“Then what?” Her voice is dull.“What could you have done? Gotten raped too?”
No, because I would’ve neverleft my open beer in a room with two strange men, then drank it.Immediately I feel guilty for thinking this. Annie’s trust inpeople is one of the things I love most about her.
“I need to get out of here for awhile,” Annie says.
I break out of my daze. “I’llcall my boss right now and take next week off, okay? Where shouldwe go?”
“Not, we, me!”
Her words are sharp, and Iquickly pull my hand from hers. “Oh. Okay.” I struggle for words.“You want to go alone?”
She picks up her cup and swirlsthe tea, of which she hasn’t yet taken a drink . “What I want,Jade, is for none of this to have happened. But, since it has, Ineed to find my center again so I can function. I can only do thatif I’m left alone and not worrying about what mood I’m in so that Idon’t hurt your feelings.”
Her words cut through me andleave me bleeding but they don’t stop me from arguing. “I don’tthink you should be alone right now.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have beenalone last night, either.”
“Annie, don’t do that.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t havesaid that. See? See why I have to go?”
“Can you just listen to me for amoment?” I work to keep my voice steady. “If you still want toleave after I’m done talking, I’ll completely understand. I justneed you to hear me out.”
I hate the idea of her alone andconfused; in my opinion, it’s the very last thing she needs. Butthe truth is, I loathe the idea of being alone and confusedmyself.
I sit back in my chair and takea deep breath, then start. “Annie, listen. I know what you’re goingthrough is horrible. But if you run away, you’ll just be avoidingit. You can’t do that. It’ll fuck your head up. Here, I can helpyou—we can keep the stimuli around you calm and peaceful, andyou’ll have a much better chance of dealing with whathappened.”
She nods slowly, and for amoment I feel relief. “Jade,” she says evenly, “has anyone everdrugged and raped you?”
“No.”
“Right.” She looks up from hertea. “Then save your fucking speech.”
I stare at her, and she staresback. Her eyes are steel blue and cold and her lips are thin. Idon’t know this person.
“Annie, please,” I say reachingout to her.
She pulls away and gets up andwalks into the bathroom.
A few minutes later, I hear theshower turn on again.
I cover my mouth and crysilently. I don’t want her to hear me. I’ve got to be her strengthin all of this. But I have no idea how to help her.
When I hear the water shut off,I wipe my eyes. Annie walks out with a towel around her. Her skinis covered in long red welts. “Annie, your skin.”
“I used a pumice stone.”
“Oh, sweetie. No.”
“Stop it, Jade.”
I want to say more, but I forcethe words back down my throat. She looks at me, and I know she cansee my concern. She sighs. “It’s fine.”
“Please don’t leave, Annie.”
“I won’t.”
Chapter Six
I don’t leave her side over thenext week. Though I hate lying, I call into work with ‘the flu’,explaining that I must have gotten it from Tim when he helped mewith the tire. Considering the work I picked up for Tim in thepast, I don’t feel too badly about not being there to help him.
Annie and I spend most of ourtime indoors. I read poetry to her or help her with her shellmobiles. She never talks about that night, and when I try to, sheshuts me down right away. At night, we drink wine, lots of it—ithelps us keep our minds occupied long enough to fall asleep.
That Friday, a week after thatawful night, I talk Annie into coming on the boat with me for acouple hours to fish and take in the scenery. We pack a small lunchand a thermos of tea before heading down to the dock. As soon as Iput my tackle box and rod into the boat, I notice that one of theseat floatation pads are gone. The cushions aren’t that buoyant,but they’re great padding for your ass when the sea gets choppy. Itell Annie to take a seat. She sits at the stern and waits quietly,her journal and pencil case in her lap.
After untying the boat, I startthe engine and slowly head towards the other side of the island,where the best fishing spots are as well as multiple campers andcamping spots all along the shore. This is a prime vacationdestination for tourists. Since Annie and I first met here, theplace has grown in population some, but not as fast as otherislands like Salt Spring have.
What draws the visitors are theart studios, the bays, and fishing charters, but most of all, it’sthe sense of community. A non-superficial vibe. It draws people in,and they probably don’t even realise why. There’s none of the WestVan vanity, no desire to have the shinier car.
After fifteen or so minutes,we’re two bays over and I’m getting my rod ready for trolling.Annie brought a blanket and is lying with her back against the sideof the boat, her legs crossed and her feet hanging out over theedge. Her flowery summer dress and the way she’s loosely pinned herhair on top of her head makes my heart ache. I’ve missed touchingher, feeling her soft skin with my fingers, kissing her. Over thepast week, she hasn’t wanted to be touched, and I don’t try.
After letting some line out, Iplace my rod in the holder and slowly drive in a wide circle aroundthe bay. I want to catch a red snapper and if I let the boat go tooslowly, I’ll get a dogfish on the line. As we make another turn, Iglance at Annie. She is scribbling in her journal, her eyebrowsknitted in intense focus. “Annie.”
Her face doesn’t move, only hereyes look up.
“I love you.” I give her awink.
“You too,” she answers, thenresumes
