Chapter 4: Suspicion

By the time that James returned from Vicki's apartment it was nearly noon. He drove into the driveway and bounded quickly from his car to the stairway. He ran up, skipping steps. He was sure that Mrs. Wilkinson was nearby lurking and he had no wish to answer her questions about where he'd been all night.

He had already showered with Vicki; he was more used to an early morning run. He liked the effect of the cool morning air in his lungs and on his face as he made ready for the day ahead. He decided to change into his running clothes and go for a run just the same. It would clear his head—and a lot of clearing there was to do. After that, he would shower again, fix some lunch and correct the rest of the homework papers. Then he would be ready to go out and buy some wine and head over to Vicki's for dinner.

James usually did his stretching in the yard before starting out to run. He decided to stay inside his apartment, the better to avoid Mrs. Wilkinson's interrogation. When he finished stretching out he bounded down the stairs and out the driveway. As he left the big house behind him he heard a door slam. He dared not look back. If she called out to him he would pretend not to hear; but she did not.

As he settled into his pace he looked around. He saw the neighborhood differently than he had when he was by himself in the morning. Then, it resembled a ghost town, save a passing car or two. Approaching high noon, it was alive. Children played and rode their bicycles. Mothers called them in for lunch. A man he did not know was trimming his hedge and stopped working to wave at James as he trotted past his house. James waved back. It felt natural to do it—he did it without thinking. He realized that if he had thought it over he would not have done so. He was glad that he did wave back.

"All the world loves a lover," he quipped the cliché to himself and shook his head trying to understand the metamorphosis. Could his encounter with Vicki have changed him this much? He doubted it. It was just the time of day. Whatever the reason, he enjoyed feeling good.

"Ahh, Vicki!" he reminded himself of his new-found lover. She warned him about love. He would have to remember that. Sex was not love. It could accompany love, or stand by itself. He had learned that much. He would have to, at least, be friends with her. At least, he could like her. He admired her matter-of-fact casting off of hypocrisy. She disdained the coquette's pretense. She wanted sex; she gave and took it as it pleased her. What was wrong with that?

"I've finally done it," he congratulated and wondered at himself. He had sex for the first time, indulged in the pleasures of the flesh and felt no remorse. Both parties had been willing; pleasure was had by all. By all that he had ever been taught or believed, he should feel guilty. He was not so removed from his priestly vows to feel nothing. Try as he might, he could not feel guilt, or accept the presence of a stain on his soul. If he had done it while still under Holy Orders, or gained access to her body through deception or other evil trick, it would have been different. But he hadn't, and his logic allowed no room for false contrition. Perhaps, he pondered, that trait was his undoing as a priest.

As James was nearing the end of his run he saw Mrs. Wilkinson standing on her porch, undoubtedly waiting to intercept him. There would be no escape. He halted at the end of the long driveway as he always did, and then walked slowly toward the house, hands on hips to cool his muscles down.

"Mr. O'Toole, you certainly enjoy running!" the old woman called to him as she stepped off the porch to intercept him.

"It keeps me fit, Mrs. Wilkinson," he called back between heaving breaths. He kept on walking.

"You usually run much earlier. I hear you go out, you know."

"I'm sorry. I'll try to be quieter."

"Of course you weren't here this morning."

"She got to the point quickly," James said to himself. His guard was up.

"No, I wasn't." He kept on walking.

"Of course, you're a single man. You're entitled," she allowed. "You certainly move fast. You just moved to town." Her lips turned up in a sneer and she cackled like one of Macbeth's witches. At least, it seemed so to James. Nevertheless, he stopped walking and let her continue.

"I wouldn't have an objection if you brought her up to your room." James didn't answer. "I don't mean to pry. Do you think that it would be anyone that I might know?"

"You are prying!" James thought silently. "I don't think so," he said out loud.

"I do get worried when my tenants don't come in at night," she tried the motherly approach.

"Don't worry about me. It was really a quiet night. It was just with some friends after the football game," he replied.

Owww! A big mistake! Now she had a clue that he had been with someone connected with the school. Doris would know within minutes, he was sure.

The old woman started nodding that she understood. She seemed to lose interest in further questions. James knew he had slipped and needed to escape before any more damage could be inflicted.

"I've got to go, Mrs. Wilkinson. I've got some papers to correct." He waved and loped off to his private stairway. She didn't object and turned to go back inside.

James arrived at Vicki's apartment just before seven. As she opened the door he saw she had already started preparing dinner. She took the bottle of wine from him and opened it right away, pouring each a glass.

"To a fun evening!" she lifted a toast, smiling broadly. James followed suit and they drank down about half the glass.

"Why don't you pick out some music while I finish up a few things in the kitchen," she said and quick-kissed him on the cheek. "Pick out whatever you like. I have something of everything."

James sorted through the CD's and found he had no idea about any kind of music. He just selected the one on top and bent to the task of figuring out the CD player. Country music started pouring out of the speakers.

"So you like Country Music, after all?" she exclaimed in surprise. "I wouldn't have guessed that."

"I didn't have any idea, so I played the one on top," James admitted.

Vicki emerged from the kitchen and stepped close to James. "Honesty! I like that in a man!" she whispered as she rubbed yourself on him. She stood on her toes and kissed him again. This time it was more sensuous and she slipped her tongue between his lips. James embraced her and kissed back. They held it for nearly a minute.

"Whew!" she gasped as she stepped away from him. "We better slow down, or we'll never have dinner." She let out a little giggle, signaling what might be for dessert. "Can you watch that sauce simmering on the stove while I go freshen up a little? Give it a little stir every now and then." She turned toward her bedroom, walking with an exaggerated sway to her round hips. Before she disappeared behind the door she looked over her shoulder and winked at him.

James poured himself another glass of wine and stirred the sauce as ordered. At first, he was patient waiting for her to return. After a few minutes he was patient no longer and wondered what could keep her in the bedroom so long.

"Vicki, do you want me to turn down the heat on this sauce? It's thickening up," he yelled, hoping that she would come running to save her sauce.

To his surprise she remained in hiding and did not answer. At least, she did so for about another minute.

"What about the heat?" she breathed as she struck a provocative pose and the bedroom door creaked open. "Did you say that something is thickening up?" She sauntered slowly toward him and James took in what he saw, for it was a sight created just for him.

She had discarded her everyday clothes. She wore a negligee of black satin. There were spaghetti straps at the shoulders that held up a bodice of lace that James could almost see through. The gown was floor length. Her ample breasts spilled over the low-cut top.

Vicki lit the candles on the table and turned out the lights.

"I'll never be able to concentrate on dinner if you wear that," James warned.

"Then you want me to change back?" she teased.

"I didn't say that!"

Then you like it?" she asked.

"Yes. I like it. I like the way you look in it."

"Well we are going to eat dinner," she admonished. "I spent a long time making this meal—and you're going to need your strength," she teased. She twirled slowly around, so that James could fully appreciate what she had put on for him. "There's a little peignoir that goes with it, but I decided to leave that behind so that you could think about what you might remember is underneath this."

Vicki stepped to the CD player and changed the music—"Claire de Lune" by Debussy. James gave her a surprised look.

"I like variety," she explained. She stepped about the room turning off the lights, and then lit the candles on the dinner table. She sat at the head of the table, James at her right.

"Variety in music?" James asked.

"Right," she agreed, "and in other things, too." Her answer made James feel a chill of insecurity. He couldn't be sure if she had intended her comment that way. He reasoned that he no choice but to accept it.

"This is very good!" James complimented her as he took a forkful of veal.

"I love to cook for my friends," she answered.

"Then, we are friends," James declared.

"If you want to be," Vicki replied. "But you know what I told you last night."

"I remember," James assured her.

"Then, being friends is enough?" she confirmed. James nodded.

"We'll get along just fine, then.," Vicki declared, her tone brighter. "What else do you remember about last night?" She leaned forward with a teasing smirk.

"I just remember some drinks at Shorty's Bar. I must have had a few too many. It's all a blank after that, I'm afraid," James teased back.

Vicki gasped in mock dismay. "I better change back into something more practical in that case. I was assuming that there was more intimacy between us."

"Just kidding!" James assured her. "I remember everything. It would be impossible to forget a minute."

"Awwww—too bad," Vicki kept up the tease. "I was thinking I would do it all over again."

"Let me think..." James was short one comeback in the repartee. He took a forkful of food. They ate for a few minutes saying nothing. Vicki took a sip of wine, and then broke the silence.

"How does it feel not to be a virgin anymore?" she asked, more serious.

"No regrets," James answered. "I had a good teacher."

"I never thought that I would ever have a chance to do it with a virgin," Vicki said wistfully. "Especially at my age. I mean ... I ... would never seduce a boy just to say that I'd done it. I could if I wanted to. I teach them every day. I could teach them a lot more than English. I could bed one of those hormone monsters just like that," she said, snapping her fingers. "But I won't. I wouldn't want to be guilty of it."

James was unsure if Vicki was talking to him or out loud to herself. "Guilty of what?" he asked.

"Of making them believe that life is just that easy," she answered. "To let them think it for a while, and then toss them aside, which I would do. I've been on the other end. The feeling never goes away."

"Is that what's going to happen to me?" James replied.

"I don't know, James," she said, her voice softening, "not tonight, anyway."

"You were the perfect virgin," she went on. "You're old enough to know better. If you don't, I am not to blame."

"I have no guilt, either." James protested loudly and with great conviction. "I can't be blamed for having the feelings of a man. I have had opportunities, but turned them down. I was a bystander, waiting for the right moment for action, or avoiding it to escape blame. Sometimes, like last night, I can see that I have waited long enough—probably too long. Other times, I can feel that life is meant for waiting."

"You've told me a lot, just now," Vicki replied. "That's an act of love—and I warned you about that. Let's just not worry about it and enjoy ourselves."

"I'm sorry," James hung his head. "I didn't mean to. I've been cooped up in that apartment too long."

"I think that you forgot that I wore this negligee just for you," she reminded him as she leaned forward a little bit.

James caught the hint. "I almost did forget, and I'm even sorrier about that. But I'm remembering fast!"

"That's the spirit!" she said joyfully.

"You sound like Nathan," he admonished. The comment made Vicki throw her head back in laughter. James laughed with her.

They finished their dinner. James complimented her on the food again, and then offered to clear the dishes.

"Leave them until later," she ordered. "I made a dessert. I'll get some for you if you like, but I'm a little too full right now." James agreed that he was, too.

"It will be nice to have later. For now, let's go listen to some music on the sofa. What would you like to hear?"

"Play the same one again, Vicki," James suggested. "It was nice."

Vicki pressed the button on the player and the soothing notes filled the air again. James sat on the sofa in the corner. Vicki sat sideways, her back pressed up against his chest. She kicked off her slippers and rested her legs out on the sofa. James held her around the ribcage, just under the breasts.

They were quiet for a few minutes, listening to Debussy and enjoying the feeling of their bodies resting on one another.

"I like this music," he whispered. "It's soothing."

"I would call it sensuous," she answered.

James took the spaghetti straps of the negligee in his fingers and pushed them down Vicki's shoulders. She eased forward so that he could free her arms from them. He pushed the bodice of the gown down to her waist, baring her breasts. Vicki leaned back against him and relaxed.

"Mmmm," she moaned as James cupped them in his hands. He stroked his thumbs across the nipples and felt them begin to harden. It was an alternate soft stroking of the flesh and caress of the nipples. He gauged her reaction to find what she liked best.

"Don't stop doing that for at least an hour," she murmured. James enjoyed it. The breasts felt good to the touch. He couldn't understand why. It was just soft flesh. One should grow tired of it. Perhaps it was because it was all so new, or, maybe because it was a personal part of her that she had bared to him. For sure, if she didn't take so much pleasure from what he was doing, it wouldn't have been as good.

They stayed like that, wordless, until the music came to an end. Vicki slowly rose up from the sofa, turned and kissed him lightly. Before she drew her face away from his she whispered, "Let's go into my bedroom." Then she stood up, not bothering to hoist up her straps, just holding the bodice to keep it from falling.

She led the way, stopping to pick up the burning half-spent candle on the dinner table. James followed until she stopped at the side of the bed. She set the candle on the dresser, and then slowly turned to face him. She released the fabric from her fingers; the negligee fell to the floor. She had already turned down the bed. She lay down in the center looking up at him.

James was looking at Vicki, too. In the flickering light she lay calm and motionless, save her tongue slowly moistening her lips. There were shadows that suggested and James wanted to explore inside them. Her breasts, that he had come to know so well, began to heave up and down on her chest as her breathing deepened. She had bent up her knees and spread her legs. In between was one of the areas of shadows. An aroma emitted from her that mixed with the burning wax of the candle.

"Strip for me," she commanded in a husky, low voice, "like I did for you last night."

James set his watch on the dresser and quickly discarded his shoes and socks. He undid the shirt buttons one by one. He finally let it slide off his arms. He peeled his undershirt away quickly. The pants were next. When they were gone, he paused.

"All the way," she panted.

He lifted the waistband of his underwear over his erection and felt her eyes all over him as the last of his clothing puddled around his ankles.

"Let me see you stroke it," she directed, "nice and slow."

After he had done so for about a minute she raised her arms to him.

"Come to me now," she whispered. "Put yourself inside me right away. Don't wait."

James climbed onto the bed between her open thighs. He stretched out onto his elbows and she locked her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his. He probed to find her opening, hoping that he wouldn't need his hands to guide it home. After a few seconds he found it; she was quite wet. She took in a deep breath as she felt him touch her. James pushed in and she thrust up her hips to meet him as she exhaled. He was all the way inside her.

Being inside Vicki had quickly become a familiar feeling to James, but he was not tired of it. A rhythm began as they read each other's movements. It was a faster pace than James had been introduced to the night before. He pushed into her and pleasure rippled through him, but that was not all. The feeling of Vicki pushing back gave a new dimension. At the same time, it was more difficult to hold back, to prolong the session, which he wanted to do. He found it impossible to release the abandon of the dance as he felt his climax boiling to the surface. They continued until James poured himself out inside her, groaning in pleasure as he released. After a while, they ate some of the dessert that Vicki made, as they recovered in her bed. They had sex again before drifting off to sleep.

The next morning Vicki and James sat at the table together eating breakfast. "Two nights in a row!" James mused. "This will drive my landlady crazy."

"I take it you have a nosy landlady." Vicki said. "Anyone that I know?" James told her.

"I know her daughter, Doris, better. We don't talk much anymore. Actually, I believe that she's in your department, James."

"Ethel gave me the third degree already when I got home yesterday. She tried to find out who I was with, but I wouldn't tell her."

"I don't care if you do or not," Vicki answered. "I know that if you do tell her she won't be satisfied, and I guarantee that she'll call Doris and report it to her just as fast as she can pick up the phone and get a dial tone."

"I'm not going to tell her anything," James proclaimed. "I don't care what Doris thinks, but I know that it's a short space between her finding out and Nathan knowing it, too. She resents my teaching methods and would use whatever she knows against me."

"Don't you pay no never-mind to Nathan. I can handle him. Nathan and I go way back. We ... understand one another."

"I'm still not saying anything to Ethel," James stated with conviction.

"Whatever you say," Vicki shrugged.

"No-never-mind?" James chided playfully. "Is that an English teacher who just said that?"

"I grew up in the country—guilty as charged!" Vicki laughed.

Becky Chandler walked into the house at fifteen minutes before six. Her mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner. Her father was in the living room reading the newspaper.

"Why are you so late, Becky?" the Reverend asked.

"Cheerleader practice," Becky answered as she set her books on a small table in the foyer.

"But Cheerleader practice ends at four-thirty," her father countered. "Where did you go after that?"

"Really, father!" she gasped in exasperation. "I'm eighteen years old! Do I have to account for every minute?"

"If I ask you to—yes. I don't care how old you are. You still live in my house! If you have nothing to hide, you wouldn't sound so suspicious!" her father retorted. "Now tell me—where were you?"

"I was at my math tutor's office. I went in for help with my homework."

"Not likely!" roared the Reverend. "The teachers are all gone by that time."

"Not Mr. O'Toole!" Becky shot back. "He said that he would wait in the Math office until after Cheerleader practice. He's nice like that."

"And who is this 'Mr. O'Toole'? I've never heard of him."

Becky rolled her eyes and answered. "He's my Math teacher. You signed my slip for tutoring. Don't you remember?"

"Don't use that tone with me, Becky, and don't look at the ceiling when I ask you a question!" the Reverend raised his voice again.

Becky ran to the table where she had left her books. She returned with an opened spiral notebook. "Look, here's my homework. He even corrected it already. That's what we were doing!" She thrust the notebook into her father's hands and he examined it with the marks in red pencil.

"This proves nothing. It could have been earlier," he insisted, but his voice had mellowed. "I've never heard of this Mr. O'Toole."

"He's new this year. He's better than the other teachers." Becky sensed that she had won the round.

"Well, whatever's true, it's clear that you're doing your homework. I'm glad to see it. Keep it up."

"Everything I said is true!" the frustrated girl shouted, protecting her winnings. She grabbed the notebook from her father and stomped up the stairs.

"And wash off that lipstick before you come down for dinner!" he yelled after her.

"Ohhh!" she screamed at the top of the stairs and then slammed her door behind her. The Reverend slowly shook his head, wondering why he couldn't understand his daughter.

In close contests small things count for a lot. The daughter narrowly won the near stalemate on points because she had brought her homework notebook home with her. Most days she would have left it in her locker, but on this day she carried it home because she was late and didn't wish to retrace her steps to the far side of the school building where her locker was located. I didn't matter. Vindication is bestowed in mysterious ways, and in the end the receiver uses it as one might.

Becky was subdued at dinner; she had wiped away her lipstick. "I have to go to school tonight," she announced as the dinner concluded. "We're having a meeting of the Homecoming Committee."

Her father glared at her, perhaps trying to intimidate, maybe to fathom something.

"My homework is all done," she blurted.

"Help your mother with the dishes first," her father ordered.

"Of course! Thank you, father," she said, suddenly cheerful. She jumped up, taking plates to the kitchen with her.

"Be home by nine," the Reverend called out as she was half-way out the door.

"The meeting won't be over until nine," she protested. "The girls talked about maybe getting a milkshake afterward."

"Alright—ten—but no later!" conceded her father. He thought he might atone for his heavy-handedness before dinner.

"Thank you, I will!" she yelled, slamming the door behind her.

Several minutes later two teens strolled hand-in-hand down the Main Street of the Village. They stopped in front of the First Baptist Church.

"Becky, are you sure that we won't get caught?" the youth whispered.

"Stop whispering, Brad. I told you, they had to lay off the night custodian to save money. Nothing is scheduled for tonight. Now just walk up the steps like you belong here and no one will notice."

They walked up the stone steps to the heavy front door. Becky took a key out of her jeans pocket and turned the lock.