The Revenge of the Radioactive Lady - Elizabeth Stuckey-French [95]
After a bit Suzi reappeared, limping—she’d left her crutches at home—with three books she was clutching to her chest. “Ready to go?” That excited look again.
“What you got there?” Marylou asked her casually.
Suzi blushed a deep scarlet under her SeaWorld cap. “Just some random books.”
“Oh. Okay.”
But Suzi really wanted to show her. She crowded closer to Marylou, who was already jammed up against the shelf. Suzi displayed her books one by one: A Teenagers Guide to Sex, What Your Parents Won’t Tell You About Boys, and What Boys Are Really Thinking (and Should You Care?).
“Huh,” Marylou said, nodding, and sighed. Typical teenage stuff, she supposed. But did they have to get interested so young?
“Can I spend the night at your house tonight?” Suzi asked her. “So I can read them? All my friends are busy or out of town.”
Marylou decided to ignore that last part and said sure, but would Suzi like to attend the Sunday school potluck with her?
“No way,” Suzi said vehemently.
So maybe Marylou was wrong about the folding in of the religion. Maybe Suzi’d already gone off it.
“That’s where the guy is. At church.”
“What guy?”
“Him.” Suzi held up the books again, glancing around as if she was afraid of someone listening in, although nobody was close enough to hear them.
“The young man you’re interested in?”
Suzi snorted. “He’s not that young.”
Remain calm, Marylou told herself. “How old is he?”
“Old. Really old.”
Marylou felt faint and gripped the bookcase behind her. “It’s just a crush, honey. Those come and go.”
To her horror, Suzi’s eyes filled with tears. “We did something we shouldn’t have done.”
Marylou led Suzi over to a miniature table and chairs and they perched, squatted really, on tiny kid chairs. Help, Marylou thought. What should she say? She’d never been a parent to a teenager. And the ones today were nothing like the ones she’d taught years ago. Or maybe they were, but the ones she’d taught in the 1950s knew to hide things better.
“So you let him …” Marylou trailed off, wanting, and not wanting, to know the details.
“We had sex!” Suzi said, not even bothering to whisper.
Marylou glanced around the kids’ section, wild-eyed. Every person she looked at, mother and child, was staring back at her.
Suzi went on, talking too loudly. “I thought I wanted to, because I love him, I really do, but I wish I’d waited. I wanted to wait till I got married. Or at least engaged.”
Marylou whispered, “Honey. You’re not …”
“No!”
This time Marylou didn’t even bother to look around. She felt that righteous anger welling up in her again. She’d missed it. “Did he force you?”
“I’m such a slut.”
“You are not a slut.”
Suzi went on like Marylou hadn’t spoken. “I asked him. I thought I wanted to. I love him. And he wants to meet me again. Tonight! I told Sierra and she thought I should go tonight, but she probably thinks I’m a slut and is telling everyone.”
Marylou scooted her little chair toward Suzi and hugged her, comforting her as best she could. Why would sensible, sweet little Suzi do such a self-destructive thing? The poor kid!
Finally Suzi lifted her head from Marylou’s shoulder and whispered, “Don’t you want to know who it is?”
No, she thought. But she said, “If you want to tell me.”
The lip quivering again. The repressed smile. This next revelation, Marylou realized, was really the shocking part about what Suzi wanted Marylou to know. The other stuff was just warm-up.
“It’s against the law, having sex with a young girl,” Marylou heard herself say. “Whoever did this to you could be arrested. Should be.”
“I know, I know. I don’t want him to get into trouble. His wife can’t find out. Ever.”
Marylou gripped the seat of her chair. “He has a wife?” She’d been picturing