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“Not all,” I say, but I know what he means. “It’s not really fair, is it? We expect so much of them, even when we let ourselves down. ”
“Who knows. Maybe they’ll do better than we ever have. Eventually someone has to get it right. ”
If only Nicolas could have that kind of life. For today, I refuse to think of all the disappointments and dangers ahead. Right now his world is only about food and warmth and love. Let him enjoy it.
Jonah doesn’t seem to have anything else to say yet, so I ask, “Rosalind called you?”
He shakes his head. “When I came into the office this morning, people were passing around a card for Shay. I signed it, did what I had to do, and then came straight here. ”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. ”
“You know I’m not here for Shay. ”
I hug myself more tightly. “Are you here to . . . what . . . take it all back?”
“No. I’m here to explain, if you’re willing to listen. ”
What could Jonah tell me that would make everything all right? Nothing, I realize. But that’s not why he’s here. We can’t fix this; we were smashed up long before we ever met. Jonah only wants to tell me the truth. His truth.
And I should tell him mine.
I’ve come to realize that speaking the truth can be a form of love. Maybe listening can be too.
Thirty-four
Seton Central is located in a major urban area, not far from a highway—and yet, right next to it stretches Seider Spring Park. It’s a long, skinny green space that runs alongside the winding Shoal Creek Trail. Within a few minutes of leaving the hospital, Jonah and I are walking between trees, next to the water, seemingly away from the rest of the world—even though the distant roar of cars sometimes mingles with the rustling of leaves.
Pale skin, shadowed eyes, stubble, beat-up jeans beneath his coat: Jonah looks like hell. No doubt I do too. We’re long past worrying about appearances, yet I can’t help but notice.
Mom’s lessons die hard.
“I’m sorry I was so abrupt in the car,” Jonah says. “It was a difficult time for you, in many ways. I should’ve held it together for your sake. ”
“You told me what you were honestly feeling. You don’t have to apologize for that. ”
We walk on together, side by side. Our footsteps crunch on fallen leaves and drought-dry grass. In Austin we don’t get autumns of crimson leaves or winters of brilliant white snow. The year ebbs away into colorless cold.
Jonah finally asks, “Do you want to tell me what happened with Anthony?”
Once I thought I could never say this to anyone, least of all him. Yet now Jonah’s the only person I can imagine telling. “I was fourteen. He and Chloe were in college, dating. One night when he was visiting, Chloe went to bed early, and my parents did too. Anthony raped me on the couch. ”
After a long moment, Jonah says, “He came on you. Didn’t he?”
God, graphic. But true, and nothing less than the whole truth will do anymore. “Yes, he did. I’ve hated that ever since. ”
“You said you told Chloe and she didn’t believe you?”
I shake my head. “I told my mother and she didn’t believe me. Anthony told Chloe I tried to flirt with him, and she got angry with me for trying to steal her boyfriend. The week before her wedding, I made one last attempt at getting her to see who and what Anthony really is, and I tried to explain the whole story to her, but she didn’t want to hear it. Now my rapist is in the family, and he’s half of Libby, whom I love so much. That means he’s part of my life forever. ”
Jonah’s gaze has turned inward, as if he’s studying my story from every possible angle. “I thought most rape victims couldn’t stand seeing even allusions to rape. Much less . . . what we did. ”
“You’re right. Most rape victims have a very different reaction. But this is what it did to me. Who I am now. ”
He nods, still deep in thought. “I should’ve realized,” he says quietly. “When you never wanted to fuck any other way—some of your limits—I should’ve known. ”
“You have your limits, just like me,” I say. It’s mostly me parroting what Doreen and I talked about.
But then I find myself remembering that first night in the wine bar, when Jonah and I negotiated the terms of our arrangement. He asked me to defend him, not to injure him too badly, and—not to call him Daddy.
My stomach drops; nausea sweeps through me. My voice sounds strangled as I ask, “Jonah, did it happen to you too?”