Chapter 18

The next few weeks were a virtual hell.

My father, much to his credit, saw that the secret that the three of us shared was kept from my mother. He knew how damaging an effect it would have had on her had she known. I did feel quite a measure of relief in knowing that.

A few times, however, my mother was al-most on the verge of demanding that we spell out why all the sudden tension had emerged. After that we all did our best to make it appear we were contented even if we were anything but that.

It wasn't until several days after my father caught Mike and I balling that I finally caught up with Stan at school. Mike had wanted in the worst way to give Stan a thrashing with his fists, but I talked him out of it, even though it wasn't easy.

"No matter how much I'd like to see you do it, it would just make things worse," I cautioned. "And, worse yet, everything would come out."

"How do we know it already hasn't?" Mike asked. "Just because we're only aware of him telling Dad doesn't mean anything. If I know that creepy bastard, he probably has told any-body who was willing to listen."

"I don't know of him telling anybody else. We can't act on guesses."

"Fine, then I'll act on what has been done in the past. I still wanna push the bastard's face in."

"That won't solve anything, please," I pleaded tearfully. "Do you still love-me?"

"Of course I do. That's the big reason I'd like to break him in two. For humiliating you."

"If you really do love me, then you ought to grant me this one favor. I know that it'll only make things worse if we have violence on top of everything else. I know it will. Please believe me."

"Okay, you win," he finally said, shaking his head with resignation as he walked away.

I wanted to handle Stan myself. I figured that if he was beaten up by my angry brother, he would want to tell all to everyone. But I could humiliate him, I figured, and get away with it without him telling anyone.

You can easily imagine the feelings that surged through my body when I finally saw Stan. He had done his best to stay away from the area where my classes were located. When I finally did spot him, he was creeping out a door heading to another building.

My first response was to wring my hands. For all I had said to Mike about not resorting to violence, my first reaction had to be that of wanting to strangle him. I could have done it at that moment without any sweat.

Upon thinking a little, though, the violence feeling gave way to more general sensations of anger. I walked quickly toward the door out of which he was heading, breaking into a trot and grabbing him by the arm at the walk which separated the building he had come out of and that toward which he was proceeding.

"Just a second, Stan," my voice quivered with anger and hatred, "we have a little unfinished business to take care of."

"Please turn loose, Susan, I've got a class to go to."

The one thing I noticed right off was that he could not bring himself to look me in the eye. He was groveling and creeping like the rattlesnake I considered him to be.

"We're talking, damn you."

"Okay, okay, but let me go."

Stan watched with embarrassment as several clusters of students walked by, watching the fireworks. I let go of his arm.

"I've been looking for you, Stan, so I could look you in the eye and tell you what a rotten, no good prick you are. That was some nice stunt. Telling my father that you thought I was balling with my brother. Do you realize how much humiliation that has caused me?"

"I'm sorry, but I was concerned about you," he explained, his eyes becoming misty.

"Don't hand me that bullshit," I retorted bitterly. "It was just sour grapes because I wasn't paying as much attention to you as you wanted."

"Maybe part of that is true," he reluctantly admitted, "but the big thing I was concerned about was you. Maybe I didn't handle it as well as I should have, but that was really my big concern."

"You lying hypocrite. My brother wanted to beat the hell out of you and I'm kind of sorry now that I didn't let him."

I faced him with a hateful expression, de-liberating over whether I should slap his face. Just as my right hand was about to rise for that purpose I suddenly had second thoughts, putting it back down, turning on my heels, and stalking quickly away.

"Please, Susan, I'm sorry," I heard Stan sob.

At that point I was convinced that I had spoken to Stan Greenwood for the last time, but he had the nerve to call my house the following night, trying his best to placate me through an apology.

"You've got one hell of a nerve calling here," I told him as abruptly as I knew how.

"Please give me another chance."

"Nothing doing. You go to hell," I said, hanging up the telephone with a vengeance.

A few days later something I never thought would occur did. Stan waited for me after school.

At first glance I just couldn't help but feel stunned to the point of speechlessness. Dark circles hung beneath Stan's reddened eyes, and his face was several shades whiter than I was accustomed to seeing it.

"I just have to see you one more time to tell you what a rat I feel like," he told me.

This time I listened.