Summer's Child. Diane Chamberlain

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СКАЧАТЬ “I’m really tired,” she said. “I’m going to lie down for a while. Call me when Shelly gets here and we can do the cake, okay?”

      Upstairs, she lay on her bed, but didn’t sleep. She stared at the dark ceiling, listening to the night sounds of the ocean and the shouts of the Wheelers’ grandkids from the yard next door. Since the summer she turned eleven, every one of her birthdays brought back memories of the day she’d found the infant abandoned on the beach. She closed her eyes, saying a quick prayer that Shelly was safe out on the beach, then let herself remember the day twenty-two years ago—the day that had shaped the rest of her life.

      The baby had been the talk of the neighborhood all that day, and for many days to come. The police had questioned everyone on the cul-de-sac, as well as people on neighboring streets and the other side of the beach road, but Daria had been aware only of the little world on her street. As the police made their rounds that afternoon, Daria had sat on the porch with Chloe and their cousin, Ellen, pretending to play with her bug-catching kit while listening to them talk about all the girls in the cul-de-sac. Ellen and Chloe sat in the rocking chairs, their long, bare legs stretched in front of them, their bare feet on the molding beneath the screens of the porch. Daria sat at the picnic table, hunched over her microscope, pretending to be absorbed in studying the wing of a dragonfly. She understood only bits and pieces of the conversation between her sister and cousin. They were talking about sex, of course. She knew that if she asked questions, they would stop talking completely, so she kept her mouth shut and feigned great interest in the dragonfly.

      “The cops are in the Taylors’ cottage now,” Ellen said.

      Daria braved a glance across the cul-de-sac at Poll-Rory, the Taylors’ cottage.

      “I am so white,” Chloe said, examining her legs. Her legs were hardly white; like Daria and Ellen, Chloe was of Greek descent and had inherited the trademark thick black hair and olive skin of the Cato side of the family. Nevertheless, Chloe would complain all summer long about her inability to tan, even as she grew darker week by week.

      “I don’t know why they’re bothering to talk to Polly,” Ellen said. “I mean, who’s going to get a mongoloid pregnant?”

      “Well, she is fifteen now,” Chloe said. “But I really don’t see how she could hide being pregnant from Mrs. Taylor. Polly’s always with her.”

      “Well, I’m fifteen, too,” Ellen said. “And I’m a whole lot better-looking than Polly, but I’m still a virgin.”

      Chloe laughed. “Right,” she said, “and I’m the Queen of Sheba.”

      Daria knew what a virgin was. The Virgin Mary had gotten pregnant with baby Jesus without ever having had sex. It had never occurred to her that Ellen or her sister or Polly or any of the other teenage girls on the cul-de-sac could be anything other than a virgin. She lowered her eye to the microscope again to keep the shock from showing on her face.

      “What makes the cops so sure it was a teenager, anyhow?” Ellen asked.

      “They’re probably pretty certain it’s Cindy Tramp’s baby,” Chloe said, “but they don’t have enough evidence to force her to have an examination. I bet they’re hearing all about her at every cottage they go to. She’s been doing it since she was twelve.”

      “Twelve?” Ellen looked astonished.

      “Twelve,” Chloe said with certainty. “Just one year older than Daria.” Both of them looked at Daria, and she raised her head from the microscope, feeling color blossom on her cheeks.

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daria said, although she did. She could not imagine having sex one year from then. She looked across the street at Poll-Rory, thinking of Rory inside that cottage. He was the only boy she could imagine kissing, but even with Rory, she couldn’t picture doing anything more than that. She wasn’t certain exactly how it was done, anyway.

      “I know who it was!” Ellen said excitedly. “I bet it was that girl, Linda.” She laughed, as though she’d said something wildly amusing. Chloe laughed, too, and Daria laughed along with them, pretending to understand.

      The police suddenly walked out Poll-Rory’s front door, with Rory close on their heels. Rory was yelling at them, and Daria leaned closer to the screen, as did Chloe and Ellen, trying to hear.

      “…just confused her!” Rory shouted. “What was the point?”

      The policemen kept walking toward the street, ignoring him.

      “Don’t come back again!” Rory yelled after them, a threat in his voice. The sun shimmered on his blond hair, and after only one rainy week at the beach, he was already tan. His voice was deeper than it had been a year before. Yelling at the policemen, Rory suddenly seemed more like a man than a boy, and Daria was both enticed and humiliated, seeing at once how ridiculous she was for hoping he might still want to hang out with her this summer.

      “Rory!” Mrs. Taylor opened the screen door of Poll-Rory and called to her son.

      Rory did not turn around. He stared after the policemen as they walked down the street, and even from across the cul-de-sac, Daria thought she could see the daggers in his eyes.

      Mrs. Taylor came out of the cottage and into the sandy yard, where she spoke with him softly, putting her arm around his shoulders. Finally he turned and walked with her back into the cottage.

      “Rory is looking hot this summer,” Ellen said, fanning herself with her hand.

      “He’s only fourteen,” Chloe scoffed. “Though I guess that’s about right for you.”

      Daria’s mother came out onto the porch. She had on a dress, unusual attire for Kill Devil Hills. “We’ll go out for pizza tonight,” she said, stroking her hand over Daria’s hair. The touch felt nearly alien. It had been a while since her mother had touched her that way. “For your birthday, Daria,” she added. “And then to the miniature-golf course. Would you like that?”

      “Yes,” Daria said, pleased that her mother had not forgotten her birthday after all. Chloe and Ellen looked at Sue Cato as if she’d grown two heads.

      “And right now—” Daria’s mother smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress “—I’m going to the hospital in Elizabeth City to visit the baby.”

      “Why?” Chloe asked. “It’s not yours.”

      “That’s true, but right now she doesn’t have anyone,” Sue said. “No one to hold her and rock her. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

      “Can I go, Mom?” Daria stood up, the dragonfly forgotten. “I found her.”

      Her mother tilted her head, as if considering. “Sure,” she said. “I think you should.”

      The nurse instructed them to wash their hands with a special soap and put on blue gowns before they could walk into the nursery where the baby was lying in a plastic bassinet. They were not allowed to pick her up, however. They were just allowed to stare. And stare they did. Daria barely recognized the tiny infant lying in front of her. The baby was so small. Had she really been that small when Daria found her on the beach? Her skin was very pale, almost translucent, and her hair was little more than a dusting of fine blond glitter on the top of her head. She was attached to several monitors by long wires taped to her chest.

      Daria СКАЧАТЬ