by Ann Minnett
* * *
The following item appeared in Monday morning's Daily Inter Lake:
L - You're mistaken. I'm not a rapist. I 'm just a man with a conscience. I know what happened. Do you want the truth? Talk to me in person. R
Rob's two-line response infuriated Lark. The term 'fit to be tied' described her mood all day Monday, but she couldn't afford to take out another sidebar ad. Instead, she placed a classified notice without consulting Dee or Nora:
R… Feeling guilty? I knew it! Piece of crap. L
The newspaper had edited out piece of shit before it appeared in Tuesday's issue, further enflaming her frustration. Nonetheless, she regretted the last sentence but had written it after two glasses of wine. She vowed to stop writing messages and get on with raising her over-sexed son.
It had been a long damn day. She heard Katie's giggle before placing her key in the lock. Already on edge, Lark shoved the front door open, making it slam and bounce off her antique hall tree. Both teenagers hopped in fright in front of the open refrigerator.
"Jeez, Mom!"
"Don't swear. It slipped out of my hand," she lied. “Remember what I said about Katie being here when I’m gone?”
Zane said, “We just got here…”
They did have jackets on. Katie still wore her backpack.
“… and were thirsty and going to take it out on the porch.”
She collected the dirty cleaning rags that had tumbled out of her bag when its loop caught on the door handle. Once her heart calmed, she said, “Oh. Good then."
"Hi, Ms. Horne."
"Why don't you call me Lark."
"Lark is a pretty name."
"Larkspur Sunburst Horne, would you believe?" Lark joined them at the table, relieved she didn't have to play Bad Cop today. "Hippie parents leave their mark."
"That's no better than my movie star fan mom."
Lark's eyebrows lifted, questioning.
"I'm Kate Hepburn McCarthy."
"Oh, I like it," Lark said. And I like you, Katie.
"Zane Loden Horne here. What were you thinking, Mom?"
Katie punched his arm.
"Ow!" he whined, laughing and rubbing the spot.
"I love it,” Katie said. “Your name."
Zane must really like this girl if he volunteered his hated middle name, which incorporated the initials of Lark, Dee, and Nora.
Lark stood up. "Are you staying for dinner? There's enough for three." Zane could skip his second helping.
"Thanks, uh, Lark. Dad's picking me up at five."
Lark checked the time. They had ten more minutes.
Katie asked, "Have you been following the story about the woman who accused some guy of rape?"
Lark's breath caught in her throat, glad to be looking away.
"What story?" Zane shuffled around them, gurgling down a Dr. Pepper.
"Can't believe you haven't heard. Susannah posted it on Instagram and Facebook yesterday, and…"
"Facebook is for Mom's generation," Zane said with undue disdain.
Lark turned to give him the evil eye.
"You know what I mean," he said, smiling.
"Anyway." Katie set her backpack in a chair. "Someone accused a guy in the newspaper of raping her a long time ago. And he answered—also in the newspaper—but no one knows who they are."
Zane said, "No way."
Lark thought, way.
"Way," Katie said, and the kids laughed. "Here, I'll show you." Katie pulled out her phone and scanned for a few seconds. "Here. Read this." She handed her phone to Zane.
He scanned the article and shoved the phone back to Katie. "Wonder who they are."
"Here, Lark. You should read this." Katie carried her phone around the counter to where Lark avoided them. "Maybe she's someone you know."
Lark's hands trembled, pretending to read the Facebook post. She noticed several comments posted below, but she couldn't read them without her glasses.
"Wow. It's probably a hoax." The practiced line rang hollow. She handed the phone back to Katie and added, "But young women should be careful."
"No kidding." Katie shivered. "Drugged and then raped. Awful."
Lark latched onto Katie's arm. "And it could happen to anyone."
Something exchanged between the two of them. A need to protect this young girl overwhelmed Lark, and her body softened in a kind of love she showed for Zane when he allowed it.
Zane watched from behind Katie. "What kind of loser drugs a girl and rapes her?"
"Oh, there's my ride."
Lark hadn't heard a honk, lost in love for her son and his choice in a girlfriend. They glowed, the epitome of innocence and righteousness.
Lark hid in her bathroom and cried with the empty shower running. Katie reminded Lark of herself before life had interfered. She finally shrugged off her clothes and stepped under the shower to rinse away the terrible day.
Before starting dinner, Lark took out the rolled newspaper from her cleaning bag. The headline below the fold read, “The Mystery Deepens: A Victim and Her Rapist.” She spread the paper across her bed to read Bonnie Sterling's article in depth. Lark had met Bonnie, newly out of college and chafing to write about important matters rather than obits and the corny police blotter. Bonnie upped the ante by making the anonymous exchanges into a series featuring the incidence of rape in the valley, followed by blurbs about local centers dealing with violence against women. She featured Sister House in Kalispell. She quoted the Cheryl: “I don’t know who ‘L’ is, but I hope L will come to the center and share her experience and strength with others who face the long-lasting effects of rape.” She ended the piece with, "Perhaps L struggles still. It isn't uncommon for the stigma, the violence, the vulnerability that rape engenders to last a lifetime unless the survivor receives professional help and support."
It was so like Cheryl to say that.
CHAPTER 17
Lark made the donation to Sister House in person and in the name of Nora, Dee, and herself. Sixteen hundred and forty dollars— all cash and like rocks in her pocket—a hefty sum for the shelter. She'd never had the extra to give, and now she understood its rewards. Likely Lark would have only her time to give in the future.
Cheryl bustled around her littered desk to give Lark a hug. "Lark, this is amazing. Thank you for this very generous donation." The tall gaunt woman added, "And it comes just in time."
"For what?"
"We need children's cots and night security." Cheryl turned to her computer screen. "I'll print a receipt for the cash."
"I trust you," Lark said, unaccustomed to the psychic benefits of donation.
"I insist." Cheryl printed a one-page receipt letter and signed it before handing the paper to Lark.
"I wish I could do more."
Cheryl commanded attention. "Listen to me. This generous donation will do wonders for abused women, but you and your buddies have given ten times, a hundred times this amount in support and loving care over the years."
Something about Cheryl's time-worn face, perhaps her soulful eyes, made non-religious Lark wonder if Jesus lived in this woman. She’d follow Cheryl anywhere, and Dee and Nora agreed. Nora felt edgy around the survivors of abuse, but loved Cheryl and had become the part-time assistant Cheryl's organization couldn't afford to hire. Dee started a program to help the women build self-esteem with a haircut and make-up tips, when they were ready.
At first, Lark had volunteered to clean the common rooms downstairs, but her writing skills made her more valuable as webmaster for updates and press releases. She once considered training as a caseworker, and even accompanied a haggard social worker on a home visit once. The pregnant teenager would not leave her home. She lived in a bug-infested duplex with a grimy toddler and older man who may or may not have been her uncle. What the girl accepted as normal broke Lark’s heart. She couldn’t open her heart to any of them until they wanted a different life for themselves, so she stuck with cleaning houses.
On the
drive home from Sister House, Lark savored the glow of philanthropy and Cheryl’s gratitude. She smoked a particularly satisfying cigarette and drove with the wind in her face.
Her mood plummeted at the sight of Rob Whalen playing with his dog in her side yard. Zane and Katie stood there, too. Lark honked the horn a good long blast. She rounded the corner and parked behind Rob's truck. She threw the door open and stomped toward them. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Mom, I told you we would—"
"Not you.” She gestured toward Rob. “Him." Raven leapt for her hand, ready to play. "Down," she shouted.
“Raven, come.” Rob put out both palms and slowly backed away from the group. "I just want to talk, that's all."
"We have nothing to talk about." Lark closed her cardigan tightly across her body and backed up. "Just go away."
He walked slowly toward his pickup. "I'll stand right here, and you can stay over there. I won't come near you." Was he laughing at her? "But I need to talk to you,” he continued. “You've got everything all wrong."
"Ha!" Hysteria flailed her arms and squinted her eyes against the lowering sun.
"Mom, what's going on?" Zane left Katie to stand protectively beside his mother.
The moment Zane touched her shoulder, she shuddered. He must have sensed it because he dropped his backpack and put his arm around her, propping her up. She let Zane guide her to their stoop. She told him, "Go inside. It's okay."
They both glanced at Rob, now leaning against his truck, a smug grin on his face. The kids went inside. In seconds, Zane stepped back out with a jacket for her and helped her arms into the sleeves. The low sun emerged from behind a cloud. She couldn't see him clearly, so she sat on her steps, shading her eyes. Her elbows rested on her knees, and her body sagged.
"You left your car running." Rob pointed at her Subaru. "I'm going to turn it off and toss you the keys." He moved slowly, checking every step or two that she remained seated. He was smiling, close to smirking at her discomfort. He turned off the engine through the open window, then lobbed the keys at her feet. She interlaced them in her fingers like brass knuckles in case he tried anything.
"I should call the police," she said.
"No. You have it wrong." Raven kicked up wet snow, racing from Lark to Rob and back again.
"I have the story right."
He held out his hands like people who convey they aren't armed. He backed into the shade of his huge black pickup, out of the sun’s glare. The scraggly beard had been trimmed. Wrap-around sunglasses rested on his head. "I'll tell you the whole story. You want to hear it sitting here?"
Unsure if she wanted to hear it at all, she said, "I will kill you if you tell Zane. I will simply kill you."
"He’s peeking through the blinds."
She stood abruptly and pushed open the front door. It bumped against Zane standing on the other side. "Here are my car keys. Call the police if I honk the horn."
“What, again?” Zane said. Katie held onto his arm, her eyes unblinking and large.
Lark nodded. What the hell, their lives had become a soap opera.
She skirted Rob with defiance and climbed into the Subaru driver's seat. He put Raven in the cab of his truck and approached her car. The closer he got, the harder she fought to breathe. When he reached for the passenger door, she said, "Nuh-huh," and pointed at the back seat.
He obeyed, opening her back door, passenger side, but even that was too close. Her hand shook on the steering wheel, poised to sound the alarm. Muscles burned between her shoulder blades. As her tension increased, her taut body locked in the gap between the door handle and the steering wheel. She gasped for breath.
He’s way too close.
As he leaned in he said, “The next time you have something to say, tell me to my face.”
Lark opened her door and sprang free, nearly falling onto the street. She caught herself by grabbing the steering wheel and wiggled free. She slammed the door and placed her palms on the warm hood of her car.
“If that’s the way you want it,” he said. He positioned himself across from her, hands on the hood, and squinting into the setting sun. He sniffed, rolled his head. Arrogance? His way of saying she meant little or nothing to him? "You aren't what I expected."
Her jaw clenched. She bared some teeth. "So?" Her voice, a thin wisp of itself.
He brushed away the statement. "I'm sorry you’re scared of me. I don't—"
"You don't scare me."
He grinned. “Oh, yes I do.” Then the parentheses around his moist lips vanished. He snorted. “Right. You aren’t scared.” He placed the bug-eyed sunglasses on against the setting sunlight.
Her muscles twitched with his movements. She couldn’t read him with his eyes masked and round like a bee’s.
"I was there when you were attacked," he said.
* * *
Rob suppressed the smile tugging at his lips. She fumbled with a pack of Marlboros and lit one with quaking fingers. She backed a step into the street. He liked the feeling of being in charge. She was scared shitless, but he needed her to stay calm.
"I was a senior at Mizzou. The end of a hard week of finals." Rob focused on peeling paint around her condo’s windows to collect his thoughts. "I'd broken up with my girlfriend and was pretty sure I bombed the Marketing final. So much bullshit, Marketing." He looked at Lark then, but her features remained blank, her cheeks now pale as the silver blond of her stupid butch haircut. "Anyway, I wandered over to a friend's house with the sole purpose of getting drunk."
He stroked his beard.
"And I drank until I got sick in the woods behind his house." Rob glanced up. "Out by the Stephens College stables?" It didn't register with her, so he continued grooming his facial hair. "Anyway, I stumbled onto three guys and a girl back there."
Lark's left hand covered her throat while she devoured the cigarette entwined in her right-hand fingers.
He measured what he’d say. "She was unconscious, passed out—"
"Drugged," Lark said, coming to life and glaring.
Rob wondered what else she knew. “Fine,” he shrugged. “She overdosed—"
"She was drugged."
Rob just wanted to get this mea culpa over with. "Fine. She was out of it and laying on the ground. I was so drunk… I tried…" He hated Lark for making him feel vulnerable, for pretending to be an impotent coward on that evening. "One was having sex with the girl, and that's when I noticed the tattoo." He clasped hands. "Your tattoo. Sixteen years ago and two thousand miles away." He tried to win her over to his point of view. Win her forgiveness. "We were all just kids."
Her panting wheezed.
She said, "You didn't see her face?" The stinking cigarette burned into the filter and her finger. It dropped into the slush.
"I remember her long hair caught in a thorny plant and fanned in the moonlight, like a webbed wing over her left shoulder."
"How poetic,” she said.
She snarled, turning ugly. He thought, why even bother? But he asked, "Did they catch the guys?" What a struggle to sound sincere.
"What do you think?" Sarcastic bitch. She stood taller than before and more confident.
What had he said to give her this spark? "Have no idea," he said. "That was my last semester, and I left a couple of days after graduation."
She silently shook her head.
He had to act like a pussy or there would be trouble. "I'm sorry."
"And you left town without stopping the rape or even reporting it."
Rob hung his head in mock disgrace. "But you have to stop this newspaper bullshit." He sauntered toward her, unable to help himself. He grinned, “If our little journalist has more to say,” he squinted, “say it to me directly.”
“You were one of them.”
He smiled, climbing into his truck. “You’re being hysterical.”
A virtuoso performance.
Rob drove away cautiously on the icy street made narrower by snowy vehicles parked far fro
m camouflaged curbs. Bile collected in his throat. A darting of eyes in the rearview mirror showed her, arms crossed over her chest and watching his truck drive away. He turned the corner, and once out of her sight, rolled down his window to spit. Normally he’d have dinner in town since he’d made the twenty-mile trip. Maybe see what Lulu was up to, or the vet’s assistant. Not tonight. His guts churned, so he headed home instead.
And mulled over what he really remembered.
* * *
Not so much drugs as beer at the party—lots and lots of beer. He slammed a few brews, ended up in a scummy swimming pool along with just about everyone else in the backyard. He sprawled on the grass while the party raged on, and, somewhere in the evening, he fell asleep or passed out. Whatever, he woke with head spinning and made his way toward the bushes along the back fence to barf in private. He tripped over someone sitting in the shadows.
"Hey, man."
"Sorry." Rob threw up on his own bare feet and fell onto wet grass.
The dude he’d bumped said, "I'm next," and upturned a pint bottle to his mouth.
Rob thought he meant next to puke. "Be my guest." He threw up again and felt a little better, but his head spun. Other voices in the bushes grunted and whispered.
"What's going on?"
The dude he bumped stood up and unzipped.
"Whoa." Rob pushed to all fours to get away from him. "Take a piss over there." The guy disappeared into the shadows.
Commotion, like a frenzy. Dudes laughing, and it wasn’t coming from the party up by the house. Rob crawled toward the laughter in the dark. Too drunk to worry what might happen to him, Rob got to his feet and followed the short path where the guy had disappeared.
One dude sat on his butt and smoked, and another on hands and knees peered into the face of a girl on the ground. Eyes closed, mouth slack, she looked unconscious. Rob couldn’t tell what happened at first. Then Zipper Dude dropped trou and fell to his knees. Between hers. Moonlight dappled her limp left leg highlighting a bird on her calf over a flower with a long spiraling stem to her ankle.
