Carrie gave our mother a level look. “He’s her husband, mother.”
Mom gave a quick, insincere smile, as if to dismiss Carrie, and said, “One can always hope.”
Carrie responded with a sniff, and said, “You’re right, Mother. I can’t possibly imagine why they wouldn’t want to stay here with us.”
My mother stiffened her back and looked at Carrie imperiously. “You are impertinent. If you’re going to take that tone with me, I’ll just go downstairs. Perhaps Sarah would like some company.”
Jessica rolled her eyes and said, “Like that will happen. Good luck with her, Mom.”
My mother left in a huff.
Carrie took a deep breath, as if shaking off something, after mom left. Then she turned to Jessica and said, “All right, spill it. What’s going on between you and Sarah? You two are usually inseparable.”
Jessica frowned. “She’s gone bipolar I think. Or schizophrenic. Wearing black always, like some goth girl. And … God, I hate her! She kissed Mark Wilson, when she knew I wanted to go out with him. I heard she let him feel her up. At school! I could kill her.”
Carrie’s jaw dropped. “When did all this happen?”
“She’s been like this since school started.”
“Wow. I bet it’s been pretty tense around here, with you two at each other’s throats.”
“It’s not my fault.”
“Well, whatever is going on with you and Sarah, you can’t say a word about Alex and Dylan to anyone. You understand? This is serious.”
Jessica turned to me.
“Do you love him? Dylan?”
I nodded. “Of course. I… I always have.”
She looked serious. “Then I’ll do whatever I can to help. It might not be much, but I promise.”
I smiled at her, and said, “Thank you.”
What Happens Next? (Dylan)
“So what happens next?” I asked.
Ben Cross, my lawyer, said, “Well, we go in there. The DA will tell the judge they’re dropping the charges and why. Then the judge will dismiss the case.”
“And that’s the end? I get my bail money back and we’re done?”
“It’ll probably take a couple of days to get the money back.”
“And no more travel restrictions?”
“No more anything, Dylan. Look… it was one thing for them to prosecute you for assault when there were no other witnesses to the sexual assault on Alex. But after this? The DA knows exactly what will happen to him if they proceed to try a wounded combat vet who stopped a rape, when the police let the rapist go. I mean, seriously. This was as bad a case of negligence as I think I’ve ever seen. They looked at you… with your build, your angry face, your scars, and they looked at Randy Brewer, spoiled rich kid, and they jumped to absolutely the wrong conclusion.”
I shook my head. “All right. I don’t really care about all of that. I just want to make sure I’m free to travel, and that Alex is safe. Nothing else matters.”
Ben nodded. “For what it’s worth, Dylan… even though the circumstances are horrible, I’m glad they got the guy.”
The hearing was an anti-climax, taking all of fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, it looked like it was going to take a couple days to free up my bail money. Whatever. I had places to go, and people to see, and still a few thousand dollars in the bank. Time to spend some of it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It’s about me (Alex)
When the alarm on my phone went off at 5:45 a.m., I quickly rolled over in bed and silenced it. I didn’t want to disturb the rest of my family. With any luck I could be out and back before anybody else woke up.
I slipped into sweats, and, perversely, put on Dylan’s grey Army T-shirt, which hung like a tent on me. I’d appropriated it from him a couple weeks ago. Something about having it here was comforting.
Then I tied on my running shoes, put my hair in a messy and quick pony tail, and slowly made my way down the five flights of stairs to the front door, trying desperately to avoid waking anyone.
It was dark and quiet outside, but not the bitter cold I’d grown accustomed to running in. For a second, as I stared out at the darkened street, I felt a tinge of fear. I was used to running in the dark with Dylan. I didn’t realize until now how much safety that afforded me. Safety to run through a city park before the sunrise. Safety to feel free, not afraid of a random mugger or rapist or other dangers in the dark.
As I stretched on the sidewalk in front of our house, I pondered the fact that I’d never felt that kind of fear before. And the irony was, it wasn’t a random stranger who had attacked me. It was someone I’d known since middle school. That’s what the statistics say, of course. The person most likely to rape a woman is always someone she knows.
But the reality was far different from the statistics. The reality was confusing, frightening. It was being too drunk, feeling almost sick, and having someone hold you down while they stuck their hand up your shirt. It was feeling hot, unwelcome breath against my neck. It was the stink of alcohol on his breath as he said, “You know you want it, why are you struggling?”
I didn’t want it. Not from him. Not then, not ever.
I set out, running first up 23rd Avenue to Fulton Street, then along the edge of Golden Gate Park. There was little traffic this early in the morning, especially during a holiday week.
I worked myself up to a good pace, keeping an eye out for dark corners, places people could hide. Because like it or not, Randy Brewer had changed the way I looked at things. I was making a lot of progress, learning self-defense from Dylan, but I still had a long ways to go. I was going to get there, though. With him or without him.
One thing I knew for sure. I was done being a victim. Never again would anyone hold me against my will, not if there was anything I could do about it.
As I reached the end of Fulton Street, I ran toward the beach, then down the sand to the water. The waves were coming in, loud, and I turned and ran along the sand. I’d never run at home before. There was something freeing about it, something that made me feel bigger than I’d ever been before.
It was in Dylan’s hands now. I loved him. I knew what I wanted: to spend my life with him. I wanted us to move forward, together, into a life that we could have together. But I needed to know that he was ready to do that. Something in him always pulled back. And all I could do was hope and pray that he’d move past that.
If he didn’t, though, I was ready to accept it. I’d always love him. I’d alway care for him. But if I had to say goodbye, I was strong enough to do it now.
I ran for an hour and a half that morning, only finally slowing down a dozen blocks from my parents’ house, coming to a walk two blocks away. I was drenched in sweat, my hair running wet down my back, and I felt absolutely fantastic.
Quietly, I unlocked the front door and went up the stairs.
As my foot touched the landing, I heard my mother’s voice. So much for an unobtrusive entry.
I sighed, then walked into the kitchen and said, “Good morning.” I walked over and kissed her on the cheek.
Carrie was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of her. It was so rare that I saw her disheveled that the sight of her now, in a bathrobe, her hair a mess, made me smile. I walked over and kissed her on the cheek, too, then poured myself a giant glass of water and began drinking.
“Good God, you haven’t been out running, have you?” Carrie asked.
My mother looked stunned.
“Alexandra Charlotte Thompson, the sun is barely up, and you’ve been out running in the dark? What’s gotten into you? Don’t you know it’s dangerous to run alone at night in the city? Strange men and rapists and God only knows what are out there.”
I finished off my water, then quietly replied, “It’s not the strangers you have to worry about, Mom, it’s the people you know.”
Carrie gave a little gasp, then took a sip of coffee to cover herself.
My mother, her face screwed
up in consternation, changed the subject. “Where did you get that T-shirt? It’s … truly ugly.”
I smiled. “I feel much better this morning. Thanks for asking, mother. I’ve been out getting my exercise, and I think it’s going to be a fantastic day, don’t you?”
“Oh, dear,” she said. “Of all the children I raised, I never expected to find one of them turning into an athlete, and a morning person at that.”
Carrie burst into laughter. “You can’t control everything, Mom. And personally, I think it’s nice to see Alex happy.”
I was getting my coffee when my mother conceded. “I suppose that’s true. You were rather miserable to be around last summer. I suppose you’re finally over that Dylan person.”
I looked at my mother, and said, “It’s not really about him, Mom. It’s about me.”
Mystified, she said, “Well, drink your coffee then. And… it’s nice to see you smiling.”
I sat down and took a sip of my coffee, and my mother wandered off.
Carrie gave me a sideways look and said, “Nice T-shirt. Know where I can get one?”
I knocked her in the shoulder, and said, “Get your own. I’m sure you can find a soldier who’ll leave one lying around somewhere or other.”
She smiled, then said, “Ray’s coming to Houston next week.”
I grinned. “I know.”
She smiled back. “I don’t know how serious we are. But… well, he’s a nice change from the guys Mom and Dad are always pushing on me. And the guys in my PhD program?” She mocked a shudder. “Hopeless.”
I whispered, “Can you imagine Mom and Dad’s reaction if we both got serious with former soldiers? Dad would finally keel over from a heart attack.”
“Maybe it would be good for him. You know he’s warming to Crank.”
I shook my head. “Not possible.”
“Anything is possible, Alex.”
I shrugged. “Let’s hope so. I… I just wish I knew what Dylan is thinking.”
She said, “He’s going to have to figure it out on his own, I think.”
“I know. I’m just afraid… I’m afraid that he’ll pull back. That this is really the end.”
She put her hand on top of mine, and squeezed gently. “What will you do if it is?”
A wave of sadness swept over me.
“I’ll grieve,” I said. “And then I’ll move on with my life. I’m not going to let him tear me up again like that. If he wants me… he’s going to have to go the distance this time.”
Go get her (Dylan)
“Come on, Sherman, answer the damn phone,” I grumbled. On the fifth ring, he picked up.
“The fuck?” he said as greeting, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s not even noon yet. This better be good, Paris.”
“Sherman, I need your help.”
He sighed. I could hear it on the other end of the line. Paris needs help again.
“What is it, man?”
“Is Carrie in San Francisco? Do you know how to get in touch with her?”
“Yeah, she’s there, hanging with the family. Why?”
“Okay,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I need you to do me a favor. Talk to her. Ask her to make sure Alex doesn’t go out anywhere tonight.”
There was silence at the other end of the line for a moment as he processed that, then he said, “Dude, where are you?”
“I’m at JFK airport.”
“Gotcha. You’re gonna make a run for it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good luck.”
“I’m going to need it.”
“Yeah, you aren’t kidding. Go get her. I’ll call Carrie, and we’ll make sure Alex is home. What time’s your flight get in?”
“Seven p.m. And then I gotta catch a cab across the city… it’ll be eight or nine before I get to her place, probably.”
“You know where you’re going?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’ve been there.”
“Dylan. That was two years ago.”
I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “Some things you never forget, Sherman.”
“Jesus, you are such a girl, Paris. Whipped.”
“I am,” I said.
“Seriously, man. Good luck. Maybe Carrie can help lay some groundwork. I know she’s hoping for you, too.”
“Thanks, man.”
“What are friends for? Go get your flight.”
We hung up, and I looked up impatiently at the information board. Twenty minutes before my flight would begin boarding.
I’d been to her parents’ house before, of course. The summer after senior year of high school. That time, I’d taken Greyhound, a three-and-a-half-day bus trip all the way across the continent. It was a strange, strange, trip. Seven days on a bus, to spend only four days with her.
The thing was, even after taking that trip across the country to see her? Even then, I’d still not gone the final distance. I’d not said what I really wanted to say, which was, “Why don’t we go to the same college? Why don’t we think about maybe getting married some day?”
Of course we were too young. And I was too scared. And I never imagined the twists and turns that my life would take.
When the flight started boarding, I was nearly first in line.
A nice young man (Alex)
This was going to be the dinner from hell, I thought.
I was sitting on the couch, reading the New York Times on my phone. I should have known better. The headline in the metro section told it all: Columbia University Student arrested for rape. The picture beneath the headline showed Randy Brewer, in a mug shot. His eyes were wide, startled almost, in the photo. Somehow the combination of the circumstances of the photo, his unshaved face and unkempt hair, and the wide eyes made him look crazy.
Julia and her husband Crank (yes, that’s really his name) were running late, eliciting a spate of critical comments from both of my parents while we waited.
Carrie and I sat together in the living room while she was busy texting Ray Sherman. Carrie wore a stark and attractive pair of black pants and a rose-red blouse with ruffles. I wore a sleeveless white dress with a light sweater embroidered with roses, and Jessica sat with us, also reading messages on her phone, wearing a nice print dress. We made the very picture of a happy family, all absorbed in our separate electronic devices.
Sarah, on the other hand, was wearing torn black jeans, a ripped T-shirt sporting the album cover Beyond Redemption by what I think was a death metal band, The Forsaken. Or maybe it was the other way around? Not my normal choice of music, so I wasn’t sure. The picture on the shirt was guaranteed to spark a reaction from my parents: what appeared to be a screaming, bloody skull. She glared at anyone who came close.
My father hadn’t come out of his office yet, but my mother had passed back and forth between the kitchen and the office several times, each time stopping to tell Sarah to change her clothes before dinner. The response was sullen silence, and no action.
I’d have been happy to go into the kitchen to help out: my mom looked stressed, and I knew she was crazy busy putting together a dinner for eight. But if one of us were to go into her private reserve, she would completely blow her lid. That’s my mom: a complete martyr, angry at the lack of help, but refusing it when offered.
The doorbell rang, and the tension snapped. I put away my phone, feeling reprieved.
“I’ll get it!” shouted both Jessica and Sarah.
They glared at each other for just a second, then Jessica sat down again, crossing her arms across her chest in a mirror of the look Sarah had worn only moments before. Sarah thumped loudly down the stairs in her combat boots.
Two minutes later, she trailed my sister Julia and her husband Crank back up the stairs.
Before you think that Julia was adopted, or kidnapped by aliens as a child, I should tell you that she graduated as Valedictorian of her class at Harvard. Up until the age of twenty-two, she followed the same script the rest of us: the script written by
my father and directed by my mother, the script that we rarely deviated from. Carrie was following it by going for her PhD. I was following it by majoring in pre-law at Columbia. Undoubtedly the twins would follow, though time would tell if Sarah’s sudden rebellion was a permanent fixture. If it was, the Thompson household was not going to be a happy place for the next couple of years.
The day after Julia graduated from Harvard, she announced that she wasn’t going to graduate school, and had decided to go to work as manager for her boyfriend’s band, Morbid Obesity. True to form, she’d been quite successful in her chosen career. Between Crank’s guitar licks and over-the-top lyrics, and her business acumen, the band had become a phenomenon in the alt-rock scene. They weren’t particularly hurting financially, but I know for a fact that my parents absolutely hated the direction Julia had taken with her life. And I admired her, very much, for her independent spirit.
Julia came in wearing what was, for her, formal dress: a pair of tight black jeans, heels and a sweater. Crank was… well, Crank. His jeans were faded and torn, his T-shirt looked like it was old before I was born, and his hair was spiked and multi-colored. Crank was a perfect example of why admiration and desire are two very different emotions. How my sister managed sex with her husband without injuring herself was a complete mystery.
That said, I loved them both and was delighted to see them.
As they came up the stairs, my sisters and I crowded around them, exchanging hugs.
Julia, who is ten years older than me, smiled when she saw me, then engulfed me in a lingering hug. “Oh, Alex, it’s great to see you.”
“You too, Julia. I’ve missed you so much!”
Crank came over and gave me a hug, and I was careful to avoid puncturing myself. He turned to Sarah and said, “The Forsaken? Awesome. How you been, punk?”
I was fascinated to see Sarah blush a bright red. “Oh, I’ve been great, Crank, you?”