by Olivia Evans
My body trembled, and white spots danced in front of my eyes. “You did what?”
“I went to the police and told them what I did. They asked if you knew it was me, and I told them you did. They actually laughed at me and said that if the victim wasn’t willing to come forward, there was no point in pursuing it. That I should consider myself lucky and just move on with my life.” He said the last part with a hint of disgust in his voice, and I knew exactly how that officer must have acted. It was all very bros before hoes-sounding and typical. It made me sick.
And yet, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why the thought of him going to the police caused a boulder of dread to sink to the pit of my stomach. “Don’t do that again. I get to choose what I want. Not you.”
“Whatever you want, Lonna.”
And fuck him for saying that to me. Goddamn it. Tears pricked my eyes, and I couldn’t do this anymore. “I want to never see you again,” I said before spinning on my heel and running to my apartment.
I spent the rest of the night replaying the conversation over and over in my head, unable to answer the one question I’d been asked. Why hadn’t I turned him in to the police?
“Lonna, get up,” Krista sighed, smacking me in the face with a pillow.
I rolled my eyes and threw the pillow across the room. “It’s Saturday, Krista. Let me sleep.”
“It’s Sunday, you freak, and all you’ve done this weekend is sleep. Now, get up. We’re going out. You need some fresh air, and it stinks in here. When is the last time you washed your sheets? So gross.”
“I washed my sheets Friday night, smartass. And what you smell isn’t funky laundry. It’s the putrid scent of self-loathing.”
“Ah,” Krista said before taking a deep breath and narrowing her eyes. “That’s it. But is that also a hint of decaying flesh I detect?”
My face twisted with disgust. “Decaying flesh? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Oh, it’s just this thing your body does when you don’t feed it. It starts eating itself. Not a smell you’d name a perfume after. Eau de Chair en Décomposition doesn’t sound like a best seller.”
“Are you making fun of me in French now? I might not be able to speak it, but décomposition is pretty easy to figure out.”
“Oui,” she said with a wink, a wide smile on her face.
“Get out,” I laughed. It felt weird, if I was being honest. Since my run-in with Gavin, things had been not so good. I’d told Krista what happened, and she wanted to know the same thing he did. Why hadn’t I turned Gavin over to the police? I knew she’d wanted to ask me that since the day he confessed, but just like then, I couldn’t give her an answer. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because of the constant barrage of questions surrounding that night. Was I the aggressor? He didn’t drag me to that bedroom. He didn’t make me drink or do drugs. He didn’t take my clothes off forcefully. He just…didn’t stop. Fuck. I couldn’t go down this path again. It was the path that led me to lying in bed and sleeping the last two days.
“Please come out with me,” she said, her tone serious. “I’m worried about you.”
I threw off the covers and sat up, my feet warm on the cold, bare floor. “How about I shower, and we watch a movie? I’m really not up for peopling today.”
Krista shook her head, but she knew that was all the compromise she was going to get. “I have a few errands to run. I’d hoped you’d do them with me, but I’ll take what I can get. Go shower, and I’ll do my thing and meet you back here.”
“Sounds good.” I lifted my arms above my head and stretched as I stood. “Where’s Ethan?”
“He went to a sports bar with Brett to watch basketball. I’m sure he’ll be around later. I’ll be back.” She gave a final wave, and after a couple minutes, I heard the front door close with a soft click. As tempted as I was just to go back to sleep, I knew she’d hound me relentlessly if I didn’t do as I promised. And I’d broken enough promises. I looked at my phone, a frown creasing my face. Should I call Bat? I’d promised I wouldn’t shut her out, but after seeing Gavin, I’d fallen into old habits.
With a groan, I stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the hot water run until the room filled with steam and my reflection vanished from the mirror. I didn’t want to look at my face. I didn’t want to see the conflict in my eyes. I didn’t want to see or do anything. After a shower and clean clothes, I almost felt human. I fell onto the couch and flipped on the television just as there was a knock at the door.
My brows dented as I made my way across the room. As soon as I looked through the peephole, I yanked open the door, my eyes wide with surprise. “Pearl! What are you doing here?”
Her smile was blinding, warm, motherly, and heartbreaking. “May I come in?”
“Of course! Come in. I can’t believe you’re here. Wait, how did you know where I lived?”
She gave me a little knowing smile as she walked past me to the dining room and set down the plastic bag she carried. “Well, a little Bat told me you weren’t eating so well. So, she made a few calls and, voilà, here I am.”
I pursed my lips. “Bat called Krista.”
“Yes. They’d plotted to haul you to Lucky’s, but when you refused to leave your tower, they improvised.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry they dragged you into this. You didn’t have to come all the way over here to bring me food.”
“Nonsense. The diner just hasn’t been the same since you stopped coming. I’ve missed you. Besides, I think this works better anyway. We need to have a chat that would be better suited if we had it in private.”
My throat tightened, and a feeling of shame swept over me. I’d never considered that my absence would hurt Pearl. That was the last thing I ever wanted to do. “I’m sorry.”
She waved me off and opened her arms. “Well, you can make it up to me by giving me a hug and eating all this food I brought. And I do mean all of it. I can’t believe I’ve got to fatten you up again.”
I laughed at her teasing tone and stepped into her waiting arms, the smell of cake and frosting invading my senses. My stomach responded in kind, making Pearl chuckle.
“Well, that’s encouraging. Come sit. You can eat, and I’ll catch you up on all the diner drama.”
“Diner drama? That’s a thing?”
“The restaurant business is cutthroat. Don’t let the cakes fool you.”
The serious expression on her face was a stark contrast to the humor dancing in her eyes. It made warmth blossom in my chest. I pulled the container of food toward me and let out a satisfied sigh when the familiar sweet and salty smells of the diner filled the room. Pearl regaled me with stories of a broken griddle and an exploding bag of flour while I ate. It was probably the most I’d eaten since everything went to shit with Gavin.
“Now,” she said when I set down my fork with a groan. “I have a slice of cake for you. But if you don’t object, I’d like to move into the living room where we can have a bit of a more serious chat.”
I eyed her for a second, a little hesitant at the prospect of eating more food and whatever topic she was about to broach. She clucked her tongue and lifted the lid of the smaller container, a huge slice of her peppermint bark cake inside.
“That’s a dirty trick there, Pearl,” I said, grabbing the container and leading her into the living room. I had no idea how I was going to eat it, but I would damn sure try.
She sat across from me and looked around the room. “I love your home. It’s very you.”
I scanned the room as she had and smiled. “It’s a touch modern for me. I prefer something a bit cozier, but I’ve done what I could to add parts of me.” Krista and I had vastly different taste when it came to decorating, but we managed to compromise.
“I’m very sorry things didn’t work out with you and Gavin,” she said, cutting right to the chase. My desire for cake vanished instantly. I set it on the table and pulled in a deep breath.
“I’m no
t sure—”
She held up her hand to cut me off. “It’s none of my business, child. Whatever happened was no doubt a traumatic experience for you. That doesn’t mean I can’t hate that it happened. You two seemed perfect for each other. Every time I saw the two of you, I was reminded of Bill and me and the start of our relationship.”
I was grateful she wasn’t going to make me explain, but also intrigued by what she meant. I remembered months ago she’d mentioned telling me her story one day. It seemed today was going to be that day. “How so?”
“I was born in a small town outside of Jacksonville, Florida, back in 1943. When I was eighteen, my parents married me off to a man ten years my senior. I had seven brothers and sisters, and my parents could barely make ends meet. The moment we were of age, they shipped us out of the house into the great big world. Dwight Lucas was his name. He was a mean old bastard. He just wanted someone to cook, clean, and take care of his needs. As long as I stayed in line, things were great. But if I back-talked or did something to displease him, well, how men treated women back then was just common practice. One day, I had enough and threatened to kill him in his sleep. I don’t know if he actually believed me or if he was as unhappy in the relationship as I was, but he told me to get out and never come back. My parents refused to let me move back home, so I was alone, homeless, and barely twenty years old.”
“Pearl, that’s awful,” I said, imagining her abandoned by those she loved. It made me appreciate the people in my life a little more than I had a moment before.
She waved me off. “So, with a single suitcase, a bus ticket, and twenty dollars in my pocket, which would be worth about $160 today, I left for Jacksonville.” She was quiet for a second, and her eyes had this faraway look like she was there now, back in the 1960s. After a moment, she cleared her throat and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. I got the feeling that her deadbeat husband wasn’t the center of this story.
“I was certain I’d be able to find a job in Jacksonville. Cooking, cleaning, washing dishes, I didn’t need much. Just enough to put a roof over my head while I got on my feet and figured out what I planned to do with my life. In less than three months, I was jobless, broke, and homeless again since what little money I had made doing odd jobs had run out. That’s when I met Victoria. She was a beautiful woman with long dark hair and a brilliant smile. It almost disguised the fact that her eyes made her look like she’d lived a hundred lifetimes over.
“She offered me a place to stay. I was young, scared, and starving, and it was the kindest anyone had been to me in a very long time, so I accepted. Her home was large but modestly decorated. It reminded me of a boarding house. In a way, I suppose it was.”
“Oh,” I said, understanding what she meant. “She was a madam.”
“She was. She promised that as long as I did as she said, I’d have money in my pocket, clothes on my back, food in my belly, and a roof over my head. I would have been a fool to turn her down. For the first couple weeks, she only asked that I wash the linens, help with shopping and other mundane tasks around the house. All that changed one night when she came in and announced we were expecting a houseful of guests, and everyone would be expected to entertain. I knew what she meant. I might have been naïve, but I wasn’t stupid. I heard what went on in the other girls’ rooms. She asked me if I understood, and I told her I did. I was terrified, but the alternative was no less frightening.
“I met Bill that night.”
I gasped. I couldn’t help it. It was a full-fledged, movie-worthy gasp. My hand flew to my mouth, and as awful as I felt, I needed to know what happened next. She smiled again, and this time, there was a little light in her eyes.
“He was my first client. He was in the navy and had just come back from his first tour of duty during Vietnam. He’d been at sea for six months, and he and his squadron were eager for the company of women. He was so sweet and kind to me. During his month of leave, he visited me almost every night, and when it was time for him to ship out again, I was devastated.
“He promised to find me when he returned, but I didn’t put much stock in his promise. I was a whore, and he was my John. After a couple months and many clients later, my time with Bill seemed almost like a dream. I’d done well for myself and managed to save a bit of money, but I still wasn’t in any position to leave. I remember looking in the mirror one day and noticing something different about my reflection. My eyes, they looked so old, so much like Victoria’s. A piece of me died that day. I became depressed and started dabbling in the same escapes the other girls in the house did. I felt so hopeless. Then one day, everything changed. There was a knock at my door, and when I opened it, there was Bill.
“I’ll never forget the look of horror on his face. I wasn’t sure what he saw, but his expression morphed from anger to determination in a matter of seconds. He swept me into his arms and kissed me breathless before telling me he loved me and that he was taking me away from this place. I didn’t understand anything until Victoria appeared in the door, a wistful smile on her face. She held out a stack of letters, and when I took them from her, the weight almost caused me to topple over. Bill had written to me almost every day. In those letters were promises of marriage and a future and everything I’d ever dreamed of.”
“Why didn’t Victoria give them to you?” I shouted, my body vibrating with anger.
Pearl let out a small chuckle and patted my hand. “Hope is a dangerous thing, my dear. And guilt can be a crippling monster. She didn’t give me the letters because she didn’t want to give me hope and then have my heart broken. What if he changed his mind? What if he died in combat? Those were dangerous times, and we lost a lot of good men in that war. And what if she had given me the letters? There wouldn’t have been any way I could have continued doing what I was, knowing he was coming back for me. As wonderful as Victoria was, she was running a whorehouse, not a charity house. I would have been on the streets. So, she wrote Bill, and she told him, and he agreed on the condition that she keep every letter so I could have them when he returned. So I would know he was aware of everything and didn’t care. He just wanted to be with me.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks, and a wild smile stretched across my face. I probably looked like I was insane, but that was the sweetest, saddest story I’d ever heard. “What happened next?”
“He’d been injured on his last tour and was given an honorable discharge. The war raged on for years after that, but Bill was free to go back to civilian life. So, with our suitcases full and our money in hand, we moved to Atlanta. We found a nice lot, got a loan, and built the diner. We’d been through hell and back but had somehow managed to find happiness. We got Lucky,” she said with a wink.
Lucky’s. The diner was named that because that’s what they’d been. “Thank you so much for telling me about your life. What an incredible story.”
“Hogwash. It had a happy ending, but the beginning was a nightmare. Which brings me to the reason I shared it with you.” She sat up and stared me in the eye. Shit. “You and Gavin are two of the most broken, saddest people I have seen since Bill and me. Something terrible happened between you two. And I know what group you both attended, so I’m assuming it has something to do with that. Lonna honey, don’t let happiness pass you by because you allowed the sadness to swallow you whole.”
“You don’t understand,” I choked. After everything she’d told me, she deserved to know. “He raped me.”
Her expression remained unmoving, and even though I didn’t want to, I recounted the entire night to her in great detail. When I was done, she sat back, thoughtful.
“I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you that blaming yourself for that night won’t change anything. And from the sounds of it, he’s not in much better shape. Do you think it’s possible you both made a mistake about what happened? That neither of you is completely right or completely wrong? It sounds like both of you had the same terrible experience.”
“Yes,” I admitted,
as much as I hated to. “But I can’t be with him, Pearl. I can’t be in love with my rapist. And no matter how much fault I have to accept, I asked him to stop, and he didn’t.”
She reached over and patted my hand, her weathered fingers frail. “A John isn’t supposed to fall in love with his whore either, but I understand. Can you promise me one thing?”
I nodded even though my track record with promises had been less than stellar. “Please stop shutting out your friends. They’re so worried about you. And eat something, dear. You’re skin and bones, and if I have to come over here every day and force-feed you, I’m willing to do so. I care about you.”
I let out a small laugh and pulled her into a hug. “I promise to try.”
“Well, I should go,” she said as she stood and pointed at the table. “You eat that cake, missy.” She walked to the front door and paused before turning toward me once again. “Anything is possible, Lonna. Sometimes you just need a little faith.”
“What are you doing, weirdo?” Ethan asked, causing me to jump. “Whoa, don’t drop that!” He rushed over and grabbed the small container with one hand, while catching the fork slipping from my fingers with the other. It was some serious Matrix shit, if I was being honest.
“Are you nuts?” I asked, leaning away from him.
“This,” he said, “came from the diner. I’d know that smell anywhere, and I’ve never even been. When I opened the door, you were just staring off into space with the fork hovering in front of your mouth. You almost dropped both of them when I startled you. We can’t have that.”
I laughed at his wordy explanation but nodded nonetheless. He was right; it would have been tragic to drop the cake. Also messy as hell. “Fine. For your heroic actions, I’ll share the spoils of victory with you.”
His face scrunched in confusion, and he peeked at the television. “Have you been watching war documentaries again?”
