35
Every meaningful story has to have a crisis, and now here we stand on the precipice of this one’s. We were not, a single one of us, prepared for what was ahead. We were distracted by Valerie’s lawsuit and its merits. We were debating what to do about it—if anything could be done. We were divided in our views. (But this is not the division we mentioned at the start of our story. That’s still to come.)
Was the love that Juniper and Xavier felt for each other real? The skeptics among us scoff. The romantics among us say yes, absolutely, who could have any doubt? Look at them, so measured and conscientious with their plan, so responsible, so devoted to each other’s well-being. Anyway, how can we know for absolute certain when love is real unless it’s been tested by time?
What matters is whether Juniper and Xavier believed wholeheartedly that their love was real.
What matters is that Brad believed his love for Juniper, inappropriate and complicated though it might be, was real, and that Juniper would, with his encouragement, soon confess she felt the same way toward him.
PART III
36
Brad left the Hub and started for the state park. He would do a good deed by returning Juniper’s phone to her. No, she didn’t need it, strictly speaking. Lottie’s flip phone would do in an emergency. She would want it, though. She’d be glad to have it. She’d be grateful, think, What a thoughtful guy. Yes, indeed. Always looking out for her, taking care of her, going out of his way to do a favor she wouldn’t have asked for, considerate as she was.
She’d be sweat-slick from her run, tired out and radiant.
He only wanted to look at her. Talk with her without Lily’s interruptions, without Lottie’s running commentary, without Julia’s watchful jealousy due to Juniper’s favoring him the way she did. He wouldn’t lay a hand on her today.
Winding his way through the state park’s access roads, he enjoyed the deep green light of the forest. He enjoyed the sight of trees in every direction, a reminder of when he was younger and living in the dense woods. He enjoyed the feeling of anticipation, the thought of how surprised and even excited she’d be to see him waiting for her when she finished her run. She might already be done. He might find her standing beside her pretty Land Rover flushed and damp, stretching those fine legs …
He didn’t recognize the car that was parked next to hers. Nor was he concerned about whose it might be. Lots of people came out here to hike and run and ride their mountain bikes. They came to fish. To meditate. All of that. Juniper wasn’t in sight. He’d hang out here and wait for her.
The nearby cabin wasn’t apparent to him at first, tucked away as it was behind a stand of dense trees. He sat on her bumper with his phone in hand, scrolled through Twitter, checked his email and baseball scores—and then a sound got his attention. He glanced up, noticed the cabin, and went down the gravel path to have a look.
The door was not quite latched. He pushed it open, heard a gasp.
Juniper on the floor, her face turned his way, her expression one of terror.
The neighbor boy on top of her, naked.
It happened all at once: Brad moving toward them as they bucked apart, Brad grabbing Xavier by the hair, everyone yelling, Juniper curling into a ball, crying, Brad growling, “Get the hell out of here, you dirty little bastard, or I swear I’ll kill you, don’t think I won’t,” and flinging Xavier away from him, Xavier coming back at him, shoving him hard, Brad stumbling, then reaching for Xavier, getting his arm around the boy’s neck: “This really how you want to die?,” tightening his arm and then thrusting him away, Xavier grabbing his clothes, his pack, rushing out.
Juniper crying, crying, sobbing now, pulling the blanket up around her.
A knife clattered onto the floor.
Brad heard the Honda’s engine start, heard the crush of gravel under its tires as Xavier sped off.
“It’s all right now,” Brad said, squatting down next to Juniper.
“It’ll never be all right,” she said.
* * *
Juniper didn’t know, and yet she knew.
* * *
Alone with Brad, still wrapped in the blanket, Juniper trembled visibly. He wanted to take her in his arms, undo what had been done.
Innocent.
Damaged.
He said, “Tell me what happened. Did he follow you here?”
“What?” she said, “No, it wasn’t like that.”
“Why didn’t you call me? Or call the police.”
“The police? We’re friends,” she said.
Brad leveled his gaze on her and tried to keep his voice level, too. “You’re friends. Okay.”
“More, I guess.”
“Are you dating him?” His voice rose despite himself.
“I…”
Brad stood up, reset his ball cap—and remembered the knife, which remained there on the floor just behind where Juniper sat.
“Juni, tell me the truth: Was it voluntary?”
She nodded.
“Really? Did he know about your purity vow?”
Another nod.
“Was this, today, the first time?”
“Yes.”
Brad scanned the cabin. “What about—did he use protection?”
Juniper nodded again.
He thought for a moment. “Looks to me like he betrayed your trust, forced himself on you even knowing you’d made that vow,” Brad said. “Made it hard for you to say no.”
“No, it’s on me. I could’ve said I didn’t want to, but I didn’t.”
“You were scared of him.”
“No,” Juniper said.
“He’s intimidating, no question. Tall, black. Big guy. Any girl would be afraid.”
“No. It’s not a big deal, okay? I just want to go home.”
Brad took out his phone to take some pictures of the scene: Juniper, tearstained and huddled there, pitiful. The Buck knife.
She shielded her face. “What are you doing?”
“Documenting. In case that little shit gives you any more trouble.”
“Don’t ever show those to anyone.”
“Don’t you worry, I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. Here now, I’ll step outside and you get dressed, okay?”
While he waited, his mind turned the incident over and around, assessing and reassessing. So, all right, she’d lost her virginity, maybe on purpose, maybe not. Whatever had gone on here, one thing was sure: His little fantasy of being her first was ruined. It was a damn shame for her and for him both. They could’ve shared something meaningful. Once in a lifetime. A beautiful thing made all the more precious for its having been secret and singular.
Whereas that boy was nobody. Forgettable. Which didn’t mean Brad was leaving him in the clear, though. Nosirree. He had an idea about how he might use this crisis to real advantage, if he played all the angles right. It was all about using leverage. Leverage, and influence. When you knew people in high places, you could work those relationships, ask for favors, get things done.
That boy took something that should have been his, and the boy’s mother was trying to rob him, too, and for that they were going to pay.
* * *
Xavier had pulled his boxers on outside the cabin and then left in that near-naked state, driving half a mile or so from the site before parking in a secluded picnic spot to finish getting dressed. The expression his blood boiled fit the way he was feeling as he pushed his arms into his T-shirt, his legs into his shorts. Steam rose from his ears. Combustion felt possible.
Phone in hand, he breathed heavily, trying to decide: call the cops, or no?
Call and tell them what, exactly?
I was having sex with my girlfriend when her stepdad showed up and we got into a fight. I think he could be dangerous. She might be in danger.
Did he really think Juniper was in danger? No. He really just wanted the cops to think Brad was dangerous and rough him up the way Brad had just done to him.
If he
called the cops and the cops came out, what would they find? They’d find Brad Whitman, Whitman HVAC, local celebrity, wealthy white man, angered protector of his virginal stepdaughter. They’d question him: What happened here, sir? You were protecting your stepdaughter, the virgin who’d made a chastity vow? What, the guy with her was black? And you didn’t take him down? That’s commendable self-restraint. Good job, sir! We’ll put you in for a medal.
And of course they’d have to talk with Xavier, too, take his statement. He roughed you up? Well, what did you expect would happen? Man’s protecting his white underage daughter. Okay, stepdaughter. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Think if he’d had a gun. Or a rope.
Xavier set his phone on the seat next to him and pressed his head to the steering wheel. He stretched his arms out, put his hands on the dashboard and gripped it. What now? What now? He wanted to wait for Juniper. He wanted to be able to call her, hear her voice, reassure her and himself. Too bad for him. From now until she got away from Brad Whitman, that son of a bitch would keep her locked down, captive. Xavier could see it all: She’d be made to quit her job at the store, never left alone outside the house, never allowed to drive anywhere on her own.
Six weeks from now, he’d be gone to San Francisco, no chance to see her before he left. Six months between now and when she would finish school—assuming she was allowed to do what she’d planned. Likely her parents would coordinate with Blakely to stop that, too. Can’t allow a girl to have a mind of her own. Can’t let her make her own decisions, god forbid.
Tears flooded Xavier’s eyes and he cried like he hadn’t done since he was a little boy. Big, choking sobs that made him feel stupid but also slightly better, if only for the release.
Go home, he told himself, feeling the urge to have a guitar in his hands and let it be his outlet for anxiety, his companion and counselor, as it had been many times before. Would it work as well today? He doubted it. What else, though, could he do?
He started the car and drove out of the park, missing by only forty seconds the police cruiser on its way in.
37
“All right, Miss Whitman, why don’t you sit down here and we’ll try to wrap this up quickly. We just have a few questions, really—just need you to confirm what Mr. Whitman told us about what happened.”
Juniper, who’d been seated at a picnic table outside the cabin while Brad was in the parking area giving his statement to the police, felt tears pressing hard and hot behind her eyes. She wanted to get away from here. She wanted to find Xavier. He must hate her right now for getting him into this. He hadn’t wanted to get romantically involved with her or anyone, smarter not to, why had she been so determined to change his mind? She was in love with him, that’s why, and more in love every day, and now, thanks to Brad, he was going to wish he’d never met her. Hate her, even. The humiliation was just about unbearable for her, and must be at least as bad for him.
“All right,” she told the cop. “Go ahead.”
“Mr. Whitman said that when he arrived here planning to return your missing cell phone, you were inside the cabin on the floor, and the man was on top of you and you were both naked. Is that correct?”
Mortified, she stared at her feet. Running shoes. Run. Off like a gazelle, into the forest, down the trails. Would they find her? They would find her.
She said, “Yes.”
“When the man saw Mr. Whitman, he got up and went after Mr. Whitman, and there was an altercation.”
Juniper glanced at Brad. “Xavier,” she said. “His name is Xavier.”
“We understand. He went after Mr. Whitman and the two of them fought. Is that correct?”
“He didn’t … I mean, I think Brad attacked him. Everything was happening at once—”
“I’m sure you were very upset.”
“I was.”
“He pushed Mr. Whitman and Mr. Whitman attempted to defend both himself and you—”
“Not me. I was sitting on the floor. I wasn’t in the fight.”
“Did you feel that you might be in danger?”
“Well, Brad was really angry, but I didn’t think he’d hurt me.”
“Would you say that the other man was angry as well?”
“Why do you keep calling him ‘the man’? His name is Xavier.”
“Keeping it simple, that’s all.”
“It was really upsetting, okay?” Her voice sounded squeaky.
“We can take a break, if you want a minute to collect yourself.”
“What? No, let’s get this over with.”
“All right. There was a wine bottle in the cabin. Were you drinking?”
“I had some, yeah.”
“Have you had alcohol before today?”
“Not really.”
“And was the man drinking as well?”
“A little.”
“Who brought the wine?”
Juniper hesitated. “He did.”
“Was it his idea to bring it?”
She nodded.
The officer made a note. “So, is it a fact that vaginal penetration occurred?”
Juniper reddened all at once. Her ears burned. “Yes.”
“With a condom?”
She nodded.
“Did the man ask for your consent?”
“What, like—”
“Did he—”
“I could have said no, and I didn’t.” She wanted to really emphasize this. “It wasn’t rape.”
“How much had you had to drink at this point?”
“I don’t know. I was really nervous, so…”
“Scared, too?”
“Well, I was a virgin. So yeah, a little, I guess.”
“Mr. Whitman says the man wanted to date you, is that correct?”
“Yes, we were dating. Look, I’m fine. Really. This was a bad situation, but now I’m fine.”
The officer made more notes. Then, “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”
“No, I just want to go home.”
“I understand. But given what went on here”—and at this point the officer waved Brad over—“we’ll need to have a doctor take a quick look at you and make sure you’re not injured.”
“I’m not,” Juniper said.
Brad put his hand on her shoulder. “Honey, we should cooperate. They know what they’re doing.”
The officer said, “It won’t take long. Your dad will be checked out, too.”
“He’s not my dad,” she said, and reluctantly went to her car, to follow and be followed to the hospital, where she would be able to show them once and for all, she thought, that what happened here had all been a misunderstanding, a surprise, an overreaction.
She’d clear it up, and then try to mitigate the damage with Xavier.
A mistaken supposition, as it turned out.
* * *
In the hospital, an attendant put Juniper into an exam room alone and told her to wait there. A nurse would be in soon to talk with her.
“Can I use the restroom?”
“Not just yet,” said the attendant. “She’ll need to collect some samples from you.”
“But—”
“It won’t be long.”
“Can I call my mom?”
“Just as soon as you’re done here.”
Left alone, Juniper sat in a chair beside the wall and stared at a diagram of the human circulatory system, then at the plastic box for discarded needles, the little sink, the stainless-steel tray holding tubes and slides.
She should not be here. This day should not have gone like this. Maybe she’d been stupid to think there would be no consequences for letting herself be swayed by feelings, by desire, instead of what she’d been taught, what she’d once believed was true. Reverend Matthews had warned her and the other girls. He’d told them how seductive those feelings could be. She’d rejected all of that, rationalized her way right out of it, and look where it had gotten her.
Or maybe it was all Brad’s fault.
&nb
sp; Juniper wrapped her arms around herself. This exam room was cold. Where was the nurse?
It was easy to blame Brad for ruining it, for overreacting … but given what she knew about him, how else would he react? She should have told her mom about the kiss. She should have done everything differently. This was all her fault.
The wall clock’s second hand ticked loudly. Cold air shushed in through the vent. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. Where was Xavier now?
Finally, a kindly white woman, middle-aged and with a manner like you’d use with a spooked horse, came into the room, introduced herself, and sat down in the chair beside Juniper’s.
“Sounds like you had a bad day, sweetie.”
Juniper started crying.
“Hey now,” said the nurse, whose name was Ms. Sheridan. She put her hand on Juniper’s back. “You’re safe now. We’re going to take care of you.”
“It’s my fault.”
“No, it absolutely is not your fault.”
“I never should have agreed to it.”
“But did you, really?”
Juniper looked up at her. “What do you mean?”
“According to your report, the whole situation was engineered by the suspect in order to get you to have sex when you were strongly opposed to it—when you’d made a vow not to.”
“What? I never said that. He didn’t make me do any of it.”
“You think so, but it’s all there between the lines. This ‘date,’ it was his idea, right?”
“I…”
Juniper tried to think back; had it been his idea? Yes. But so what if it had?
Ms. Sheridan continued, “He brought everything, made it seem like you’d have this sweet little romantic encounter.”
“Yes, but still, I agreed to it.”
“He brought alcohol and encouraged you to drink it.”
“I wanted to have some. I was really nervous.”
“As he knew you would be. Alcohol or drugs are classic tools for this kind of criminal. Look at Bill Cosby and all those women who thought they wanted to be with him, but not like that. These men charm you bit by bit, and then next thing you know, they’re on you taking what they wanted all along.”
A Good Neighborhood Page 22
