The Bankses had their camp it was actually an old school bus, repainted in a melange of bright happy colors, with a barbecue spit and a chemical, portable toilet, and some of the other comforts of home; mostly they had each other, and that was comfort enough in a hollow, behind one of the high ridges flanking the river front. It was set back from the Ohio far enough that they didn't have to worry about the annual floods. I'd fallen in love with it at first sight. Just enough primitiveness and just enough civilization, and the best of company to be there with.
We came don the bank. Alan and Dierdre and me, and all of us were wearing our clothes and I was trying not to look as if I'd just been summoned out of a juicy three way on the far side of the hill.
My heart thudded lower and lower as we neared the camp. That was definitely my father's car – the Mercedes parked beside the Banks' station wagon and David's motorcycle. And the man standing at the converted school bus, talking to Connie Banks? Well, I knew him, too.
Oh, shit! I thought. All the rest of my life he hadn't cared a Goddamn where I was or what I was doing, and now, when I was really having some fun, for a change, here he was, big as life. I swallowed the angry impulse and went to him.
"Hi, Daddy," I said, unsure whether I should be friendly or aloof. It would depend on his response and I could play it from there.
"Hello, Barbara." Oooohh. Cold and chilly. "I thought you were supposed to be staying at school this weekend. What are you doing here?" He said it very straightforward, just a hint of glare in his dark blue eyes, but he gave the impression of trying to contain a great deal of righteous anger. Each word was spoken clearly and precisely, and that was a very bad sign. It was the way he always talked to me, and it made me ache to go away, to be somewhere else, so I wouldn't have to be spoken to in that tone of voice any longer. Maybe that's why he did it. To keep me at a distance. Well, it worked.
"It's all right," Alan Banks volunteered, stepping up to Daddy, offering his hand. Daddy shook hands with Alan, but his eyes were on me. God, there was such a difference between the two men! Watching them, I could pick up every vibration of the difference, too.
Alan was warm and open. He was about forty – I had never asked but if David was nineteen, Alan should be at least twenty years older – but he looked so much younger. He was alive and healthy, and warm, enfolding kindness seemed to radiate from him. While Daddy, thirty-six, stood there in his safari style leisure suit, backbone straight as a Prussian grenadier's, his body language displaying the cold, tense, withdrawn nature of him. Damn it, I thought, why did I have to be born into the wrong fucking family? Why did I have to be born at all, for that matter?
But Daddy hadn't always been this way. I could remember his cold mouth when it still remembered how to smile. I could even remember hearing him laugh, hearing him tell my mother, "She looks more like you every day, Barbie-doll," while his hand stroked across my pale blonde hair and I stood smiling, gloating, reveling in the knowledge that I was the loved, only child of two loving parents.
It had been different once, but there was no way to make it that way again. When Mom died, so did Daddy's affection for me. The last four years I'd been an orphan in every way that really counted, and I'd be an orphan the rest of mylife as far as Daddy was concerned. The handwriting was on the wall. I looked at him standing there, and I wanted so much to hate him. If I'd found a sort of primeval, innocent, sensual Garden of Eden with the Banks family, then Daddy was the snake who was about to fuck it all up.
Alan was still talking. "Our daughter, Dierdre," he said as she stepped forward and did a little curtsy in greeting, "Met Barbara at school during the orientation program for new students. And when she heard that Barbara was going to stay at school for the holiday, Dierdre invited her to come visit us."
"Yes," Dierdre said, "it seemed like such a lonely way to spend Labor Day."
"Barbara," my father said, "knows that she had no business accepting without my consent."
I felt it was time to speak. "Well, you told me you were going to be in Canada over the holiday, and I don't remember you leaving a number where you could be reached."
"I'm not in Canada, as you can see," Daddy replied.
"Oh, please, Mr. Gifford," Connie put in, "Barbara is very welcome here. She didn't hurt anything by coming, and I hope this hasn't inconvenienced you…"
"It's not a matter of conveniences," Daddy replied. "As it turned out, I didn't have to go to Canada, after all. And late last night I had a call from the school wondering if Barbara had come home for the holiday break. She hadn't, of course, and there was no indication at school just where she had gone. My daughter is rather careless, it seems. Not only did she forget to tell me, she also forgot to sign the school's checkout book, which is a violation of student rules. I imagine the headmistress will want to discuss that with her when she gets back this evening. Anyway, after some checking and cross checking, we found a girl who remembered seeing Barbara get into a car yesterday noon your daughter's car."
Bloody shit! I thought angrily. I'd forgotten about the stupid sign out regulations.
"I called your house," Daddy went on, "but there was a recording answer device on the line that said you'd gone up to your camp. So I did a little more checking, and here I am. Barbara, I believe you've imposed on the Bankses long enough. If you'll get your things together, I'll drive you back to school."
I saw red for a moment. Lucidly, Dierdre filled in the gap just before I could tell Daddy to go take a flying fuck at a moving Concorde. "Oh, please, Mr. Gifford, I'll tell the headmistress whose fault it really was! I should have reminded Barbara about signing out. And if it's a matter of staying here or going back to school, God, how can you want her to stay there all by herself during the holidays? And we were having so much fun." Her voice dropped wistfully away and she hung her head to one side. Those liquid peon eyes of hen had won my heart. Could they do the same to Daddy?
No. He wasn't even looking at her. His stare was fixed on me.
I frowned. Not only, it seemed, did he want nothing to do with me, he wanted me to have nothing to do with other people either.
"Barbara…" he started.
"No! Let's not talk about it here! I'm so embarrassed I could die, right now, right here, so if you want to humiliate me any more, let's go off and discuss it in private. If that means anything to you – how I feel, that is!" And I turned around and started up the hill we'd just come down. Behind me, Daddy said "Barbara!" in a sharp, drilled voice. I wasn't listening. At least, I wasn't obeying. I marched up the hill, and in a moment I heard the tramp of his footsteps, coming through the grass after me. The Bankses must have been staring at us, too, and I felt even more miserable than I'd ever thought I could. Mortification was the pleasantest word to describe the workings inside my head, and I think I was almost wishing that Daddy would have a coronary and die while he was trying to catch up with me. That would have solved everything. The Bankses could have adopted me and I could have been their child by law as well as love. Oh, God, that's horrible! I reminded myself. You can't feel that way about your own father, for chrissake!
By the time I'd reached the top of the hill overlooking the river, Daddy was almost up to me. He reached for my arm, but I eluded him and started down the slope. "Barbara, listen to me," he was saying, coming up behind. "I was very worried about you. When the school called and said you weren't there, that they didn't know where you were, I…"
"Don't, Daddy," I said coldly. "It's way too late for anything like that. You stopped caring about me when Mom died, and I can't believe that you've started caring now. The Bankses love me. Not because somebody puts them on the spot and they have to seem to care a little, but because they love me. For myself. And I love them. They're the only real family I've had in a long, long time. If you want me to go with you, if you want me to go back to the school so I can spend the weekend staring at the walls of my room and wishing I could hear a friendly voice, see an eye that looks at me with love and affection, then I'll do it. But I'll never speak to you again, as long as either of us lives. Never."
"Barbara," he said again, "you don't understand – there's so much you can't understand – and the worst of it is, I don't think I can tell you – the way you think it is, that isn't the truth at all…"
"I don't want to hear it. If you can't talk to me, then don't even bother trying. I want to take one last swim before I go. Daddy, and that's what I'm going to do. And then we'll get my stuff and we'll drive back up to the school and you can tell me goodbye the same way I plan to tell you goodbye. For real. For good."
I stepped down to the river's edge, where water lapped gently on the pebbly beach. Without looking back, I took off my long-tailed shirt. Under it, I was wearing my bikini. While Daddy tried to speak from the bank, I stepped into the water, making a lot of splashes so I wouldn't have to listen to his lame excuses.
I looked at him, standing on the shore, and I wished I could swim off, down the river, and never have to come back. Maybe I could drown instead. Open my mouth, shut my eyes, and just sink beneath the rippling waters of the Ohio River, never to come up again. I tried, but I was too good a swimmer. Each time I went under, I popped up again, spitting out water and healthy to a disgusting degree. Oh damn it, Barbara, I told myself, you have to go ashore eventually. Why not do it now and get the Goddamned fucking business over with? But I meant what I said. If he insisted that I go back to school simply because my neglect had inconvenienced him a little, then it was definite. We were finished. I wanted nothing more to do with him or the life he'd chosen for me. I summed up all my determination and swam for shore.
I had trouble thinking of him as human while I neared the shore. Sometimes I wanted to shrivel up inside, remembering how I used to idolize the man. Oh, he was handsome, I guess, in his way Dierdre had called him a "viking" type, which was pushing it a little, but I'd shown her an old picture of him. He was tall, reasonably well built, with sandy blonde hair layer cut, and his clothes were tailored to his body so they fit perfectly. From the neck down he was a decent figure of a man, from the chin up, he was all iceberg, with the coldest, most unyielding eyes I had ever seen or wanted to see.
He stood like a statue as I waded into the shallows and came ashore, water dripping down my lithe, tanned body. I looked at him, found no surrender in the set of his expression.
"If you're finished with your little tantrum, Barbara," he said stiffly, "we might as well be going?"
"All right, damn it," I growled, shaking my hair and tossing it back. I have long hair, fine-stranded, and right now it was weighted down with water. And while I stood there, combing out my hair, not even looking at Daddy, all my weight centered onto my left leg, I heard him make a little coughing sound deep in his chest. I looked up, and he had the strangest expression in big eyes and round his mouth that I'd ever seen on a human being.
"My God," he said, wonderingly. I lifted my head and stared at him. His glassy eyes were starting to mist over and his face was dead white from sideburns to sideburns, from hairline to shirt collar.
"Is something wrong?" I asked, not really caring. Jesus, I thought, if he has a coronary, it might just work out – oh, God, I really thought that??
He sat down on the grass, still looking at me. He seemed to be having trouble with his breathing. I stopped playing with my hair. "It's you – all over again."
"Who?"
He shook his head slightly. "No. For a moment…"
"What?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Nothing new." I started on my hair again.
"Your mother," he said. "You looked just like her the day the day that I – my God, she was just your age, Barbara, and I was in my second year of college. I'd lived next door to her all my life, and we were good friends, nothing more, and then that day at the lake, she came out of the water and stood there, shaking her hair just the way you're doing now. Good God, you look so much like her, Barbie, so much."
Barbie? He hadn't called me Barbie in a long time. I felt my hands begin to shake.
"It was the day I fell in love with her, and I never stopped. Seventeen years ago, and I feel the same way about her now."
His eyes! They were human again! And, oh, God, so heartsick in the way they looked at me! I went to him, wet as I was, and I wrapped my arms around him and hugged for dear life. He embraced me, and my tits were hard against him, hard and wet inside the soaking bikini. He had one, hand in the small of my back, the other in my hair, petting it, toying with it, stroking it lovingly and I leaned my face against his chest, purring like a kitten. I didn't know what had happened to him, but I didn't want it to stop.
"It was as if she'd come back to me all over again, as if I had another chance."
I looked up. "I never went away, Daddy. You went away from me." There were tears in my eyes.
He tried to push me away then, and his eyes began to harden. I fought him. I held on, wrapping my arms and legs around his body, and I pressed him with all of me. "Oh, my God," I said suddenly, letting go and stepping back. I'd felt it unmistakable, lancing up against my belly for only a moment but something I could not have missed feeling. I looked down, and there it was Daddy was hard in his pants, massively hard.