Endless Night Part 46

Losing the bandages hadn't seemed to do Andy any harm.

He'd looked sort of raw just after his shower. This morning, though, she'd seen everything above his waist and hadn't noticed any leaky wounds. She hadn't seen any blood on his sheets, either.

"We'll see how it goes," she muttered.

In her travel bag, she found her shampoo.

Then she went into the bathroom and shut the door. She set her bottle of shampoo on the edge of the tub, spotted a small wrapped bar of Ivory in the soap dish, plucked a washcloth from its wire rack and made sure that one of the towels trapped in the same rack could be reached from the tub. After draping the washcloth over the faucet spout, she spread the bath mat on the floor.

She sat on the toilet. While she peed, she slipped her moccasins off and checked the bottom of each foot. The bandages had come unstuck last night, and she'd found them loose inside her socks when she'd gotten ready for bed. She hadn't bothered to put new ones on. Her feet looked as if they'd done just fine. None of the cuts or scratches seemed to be open. She prodded most of them with a fingertip. They felt tender, just slightly sore.

Which seemed to bode well for the rest of her injuries.

She slipped her feet back into the moccasins, returned to the tub, crouched and turned on the water. She adjusted the temperature, pulled the plastic curtain, and finally activated the shower. When water started splashing down, she left her moccasins on the bath mat and stepped in.

The hot spray felt wonderful.

Mostly.

On some of her injuries, it stung.

On the bullet wound just below her groin, it felt like acid.

She stiffened and grimaced, but after a few seconds the pain faded to where the "scratch" beneath her soaked bandage felt no worse than a very bad sunburn.

She let out a long sigh.

That has to be the worst of it, anyway.

What's it like, she wondered, if you really get hurt?

Dad would know.

Dad would be an expert in that particular field.

Not to mention Mom.

Jody groaned.

I don't want to think about ...

Or Evelyn, for that matter. Ask her how it feels to get a spear rammed smack through your middle.

"Oh, Jesus," she muttered.

I've got to think about something nice, she told herself.

She picked up the soap and started to tear off its wrapper.

Think about something nice that doesn't have anything to do with all this.

Rob.

She pictured him in the driveway the first weekend after school ended. She'd been there by herself, washing Dad's car, and Rob had come along, surprising her. "Could you use some help?" he'd asked. "Sure. But you might get wet." He'd smiled. A wonderful smile. Carefree, with maybe some mischief in it. "A little water never hurt anyone." After saying that, he'd taken off his shirt and joined in. Jody had never seen him without a shirt on. He looked so tanned and strong and smooth. She'd shot him with the hose. The water had turned his skin shiny.

Jody shaped the sodden soap wrapper into a ball and hooked it over the shower rod.

We're feeling better now, aren't we!

She turned her back to the spray and began sliding the bar of soap over her skin.

She smiled, remembering how Rob had flinched and yelped. The hose water had been awfully cold. She hadn't realized just how cold until he grabbed the hose away from her and she tried to run away and he caught her in the back.

She'd been wearing a big old loose shirt of Dad's over her white bikini. The icy spray from the hose had plastered the shirt to her back. Her squeal had started dogs barking all over the neighborhood. Then she'd made the mistake of turning around. She'd reached out with both hands, hoping to block the cold gush, but Rob had sent it in under her hands. As if by magic, it found the open s.p.a.ce beneath the shirt's single fastened b.u.t.ton and blasted the bare skin of her belly.

Right where the spear got me.

While her right hand glided the soap over her b.u.t.tocks, her left hand moved toward the spear wound. The skin of her belly was slick and sudsy. She touched her navel, found the bandage down lower. The bandage felt like a small, wet rag.

She looked at it, then set down the bar of soap, rinsed her right hand and picked at the adhesive tape. The tape peeled easily off her skin. The underside of the gauze pad had a brown stain in the middle.

The wound itself was a dark slot that fit neatly inside a dime-size red area.

Not very red, she told herself.

And the little wound certainly wasn't bleeding.

She wadded the bandage and hooked it over the shower rod.

She liked having it gone.

They're no good wet, anyway.

So she searched out and removed every bandage until only one remained-the patch of gauze covering the bullet wound on her thigh. She decided to leave that one alone for the time being.

The tape from all those bandages had left tacky places on her skin. With soap on her washcloth, she carefully scrubbed the sticky areas. Then she soaped her whole body one more time, lathered up her hair with shampoo, and rinsed until her hair squeaked and she couldn't find any slippery patches on her skin.

Finally, she turned off the water. She skidded the shower curtain to the end of the tub and stepped out. Dripping on the bath mat, she plucked a towel from the wire rack.

It was bigger than the washcloth, but not by much.

Threadbare, too.

Andy's must've been newer, she thought. The same size, but at least you couldn't see through it.

By the time she'd finished drying her head, the whole towel was moist. One more bath towel remained on the rack, but she needed to leave it for Sharon.

The towel wasn't really big enough to hold with both hands, so she draped it over one hand and wore it like a flimsy glove. Rubbing herself with it reminded Jody of drying Dad's car with his old chamois cloth. The day Rob had shown up.

It felt good to be thinking about that day again. A comfortable, safe place for her mind to be.

She remembered standing by a front tire, bending way over, stretching across the hood to reach as far as possible with the chamois cloth. Her thighs tight against the side of the car. The hood hot through her damp shirt. She'd thought that Rob was busy drying the trunk area, but suddenly his head had popped up just at the other side of the hood and he'd blurted, "Boo!" Jody hadn't so much as flinched. "Didn't I scare you even a little?" he'd asked. "Afraid not." He'd smiled and said, "Drat," then folded his arms on the car and rested his chin atop his right wrist. His face was about a yard away from Jody's, and slightly lower. Gazing across the hood at her, he'd asked in a very quiet voice, "Do you mind if I watch?" Her mouth had suddenly gotten dry. "I don't mind." So then she had stayed stretched out on the hood, reaching and wiping with the chamois cloth while Rob had stared at her from the other side and she had stared at him.

She'd kept on rubbing the hood long after the hot metal was totally dry.

The car hasn't been washed since then, she realized.

I should ask Rob over when we get home.

When we get home. That's a good one.

We won't be staying away forever, she told herself. A week, maybe. Or two at the most. Dad's only got two weeks of vacation time, so we'll have to go back before that's up.

And when we get back, I'll ask Rob over. Tell him the car's dirty. Maybe wait and call him just before I go out to start washing it. This time, I'll wear the same bikini but I won't wear Dad's shirt.

Oh, yeah, right, sure thing.

She could hear it now. "My G.o.d, Jody, what happened to you?"

Done toweling off her front, she leaned forward a bit and looked down at herself.

Her bikini would cover some of the damage, but not much. Not nearly enough.

I'll look fine in about a month, she decided.

If you live that long.

Oh, really nice.

You never know. They almost got you twice, so far. They aren't gonna give up until ...

Jody winced when the towel lashed her back. She'd whipped it over her shoulder that way on purpose, but hadn't expected it to hurt quite so much.

Worked, though, she told herself. Took your mind off things.

With her other hand, she reached up behind her. She found the dangling comer of the towel. Holding each end, she struggled to dry her back.

The towel met a few tender places on its way down, but nothing that hurt a lot.

Finally, she decided that she was as dry as she was likely to get with this particular towel. She draped it over one shoulder, then scurried about the bathroom on a hunt for the soap wrapper and bandages that she'd tossed from the tub. After picking them all up, she took them to the wastebasket in the corner by the toilet.

She opened her hand to let them fall.

And glimpsed a tom, foil wrapper at the bottom of the basket.

A moment later, the jumble of adhesive tape and wet gauze and paper covered the foil square, concealed it.

Jody's heart was slamming. Her stomach felt tight, her legs weak. There seemed to be a tingling numbness in the middle of her head.

They did it, she thought. They really, actually did it.

It shouldn't make me feel this way, she told herself. I oughta be happy. Dad needs someone. Sharon's perfect for him.

No wonder he called her "phenomenal," he'd been in bed with her.

He'd boinked her.

Screwed her.

Jody's stomach hurt awfully bad. She lowered the toilet lid, sat on it and hunched over, hugging her belly.

This is crazy, she told herself. It's what I was hoping for, isn't it?

They don't even know each other.

They never met till last night after the guy shot me.

How long ago was that?

Jody didn't know what time it was now. Maybe ten in the morning? And they'd met at about eight last night, maybe. And then Dad had gone off again.

G.o.d, Dad, how could you? Always preaching to me about how I've gotta wait for the right guy, the guy I really love, and even then not to fool around till after I'm at least eighteen (but preferably twenty-eight) and I've been going with him for at least a year and make him get a blood test first and ...

And Dad does it with a virtual stranger!

What if Sharon's got AIDS?

Dad's too smart to do a thing like that.

Jody had always thought so, anyway.

She could hardly believe he even owned a condom, after the way she'd heard him talk about the things.

"Don't think a condom will save you," he'd warned her. They had both just seen Magic Johnson on the television talking about methods of practicing safe s.e.x. "Don't believe a word of it, honey. If the guy you're with is infected, a condom's about as safe as playing Russian Roulette. You've got one chance in six that the thing'll bust or fall off inside you. If that happens, getting pregnant will be the least of your worries. One in six, honey."

How could he lecture me like that, and then go and do it himself!

Just couldn't help it, maybe, the way Sharon was parading around in nothing but that robe, and flirting with him all the time.

Probably her condom, too. She probably goes nowhere without a few dozen of the things, just in case she can find a h.o.r.n.y guy to drag into bed with her.

The b.i.t.c.h.

Dad might be as good as dead right now, and all because of Sharon.

Jody blinked sweat out of her eyes. She pulled the towel off her shoulder and mopped her face.

Suddenly, she realized that she was drenched. Sweat was streaming down her body, tickling along the way. The toilet lid was slick under her rump.