The Blameless Bystander Ch. 11

"O'Toole!" Ethan screamed. "Him again! He had you when he was supposed to be tutoring you? He despoiled you in the school?"

"No—no!" Becky cried. "You've got it all wrong."

"Don't deny it, harlot!" Ethan yelled back. "I'll make him pay for this!"

"No!" Becky pleaded through her tears but her father was already stomping down the stairs and her mother was pulling her away, into her bedroom.

"Mother, it wasn't Mr. O'Toole," Becky swore as she and her mother entered her room. Judith closed the door.

"I know it wasn't him," her mother informed her. "You're father is angry now. He isn't listening. I know who it was—Brad Morris. I found the stain on the sofa cushion in the Brides Room in the church basement in September. You took him down there. You lied about the cheerleaders' sleepover."

"I thought Brad loved me. When I told him about the baby, he dumped me," Becky pleaded through her tears. "He told me to go to the clinic in Hornell."

"Brad is not the right boy for you—I never liked him or his father," the mother advised. "Don't ever tell your father that it was Brad. If he believes you, he'll make the two of you get married. Then you'll be stuck with him—maybe for the rest of your life. Would you really want that?"

"But Mr. O'Toole was trying to help me. He didn't do anything," the young girl protested.

"Your father will never prove that the baby is O'Toole's, and he'll never stop hating him," he mother explained. "Mr. O'Toole will be alright. He can hold his own against your father. We have to think about you right now."

At that point Ethan returned, bursting into the room. "I've figured out what we'll do," he announced. "I'll report O'Toole to the school. They'll have to pay for this. People will see that he led an innocent astray. You'll be an example—like the Prodigal Son. Each week the people will see the pain of your guilt and your repentance. You will sit in the front for all to see. When the baby is born, we'll put it up for adoption—casting out the work of the devil. "

"Ethan, you can't do that to her," Judith fought back. "She's our daughter; she's hurting. She needs us."

"She owes us this for the shame she has brought down on us. In the end, I shall forgive her for her sin," Ethan pronounced.

"Only God can forgive sin," Judith reminded him. "Do you think that you're God?"

"You blaspheme, woman!" Ethan yelled back. He stood glaring at them with arms crossed over his chest. The two women looked back in fear. He waited for a response from them. Hearing none, he abruptly left the room, to take solace in his study.

Ethan remained there into the early hours of the morning. Judith and Becky stayed upstairs. He stared out the window, searching for the meaning of the night's events—if they were the dissolution of his whole life, or a sign from the Father of yet more important things to come.

At four in the morning Ethan heard the padding of steps on the stairs. His mood brightened. They were Judith's steps—he knew their weight and pace. For sure, she was making her way to beg his Forgiveness. He would give it, but not easily, for her defiance was a transgression that he would not suffer lightly. In the end, he decided, he would turn the other cheek as he had always preached to those who followed him.

Ethan could tell by the sounds of the footsteps on the stairs that Judith was coming down barefoot. It surprised him because the weather had turned toward winter and the floors were cold. He waited patiently, preparing to mete out justice tempered with tough love.

"Woman, cover thyself!" he cried at her as she entered the room. She was naked, arms at her side. Her form was slender and nicely curved, as it had always been. Her face was naked of expression, too. If she had chosen to, she could have turned her nakedness into seduction, but she hadn't done that for so long and it wasn't her purpose in that moment.

"Cover your own god dam self, Ethan," she retorted bitterly. "Oh, sorry! I see that you're already covered up; and isn't that the way you always are, Ethan? You're always covered in every way."

"I don't understand you, Judith," Ethan said.

"Covered in virtue and scripture," she explained. "Not one shred of human weakness or feeling."

"Judith, you're not making sense," he protested.

"I thought that I would treat you to one last look," she answered. "You've ignored it long enough. I didn't want you to forget it."

"Judith, this is unlike you," Ethan said weakly.

"How do you know?" she spat hate with her words. "Maybe I've been giving it out it all over town. Haven't you ever thought of that? It's not a bad looking body, is it?" She roughly lifted her breasts in her two hands and held them up to show him.

"What's this all about, Judith?" he asked meekly.

"Ethan, I wasted my youth on you. We could have been happy, but you always had something against that. It's my fault, actually. I always went along—but not now. Becky's involved, and I can't let you destroy her with this plan of yours."

"Judith, I've never suspected..."

"Maybe you should have, Ethan. How do you know that I'm not a harlot, like Becky? How many men do you think I've been with? Who would enjoy sucking on these?" she asked through barred teeth as she lifted her breasts at him once again. "Who do you think?" she taunted him. "What other man has seen this?" She let go of her breasts and bumped her hip out at him, her triangle of pubic hair highlighted against her pale skin in the semi-darkness. "Maybe it was Jarrod—maybe O'Toole!"

"Judith, stop this at once!" he shouted.

"I am stopping, Ethan. It was just a last look for you and food for thought. I'm leaving now. I'm taking Becky. We're going to my sister's home in Indiana. Think about what I told you."

She turned and left the room and ascended the stairs. Ethan watched her shapely buttocks flex as she disappeared up the stairs. Fifteen minutes later she and Becky were at the front door with their suitcases.

"Judith, we're all under a lot of strain," Ethan said as he approached her.

"Don't try to stop me, Ethan. My mind's made up. I can't allow you to torture Becky like you said, and this is the only way that I can stop you."

"We can discuss it." Ethan offered.

"No, Ethan. I know you. You would promise and then go back on it later. I know you too well." Judith answered.

"What will I tell the congregation?" he asked helplessly.

"Whatever you want," she replied. "Try the truth. I know that Jarrod will help you say just the right thing." She paused and Ethan's face lightened in hopes that she was changing her mind. "Tell Jarrod that I said 'good-bye'," she added. "You'll be back one day," Ethan said. "Until then, I'll pray for you. I'll forgive you."

"Pray for yourself, Ethan. You need it more." She picked up her bags and turned to her daughter. "Let's go, Becky." They were the final words that she said. A minute later Ethan watched as the car disappeared down Main St.

*************

Wednesday was the day that James tried to arrange for a rendezvous with Abby for later in the evening. It was a day that worked quite well for a couple of good reasons. For one thing, since it was in the middle of the week, it was a good bet that Bubba would be on the road. The other reason was that it provided good spacing between Abby and Vicki. James wanted to be at his best for both bed partners. Like an ace Pitcher, he needed a few days rest. He was becoming a little cocky about his sex life, and he knew it. He had, after all, good reason for feeling that way. He knew that his situation couldn't last forever, so he didn't want to spoil it with humility.

It was late on Wednesday afternoon when he arrived at Nathan's office, under the guise of delivering a copy of the upcoming mid-term Algebra exam. He didn't have much time. He had a tutoring student scheduled in ten minutes. Abby was at her desk, as usual. James craned his neck to see if Nathan was in his inner office.

"I can't do it tonight," Abby anticipated his question. "Bubba didn't take the semi on the road this week. The truck's in the shop with transmission trouble." She smiled when she saw James' crestfallen expression. "Don't worry, though. He'll be on the road twice as much after this to pay for the repair." She looked around the room to make sure that no one was listening. "When that happens," she added, "you'll be wearing out your own crankshaft," she warned as she gave him a little wink.

"Fair enough," James said, laughing at the off-color quip. He turned to leave.

"That's not all," Abby called after him. James stopped and turned to face her. "Bubba's going to call you tonight to give you an invitation of sorts. Say 'yes' when he asks you."

"What kind of an invitation?" James asked.

"He wants you to be a sub on his bowling team," Abby explained. "He heard about all your troubles and he wants to help you get to know some folks better. Bubba's really a good guy and he likes you. Besides, his team needs a sub real bad."

"I'm not a very good bowler," James entered a mild protest.

"They don't care," Abby said. "They'll give you a handicap. Just be a good sport and buy a round of beer on your first night."

"Doesn't it make you nervous, Abby," he asked. "The whole idea kind of gives me the creeps."

"You mean because you and I sleep together when he's out of town?" Abby asked back. She shook her head and smiled up at him. "Not a bit. I think that it's exciting! It makes me feel tingly. I'll be thinking about it when Bubba and I are in bed together tonight."

James shrugged his shoulders, wondering at the tiny brazen woman. "Whatever you say," he called to her as he left for his session with his student.

The next night was Thursday, the regular night for Bubba's team. James rolled three games totaling four-twenty, and he had warned Bubba not to expect much more than that. The two men sat at the bar nursing their third beer. Most of the other bowlers had left.

"We're lucky to have you on the team," Bubba told him. "You should plan on coming every week, even though you're a sub. With eight guys on the team, there's always a need. I'm absent more times than not, myself."

"Thanks for inviting me," James replied. "It's a good group of guys, and I had a good time." The two men clinked glasses. "Do they know about my troubles with Reverend Chandler?"

"Who in this town doesn't?" Bubba answered. "The guys don't care about that stuff. None of them goes to his church, and I doubt that any of them believes him."

"It's not true, you know," James felt the need to assure his new friend, and felt surprised that he cared enough to do so.

"I already told you not to worry about it, James," Bubba assured him. "If you bring it up again, I'll make you buy another round."

"I'll buy one, anyway," James offered.

"Good!" exclaimed Bubba. "While we drink it, I'll lay out a proposition for you."

The bartender brought them another round and took the money from James' pile of bills on the bar. "This has to be my last one. I'm feeling no pain as it is."

"I need a helper over Christmas," Bubba declared. "I'm taking the rig down to Florida to get a load of citrus—oranges or grapefruit, depending on the prices and orders. I have customers in Maryland and Pennsylvania—small grocery stores in small cities and towns. With a helper I could save a lot of time handling the crates. Otherwise, I have to sit in line waiting for the store employees to help me. If you come along, I can squeeze in at least one more, maybe two more, trips."

"So you want me to ride along?" James asked.

"Right," Bubba continued. "I'll give you a fifth of what I make, after taking out for expenses. If we get in three trips, you'll be in for fifteen hundred. You'll be on Christmas break, anyway." James hesitated. The offer came as a surprise. "What do you say?" Bubba urged. "You're in good shape, single. You can get out of the snow for a week. I'll do all the driving. What have you got to lose?"

"It's a deal," James agreed, clinking glasses with Bubba once again.

"I'll fill you in later," Bubba said. "Right now, I've got to get home. Abby will be climbing the walls. When I'm home she likes my full attention in the evening—if you know what I mean," Bubba informed him with a laugh. He tossed down the rest of his beer and left James at the bar finishing his.

As he finished his drink James thought how well he understood Bubba's comment about his libidinous wife. Then he started wondering if he had made a mistake when he agreed to the Florida trip with Bubba.

"A little less beer," he thought, "and I would have thought it over more." He shrugged. "Oh, what the hell—I'm into it now." He gulped down the last of his beer and picked up his money. He left a tip for the bartender and headed for his apartment.

*************

Raymond and James sat at the dining room table in Tracey's house, pouring over the related rates problems that James had assigned. For the first time he saw Raymond struggling with a concept.

"Don't be discouraged. You've handled more difficult things in calculus. Draw it out in a graph first. Be careful to start with good equations for your derivatives," he advised. "You can't skip over it; it's used too much in the sciences."

"There's just something about this..." Raymond complained.

"Try this problem. You've got just enough time for it while I write out your assignment for next week."

Tracey entered the room stretching as though she had nodded off to sleep in her living room during the Calc lesson. Since they had Thanksgiving dinner at Shirley's house she had let her guard down more when James was in her house.

Part of James was grateful for Tracey's display of her form as Tracey extended her arms over her head. She was, after all, a woman who had plenty for a man to see. Part of James wished that she wouldn't, because it only gave him ideas that he knew were out of reach. He hadn't forgotten the mental picture of the Mayor exiting her house in the early morning. James had Lexus taste and a Chevy wallet.

"I'm going to get ready for something that I'm going to do tonight while you boys finish up," she informed them. "Let yourself out when you're finished. You'll probably be done before I am. Just lock the door behind you." With that, she disappeared down the hallway.

James half listened. "Okay, sure," he mumbled. A short time later he heard her close the bathroom door. A short time after that he heard Shirley knocking at the front door to take Raymond home. James answered the door while Raymond packed up.

"Where's Tracey?" Shirley asked.

"In the bathroom, getting ready to go somewhere tonight," James answered. As he said it they heard the water running.

"Okay," she answered. "Tell her I said 'hello'. Here's your cookies."

"I doubt that I'll see her. I'm just going to pack up my things. She said to lock the door as I left. I'll only be another minute." Shirley nodded and turned to go. Raymond walked out with her. "That was a very nice Thanksgiving. Thanks, again—and thanks for the cookies," James called after them. Shirley turned and smiled to acknowledge his thanks. James went back inside to pack up his things.

He was ready to go a minute later except that he couldn't find his scarf. "That's funny," he said out loud. "I always keep it right with my coat." He wanted to ask Tracey if she'd seen it, but beyond, in the bathroom, he heard the shower running. He continued searching. He wondered if Raymond had picked it up accidentally. He didn't think so. As he kept searching he heard the shower shut off. He quickened the pace of his searching. If Tracey found him running around for a simple scarf, he thought, she would really be sure that he was a loser. Still, his mother had knitted the scarf for him, and it would be sad if he lost it without even using it for a season—so he kept looking.

He must have been distracted, looking under furniture and rechecking the pockets of his coat. He was on his hands and knees checking under the table when he got that feeling of someone watching him. He looked up and saw Tracey hovering over him, standing not more than two feet from where he was.

James jumped up instantly. What he saw made him take a big gulp. She was wearing a long, sheer robe, made of silk. It was of a deep burgandy color, and tied at the waist. It hugged her form, showing off the outline of her ample breasts and hips flared under a miniscule waist. James started to harden, which reminded him of his adventures at Abby's house fixing her washing machine.

"Uhhh...I was just packing up," he blurted out clumsily.

Perhaps it was the suggestion, rather than the actual view of anything that excited James, because the robe wasn't transparent and it extended from neckline to the floor. James knew that Tracey had just emerged from the shower, so he knew that she couldn't have much, if anything, on underneath the robe.

James, feeling guilty for no reason other than his thoughts, averted his line of sight away from the desirable target. He looked high and low, left and right, avoiding that which he knew was forbidden, and the same time so inviting. His eyes kept darting about, until they met hers, and he found that they were watching him with a quizzical look. At that point, temptation overwhelmed him and he glanced down to steal a last look at that perfectly molded body under that deep, dark, burgandy robe. When he did, to his surprise, he found that she had loosened the belt and allowed the robe to drift apart while he wasn't looking. It was then that he saw the matching camisole underneath; the same deep color; same rich fabric. The lacy bodice just barely hid her breasts. Her sculpted legs extended below.

"Looking for this?" she asked in a sultry voice, producing the wayward scarf, wrapping it around the back of her neck.

"Yes," he answered obediently. "Where was it?"

"It was in my bedroom," she answered in the same sultry voice.

"Your bedroom?" James' voice was getting hoarse; his mouth was dry. "How did it get there?"

"I took it off your coat and put in there," she replied in a soothing voice, "so that you'd be here looking for it when I got out of the shower."

"I thought that you were getting ready for something you were going to do tonight," James reminded her.

"I'm doing it now," she answered softly.

She took the scarf from around her neck and looped around his, as if to symbolize her capture of him. In doing so she stepped closer to him, and it was then that James noticed her perfume. She noticed James' nose wrinkle as he took in the scent. "Do you like my perfume?" she asked. "I put it on for you. Everything I put on is for you," she whispered to him, and her breath tasted of mint.

"I like it," he said truthfully. "I like you, Tracey." She smiled and purred a little to show her pleasure at his remark. "But why me?" he asked.

It wasn't a real question, because he had already decided to allow the seduction to follow its course. It was just one of those questions that nervous people throw in between important statements to fill in perceived gaps. As unimportant the query was, Tracey didn't take that way.

She tightened the looped scarf around his neck and leaned up against him. Her face was inches from his and her eyes bore into him. "Because you're special," she whispered into his face. "You're a nice man—not like most. You helped my brother; I like you. Because I want to make love to you all night long." She paused for a second, waiting for James to respond.

He did by wrapping his arms around her and kissing her on the mouth. It was gentle, but sensuous, meant to play back what she had said to him. When she felt him do it, she gave back in kind. Then she broke away for a bit because she had more to say. "And it's because you never expected it from me to do it, but gave me respect just the same. Now I'm going to give you what you deserve but never asked for." They kissed again, a repeat of the first. They broke it off. She stepped back and tugged him gently with the scarf still draped around the back of his neck. She led him down the hallway to the bedroom.