“Well, I guess your daughter hates me,” she said, wishing again that she had run.
“A little. She’s very overprotective of me and she knows I was down about blowing it with you.”
He said it in a way that emphasized the past tense.
“Well, you didn’t completely blow it,” she said with a cautious smile.
Alison grappled with what to say next. He didn’t.
“I saw the press conference, and at first I didn’t believe you were with that guy, but I realize now . . .” He paused and shook his head, in a way that made him seem so vulnerable and continued. “I may look like a strong, tough guy, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything close to what I did for you. I’m not the kind who would do well with one of those open relationships people do now. That’s not my style. Especially not one where your picture would be flashed in all the papers with the would-be mayor.”
“But I’m not with him. Not that way.”
He looked at her skeptically.
“Well, in what way are you with him?”
“We are nothing. He is Zach’s father. That’s it. I don’t like him that way.”
Jackie actually took a step back from her, his body language reeking of uncertainty. She felt an unfamiliar pull in her stomach, possibly desperation.
“I like you that way, though,” she said, hoping so badly to turn things around.
He smiled and took a step toward her. “You do?”
She breathed a slight sigh of relief from the warmth in his tone.
“Yes, very much so.”
“And you are sure—there’s nothing more between you and Marc Sugarman?”
“Nothing. I thought maybe there was, but I’m sure—very sure.”
His smile grew. “When you didn’t take his hand, right? At the press conference—that’s when you were sure?”
She laughed. “Yes—that’s when I was sure. You are unbelievable!”
“Actually, I am believable. Very, very believable.”
He apologized again for misrepresenting himself. “I’m really sorry for not being up-front with you. Please know that’s not who I am. I can show you who I am—if you want.”
She smiled cheerfully. “I want.”
He leaned in to kiss her. She leaned in to meet him. Just as their lips were about to touch, she noticed something move in the bushes. Her eyes widened.
“Don’t move,” she whispered.
Though confused, he listened. Two eyes looked out at her, then moved back into the shadow. From its brief appearance, she was pretty sure that it was the lost dog from the bulletin board.
“I think that lost dog is in your bushes.”
“Who? Truffles Goldstein?”
After all of the awfulness of the night, the mere fact that this sweet, eager man knew the missing dog’s full name really sealed the deal.
“I think so.”
“OK, what should we do? He’s very skittish, right?”
“Yes. They said he always runs when spotted.”
“Should I get him a treat? I have chocolate inside.”
“That would be good if you want to kill him.”
“Sorry. I never had a dog.”
“Wait.” She reached into her diaper bag. “I have turkey.”
“Great. Call out ‘treat’ with the turkey, and I will grab him from behind. Go slow.”
“OK.”
Alison carefully unwrapped the turkey and put it in front of her on the ground. It smelled so good, this dog had better appreciate it, she thought as her empty stomach rumbled.
“Treat! Here, Truffles. Here, boy,” she said calmly and took two steps back. After a moment, Truffles crept out and cautiously sniffed the turkey. As he gulped it down, Jackie reached out and grabbed him by the collar. The dog flinched, but didn’t even stop eating.
“We did it!” Alison cheered.
“My car is right there. Should we take him home?” she added.
“Yes. Let’s do it.”
“I can watch the baby!” Jana called out from the window. They all laughed, realizing she’d been eavesdropping the whole time. Alison was glad she’d been listening, happy to have gained her approval.
They climbed into Alison’s car and messaged Truffles’s owner, who tearfully gave them her address. Once there, Truffles raced to the door, crying and jumping up and down as they rang the bell. He knew he was home. He barreled in, nearly taking Jackie down with him.
The reunion was right out of the movies, with Truffles taking turns licking the tears from everyone’s faces, Jackie’s and Alison’s included. Outside, Alison was feeling quite thankful.
“You saved Thanksgiving,” she said.
He didn’t understand why, but he took it with pride. “Can we kiss and make up now?”
“If you don’t mind, first, I could really use a hug.”
As he wrapped his arms around her, they both sensed that it would be a long, long time until they would let each other go.
CHAPTER 44
Eliza
Eliza woke up at 3:00 a.m. with a fuzzy memory of what had happened the night before. She went downstairs and got herself a glass of water. The fridge was filled to the brim with leftovers. Or actually, now that it came back to her, with uneaten Thanksgiving dinner. She pulled out a turkey leg and headed back upstairs to her computer. She actually felt lighter. Not good, but certainly less dead inside. She sat down at the computer, opened up the bulletin board, and wrote. She knew enough about triggering events to begin with a warning:
THE FOLLOWING POST CONTAINS DETAILS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT
The pent-up words flew out of her:
My name is Eliza Hunt. You may know me as a mom in the neighborhood. Maybe you grew up with me, or maybe you just know me as the moderator of this bulletin board. What you don’t know is that I am a rape survivor.
Thirty years ago a shop teacher at Hudson Valley High, Roy DeLuca, raped me in the musty basement of the school. I can still smell that room. I was a virgin. In fact, I had kissed a boy only once, twice if you count Spin the Bottle. I was too ashamed and too afraid to tell anyone, and I never told a soul until tonight. It has been the deepest, darkest secret of my life.
I thought it was my fault because I often smiled at him and was wearing a short skirt and carrying a copy of Lolita from English class. He asked me to climb up on the table, so that he could see how pretty I was up close. I was flattered that a grown man thought I was pretty. No one had called me that before. And then he forced himself on me, forced himself into me. The pain was intense, but I didn’t cry out for help. I didn’t say no, I didn’t say stop, I just lay there voiceless, in shock and pain. Afterward he pulled up his pants and said, “Did you like that?” Sometimes I think that was the worst part.
I am coming forward now, for myself, because this toxic secret has persistently eaten away at me for thirty years; for my children, especially my daughter; and for other women in this group that I lead, as an example. I’m ashamed that I kept it quiet for all of this time. I pray nightly that in doing so I didn’t cause other women to suffer the same fate. I know many people will be surprised by my admission, surprised that I bore this alone for so long. There is a reason that Roy DeLuca was given such an honor of having the auditorium named for him at Hudson Valley High, and I know that his many fans will possibly try to discredit me. I know from watching other women come forward that my memory and my integrity will come into question. And I know that Mr. DeLuca, who is now dead, will not be able to defend himself or deny my claims. It doesn’t matter to me. I am glad he cannot defend himself. A defense of any kind would be as damaging as the act itself.
I mourn the person I may have been if this hadn’t happened to me. The price that I have paid for it is immeasurable. The price that the people that love me have paid for it is also immeasurable.
&
nbsp; Roy DeLuca raped me. I am happy that he is dead. I hope it was as slow and painful as my life has been on account of his disgusting actions.
She pressed Post without even reading it over and went back to bed.
At around ten o’clock in the morning, Luke came into their room and sat next to Eliza, lovingly nudging her awake. He had a cup of coffee for her and some toast and jam that he placed on her nightstand.
“Kayla wants to show you something, if you’re up to it,” he said.
Eliza sat up and pushed herself back against the headboard. She took a sip of her coffee before speaking. “Are the kids OK?”
“Yes. Upset, but doing OK. They are proud of you.”
“Proud of me? What for?”
“Hold on.”
He opened the door for Kayla to come in. She entered clutching her laptop.
“I have to show you something, Mom,” she said.
She opened up to the post that Eliza had written in the middle of the night. There were already 487 likes.
“Look what you’ve done for all of these women. You have inspired them to speak out. Some even name names.”
She began to scroll through the comments. Kevin came to the door.
“Come in,” she said, patting the bed. “I am so sorry for putting you through that last night.”
“Mom, I love you so much.”
“I’m going to be OK. I promise. I will go for help and make sure of it.”
“We know you will,” Kevin said.
“I love you, Mom,” Kayla said, hugging her.
It broke Eliza’s heart to see her children in this reversed position, comforting her. She hugged them tightly, hoping they would recognize her strength.
Under her post the comments flowed, each more painful than the next, with new ones arriving every minute. In between words of encouragement, like, “Thank you, Eliza Hunt. Your courage is remarkable,” and hashtag slogans from the “Time’s Up” movement like #believewomen and #metoo, came heartbreaking confessions from women with their own painful narratives. Eliza had unknowingly created a safe space—providing the perfect pulpit to trade secrets for absolution. All of these women expelling a rage that had been bottled up for years. Finally heard, finally free.
She and the twins read through them together.
I was always told to be polite. That’s what I was thinking when my dad’s uncle stuck his hand in my bathing suit bottom in our pool.
In my head I slapped him and ran from his office, but in reality I sat paralyzed while he forced himself on me. I was too frozen to even form the word “no.”
My mother’s boyfriend molested me. I never said a word because she was finally happy. When I saw him eyeing my sister I spoke up. She threw him out, but I know she resented me for it.
I was young like you were. I have never told anyone. You are very brave.
In college the cutest guy on campus asked me to an away-weekend formal. Back at the room he pulled out rubbers. I said they wouldn’t be necessary. He said why, are you on the pill? I laughed; no, I’m a virgin. He said, not after tonight you’re not. I still can’t speak the rest.
I was in camp. I was 16. My dad had died the winter before and I missed him terribly. An older man at camp paid a lot of attention to me. I let him. I’m still ashamed.
I was also raped at 17. I have never written those words before. Though I still think of it every single day. I am 67.
In eighth grade I was babysitting for a family down the street. One night it was raining, and the dad insisted on driving me home. He pulled over and asked if I had ever seen a man’s penis before. I ran home and never told a soul. His name was Jim McClusky. Fuck you, Jim McClusky.
It seemed to be endless—endless women had buried their pain deep enough to keep hidden, but not deep enough to keep it from eating away at their souls. It was too much for Eliza to take in all at once. Her eyes felt heavy. She closed Kayla’s laptop and told everyone she needed to sleep a little more.
Luke realized that Eliza had forgotten all about her parents’ visit. He broke it to her gently. “Honey, your mom and dad arrived last night. Mandy explained the whole thing to them. Your mom really wants to see you. Should I tell her to wait?”
That the whole town now knew what had happened to Eliza was one thing; that her parents knew felt infinitely worse.
“No, just send her in.” She turned to the kids. “Give me a few minutes with Grandma, OK?”
They were both happy to escape that conversation.
As Birdie sat at the end of the bed, visibly rattled, Eliza noticed that her once-glamorous thinness now came across as fragility. She actually felt bad for her. If anything remotely approaching her experience had happened to Kayla, Eliza knew she would have been enraged beyond imagination. So she was surprised her mother’s first reaction was one of guilt.
“I’m so sorry, so, so sorry,” Birdie said, unfamiliar tears escaping down her face. Eliza’s eyes welled up in response.
“Don’t blame yourself, Mom. How could you have known if I never told you?”
“But . . .” She cried some more, swallowing her words.
“Kids hide things from their parents all the time. It’s not your fault, Mom, really.”
But there was something that was very much Birdie’s fault, and they both knew it.
“Please, Eliza, let me say what I have to.” It was so hard for her to speak that she couldn’t meet her daughter’s eyes. She looked down at the tissue that she was twisting in her hand and continued. “Daddy and I read what you wrote on the Interweb. The part about no one saying you were pretty before then. I’m sorry that I was always so critical of you, Eliza. I just wanted the best for you, but your father said that maybe if I had told you that you were beautiful you wouldn’t have looked for that attention somewhere else.”
Her father finally stood up to her mother, but it was way too late in life to matter really—and his blaming her mother for what happened was as ridiculous as blaming her seventeen-year-old self. Eliza had accepted her mother’s limitations long ago. She had come to terms with the incessant criticism and knew that her mother couldn’t see beyond her own vision of what her daughter should be like to see her for who she was. She chose to put Birdie out of her misery and responded generously.
“Mom, stop. That’s not why this happened. It happened because a man was a monster. It’s not your fault any more than it’s mine. I know that, and so should you.”
More tears trickled from Birdie’s eyes and she was having trouble catching her breath.
“You look tired, Mom. Want to lie down a bit? Rest your eyes?”
She patted Luke’s side of the bed and her mother looked at her as if she’d suggested they share a Whopper with fries. The disparity between her relationship with Birdie and the mother-daughter relationship she shared with Kayla was never more evident. Lying in bed with her daughter, chatting or napping or watching TV, was second nature for Eliza, while this scenario felt completely foreign. To her surprise, Birdie pushed through her discomfort, walked around the bed, and lay down. She rested her hand on her daughter’s, and although it felt more awkward than comforting to Eliza, as they both drifted off, she felt loved by her mother. It may have been the first time.
CHAPTER 45
Amanda & Eliza
By the time the play rolled around on Sunday, the whole town knew of Roy DeLuca’s horrific actions, and as is typically the case with such predators, more women had already come forward with similar accusations. The school board called an emergency meeting and voted to take down the dedication plaque and open up an investigation into the charges against Mr. DeLuca.
At the start of the play, Mr. Barr gave his own soliloquy:
“Tonight the Hudson Valley High Shakespeare Troupe presents its thirtieth annual production, Measure for Measure. This play was first performed in 1603, yet ironically it repr
esents many of the same troubles and power struggles found in our society today. While at first, I thought it might be too racy for high school students, I’m now confident that there is no better age to point out its ideals. I hope it leads to further discussion in your homes. This play was written over four hundred years ago, and I believe William Shakespeare would agree that time is most definitely up! Without further ado, I present Measure for Measure.”
While Amanda had been present at many rehearsals, it was only when watching it now that she saw the parallels between men like her husband and Mr. DeLuca with Angelo, the play’s villain.
Determined to enforce a law regarding immorality, Angelo sentenced a man named Claudio to death for impregnating his fiancée. Claudio’s sister, Isabella, who was about to become a nun, begged Angelo to spare her brother’s life. At first, he flatly denied her request—the law, he said, required an execution. But Angelo was overcome by lust for Isabella. He threatened that he would only pardon her brother if she had sex with him.
Even in the dark, with Sadie sitting between them as a buffer, Amanda could tell that Carson was struggling with the play’s content. Clearly he had made the connection between himself and Angelo, and to make matters worse, his very own daughter was playing Angelo’s prey, Isabella. Seeing her placed in the same position in a power struggle that his victims had experienced was a head trip of epic proportions—though that was not how Shakespeare would have described it. When Isabella (Pippa) swore to tell the world that Angelo wanted to trade sex in exchange for releasing her brother from prison, Angelo responded with:
Who will believe thee, Isabel?
My unsoil’d name, the austereness of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i’ the state.
You didn’t need SparkNotes to interpret this one:
Eliza Starts a Rumor Page 25
