by Nancy Thayer
Linda had been hoping that Bruce and Emily had finished packing and organizing their things for the new semester at Hedden. She’d been hoping that they’d done the dishes and left the house in a reasonable state of disorder. She’d been wondering what was in the freezer she could thaw out for dinner.
Where had Emily and Bruce been? The horses had ambled up to the fence and bobbed their heads and Maud had waddled out to greet them.
Linda thought hard: Bruce was in his room, grumbling over his laundry, and Emily was in her room, yes, that was right. They hadn’t come down to say hello or ask how the conference had been, and Linda had just assumed they were preoccupied, thinking of the next day, when they would leave for school.
Now Emily lifted her face to her mother. It was a terrifying, heartbreaking sight, so contorted with emotion, her lips pulled down and back in a hideous grimace, saliva bubbling as she wailed, “Mommy, he hurt me!”
Linda rose and in three steps was next to her daughter. Bending over, she wrapped herself around Emily and held her as she cried. “Oh, baby,” she murmured, stroking her back.
“Emily, why didn’t you tell us this before now?” Owen asked.
“Yes,” Linda agreed. “You should have told us the moment we got home.”
Emily cringed. She dug at her hands. “I was embarrassed. I was afraid of what Bruce would say. I didn’t want to make you guys unhappy. I thought if I got pregnant, then I’d have to tell you. I made a deal with God that I wouldn’t tell you if He wouldn’t make me pregnant.”
Linda’s knees went weak. “Are you—”
“No.”
Linda reached for her chair and sank back down into it.
Softly Owen asked, “Why are you telling us now, Emily?”
“Because I don’t know what else to do. Because Thanksgiving is here and I don’t want to go back to the farm anymore. It scares me.”
“The farm scares you.”
“Yes. Because of what Bruce did.”
Owen cleared his throat. “Are you sure … are you sure it was rape?”
Linda said, “Owen.”
Emily leaned forward, hands clenched into fists. “You see, Mom! You see how you let him talk to me? How you let him speak to me? I hate you both!”
“Emily, please, we’re just trying to understand …”
“I fought him. I yelled and told him no, and tried to get away, but he held me down. He hurt me. He told me he hates me.”
Linda shook her head as if to clear it. “I can’t take it in. It’s impossible.”
“It’s the truth!” Emily yelled.
“I’m not implying that you’re lying, Emily,” said Linda hastily. “It’s just that this is so difficult to believe. It’s like hearing that the world is flat.” Looking at Dr. Travis, she continued, “Bruce is a nice boy. He’s always been easygoing. A really good kid. He’s never been violent before, not that we know of. Perhaps he was rough with Emily when they were playing when they were children, when we first all moved in together, but nothing like this … I don’t understand.”
Owen looked at his watch. “Perhaps he hasn’t left Hedden yet. What if I go get him and—”
“Owen, I’m sure they’ve left by now. Whit said the limo was on the way.”
“All right then. Look, Bruce returns Sunday night,” Owen told Dr. Travis. “Is there any chance we can have a meeting then?”
“I’m afraid not,” Dr. Travis replied. “The soonest would be Monday morning.” She flipped through an appointment book. “Ten o’clock. Would Bruce be allowed to leave classes?”
“I’ll make sure he is.”
“Go ahead,” Emily said bitterly. “Ask your precious Bruce what I did that made him rape me!”
“It’s not that,” Linda said. “We just … we just need to hear what he has to say.”
“Yeah, and you’ll believe him and not me. You only care about him. Your perfect Bruce. You hate me for telling you, don’t you?”
“God, no, Emily,” Linda said. “Honey, we don’t hate you. We’re just so completely shocked.”
All at once Emily was overtaken by a yawn so enormous her whole body spasmed with it.
Dr. Travis said, “I think this would be a good time to break for the day. It is tremendously hard work, dealing with these powerful memories and emotions. Telling you—telling you both what happened took incredible courage. It was a significant step for Emily, and a necessary one.”
“Honey,” Linda said, “Bruce is in New York for Thanksgiving. If you could come home …”
“I want to stay here.”
“Shall I come in? Take you out to dinner at the Academy Inn …”
Emily shook her head.
Dr. Travis interceded. “Emily is dealing with a trauma. You wouldn’t expect her to go out with a broken leg. She needs rest, and she needs to work on healing in a safe place, with people trained to help her.”
“I understand that, but can’t I do anything?”
“Trust us. Let her rest.” Dr. Travis rose and opened the door. “Emily, you probably would like a nap.”
Emily yawned again and stood up. When her mother rose to embrace her, Emily recoiled, turning her shoulder toward her mother. Emily’s face was dark, sullen. Owen had arisen, too, but he stopped dead, warned away by the anger in his stepdaughter’s eyes.
Linda said, “I love you, Emily.”
“I do, too,” Owen said.
“Yeah, right,” Emily muttered, and went out the door and down the corridor to her room.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Owen said, “She’s angry with me.”
“She’s angry with you, and her mother, and Bruce, and herself,” Dr. Travis replied. Opening the door again, she led them out into the hall. “I have some brochures in the other room that might be of assistance to you.”
They followed her to her office and stood awkwardly just inside the door, as obedient as drugged creatures. Dr. Travis closed the door and motioned them toward chairs.
“I can’t understand this,” Linda said. “It’s too much. Too terrible.”
“Sit down,” Dr. Travis said. “Let’s talk a moment. I know this is difficult for you both. And I imagine it’s going to get worse for a while. You might want to get a therapist for yourselves.” Turning, she picked up some brochures from a shelf behind her desk. “I’d like you to take these home with you and read them. They might help you; they might help you in understanding what has happened to Emily.”
Owen stared at the brochures in Dr. Travis’s hand. Printed in black and white with vivid purple graphics of a hand on a wrist, they hurt his eyes.
After You Are Raped
When Someone You Love Has Been Raped
Taking them would seem an act of conviction. It would mean that he believed Emily had been raped by his son.
Linda looked at Owen, then reached out and took the brochures. “Thank you.”
“One more thing,” Dr. Travis said evenly. “A common reaction among men whose loved ones are raped is anger. Intense anger.”
“I’m not angry,” Owen said. “I’m just … completely bewildered. I can’t believe that Bruce … that Bruce raped anyone.”
Dr. Travis asked, “Is there any reason why we should not believe Emily? For example, is she a habitual liar? Or has she lied about a truly significant matter in the past?”
Linda said, “No.”
“Has she ever attempted suicide before? Or done anything to act out, such as running away from home? Any extreme, attention-seeking behavior?”
Linda and Owen shook their heads.
“What about sexuality? Have you discussed it as a family?”
Linda and Owen looked at each other. Linda said, “As the children were growing up, we talked about it. Of course. Where babies come from, how they’re made. Then, later, we talked about contraception, and diseases, AIDS, herpes, and so on.”
“How about emotions? How about feelings of desire? Inappropriate feelings of desire?”
Owen said, “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Human sexuality is a complicated thing,” Dr. Travis said. “Research shows that in stepfamilies, inappropriate sexual feelings are common. There is nothing wrong with them, but they should not be acted upon. The incest taboo applies in stepfamilies as well as in families. Perhaps you have seen or sensed that Emily has had a crush on her stepbrother. Has been in love with her stepbrother.”
“No,” Linda said. “I haven’t been aware of anything like that.”
“Sometimes the person feeling inappropriate love and desire is ashamed, and masks these feelings with a pretense of hatred for the other person. Has Emily, in the past, irrationally lashed out in anger at Bruce over seemingly insignificant matters?”
“Not any more than he has toward her,” Owen admitted fairly.
“Has she behaved violently toward him? Conversely, have you ever seen her acting in a seductive way toward him?”
“No.”
Dr. Travis opened a folder and looked through it. “We’ve collected a family history from you. Think carefully. Is there anything you’ve left out? Has, for example, Emily ever had a period of mental instability? Has she ever hallucinated? Blacked out? Has she ever accused another man of raping her? Accused anyone of anything that wasn’t true, or done anything similar to call attention to herself?”
“No.” Owen was growing impatient. “But still … Bruce hasn’t done anything like that, either. He’s a good boy. He’s always been a good boy. I don’t understand why you believe Emily.”
Very calmly, Dr. Travis said, “I don’t understand why you don’t.”
“It’s not that,” Linda hastily interceded. “It’s just that it’s so confusing. Surely you must see that.”
Dr. Travis leaned back in her chair. “I’ll admit that I’m not one hundred percent without doubts. In a situation like this, of course, there is no one but God who knows the full truth. But let me tell you why I believe Emily. First of all, we have given her a battery of diagnostic tests. We’ve found nothing to indicate psychosis, dementia, any kind of physiological or biochemical dysfunction. Her family situation has been not optimal, but certainly, without a doubt, good. She has always been well cared for. Loved. She has grown up in a healthy environment. She was performing well at school. She had friends. Good grades. Nothing to indicate any underlying chronic psychiatric problem. Now. Emily came to us because of a suicide attempt, which indicates a serious emotional trauma. She has evidenced feelings of shame, self-hatred, depression, a sense of hopelessness. She told Dr. Brinton that she was carrying the seeds of destruction for your family within herself. I would say this announcement fairly well fits that bill, wouldn’t you? I might also add that a great deal of research has been done on rape victims, and Emily’s response fits the patterns found in that research. She displays certain identifiable signs of a rape victim. For one, she is angry at her mother for not protecting her.”
“But how could I—”
“Emotions are not rational. This is how she feels. Also, she displays obsessive behaviors. In the short time she’s been with us, she’s made her bed probably fifty times. She can’t get it smooth enough, she says, can’t get the wrinkles out. Can’t get it to look right. You’ve remarked on her overeating. Her recent weight gain. She’s been medicating herself with food. And the self-mutilation. Her face. Her hands. Those also are common signals. She hates herself. Punishes herself.”
Owen interrupted, “But if she really was raped, why does she punish herself?”
“Again, I need to stress that emotions are not rational. This is what studies show is the common behavior of victims of rape.”
Owen could keep silent no longer. “I don’t think it’s fair to discuss this when Bruce isn’t here to defend himself. Who is protecting his interests here?”
“Well,” Dr. Travis coolly responded, “I am, for one. I need for both of you to know that I am bound by federal law to notify the police about any report of rape.”
“Good God!” Owen exploded. “You can’t do that! How can you even think of doing that? You have no proof! You haven’t even talked to Bruce. You haven’t even set eyes on him!”
“If I may finish. I’m going to take a risk here and not report the accusation of rape for two reasons. First of all, for the reason you mentioned. We have no proof. We need to hear from Bruce. This is an extremely personal and volatile situation for the entire family. More important, I think that bringing in the police would not be the best thing to do therapeutically at this moment in time for my patient. I’m making a clinical judgment call here and I want you to know that I’m doing it.”
“Thank you,” Linda said, thinking that Owen should have said it.
Owen was thinking furiously. “Look,” he said. “These two have always tattled on each other. Why didn’t she tell us when we got back from the writers’ conference? When we could perhaps have found proof, one way or the other, taken her to the doctor, that sort of thing.”
“Keeping her silence is not unusual. She thought she could bury it. Hide it. Make it go away, as if it never happened. She was humiliated, angered, confused. She knew that disclosure of it would be a divisive element in your family. She hated herself because it happened to her. She blamed herself for it. It is common, it is textbook, for a rape victim to feel guilty. Emily tried to hide it, to bury the fact of it, and the pain and anger worked inside her like an acid, eating away at her, until she no longer could contain it. She tried to protect you from the pain of knowing, but that was an impossible task. Her only recourse was a suicide attempt.” After a moment’s silence, she said, “Now Emily can move on. Now she can own her anger. Deal with her grief. Work it through. Begin to heal.”
“How can we help her?” Linda asked.
“For now, just give her time. Don’t be surprised or angry at her anger with you. With both of you. That also is common. Right now Emily is a very intensely distressed young woman.”
“So there’s nothing I can do until Monday?”
“You could call her. She might not talk to you.” Dr. Travis rose. “I’m sorry. I have an appointment now.”
It was when she was opening her office door that Owen said, “I’m not sure exactly how to say this but … I would hate it if any talk about this got out. Especially to Hedden. For Bruce’s sake. Emily’s too.”
Dr. Travis drew herself up. “Mr. McFarland, we do not divulge our patient’s private concerns to anyone.” She shut the office door firmly behind them. “I’ll see you on Monday.” She walked down the hall and around the corner.
“Yes, all right.” Linda said into the emptiness.
Together they left the hospital, walking slowly, as if the rules of gravity had been suspended and the halls were turned into mazes, as if they had suddenly become old and frail and strangers in the world.
Chapter Eleven
They found their old Volvo in the garage and got in.
Owen looked over at Linda. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I guess so. You?”
“I feel like I’ve been hit in the stomach with a bat.”
“Me, too.”
“What should we do now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I guess we’ll just go back to the farm.”
“I guess.” The brochures Dr. Travis had given them were lying in her lap, staring up at her like a curse.
What if Emily were telling the truth?
Dear God, what if she were lying?
“Owen,” she said, “hold me.”
They shifted across the seats, the leather creaking as they moved, and wrapped their arms around each other.
“It’s a nightmare,” Linda said.
“We’ll get through this,” Owen said. “Somehow.”
For a moment Linda took solace in the familiar bulk of her husband’s body, the reliable pounding of his heart, the comforting rumble of his voice in his chest as he spoke. In the way their car curved around them, enclosing them i
n a safe and familiar world.
Then they heard the brisk click-clack of someone’s high heels. Next to them a figure moved, opening a car door. They broke apart, fastened their seat belts. Linda brushed back her hair with her hands. Owen put the key in the ignition and started the engine and steered the car from the garage.
During the hour-long drive back to Ebradour, they fell into a brooding silence broken by fits of conversation as new thoughts struck them.
Owen mused aloud, “I can’t see it. I can’t believe that Bruce is a rapist.”
“I know. But it’s just as hard to believe that Emily would make this up.”
“True. But Emily’s romantic. Dramatic.”
“But she’s never been a liar. And she’s not crazy.”
“I’m not saying she’s crazy. But she is in a psychiatric ward.”
“She’s in a psychiatric ward because she was raped. She’s in a psychiatric ward because she wanted to spare us, but keeping it secret was killing her.”
“But I just can’t see Bruce raping anyone.”
“Me, either. Still, Bruce’s a young man. A lot of hormonal changes are going on inside him …”
Owen was quiet for a while, considering, and after a few moments, he said, “I know. There was something different in the air this summer. When the boys were visiting.”
The boys, Terry and Doug and Pebe, had come to stay for a month, as they had for the two previous years, but this year they’d not been as boisterous. They spent more time secluded in the attic or the woods and no time at all with the horses or in the pond. As always, the guys had taken over the attic for a makeshift clubhouse and guest room, playing poker late into the night, sleeping past noon, and this year Owen and Linda had assumed, from the choked laughter they heard, that they were discussing women. Owen suspected they were sneaking off to smoke cigarettes; he’d reminded them every time he saw them that if he caught them smoking near the barn or if he came across an uncrushed butt anywhere he’d send them back home on the moment. He’d worried all summer about the possibility of fire. He’d been alert, kept pretty good watch. He suspected they’d smoked some pot down by the pond, but he hadn’t told Linda; she would have freaked out. It was also possible that they’d sneaked some alcohol into the attic. But adolescent boys acted bizarrely enough when sober; Owen and Linda hadn’t been able to guess by their behavior whether or not they’d been drinking.
