Page 80 of Summer of '69
Jessie decides that Tiger does not need to hear about her grand humiliation, her broken heart, or her subsequent hangover—a headache so bad, it felt like her skull might crack. She now understands the appeal of drinking, but also the consequences.
Not worth it.
So that’s the story of the birth of our niece and nephew. Blair isn’t coming home until Sunday—because she had twins, she gets to stay in the hospital a really long time—and when the babies get here, I’m going to show them your photo and tell them about their brave uncle Tiger.
I miss you. Write soon!
Love, Messie
The next day, life returns to normal, though the very last thing Jessie wants to do is go to her tennis lesson. She tries to get out of it by asking to accompany Kate to the hospital to see the babies, but Kate informs her that George is being circumcised that morning and therefore the afternoon would be better for a visit. Jessie isn’t sure exactly what circumcision is but when she asks, Kate shakes her head as if to say it isn’t a subject for polite conversation.
And so Jessie and Exalta set out for the club, first swinging by the post office so Jessie can drop her letter to Tiger in the mailbox. Exalta looks on with an expression of indulgence and pity, as though Jessie were mailing a letter off to Santa Claus.
Jessie’s anger at Pick is still lingering. She glares at Exalta. “Do you ever write to Tiger?”
Exalta says, “Come along or we’ll be late.”
But Jessie persists. She’s tired of being ignored, disregarded, redirected. “Nonny, do you write to Tiger? Have you written to him even once since he’s been overseas?”
“No,” Exalta says. The syllable hangs in the air, naked and cruel, and Exalta must realize this because she says, “Perhaps I should.”
Jessie wants to scream,Perhaps you should? Perhaps?But she has learned recently that silence is more powerful than a furious outburst.
When they arrive at the club, Jessie feels the need to steal again, steal something right from under Exalta’s nose, but that will backfire. Instead, she peels off for the locker room so she can calm herself before her lesson.
“Don’t dilly-dally,” Exalta says. “I’m off to find Mrs. Winter.”
Jessie slams into the locker room. She’s so angry she wants to smash the mirrors with her racket—but she stops short. Sitting on the love seat in the lounge is one of the Dunscombe twins, sobbing into her hands.
“Hello?” Jessie says gently. She isn’t sure if it’s Helen or Heather. If she knew it was Helen, Jessie would just ignore her, but she likes Heather and feels bad about stealing her money.
The twin looks up. Helen.
Now Jessie is stuck. “Everything okay?” she asks in a way that she hopes sounds rhetorical.
Helen struggles for a breath. “Ihatemy tennis instructor,” she says.
Jessie nearly rolls her eyes. It figures that Helen Dunscombe is crying over something stupid like tennis.
“I want to…I want tokillhim!”
What snags Jessie’s attention aren’t the words—everyone wants to killsomeone—it’s the guttural tone of Helen’s voice and the way she’s clenching her fists. Jessie starts to ask who Helen’s instructor is, but then she remembers it’s Garrison Howe. AndthenJessie gets it. Although she does not like Helenat all,she sits down on the edge of the coffee table in front of her.
“Garrison,” she says. “Did he…” She doesn’t even have words at her disposal. She clears her throat. “He touched you, right?”
Helen stops crying for a second and looks at Jessie in astonishment before she whispers, “How did you know?”
“He rubbed against me during our first lesson,” Jessie says. “I ran.”
“I told my mother the first time it happened,” Helen says. “She told me I was being dramatic and to stop exaggerating. Then he did it again—he ran the back of his hand over my breast while he was correcting my serve—and when I told my mother that time, she said all men are like that and I should just get used to it.”
Jessie blinks. She wasn’t brave enough to tell Kate—or anyone else—for exactly that reason. “We could both go and tell Ollie Hayward,” she says. “With both of us, he would have to believe it.”
Helen shakes her head. “He might believe it, but he won’tdoanything. Even Heather thinks I’m just looking for a way to switch to Topher.”
If Jessie didn’t know about Garrison, she might have thought this as well. “So you don’t want to tellanybody?” Jessie asks. She does the previously unthinkable—she reaches a hand out to Helen.
Helen takes it and gives Jessie a weak smile. “Well,” she says, “I just told you.”
