We watch as my father is cuffed and thrown into the back of Jackson’s father’s cop car. I’m not sure what to think about this. Does my father deserve to be arrested? I don’t know.
As soon as the cop car is out of sight, I say, “Dad was right. It was my fault.”
My mother turns and looks me in the eyes for a second. Then she wraps her arms around me again and squeezes me tighter than I’ve ever been hugged. I hug her back, even though I’m not really sure what it means.
She pulls away, not to retreat but to put her hands around my face. “Don’t you ever say that again. You didn’t ask for this.” Her lips quiver. “You only wanted to be loved.” She pulls me back into her arms. “I’m sorry, Anna. I should have been there for you sooner.” Her voice falls apart, a quaking mess, and she sobs into my shoulder. “I should have done something. I should have…” She pauses, then simply says, “I love you.” She presses her mouth into my hair and whispers it over and over again.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
And for the first time, I believe her.
My memories of New York will always be there, and they might always be stronger. But today, I sleep better than I ever have. My brain is on overload, shutting down to protect itself—it’s about time.
A couple of times, my mom knocks on the door to let me know someone called for me. First Jackson, just to let me know he hopes I’m okay. Then Marissa, Alex, and Jen.
Oh, crap. I hope they’re okay. I hope the plan went okay. I hope Marissa is free of Brandon. I hope Jen no longer feels afraid.
I hope they’re all okay, even if I won’t ever be.
I don’t wake up in time for school the next day, but again, my mother says nothing. She just lets me sleep.
I put Zara outside, because I’m pretty sure I’d be torturing her if I didn’t get her to the bathroom, then I head back to my room.
I’m not sure how much longer I’ll stay like this, avoiding everyone. A few times, my mom lets me know my friends called to check on me, but I’m not ready to talk to them. I’m not ready to face their reactions to the truth.
The next day, the phone rings around noon, and my mother answers close enough to my bedroom door that I can hear her talking.
“She’s fine. She’s in her room.”
My first thought is of Jackson, but he’d be at school now.
Then there’s a light knock.
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” I say, even though I’m not sure that’s true.
“It’s Sarah.”
I open my mouth to yell something back, but that’s not what I expected to hear, so I answer the door. “Sarah?”
Why do I feel like it’s been years since I’ve seen her? It’s only been a few weeks.
My mother hands me the phone.
“Hello?”
“Anna!” She sounds tired but happy it’s me. “I heard about what happened. Are you all right?”
“I’ll live. I always do.”
“I’m on my way there if you’re up for a visit. We’re going to have a long talk. It’s been too long. I should be there in less than an hour.”
“Oh,” I say awkwardly. “You’re already on your way?”
“Yup.”
“Okay,” I say, secretly happy she’ll be here. As much as shutting myself off from the rest of the world is effective, I’m lonely and bored and starving. And at least I know Sarah doesn’t hate me for the truth.
“Are you hungry? Would you like to get dinner when I get there so we can talk? Or is your mother cooking?”
“Um, I don’t think so. Dinner would be okay, I guess.” I don’t tell her that I haven’t eaten in days, practically.
“Good, be ready in about forty-five minutes.”
My mother is very tense when I hand the phone back to her. There’s more than one thick line on her forehead.
“Sarah’s coming. She’s going to take me to dinner. That okay?”
“Oh.” She straightens. “Do you want to go?”
The question knocks me for a loop. What do I want? The very idea feels weird.
“Yeah. It would be nice to see her.”
“Then you should go. Maybe she can help you talk about some of these things.” She looks away, then turns back and quickly adds, “If that’s what you want.”
I go back to my room and search through my clothes for something to wear. Is it better to wear something Sarah bought me or some of my new things? I go for a happy medium, one of the tops my mom bought with a sweater Sarah bought over it.
Then I stand in the kitchen for a moment, trying to think of something else to do while waiting for Sarah.
I do want to talk to her. I need to. But what will I say? She’s been okay with the truth so far, but there are some things not even she knows about.
Finally the doorbell rings.
My mother answers the door, and I notice she’s put on fresh makeup. She looks much better now than she did when the call came. In fact, she looks better than she ever has. I don’t know when my dad’s coming back, but maybe that doesn’t matter. Today, Mom seems truly alive.
Sarah and my mother exchange a polite greeting, then Sarah asks me if I’m ready. I nod and walk out with her, sending a smile to my mother as we leave.
The car ride is silent except for when Sarah asks me what I want to eat. The rest of the ride, I just watch the houses as they fly by. We end up going to Friendly’s, which is a cheesy little restaurant. It’s the place you take your little brats after soccer games, but it’s good food, so whatever.
When we sit down, we don’t start talking immediately. She orders some coffee, and I get a Coke. Then, once our drinks arrive, she starts asking me questions. Lots of questions. They start off small, simple.
“How has everything been?”
“What’s your favorite subject in school?”
“I see you got a new top.”
But when they don’t get much out of me, she goes straight to the real things I knew she’d want to talk about.
“Your mother mentioned your father’s not home right now.”
I look at the table. “Is that all she said?”
“She said he has some problems. And the police had to get involved.”
“Is that what she said? That they’re his problems?”
She shrugs. “Yeah.”
“What did you tell her? You’ve always got something to say.” I know how harsh I sound, and I want to say I’m sorry, but she doesn’t seem to take offense.
“I told her if she wants some help, I can put her in contact with a therapist. Someone to help her. You. Your whole family, if that’s what all of you want.”
“Great,” I say. “More talking.”
“What about you? How do you feel about him leaving?”
“I’m glad he’s gone.”
“Because of what happened after homecoming?”
“You know about that, huh?” I say, looking down at my sandwich. I guess I knew she would. That’s why she came, right? That why I wanted her to come. It’s just that now, I sorta wish we could skip that part of the conversation.
She nods, a sign for me to continue.
“Yes, I went to homecoming and had fun, up until the part when the janitor attacked me, and now everyone thinks I’m still a whore, and he came after me because I was asking for it, or something.”
I can see the concern on Sarah’s face, but she stays calm. “But you didn’t. “
It’s not a question, exactly, but she’s clearly asking me to defend myself. Like she knows the answer, but she needs to hear me say it.
I swallow. “No. I didn’t.”
“The police have looked into his history. He’s got a background of violent behavior, but nothing that indicated why he would risk coming after you where he works. It’s unusual. Most of the time, pedophiles who actively abuse children have a history. Prior offenses. But he flew under the radar. To think that he was a janitor at a high
school the entire time…”
It’s now or never. “He wasn’t just the janitor,” I say.
She puts her hands around her coffee cup, like she’s suddenly cold and needs to absorb its warmth. “Who was he?”
“He used to see me in New York. He used to…you know. That’s why my dad was so angry. It’s like I brought him back with me.”
Sarah’s gaze doesn’t break, but she bites her lip awkwardly, thinking.
“How did you feel about seeing him here?” she eventually asks me.
“What do you mean, ‘How did I feel?’ He attacked me. What don’t people get about this? They think I asked for that? That I asked for all of this?”
I know she doesn’t mean any of that, but the words are out of me before I can stop them. Because people do blame me. Or they will. As soon as they know the truth.
“Some people might think it’s your fault,” Sarah says calmly. “I don’t. But I need to make sure I understand it completely. I can’t keep you safe until I know if this man was a friend or someone you might want to protect.”
“Protect? He’s disgusting. I’d lock the key myself if I could.”
She reaches over the table and rests her hand on top of mine. “Actually, you can. If you really mean it.”
“What?”
“If he was one of the men who paid Luis to sleep with you, your testimony can put him in jail.”
I look up. “What about Luis? Won’t they use my testimony against him, too?”
She takes a deep breath. “The way the system works is they need evidence to put people in prison. There’s a chance they’ll both go free without your testimony.”
My hands start to shake. “Both of them? Even the janitor?”
She holds on tighter to my hand. “Even the janitor.”
“But he came after me at school. Everyone saw it.” For better or worse.
“Yes. They saw him come after you. But that doesn’t prove that he was going to rape you. And it doesn’t prove that he ever did before.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s the same for Luis. We’ve found that we don’t have any proof that he’s solicited sex for you, that he was your pimp. He’s saying that the men you slept with, well, it was all your choice.”
I look back and forth. It’s like I’m pressed against a wall, nowhere to go. My choice? He’s saying it was my choice for all of those men? All of the johns. Including the janitor.
I had to sleep with those men. We needed the money. But I didn’t ask for the janitor to become obsessed with me. I didn’t ask for him to come after me now.
How am I supposed to explain that to anyone? They’ll tell me I asked for it. If I didn’t want him to come after me, I never should have said yes. Not even once.
Luis knew that. When he saw what happened, how the janitor beat me up, he threw the janitor out and told him to never come back. Doesn’t that count for something?
“Can’t someone else testify against him?” I whisper.
“If you won’t testify, they’ll probably ask the janitor to. They’ll offer him a deal. Admit his guilt, but get reduced time in jail for coming out against Luis and telling everyone what happened to you.”
“So what does this mean? That I’ll get in trouble?”
“No, no. You’ve done nothing wrong. You were—and are still—under eighteen and under the age of consent in New York. The trouble is, or should be, all on the men who’ve had any sexual contact with you. It’s just that we can’t give them justice without a little help.”
The waitress comes back now to see if we want to order some food, and I use the time to let what Sarah’s asking settle over me.
She wants me to testify against Luis.
My heart is pounding; my eyes are wide. I don’t know what to do, what to say.
Sarah asks the waitress to give us some time alone. When the waitress is gone, Sarah turns back to me.
“Anna, listen.”
I stand up and look at her. I like Sarah, a lot. But I love Luis, or I did, I don’t know. He hurt me when he threw me out. But that doesn’t erase everything he did to take care of me. He was good at first. He cared at first. Surely everything that came later doesn’t erase how we were at the beginning.
I can feel the tears welling in my eyes.
She grabs my arm softly, which makes me feel like it’s defeating the purpose. “No one is going to make you do anything, I promise.”
She lets go of my arm, but I don’t move. Finally I sit back down, but I’m still breathing heavily. Nothing about this is okay.
“It doesn’t sound like you have a problem putting the janitor in jail,” she says.
“He deserves it,” I say.
“Okay. Why is Luis so different?”
I open my mouth to speak, but I close it. Now I’m afraid of what I’ll say. If I say the wrong thing, they’ll use it against me. Against him. He’ll go to jail.
The only way to make her understand is to tell her the truth. Even if she’ll find it impossible to believe.
“Luis was my boyfriend, not my pimp.”
“But he sold you to other men, made you do…”
“No! He never made me do anything.”
“But he pushed you.”
“Please,” I say, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. “Stop, I can’t do this.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” she says in a whisper. “I don’t mean… I’m not trying to hound you, or question you. I just want to understand, Anna. The way I see it, he used you. You were just a child. I wish you could see that.”
I shake my head. That was always the problem—everyone saw me as just a child. Luis was the only one who treated me the way I wanted to be treated.
“I’m going to ask you one last thing, Anna, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
When I don’t speak she takes it as consent. “Did you want to sleep with those men?”
My heart drops. No. I want to yell it, scream it. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!
But I don’t. I can’t.
I get up and walk out into the parking lot alone.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I’m quiet when I walk into the kitchen, and I’m surprised when my mother isn’t there. Zara stands at the glass door, watching me, so I slide open the door to let her in. She sniffs at my feet, her little stump of a tail wagging eagerly. I pat her head absently, knowing that’s not the kind of attention she’s looking for. I’m just not able to give her anything more right now.
It feels very different here today. The house is quiet, still. Like it’s waiting. Holding its breath to see how the shit settles after hitting the fan yesterday. Zara eventually gives up with me and walks across the room to sniff her empty food bowl.
I take a step toward the hall, figuring I might as well retreat to my bedroom where at least things are the same kind of weird they’ve been for the last few weeks, but then my mother emerges from the hall looking tired.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she says.
I smile. “Hi.”
“I made some brownies earlier. Want some?”
I’m really not hungry, but for some reason I nod. Her eyes grow brighter, and I’m suddenly glad I didn’t say no.
I sit at the counter and watch as she microwaves two huge pieces and pours two glasses of milk. She sets one plate and one glass in front of me, and I take in a deep breath and watch as she takes a small dainty bite of her brownie with a fork.
She looks up at me. “Are you all right? Everything okay with Sarah?”
I nod, not because things are actually okay—nothing is okay right now—but because there’s nothing she can do, and I just don’t want to talk about it.
“Is it about your father?” she asks me.
This time I look up and shrug.
“I keep running it through my mind,” she tells me, dropping her fork onto her barely touched plate. “What happened. Why. What I could have done better. Did I make the right choice? I don’t know if I made the right choice, having him arreste
d.” She’s talking so fast, her bottom lip trembling. I’m not even sure she’s talking to me anymore. She’s just talking. Thinking out loud.
It’s the first time she’s ever opened up to me like this.
“You did the right thing,” I say.
She looks up, blinking back tears. “He had his accountant bail him out of jail. Now he’s at a hotel.”
I pause, knowing she’s scared. Scared of not being the perfect trophy wife anymore, and I have no idea what to say to make it better.
“I’m glad he’s not here.”
She blinks, her face blank. “Me, too.” Then her shoulders relax, like a weight was lifted from her. She smiles, her eyes still filled with tears.
So she wasn’t afraid of losing her marriage or image…she was afraid of admitting she’s glad about it.
We quietly finish our snack, not knowing what else to say.
Finally, I stand. “I’m going to go for a walk.”
“Okay, be careful,” she says, barely looking up from the sink as she scrubs her few dishes absently.
I walk out into the brisk autumn air. Fallen leaves float past, and I try to clear my mind as I make my way down the street. I need to think about something good. Something that’s not royally screwed up.
My feet move on their own, and I try not to think about where I’m going or why. Not until I’m standing in front of Jackson’s door. And then I realize how stupid this is. I have absolutely no clue what I could possibly say to him now.
I just know that I need to say…something. Anything. I need to hear his voice.
My breathing quickens as I fight with myself. Knock on the door and face my worst fear and greatest hope—or walk away a coward. My stomach clenches, a sour feeling filling every vein.
I knock on the door and it swings open in just a few seconds. I swear, if it had taken any longer, I’d have turned and run. I look up at the tall, muscular figure that is Jackson’s father and press a hand to my stomach, willing myself not to throw up on his doorstep. I keep my eyes steady and watch his face for signs of hatred, disgust. But Jackson’s father’s eyes are full of concern, sympathy.
“Looking for Jackson?” he asks nicely when I don’t speak.
I manage a nod.
He smiles and turns away. “Jackson! You have a visitor.” He turns back. “It’s nice to see you again, Anna.”
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