by Jody Kaye
“I want you to know Carver is outside in the car, though.”
Sloan’s comment makes me deflate.
“I’ve never met him.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s unfamiliar with you. Carver, Trig, and Jake are close—Like share-the-single-brain-cell-mother-nature-gives-to-an-alpha-male close. I’m never sure who has custody of it.” Sloan rolls her eyes. “Carver insists I come to group at least once a month because he loves me. And, believe it or not, I need Mister Superiority to force me to do this. He sits and waits for me because he’s protective. If I fall apart after a session Carver wants to be the one to catch me and put all the pieces back together. I can’t fault him for it. But Carver has his own set of rules. I can’t guarantee his silence.”
My lips twist and tears burn behind my eyes. “I don’t want Kimber finding out,” I whisper.
“Oh, sweetie. I know.” Sloan holds out her arms. “Can I give you a hug?”
“Yes.” My voice quivers. She holds me tight like my mom had whenever things went wrong growing up.
We agree Sloan will leave the building first and I’ll watch in the window for Carver’s car to pull away. She gets into a sleek Maserati. When the trident emblem on the grill passes by, I’m uncertain I’ve ever seen a car as posh as this one. My dad drives an upscale import, and it piques my curiousity about what kind of job Carver has.
Sloan describing Carver and Trig—and whoever the other guy was—as overbearing doesn’t click. Trig’s kindness gives me the impression he’d look out for me, but he doesn’t put Kimber in a bubble or on a pedestal.
I shake my head. Okay, the last part is wrong. Trig adores Kimber. He might kiss her toes if she told him to.
The following week, Sloan is getting out of the driver’s side of the same car as I’m entering the building. I hadn’t expected her to show up where she’d mentioned she didn’t come to the group often and I’m happy to see her. Neither of us has time to say more than a quick greeting before the session begins. Yet again, Sloan takes up a spot next to me and threads our fingers together.
I’m confident in my choice to miss class for the second week in a row so I could be here. Reality is, between initially not being able to get out of my own way and the urge now to listen to and find strength in more survivor stories, it’s unlikely I’ll ever get the grade up. However, I’d made the effort to go to the second day it met last week. That has to count for something, right?
“Is it okay if we hang here for a bit longer?” Sloan asks Dr. Nash when group is over. “I have nothing going on. What about you, Aidy?”
I shake my head, realizing Sloan didn’t show up for herself today. She did it for me.
Dr. Nash gives us a genuine smile, telling us it’s not a problem at all. She closes the door to the conference room we’re in, slipping away to her office around the hall. I’m grateful for the few minutes extra it gives Sloan and me to speak in private.
“How are you doing right now?” Sloan stops and holds up a hand. “I mean that honestly. How are you in this moment?”
I take the time to think over my answer, rubbing my thumbs against one another before letting a long sigh escape a slight break at the corner of my lips. “Better than last week?”
“Good,” she says. “Actually, it’s great. Some weeks you step forward, others you step back. Let’s just admit my first week here I stepped so far back I might not have been in the same decade.”
“But you came again?”
“To appease Mister I-know-what-you-need-better-than-anyone. I didn’t have any energy left to fight Carver. And I admit, in this case, he might have had a decent idea of what I did need than me. I came a lot more often in the beginning. Now it’s less frequent unless I’m stumbling or caught up in a bad way. Sometimes to share and sometimes to listen, remember where I was and where I am today with Mister I-told-him-to-mind-his-own-business.”
“So Carver doesn’t know where you are today?”
“He does. He’s aware you are too. But Carver also understands I’m not spilling my guts about what anyone says at these meetings or the reasons behind why you’ve shown up.”
“I’m sure Captain Obvious can come to his own conclusions.” I roll my eyes.
Sloan giggles. “I like that you have a sense of humor, but don’t give ‘em a rank. It’ll go to his head.” She winks. “Mister Obvious is good enough.” She pauses before asking me again where my head is at, giving me the impression Sloan’s concern is genuine.
“I thought about talking when that other woman was speaking about her boyfriend abusing her while she slept. I’m not sure I’m ready, though.”
“You don’t ever have to be. Opening up is cathartic. But once you do, there’s no going back. What happened to any of us won’t change, but the way we address it when we’re ready does. It’s okay to own your privacy, Aidy. You owe no one your story.
“Personally, I think it’s one thing people forget when they say survivors have to stand up and lend their voice to stop it. Everyone has a part to play, but how they chose to play it doesn’t have to include shouting from the rooftop how someone victimized you. Sometimes it’s as simple as supporting someone else who has been through what you have. There’s not a damn thing wrong with guarding your privacy. A lot of people won’t give you the amount of their last tax refund, let alone admit to the number of partners they’ve had. Saying one of yours didn’t happen with your consent isn’t compulsory.
“Some are the warriors leading the fight. Others take a softer approach; we find good men who support us. And raise more of them, who understand how to treat another human being with the decency they deserve.”
“Do you have kids, Sloan?”
“None of my own, no.” Brief sadness washes over her features. “I meant Kimber.”
“Was she—” My mind reels worrying about how I came into the world.
Sloan is swift to grab my hand. “Oh gosh, Aidy, that’s not what I’d intended at all! And I’d never discuss anything Kimber told me in confidence the same way I’m not telling her you’ve shown up here...My point is you don’t owe anyone your story. And if you share what happened to you, put up a firm barrier of what you will and won’t discuss. Not everyone will understand a woman’s reasons for silence.”
My lip twists. I’m still unsure anyone will believe me if I do open up.
“The other thing is, Aidy, when you’re ready to talk, someone will be there to listen.” Sloan squeezes my palm, offering her ear and making me feel less alone than I have in I can’t remember how long.
It’s past midnight when my cell buzzes in my pocket. Trig’s number flashes on the screen.
“Hey, kid. I need a favor.”
“Name it,” I say without missing a beat. There’s nothing I won’t do anymore and no reason to add a caveat.
My place in society’s pecking order has been solidified. I used to think I’d serve my time and, once I was done, there’d be a splinter of hope I could go back to the plans I had for my life. How wrong I was. The charges brought against me changed that perspective. Fast. Then there was the ugly reality of confinement in a lawless building run by people protecting everyone on the opposite side of the barbed wire.
“I got an X-text from Aidy.”
My pulse speeds up hearing her name.
“She needs a pickup from a party. I’m with Carver and can’t leave. Baby is sick—not that Aidy wants Kimber involved. Someone’s gotta go get her.”
“Where is she?”
Trig gives me a street name I wish I wasn’t familiar with. “You sure you’re good with this, Morgan?”
“I’m on it.” I scrub my hands through my hair, tugging the roots more than normal.
“You run into any issues, I’ll take care of it. I don’t want anything happening to Aidy. You get picked up, then give her your company truck keys and tell her to drive it back to my place. I don’t have the patience to deal with the fucknuts at the impound lot.”
“What if she’s been drinking?
”
“She hasn’t.” I hear him breathe out. “I think it’s why whatever is going on isn’t for her. She sounded a little rattled.”
The bit of information is more than Trig gave me in the truck when I’d fumbled trying to engage him about Aidy the morning we did the install together. Trig is tight-lipped. He doesn’t read into people’s emotions or motivations. “Ask her yourself,” were his instructions. I guess tonight I can.
I roll through the University, stopping a full five seconds at each stop sign and using the directional whenever I have to turn. The last thing I want is trouble. Pulling to the curb, I put the truck in park and send Aidy a text using the contact info Trig has given me.
A few seconds later, she’s scurrying from the shadows. Intent on waiting in the cab, there’s a shift inside of me. I get out and slam the door.
“What are you doing?” I boom.
“Why are you so angry?” she asks, incredulous. Her feet skid to a halt right as two sets of red and blue lights pull up, blocking my vehicle in front and in back.
I’d been about to step up onto the sidewalk. Instead plant my feet by the hood. “You shouldn’t be waiting in the dark. It’s not safe.”
“I was inside by a window. I saw the truck when you turned the corner and didn’t want you to wait for me. Your text didn’t come until I was already walking out.”
“Is there a problem here?” A campus police officer approaches us.
“No.” I put my hands up as Aidy says the same.
His line of vision tosses between us, but he looks at the nondescript white truck and my dead giveaway hands. “Why are you here?”
“She called for a ride.” I tilt my chin in Aidy’s direction.
“And you expect me to believe you’re her uber? In that?” The van is white and windowless. “Got some ID?”
Fuck. I groan. This is not good. The cop watches as I give a running diatribe of what I’m doing, reaching in my back pocket, finding my wallet, pulling out my driver’s license. He’s about forty and with my luck has been at this gig for the past five to ten years. He may not be able to place me in the darkness, but once he sees my picture I’m screwed.
I offer my identification to him.
“Bring it over here.” He’s close to the grass, not budging.
“I’d rather not if it’s all the same to you.”
He scoffs and saunters toward me, snatching it out of my light grip. My arms hang straight at my sides.
“I called my, uh, I called for a ride.” Aidy is getting anxious. “He couldn’t come so he sent Morgan. I’d planned to leave with him.” She babbles about how I’m taking her back to Pinewood College. The officer points a finger to silence her.
“Morgan Wescott?” The guy nods a few doors down to a residence hall no students live in anymore.
“That’s me.”
“You’re trespassing.”
“No sir, I’m not. I’m in the street.” Which we both know is owned by the city. “I haven’t placed a foot on campus property. The dashcam my boss installed can prove it.” I’m so glad paranoia got the best of me and I turned the thing on when I was on the highway.
“This isn’t your vehicle? I want to see the registration.”
“I’ll walk to the driver side to lean in and get it out of the glove box.”
“No use the passenger side,” he instructs with rigid posture.
“I’m sorry, no can do.”
He’s trying to goad me into breaking the terms of my parole.
“I’ll get it.” Aidy stomps to the truck. “I’m not sure what difference it makes. Morgan works for my stepfather,” she white lies, giving the man a dirty look.
“What kind of asshole employs a prick like you?” he sneers at me like I’m dirt. “Let’s you anywhere near his kids, let alone a daughter?”
I don’t bite back. He’s looking for any reason to slam my head against the roof of his patrol car.
“Here!” Aidy holds out the registration. “Do you want me to call him too? He’s probably waiting to hear if I’m okay.” She waggles her phone in the air.
“Aidy, let it go,” I say. “We’re not doing anything wrong. We’ve followed all the guy’s directions. The sooner we get out of here the better.”
This house has a reputation for large obnoxious parties and the police had to have been called for a noise disturbance. As soon as the cops went in, the students flowed out. We’re attracting a crowd and the last thing Carver and Trig like is unwanted attention.
The officer looks around, noticing Aidy’s not the only person with her cell out. There are a few drunk kids poised, ready, and waiting to hit record if something goes down so they can be the first to upload the video.
He snaps the papers back at Aidy. “You’re going with him?”
“Yes.” She huffs.
“If you come back on campus,” he motions in my direction and then ground as if he’ll put a bullet in my chest and then bury me out back, “I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
“I was never on campus to begin with.” I remind him before getting in the van and slamming the door. Aidy’s waiting in the passenger seat. “Fucking fake cop,” I mumble under my breath. “Why were you even here? This isn’t where you go.”
Aidy crosses her arms, staring out the window while I get us the hell away from the brick buildings.
“I was considering transferring here… Now, I’m not so sure.”
“Don’t make your choices on account of me.” The response is laced with sarcasm, although, I don’t want her to be the target of my bad mood.
“I wasn’t,” she scoffs. “I wanted a change of scenery and a girl I knew in high school invited me to the party.”
“Was she your original ride?”
Aidy’s shoulders hit her ears. Her chin cocks a fraction of an inch. “She would’ve been if I’d been interested in her boyfriend’s buddy. I didn’t know it was a setup. But, whatever.” Her voice hitches. She shakes her head back and forth. “You’re right. I’m not bright. It was dark and not safe.”
“I’m sorry. You said you waited inside.” I press the brake, stopping at the next light, and look at her through the eerie glow in the darkness.
“Does it matter?” Her sad eyes pull me in.
“You did your best to protect yourself in a strange place in the dark. So, yeah, it does.” I’m aware I overreacted and of why I did. “You want to go to the beach?”
“Now?” She laughs like what I’ve said is hysterical. “It’s the middle of the night and the beach is over two hours away.”
“Which means we’ll get here as the sun is coming up. I’ve got a sweatshirt in the back you can use as a pillow if you want to sleep on the way.”
“You’re serious?”
“We could salvage the weekend. Have a good time. Do you have other plans tomorrow?”
“I think you mean today. And no, I don’t.” She glances out the windshield, worrying her lip as she makes a decision. “The light is green. Are we going to the beach or not?”
I smile and snag my phone, shooting off a text to Trig. We don’t need his permission. However, this is his truck, and he asked me to pick Aidy up and get her back to her dorm.
Me: Aidy and I are driving to Wrightsville
Trig: Take care of her or my wife will shove your balls down your throat after I cut them off. Are we clear?
Fuuuuuck.
Me: Message received.
Trig: I’m kidding kid. Wouldn’t have sent you to get her if I didn’t trust you. Have fun.
Me: Thanks. We will.
Trig: Also, don’t put it past Kimber to lop your balls off if you hurt Aidy. I’ll just be the one holding you down while she does it.
He follows it up by sending me the damn LOL emoji. I’m not even sure what he expects me to text back, so I set my phone in the cup holder.
The road is dark and lonely other than the beams of big rigs hauling livestock. Outside of the Triangle, North Caroli
na’s economy is agricultural-based. Farmers raise poultry and pigs. There are a lot of slaughterhouses off the exit ramps. It’s better to ignore the chicken feathers flying into the path of the headlights and accept the hog is about to become somebody’s meal.
An hour later, Aidy’s following behind me into an all-night truck stop to use the ladies’ room while I pay for gas and soda from the wall of refrigerators. I worked all day yesterday, but sleep is something I’ve gone without before. Staying awake is nothing new. The caffeine jolt is all I need to get us back on the road.
We climb back into the van. I hand Aidy the cold bottle to hold.
“Do you mind if I unscrew the cap to take the first sip?” she asks.
“Not at all.” I hear the crisp carbonating escape while fishing in back for my sweatshirt.
We exchange the cola for the makeshift pillow she tucks between the seatbelt and her cheek. She’s adamant she’s not tired. Yet, her eyes are closed before the van pulls back onto I-40. I have second thoughts and consider turning around, heading west, dropping her at her dorm the way I was supposed to, and going back to Brighton.
Taking a sip of soda, there’s a hint of berry lip balm on the plastic rim. I realize it’s hers. The likelihood I’ll ever taste Aidy another way overwhelms me. It also bolsters my confidence over where I’m taking her, and why it’s an experience she may need. I have one hand on the wheel and one curled around the cool bottle. With each sip and mile closer we inch toward the beach, the caffeine rush has me anticipating Aidy’s reaction when she wakes up.
At the causeway, the bridge is up and we wait for a taller fishing boat to get through before continuing on. Warning lights flash, coloring Aidy’s skin the way the campus police cruiser lights had. The red is different. It reminds me of driving back from the grocery store on a December night and seeing holiday displays.
With the exception of a hard plastic snowman—whose black top hat had faded in the southern sun, and that had a broken lightbulb and frayed cord for as long as I can remember—my folks didn’t decorate our house when I was a kid. My dad said it wasn’t worth the electric bill. My mom wasn’t ever going to stand up to him. For Cece and I, the twinkling in other yards brought home the magic of the season, leaving us with a little faith Santa might be real.
