“I . . . I was so hysterical, I don’t know how I was even able to think,” she said, her voice trembling as she blinked back the tears, but they were running freely now, making long, moist trails down her cheeks. “But I kicked the knife out of his hands and I ran.” She gulped, forcing herself to go on. “But he ran after me and pulled me down to the ground. I was kicking and screaming, but it didn’t do any good. Then . . . oh, God . . . then he dragged me by the hair along the ground . . . And I . . . I blacked out . . . I just don’t know what happened after that. I—just—don’t—know!”
She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, burying her face in Rick’s shoulder as he gently pulled her close and stroked her hair. He had an agonized expression on his face as he understood for the first time why she had stiffened every time he tried to touch her, what it must have been like for her to be assaulted like that and not know what happened, suspecting the awful truth, wanting to know and, at the same time, being terrified of knowing.
“It’s all right,” he said softly, stroking her hair gently, feeling her pain. “You’re all right now.”
He held her until she cried herself out and pulled away, taking deep breaths as she tried to calm herself. She wiped her eyes and smiled at him weakly, grateful beyond words for this understanding.
“When I woke up, I was in my own bed,” she continued, holding on to his hands. She shook her head. “My parents never said a word about it. They act as if the whole thing never happened. But it did.”
And they knew it too, she thought, and they blamed her for it and never forgave her, either. They acted as though what she put them through, which was, of course, the way they would have thought of it, could possibly compare with an experience as terrible as the one she’d had, so terrible that her mind had blocked it out.
“All I want to do is just forget it,” she said, “but I can’t. I’ll never forget that horrible face! Never!”
The headlights on the car suddenly went out and she jerked as if struck.
“What’s that?”
They turned around, looking back toward the car, but there wasn’t anyone in sight.
“Damn it, it’s the battery,” Ricky said. “I charged it yesterday, but it must not have taken.”
They walked back to the car.
“It may just start anyway,” he said, somewhat dubiously. “Let me try.”
He opened the door, got in, and turned the key, but it was dead as a doornail.
“We’re gonna have to walk back,” he said, getting out and putting his arm around her protectively. “It’s okay.”
He looked at her and could see that she was shaken, but her eyes were shining and she looked incredibly relieved. It suddenly occurred to him that she had been afraid he’d pull away from her, afraid that he wouldn’t understand and that he’d shut her out after he found out what had happened, as if it were her fault that some sick bastard had . . . My God, he thought, no wonder she’d been acting that way every time he tried to touch her! She had been violated and the assault had been upon the very core of her being. She felt unclean and was terrified that he would perceive her that way and want nothing more to do with her! Sweet Jesus, he thought, did she really think I’d turn my back on her just because she had been hurt? Did she really think I wouldn’t be there when she needed me the most?
Perhaps it was a corny gesture, but he offered her his arm. And it was exactly the right thing to do. With a smile, she hooked her arm through his and together they started back down the road.
Chapter Six
Chuck and Chili were slumped in indentical postures on the couch, heads arched back, mouths open, dead to the world. “Zonked,” as Chuck would have put it. Vera and Debbie sat on the other couch staring with bored expressions at Andy and Shelly, who were juggling. Shelly was juggling three apples while Andy juggled oranges, each concentrating intensely as he attempted to outdo the other. Neither Debbie nor Vera could believe that the evening had degenerated to such a mundane level.
“Do you give up?” said Shelly, concentrating fiercely as he juggled his apples.
“Not on your life!” said Andy, whose competitive drive led him to enter any physical contest, no matter how absurd. “You give up?”
“Never!” Shelly said.
Vera and Debbie exchanged helpless glances. “I know how to stop this,” Debbie said, smiling.
She got up off the couch and walked slowly over to Andy’s side, stopping right next to him and sliding up to him as he kept his eyes on the oranges.
“I can think of much better things for you to be doing with your hands,” she said in a husky voice, smiling and sashaying over to the stairs. Andy promptly allowed to oranges to drop.
“You win,” he said to Shelly as his oranges thudded to the floor and he hastened to follow Debbie up the stairs.
Shelly glanced around, saw that Andy and Debbie had departed and that Chuck and Chili were still asleep, then he looked at Vera nervously and smiled. “I guess that just leaves you and me . . . sort of,” he added, awkwardly.
Vera watched him juggle. “You really are very good at that,” she said, anxious to change the subject.
She turned back to tend the fire with the poker. Shelly stopped juggling his apples and watched her for a moment, licking his lips
