There was Sister Maria, too, always going on about the evils of drinking. Teetotalers, girls, is the right choice to make. Booze leads to nothing but bad decisions.
Now, Senator Murphy sat across from her, lifting the material of his slacks as he crossed his legs. A hint of a tan sock showed above his black loafer. He wore a tan sweater that draped over his wide shoulders. The material was cashmere. She recognized it from the times she and her mother had window-shopped in the city.
She looked at her notepad; her were notes blurry and her were hands damp with perspiration. Do not drop your pen. Think of a question to ask.
“Were you really talking to the president?” she asked. This was not one of the questions she had on her list, but it was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
He smiled and sipped his drink, eyeing her over the rim of the glass. “Yes, I was talking to the president.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“It’s like talking to anyone else, except that he’s the most powerful person in the free world.” He smiled again, downing the rest of his drink. Rising from the chair, he pulled the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. “I think I’ll have another. My wife frowns on whiskey before dinner, but she isn’t here to nag me this evening.”
It was whiskey. She shivered, again. This was beyond exciting. It was so much more than she’d hoped for, seeing this hidden side of the senator who drank whiskey and lied to his wife. There was something almost intimate about their exchange thus far. Familiar and insightful, like she was his biographer. Yes, that was it. She felt like a real writer, privy to the inside story of this powerful man’s life. She sat up straighter, imagining herself as a reporter for one of the big magazines her mother sometimes read, the ones that gave detailed accounts of interviews with celebrities. She crossed her legs to seem more dignified, older. In her mind, she transformed into a sophisticated New Yorker. She wore a designer suit, high heel pumps, and her hair bobbed in the latest style. Sister Maria had told her to study him carefully, to take note of his every move and detail so that she could accurately portray him in her article.
“Where is your wife?” Real reporters probably asked questions not on their lists, depending on what their subjects revealed. She would do this too.
He poured another glass, larger than the previous. “She has a charity function tonight. A senator’s wife has many duties. A lot of them unpleasant.” His voice seemed gruffer than it had the moment before. Did alcohol make one’s voice lower?
She felt lost suddenly and glanced down at her notebook as he took the seat across from her once more. She would ask one of the questions on her list. When she looked up, he was staring at her. His nose and chin were sharp, like a fox. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. What had changed in the room? Something sinister had entered, like smoke from under a door. She uncrossed her legs, intertwining her ankles instead, and squeezed her thighs together under her plaid skirt. A man shouldn’t look at a girl like he wanted to eat her for dinner. Fear crept up the back of her spine.
“How old are you, Miss Banks?”
“Fifteen.” She averted her eyes, focusing them on the roses.
He’d finished his drink and set it on the table. No coaster. Her mother always made her use a coaster. “You like roses?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“I bet a lot of boys send you roses.”
“No, sir. My mother wouldn’t allow that.”
Senator Murphy stood, fiddling with his belt. Oh, my God, what’s he doing? With a swift movement, he tugged his belt from his waist. It slid off his body like a snake. A silent scream started in her head. This wasn’t right.
She stood, ready to run, but she was too slow. He lunged at her and pushed her to the ground, covering her with his body, forcing her arms above her head. He tied them together with his belt. His breath, hard and fast, was hot on her neck and smelled sickly sweet, like cough syrup. Something pushed into her hip. Something hard. She screamed. He covered her mouth. “Be quiet, little one. I know what you want.”
When he was finished, he held her down as he tied her hands behind her back and gagged her with his tie, then blindfolded her with a scarf that he’d pulled from his pocket. She stumbled and almost fell as he dragged her out of the office and down the hallway. Seconds later, they were outside, the cold pressing against her bare legs. “I’m going to take you home myself. I sent my driver home.” He spoke in a soft, calm voice, as if they’d finished the interview and he was offering her a lift home out of the kindness of his heart. She heard the sound of a car door opening before he thrust her inside. It smelled of new leather and his cologne.
She sobbed silently as they drove. The spot between her legs throbbed. How long would it take to get to her house? Would her mother be there? What would he tell her? The car lurched to a stop but remained running. She had no concept of time. Cold air prickled her face. He was out of the car. Where were they? He wouldn’t let her out in front of her house. Of course he wouldn’t. He knew her mother might be there. She would see how Gennie looked and know that he’d done something to her. She held her breath, trying to stop crying, straining to see through the blindfold until she felt as if her eyes might pop out of their sockets. Nothing but blackness. Should she run? He yanked her door open. Frigid air rushed up her skirt. He grabbed her, forcing her out of the car, and then loosened the tie from her wrists. “You be a good girl and don’t tell anyone about this, you understand?”
She cried, unable to answer.
He shoved her against the car, pinning her to the cold metal with his hips. He ripped the blindfold and the gag off her. They were on a country road. It was dark. Snow continued to fall. Under her feet, there was at least a foot of fresh snow. He held her still by placing his hands on her hips. “I will kill your mother, your best friend, anyone and everyone you love if you ever utter a word to anyone.” His mouth was near her ear. “Tell me you understand, or I’ll kill you right now.”
“I understand.”
He yanked the collar of her coat and thrust her away from him. She landed on the cold snow.
She sobbed, crawling away from the car, but it didn’t matter. He was done with her. He was in the car already, tires spinning as the car lurched forward and sped down the road. His tail lights faded from sight. Darkness enveloped her. She could see nothing, not even the hand in front of her face. Cold assaulted her weary body. She wrapped her arms around her middle, shuddering.
I’m going to die out here alone. I want to see my mom. Just one more time, God, please.
Her mother would be home soon, wondering where she was. Panic would set in. Police would be called. A search would ensue, like it had for the missing girl last year. They’d never found her, that missing girl. She’d died alone, like this. They would not look for Gennie here, down a deserted back road.
She curled into a fetal position and wept without sound, waiting to die. Something poked her side. She reached inside her jacket pocket, curling her fingers over cold metal. Her flashlight. Her father had given it to her the Christmas before he’d died. She carried it everywhere with her. In case you ever get stuck in the dark, he’d said when he’d presented it to her, his brown eyes soft as she pulled it from the package.
She sat up, wincing from pain, and pressed the button to turn it on, pointing it in front of her, then moved the light in a circle around her. There was a forest on one side of the road and a flat field on the other. A scarecrow stood in the field, weary from the weather, with only a frayed shirt to cover his straw body. She knew this scarecrow. Yes, she knew him. She was near her home. Just down the road, her house waited, warm and familiar. She was close. He’d dumped her near her own home, but she was so disoriented, she hadn’t realized where she was. I will kill your mother. Her teeth chattered with cold and fear. Her mom must never know what had happened. How would she keep it from her? If she walked in the door looking this way, her mom would know.
Panic rose in her. She vomited into th
e snow, her head swirling. What time was it? Her mom didn’t get home until almost seven, so she wouldn’t be home yet. If she hurried, Gennie could make it home and clean up before her mom returned. She rose to her feet. Hurry. Hurry. Run if you have to.
She jumped, startled by a rustling in the trees. Holding her breath, she pointed the light in the direction of the noise and gasped. An elk stood between two trees, hooves buried in the deep snow. Giant antlers tipped as he bowed his head; his breath billowed like clouds in the frigid air. She wiped her nose with the back of her arm.
The elk snorted, tossing his head.
“What? What is it?” she whispered. “What do I do?”
Be brave, sweetheart. It was the voice of her father. Point your flashlight in front of you, and follow the light home.
By mid-March, the temperatures had risen to the forties for several weeks, and the snow was slushy and dirty, making everything feel desolate and depressed. Gennie and Margaret walked home from school in silence. They stopped in front of the candy shop. It was closed, but they sat on the bench under the awning anyway.
“What’s going on with you, Gennie?” Margaret asked. “Something happened. You have to tell me what it is.”
Gennie started to cry painful sobs that rocked her body. Margaret put her skinny arms around Gennie and held her.
“I think I’m pregnant,” Gennie said.
Margaret’s hands clamped her shoulders. “What? How is that possible?”
“I’m scared to tell you, but I have to tell someone because I don’t know what to do.”
“You can trust me.”
“You cannot tell anyone.” She prepared herself to lie, to tell the story like she’d rehearsed in her head many times.
“I promise.”
“One day after school, I was walking home without you and a van pulled up beside me. The door opened and a man dragged me inside so fast I didn’t know what happened. He tied me up.” She started to cry again. “He forced himself on me. He said he’d kill my mom if I ever told anyone.”
All color drained from Margaret’s face. “Oh my God.”
“I’m scared.”
“Gennie, I’m-I don’t know what to say.” She shook her head hard enough that her barrette fell out of her hair and onto the sidewalk. Neither girl reached to get it. Margaret squeezed her hands together and took in a deep breath, like she did when she was trying to understand a hard math problem. “No period since then?”
“Right. Not since early November.”
Margaret counted on her fingers. “So, like four months along.”
“I guess so.”
“Do you want to get rid of it?” Before Gennie could answer, Margaret continued, “It may be too late. I don’t know if they would do it this far along. I think three months might be the limit.”
Gennie cried harder. “The thing is, I felt something yesterday. A flutter, like butterfly wings. I went to the bookstore and looked inside one of those pregnancy books. That’s what the baby feels like when you first feel them kick. There’s a baby inside me. A person. I can’t kill it.”
“You’ll have to give it up. You can’t raise a baby. Right? Isn’t that the only option if you don’t want to do the other thing?”
“Yes. But I don’t know what my mom will say. She might want me to have an abortion if it was still possible, and I don’t want to.”
“Shit, Gennie, I don’t know.” Margaret buried her face in her hands. “You have to tell her. There’s no way around it.”
“She’ll make me go to the police. I’m afraid he’ll come after her.”
“Okay, let me think for a second,” Margaret said, pressing her fingers into her eyes. After a moment, she looked up, squinting against the bright clouds. “If she makes you go to the police, just tell them what you told me. You can’t identify him.”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t want anyone at school to know about the baby.”
“Do you remember that girl Cassandra? Two years above us?” Margaret asked.
“I think so. Didn’t she move?”
“The rumor is that she was pregnant and her family sent her somewhere to have the baby. Like a place with nuns. Someone told me Sister Maria helped her arrange it.”
“Sister Maria?”
“Yeah. Maybe you could go there. Your mom will have to let you if you’re this far along. You can go there and have the baby, and then come back here like nothing happened. I’ll tell everyone at school that you’re going to some fancy overseas school or something.”
“How am I going to tell my mother? I feel so ashamed.”
“This is not your fault, Gennie.” Margaret reached for her and held her close, Gennie’s tears soaking the collar of her jacket. “You must remember that, always.”
That evening, Gennie fell asleep on the couch while waiting for her mother to come home. She woke to the sound of keys in the back door. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes, which were sore and swollen.
Her mom, Joan Banks, clicked across the kitchen floor, calling to Gennie. Once in the living room, her mother kicked off her of two-inch black pumps, shabby and in need of polishing, and sank into the green plaid recliner. It was an ugly chair, they both agreed, but they couldn’t dispose of it. The chair was her dad’s favorite place to sit. His indentation remained in the cushions.
“Sweetheart, are you sick? Were you sleeping?”
“Not sick. Just really tired.”
“Poor baby. It’s been a long week, hasn’t it?” Her mom wore a black skirt with a yellow blouse and nude stockings. She rubbed her left foot with her thumbs. “I’m beat too. Should we order pizza for dinner?”
“Mom, I have something I have to tell you.” Gennie’s voice shook, but she continued onward, afraid to stop and lose courage altogether.
Her mom sat forward, dropping both feet to the floor. The recliner squeaked. “What’s the matter?”
Gennie started to cry, despite her efforts to remain strong. Seeing her mom’s concerned expression was too much.
“You’re scaring me, Gennie. Tell me what’s happened.”
She wiped her eyes and took in a shaky breath. “A couple months ago, I walking home from school and a man grabbed me.” She told her the same story she’d told Margaret, finishing with her desire to have the baby and give it up for adoption. Her mom looked stunned for a moment before bursting into tears.
She crossed the room and sat next to Gennie, taking her in her arms. Gennie collapsed against her mother’s skinny frame, crying. “My poor baby,” her mother murmured.
“I don’t want anyone to know. Margaret says Sister Maria knows of a place I could go and have the baby. Nuns run it, and they would help us find a good home for the baby.”
Her mom furrowed her brow and clasped her hands in her lap. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? Have the baby? There are other ways to take care of it.”
“I don’t want to do any of those things. I felt it move inside me, Mommy.”
“You did? Like butterflies?”
“Yes. Just like that.” Her mom snuggled her close, kissing the top of her head like she had when Gennie was a small girl. “When did this happen?”
“The last week of November.”
“What about the police?” her mom asked in a voice laced with confusion and anger. This had undone her, bewildered her, so that she didn’t even sound like herself. It was like after Gennie’s father died, when she’d walked around in a daze for months. “We should go to the police.” She’d gone completely white and her hands shook. “This man, do you think you could identify him?”
“No. It was dark in the van, and he wore a mask.”
“We have to go to the police anyway.”
“Mommy, please don’t make me. It’s been too many months, and they’ll think I’m lying.”
Her eyes were suddenly sharp. “What makes you think that?”
“Because we have no proof. I’m just another pregnant teen to them,” Gennie said. “And this town
is so small. It’ll get out, and I don’t want anyone to know.”
“What about school?”
“I’ll have to make it up somehow.”
Her mom smelled of Dial soap and a floral perfume. Every year of their marriage, her father had given her mother the perfume as a Christmas gift. Gennie bought it for her mother now, every December, with her babysitting money. “Mommy, I love you so much.” The tears came again, choking her.
Her mom drew back to peer at Gennie’s face. “I love you, baby. We’re going to get through this. No matter what, you have me. Nothing will ever change that.”
Relief flooded Gennie. She was safe now. Her mom would take care of everything. Gennie could go back to being a kid, maybe, after this was over.
A few minutes went by. Gennie could almost hear her mom’s brain churning, working out what to do. When her mother spoke again, her voice was back to normal, serene and determined. “I’ll call Sister Maria tonight and see about the adoption procedures. Regardless, I want you here with me, in our house, in your room. I’ll take care of you, not some strangers. They can help us place the baby, but I’ll take care of the rest. You understand? You’re my baby, and I won’t let you go through this alone.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Afterward, we’ll see about moving away.”
“Moving?”
“Maybe somewhere warm. Someplace to make a fresh start.”
“Like California?”
“Yes, maybe Los Angeles. Near the beach.”
“I’m sorry, Mommy.”
“This isn’t your fault, sweetie. That’s the main thing you must understand. I’ll find someone for you to talk with about everything. A therapist or a support group or something. Anything that will help you heal. And sunshine. We need sunshine. I hate this godforsaken snow.”
“Okay, Mommy.” Like a baby bird, she nestled against her mother’s neck and let the tears flow once more.
The River Valley Series Page 82
