“Where you belong,” her dad added.
“I haven’t heard you play in a whole year.” Pearl stood up to finish peeling carrots. “How about if you get your violin and give us a private concert while we work?”
She retrieved her instrument from her room, and when she came back down, Cody was there grabbing carrots while Pearl swatted his hands.
“Don’t you ever stop eating?” little Pearl asked her very big brother.
“Nah. When’s dinner?”
“As soon as these are cooked, if you’ve left any for the rest of us,” Pearl grumbled.
Emily had lived her first twelve years without siblings, so this whole business of sibling rivalry entertained her. She loved watching their byplay.
“Hey, sis,” Cody said. “What was up with Salem this morning?”
“Salem?” What had he done? “Where did you see him?”
“He came to the school during basketball practice and reamed out Justin White. Sounded like it had something to do with his daughter, Aiyana.” Cody related everything he’d heard. So, Salem had been mad, but he hadn’t gone overboard. Good.
She explained what had happened to Aiyana in broad strokes, keeping the more private stuff...private.
“Aiyana’s smart and cute,” Cody said. “She can do better than Justin.”
Emily tuned her violin. “I gather he isn’t the greatest guy.”
“He’s a jerk, but the girls are on him like flies on shit.”
“Cody!” Laura admonished.
“Sorry, Mom,” Cody said, but his grin contradicted the apology.
“I can’t think about this anymore.” Emily had reached her emotional limit for the day.
She played a couple of her favorite classical pieces. The peace of the music washed over her and around her, baptizing her with a familiar sense of renewal. Why had she let herself drift so far away from her music?
It had been her lifesaver during high school. Now here it was, easing her pain, soothing her tumultuous emotions. Saving her again.
But that night, she dreamed about things she hadn’t thought of in years. Girls yelling nasty things. Isolation in school corridors. Whispers and pointing fingers.
The question that had plagued her years ago went unanswered in the night. Why did I deserve to be bullied?
* * *
HOME.
Both the word and the place felt good. Right.
On Monday morning, Emily lay in her old bedroom, wondering when the fatigue and the lingering effects of her illness and the pure sweet ache of coming home for good would settle down.
Coming back to Accord to live was big. Huge. She’d walked away from her career. Time stretched before her in all its wondrous glory and terrifying emptiness.
She’d known there would be this gratitude and easing into familiar territory, but there was also the other...the old memories she had shut out for years. Recalling her troubling dreams, she scrubbed the sleep from her eyes and stared at the high peak of the ceiling. In her childish enthusiasm, she’d painted it sky blue and had sponged on white clouds.
Oh, the arrogance of youth. She’d been so sure of herself and her future, had thought she’d known so much about where her life was going and how successful she would be. The best-laid plans...
Shaking off her inertia, she got out of bed, showered and readied herself for the day. She—
Her door slammed open at the bottom of the stairs, hitting the wall with a resounding echo, and she jumped.
What? Who?
Heavy feet pounded up the staircase. Had the authorities found her? Were they coming to arrest her for stealing the artifact? She cast about for escape. The tree! She could climb down and run. To where? She didn’t know.
When Salem strode into her room, she sagged against the door to the balcony. Only Salem. Thank God. “You scared the daylights out of me. Don’t ever do that again.” She huffed out a breath. “Ever hear of knocking?”
“You have to help me,” he said without preamble, about as emotional as she’d ever seen him. No sphinx here today. Yesterday, his rage had been almost cold. Today, he looked hot and bothered, wild and shaken up. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
“Come with me. Now.” By his expression, this was more than just being rattled. This was pure fear.
“Where?” she asked, her heart still battering against her ribs. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Aiyana. I’m worried about her.” Worry didn’t begin to cover what Emily saw on Salem’s face. Besides the fear, there was raging concern, but also anger. “Those stupid kids. I don’t know what else they’re writing about her, but she’s low, Emily. Really, really low. I’ve never seen her like this. You’re the only one she’ll talk to....” His words trailed off and he seemed to deflate.
Emily grabbed a sweater from the back of a chair, threw her purse over her shoulder and said, “Let’s go.”
Laura was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “I thought I heard someone come in and then I noticed your car outside, Salem. How about a cup of cof—”
When she saw his face, her welcoming smile faded. “Aiyana?”
He nodded.
“Go.” She touched his shoulder. “Call us if you need anything.”
Lost but determined, once in the car, Emily buckled herself in. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“She won’t go to school. She looks worse than yesterday. She won’t eat. Won’t shower. Won’t brush her teeth. Won’t leave her room.”
Emily nodded. “What happened between yesterday and this morning? When I left, she promised she would go to school today.”
“I don’t know.” Salem’s frustration rattled around the interior of the old Jeep.
What did he think she could do?
“Talk to her. Please?”
What could she say today that she hadn’t said yesterday? “Of course. Same as yesterday, though. I don’t know how I can help.”
“Just—just try.” Salem’s worry arced between them like a lightning strike. He might have married Annie out of duty, but he loved his daughters.
“Why me? I know you don’t really want me around. Even yesterday, I knew you would rather have had someone else there.”
“You’re right.” Salem glanced at her. “I’d rather it was someone else.”
That hurt.
Salem continued, “I know how hard it will be for Aiyana when you leave.”
“I’m not leaving.”
She could read his skepticism like a novel.
He shrugged. “Aiyana asked for you.”
Oh. “Hurry,” she said. “Drive faster.”
Salem punched the accelerator. “Aiyana is sensitive. Has been since her mother died. You have to help her.”
Oh, Lord, no pressure. She’d been useless yesterday. What now?
At Salem’s house, Emily found herself in front of Aiyana’s closed door for the second morning in a row. She took a fortifying breath and knocked.
“Go away.” There was no anger in the girl’s voice. In fact, there was nothing.
Emily opened the door. “It’s me.”
Aiyana lay with her back to the door.
Emily approached the bed. “We need to talk.” No response. Think. Think! What had Emily needed at that time? Tough love?
She’d give it a try. “You’re letting them win.”
“They are winning.” Aiyana’s voice was so flat, so devoid of emotion, Emily panicked.
She sat beside Aiyana, reaching a hand to her shoulder but not making contact. Would the girl want to be touched? She’d been violated by a boy the other night, in both her trust and her body. Would Emily’s touch be an invasion? Or would it be what Aiyana needed? She didn’t know. She was flying blind here,
hoping female intuition would kick in with a brilliant solution. No such luck so far.
“Talk to me,” she urged.
Aiyana rolled over. “What is there to talk about? I’m ruined. Everybody hates me.”
“What else has been happening since yesterday?”
“More of the same tweets and emails, but now there’s a Facebook page, too.”
“Show me.”
Aiyana crawled out of bed and opened her laptop, pulling up the page on the internet, her hair hanging in limp strands, cheeks puffy, eyes bloodshot. She’d been crying. She obviously hadn’t slept.
The second Emily saw the Facebook page, anger surged through her. Why were people so cruel? And why were teenagers the worst of the worst? A page had been dedicated to calling this sweet girl a slut.
She couldn’t believe what she was reading.
This had gotten out of hand already. So quickly. Wow, life in the internet age moved at the speed of light. Obviously, Salem’s warning to Justin hadn’t worked yesterday. He needed to go to the school and report this kid. Or even better, go to the cops.
In the meantime, Emily had to help Aiyana.
She studied the girl’s face. Aiyana had given up. Already. Before the war had even begun.
“You know what you need?” Emily asked, and knew she was about to sound cold and ruthless, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “You need a backbone.”
Aiyana’s face crumpled. Tears gathered, ready to spill over.
“I’m not trying to crush you,” Emily rushed on. “But instead of getting depressed about this, you should be angry. What these people are doing is appalling. These little shits are trying to ruin your life.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t swear in front of you. Your dad would be upset with me.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Aiyana’s mouth. “You should hear what I call them in my mind. It’s a lot worse.”
“What? What do you call them? Say it all out loud.”
Aiyana did. She shouted swearwords and she called them dirty names, inventive and pleased with herself by the time she finished.
“That’s a better attitude than defeat. Did it feel good?”
“Yes!”
“Good. These people are trying to steal your life from you and you have to fight back.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I’ll help you. Your dad will help you. Your grandfather will help you. You aren’t alone. Understand?” Yes. She’d hit the nail on the head. That was exactly what Emily had needed when she’d been bullied—to know that she wasn’t alone.
Aiyana looked better. She nodded.
“First, you need to get showered and dressed. Wear something really pretty today.”
When Aiyana hesitated, Emily ordered, “Go. Get ready for school.” She glanced at her watch. “You still have time.”
Aiyana gathered clothes and shuffled out of her bedroom, her baggy Snoopy nightshirt hanging down the backs of her thighs.
In the kitchen, Emily barked orders. “Cucumber. I need two slices,” she directed Salem. She turned to Mr. Pearce. “Baking soda,” she said, like a general rallying her troops.
They handed her the items. Back upstairs she rummaged around in Aiyana’s room until she found nail polish in a soft pink.
Emily glanced up to find Salem watching her from the doorway.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m flying blind.”
“You’re doing better than me. I mean it, Emily. Thank you.”
Something shimmered between them, and it felt like regret. “You’re my friend, Salem. This is what friends do.” She wanted so badly for it to be true.
She remembered their conversation a year ago and could tell he did, too, calling her on her use of the word friend when he had wanted much more.
He didn’t want more from her now, she knew. He’d made that perfectly clear this morning in the Jeep. I’d rather it was someone else.
Not that she had any business starting a relationship when her life was so up in the air, but she was and always had been his friend, even when she’d been angry and disappointed with him. Even when he was angry and disappointed with her.
“You need to go to the cops.”
Salem’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “It’s that bad?”
“It’s shocking. When it happened to—” She slammed a door on that statement. She had almost said, to me, but she had buried her shame deeply long ago, and wouldn’t discuss it, even if Aiyana’s situation brought up ghosts from her past. “When things like this happened years ago, it went more slowly, but with the internet, it’s everywhere immediately. It’s ridiculously fast. You need to stop it now.”
Salem looked grim. “Going to the cops will be a problem.”
“Why? It should be your first action in this situation. Maybe we should have even done it yesterday.”
Salem glanced over his shoulder to his father, who stood in the hallway behind him, worry etching the lines of age deeper into his skin. Mr. Pearce shook his head. “Sheriff White is Justin’s father.”
Oh. Damn. “You don’t think he can be objective?”
Mr. Pearce snorted. “Not about his son.”
“We need an alternative,” Salem said.
“Okay, this is it. You go to the school and talk to the principal then line up an appointment with a school counselor for Aiyana. We need to make the situation known and protect her.”
The frown lifted from Salem’s forehead. “Of course. I should have thought of that.”
He cursed and Emily said, “Cut yourself some slack, Salem. You’ve never dealt with this situation before.”
“I’ll drive Aiyana to school.”
“Can you take the time off work?”
Salem looked at her oddly. “It’s Monday. The Center is always closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. Always has been. You know that.”
“I’m still jet-lagged. I’ve lost track of my days.”
Salem and his father went back downstairs. Emily waited and listened to the shower shut off in the bathroom and then the sound of a hair dryer, while butterflies bedeviled her stomach. Would this all be enough to get Aiyana through the coming ordeal? Emily knew exactly how bad it could get.
Aiyana returned from the washroom wearing a floral-patterned dress. She had good taste. The dress was simple, without the flashy chest-or leg-baring so many kids gave in to these days.
“Here,” Emily said, handing her the baking soda. “Make a paste with a little bit of water and exfoliate your skin.”
As Aiyana returned to the bathroom, Emily called, “Do it gently then use your best moisturizer.”
When Aiyana returned, Emily said, “Lie down for a minute and put these on your eyes.” She handed her the cucumber slices. “They’ll help with the puffiness.”
While the cucumbers did their work, Emily applied moisturizer to the girl’s hands and polished her nails.
“I was bullied in high school,” she said, because she didn’t know how else to help.
“You? But you’re so pretty. So full of personality.”
These days? Not so much, but Aiyana didn’t need to know that. And personality might have gotten her through if she’d had the tiniest bit of support from someone else. She’d been in a high school in a town she hadn’t grown up in. Cliques had been formed long before she got here. She hadn’t stood a chance. “There were a bunch of girls who didn’t like me. They didn’t use cyberbullying back then, but they didn’t need it. They were mean enough at school, and the rumor mill was healthy.”
“Was it bad?”
“Awful.”
“So how did you get over it?”
“Music helped m
e a lot. I played violin. Schoolwork helped. I liked math and the sciences. I loved history.”
“Me, too, but don’t tell Dad that. He nags me too much about how important studying is.”
Emily fingered Aiyana’s long hair. “You have beautiful hair.”
“I wish it was blond.”
“You have this raven-black shiny hair that’s like satin and you want blond? Why?”
“Some of the most popular girls in school have blond hair.”
Oh, boy. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“About the grass being greener on the other side. Why on earth do you want to look like other girls instead of yourself?”
“I’ll bet if I was one of the popular girls, one of the blondes like Madison Williams or Brittany Hardy, Justin wouldn’t have tried to do what he did the other night. I’ll bet he wouldn’t be doing this to them.” She pointed to her computer.
“Wow. We need to straighten out a few misconceptions.” Emily took her hand. “What Justin did the other night was wrong. He was greedy and he tried to take advantage of you. He didn’t rape you, thank God, but he did try to intimidate you into having sex. When he didn’t get it, he had a snit and slandered you all over the internet. He’s a big, overgrown two-year-old having a tantrum.”
Aiyana lay on her back on the bed with two slices of cucumber on her face and smiled. “I like that image.”
“Even though Justin didn’t rape you, let’s talk about that for a minute. Rape isn’t about sex. It’s about power. Justin thought you would be an easy target because you’re shy and quiet. For him, getting you to have sex with him the other night would have been as much about winning as about sexual release. It would have been a notch on his bedpost. Do you understand?”
Aiyana nodded.
“Okay. As far as girls named Madison or Brittany, or being blond goes, some boys and men will take whatever they can from whomever they can. These are sick men. They prey on everyone. Children have been raped. Senior citizens have been raped. Rape isn’t racist. It doesn’t respect lines and boundaries. Women of every race, color and culture have been raped.”
She removed the cucumber slices to make certain she had eye contact. “Justin didn’t try to force you because of your background. I’ll bet there are a lot of girls at school who’ve been pressured by boys. Considering the statistics, I would be willing to bet you know at least one girl who has been sexually abused. It’s rife.”
Always Emily Page 9
