful and elegant walk heading for a new and uncertain destination.
Her fingers firmly pushed the key into the ignition, turned it and the familiar throaty sound of the V8 announced it was ready to take us on our journey, wherever that was to be. Her foot gently pressed on the accelerator and we pulled away from the front of the church where the priest still stood and watched us drive off.
She spun the blue steering wheel to her left and we went up a side street, shooting through several blocks, then merged onto Route 1, taking us far away from Lakewood and its peaceful exterior.
Carol didn’t speak as she drove. I glanced over at her periodically. I could feel that whatever that struggle within her had been, she had come to some sort of resolution, at least for now.
The Fairlane cruised up Route 1 for five miles until Carol pulled off next to a roadside phone booth. “You’d better call your mom and tell her you won’t be home for a while, Jimmy.” She reached into her purse and handed me some change.
“What should I tell her?”
“Whatever you feel comfortable with, Jimmy. Whatever you feel comfortable with.” She smiled but then turned and stared out the windshield.
I got out and called my mom telling her I was going somewhere to work on a term paper with a friend. Before she could question me I told her that someone else had to use the phone, not to worry, then hung up and jumped back into the Fairlane.
In a few miles we turned onto Route 40, then headed north another four miles. When we approached Randolph Way, a one-lane road, Carol turned right. I had been in this area before, but never on Randolph Way. It turned out to be a scenic road that traversed several small stone bridges and gradually wound its way upward toward a higher elevation.
For two miles I watched the beautiful tapestry of fall colors unfold before us. Boughs from trees on either side arched and reached out to each other over us forming a colorful passageway. Carol finally slowed the Fairlane and turned left onto Blue Mountain Road.
It wasn’t long after that, just half a mile before we reached our destination. Carol wheeled the Fairlane right onto a long driveway on an incline that led up to a small rustic cabin-like house surrounded by tall trees.
It was a place where you expected to see deer and other small animals circling about. The house was a one level, one-bedroom structure, probably a second home for someone, surrounded by many tall trees, which dwarfed its presence.
Lakewood was only twenty minutes away but it felt like several hundred miles separated us from those cookie cutter rambler style homes and the residents who inhabited them. The feeling of separation from that structured existence exhilarated me.
Carol pulled the Fairlane up to the front of the wooden steps that led to the entrance. I got out and took in the peaceful setting that surrounded the small house. Carol joined me.
“This is really neat,” I said. “It’s fantastic. Looks like something from a Walt Disney film. Who’s is it? Is it yours?”
Her eyes slowly moved around, absorbing the structure and the gentle sloping land that seemed to invite the visitor in. “I wish it were. It belongs to my mother and father. It was a vacation home, but my father moved his practice to Florida last year. I’m taking care of it for them until they decide what to do with it.”
“I wish it were mine,” I said.
“Me, too. I come here a lot. It’s a good place to dream in.”
She opened her purse and pulled out a gold key, then grabbed my hand and walked up the steps with me and opened the door. The interior continued the comfy country feeling that one got from the outside.
Aged hardwood floors beneath a large open area echoed our footsteps as we walked in. Across the room on the opposite wall was a small red brick fireplace with a marble mantle above it. A maple framed sofa with big plump pillows sat facing it in the middle of the room. A small white coffee table sat in front of it.
To my left, at the end of the open space, was a kitchen, separated from the main space by a counter built into the wall, with two red leather stools beside it on the right. Further to the right was a small dining table. On the other end of the open space was a hallway that led to the bedroom, bathroom, utility room and back entrance.
Blue and white scatter rugs with country themes were neatly placed on the hardwood floor near all the corners, and one large one had been placed under the sofa. Maple furniture and large armchairs were conveniently located around the room, not overpowering in number and arrangement, but just enough to make the room functional without detracting from the quality of the open space.
A small drop table with a lit Victorian lamp on it was centered in front of a small bay window with lacy white curtains on either side. The curtains blended well with the cream and fine gold patterned wallpaper that covered the walls.
“Sit down on the sofa, Jimmy,” she said as she walked to the mantle and put her purse on it, then went to a thermostat on the opposite wall and adjusted it. I could hear a furnace turn on in the next room and warm air start to penetrate the room as I sat on the sofa.
Carol came back and sat down next to me. “Do you like it inside, too?”
“You’d have to be crazy not to. You should buy this place from your parents. It’s like being in another country, way up in the mountains somewhere.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s a yes, I take it,” then patted me on the head.
“Yes, I like it.”
She began rubbing her hands and arms.
“Are you cold?” I asked.
“Yes, the air is colder up here. I always like to turn the heat up. I’m going to light the fire, too.” She went to the fireplace, kneeled down, opened the flue and put kindling on the heart. It didn’t take long before she had it lit and then threw some logs onto it.
“You do that real good, Carol.”
She came back to the sofa and sat next to me. “Do you feel funny being here all alone with me?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s awkward for me.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I’ve never been here with anyone else except family before. I’ve never done anything……well. I’ve just never been here with anyone except family. Never. I’ve been thinking so much about you, Jimmy. I’m not sure I know what I’m doing except I know I want to be here with you.”
“Are you all right, Carol?” I asked.
“Maybe my nerves are a little frazzled.”
She seemed excited and I wanted to calm her down but didn’t know how. I noticed an RCA record player console to the left of the fireplace. “Why don’t you put some music on, Carol? What do you like?”
She looked over at it. “Patti Page. I like Patti Page. Do you ever listen to her?”
“Yes sometimes. She sings those ballads. Put something on the record player, Carol.”
She walked over to the console and flipped the lid open. She pulled some 45-rpm records off the turntable and shuffled through then until she found what she was looking for. I heard the machine click as Carol turned it on and the record fell to the turntable and the needle arm dropped onto it.
The song began to play — one that I had heard before — ‘The Tennessee Waltz’ by Patti Page. Carol came back and stood by me. “Do you know how to slow dance, Jimmy?”
“Yes, a little.”
“Will you dance with me?”
I got up. “Sure. I’d be pleased.”
There she stood in front of me, like that fine elegant animal I had thought of on that day at Nelson’s grocery. I knew why she had brought me there. I knew that I could have stopped the journey anytime along the route and she would have taken me back, but I had chosen not to.
I had made no such request because I had followed that voice deep down inside of me that told me to stay with her, no matter what. I had no control over that directive. To turn back would have meant a journey not ended, a matter not resolved, a story not read. I had to come to this place on Blue Mountain Road to finish Carol’s story.
I put my right hand around her waist and took her right hand in my other hand. It was the first time I had actually touched her except for when she held my hand.
Her waist felt soft, light and agile. It was the same waist I followed around Nelson’s grocery, the same waist that sat across from me in the Arundel ice cream parlor, and that I had followed into the parking lot. But now I was allowed to touch it and the feeling was both soothing and exciting at the same time. It was not like holding Jennifer — there had been no magic there.
If I had any doubts about anything at all, they were vanishing quickly as I clung to her and we slowly circled the floor. I do not know why she wanted me — perhaps I still reminded her of someone. But for me, I had absorbed her into my being. Her moves, her words, her personality, her playful qualities had sunk into me with the ever present scent of her perfume.
When the song finally ended we both stood there looking at each other for a few moments before Carol led me by the hand to the couch again and we both sat down.
“That was nice, Jimmy,” she said. “I didn’t know you could dance like that. Where did you learn?”
“My mom showed me. She said it would come in handy some day. Guess this is the day.”
“This is the day, Jimmy.” She looked back at the RCA as it clicked and turned itself off, then back at me. “We need to finish our conversation.”
“If you say so, Carol. What do you want to say?”
“You remember what I said back there? That our relationship would change. Did you know what I meant?”
“I guess.”
“It’s best not to use those trick words, Jimmy. It’s the wrong time for them. Did you know what I meant?”
“Yes. I’m not dense, Carol.”
“If you knew what I meant, why didn’t it shock you? It shocked me just thinking about it”
“Because I knew it a while back. You said it but not with words. Today you just used the words, but you already told me before. The way you walked, the way you picked me up, the way you made fun of me — I just knew.”
She put her face down into her hands again. “I can’t do this Jimmy. Let’s go back. I can’t do this. I’m married and you’re still in high school. This is bad. This is really bad.”

Copyright 2008 Frank Arcilesi. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.