“Forgiving? What was to forgive?”
“Nothing, I know, but, that’s ... that’s how it felt. I wasn’t even seventeen, and I don’t know, I thought maybe it was my fault, that I’d flirted with Emilio ... I know now that I was the victim. And, yes, I ... I saw a counselor for a while before I moved here, after you and I ... After I realized how deep my problem with intimacy was.”
“And the baby?” he asked softly.
“When the time came, I agreed to the private adoption. It was all handled between the church and attorneys. Everyone tried to make it as if it all had never happened, everything got swept under the rug: I poured myself into my schoolwork, got a scholarship and left.”
A few seconds ticked by before he asked, “What happened to Emilio?”
“Bastardo!” she spat, her Spanish coming to the fore whenever she was angry. “He’s in prison, last I heard.”
“Good place for him.”
She added, “For assault. And attempted rape. The victim was seventeen.”
“Jesus.”
He sensed that she was fighting the urge to break down altogether. “But she was stronger than I was. Her father was a cop, insisted she tell the truth, and they busted Emilio. He wouldn’t take a deal, probably because he thought he got away with it once and he could do it again. He’s nothing if not smug.” For a second her cousin’s face, dark eyes, straight nose, thin lips came to mind and she pushed it down, didn’t want to be reminded of him or the fact that as children they had been playmates. The attack had been fueled by alcohol, yes, but was still such a horrendous, soul-numbing betrayal. “He’s serving a long sentence.”
“Parole?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” She was determined. “His next victim, the one who filed charges, she did the right thing. Stood up for herself. I didn’t. So I’m going to make certain he does every second of his time.” He felt her guilt as if it were palpable. “If I’d had her guts, maybe she never would have had to go through what she did.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Sure I do.”
“You were a scared kid.”
“So was she!”
He held her close. “It’s all right.”
“Of course, it’s not all right! Never has been; never will be.” Of that she sounded certain. “And, and now it’s all there again. You show up here and this boy ... this boy that I saw only briefly, my son, has returned, in trouble with the law, only to disappear again.”
“Shh,” he whispered against her hair, wishing there was some way to ease her pain, to let her know that he cared, but he had to tread lightly. She’d already opened up to him far more than he ever would have expected. “We’ll find him.”
“Will we?” She levered up on one elbow and stared down at him, her face illuminated by a bit of light through the window, her black hair falling like a curtain to one side of her face.
“If it’s the last thing I do. Swear it,” he said, and she let out a bitter laugh.
“Now you’re placating me; making promises you can’t possibly guarantee.”
“Okay, you’re right.” He pulled her down again, close to him so that her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. “But I will tell you this much, I’m going to give it my best damned shot.”
“That,” she said, relaxing a bit, her breath ruffling the hair of his chest, “I believe.”
Johnna Phillips poured herself one last glass of alcohol-free punch from the bowl near the huge shimmering Christmas tree and told herself it was her last. She’d had it. The tree itself was a monstrosity, a fourteen-foot fir tree flocked white, then decorated with hanging red and blue logos of First Union, the bank she worked for.
Ug-ly. And probably had cost a fortune and was oh, so corporate, just like this lame party with its weak DJ, who seemed to favor anything from the eighties. Really? Wasn’t that, like, eons ago?
She sipped her punch and noticed it was going flat, not that it mattered. This was the first social event Johnna had attended alone since her breakup with Carl, which had now been all of thirty hours. She probably shouldn’t have come, considering her state of mind, but if she hadn’t shown, it would have been noticed by her boss, the overly friendly Monty. And besides, she wasn’t going to let the fact that she wasn’t hooked up with Carl anymore change her social life. Not one iota!
Damn Carl all to hell.
She set her glass on a tray that held other half-empty stemware. It was almost midnight and the party was winding down. Lots of people had already left and the music was scheduled to end at twelve, which was just fine. Johnna didn’t think she could stand another “hit” by Madonna or Michael Jackson or Duran Duran. Her head was pounding as it was, her feet ached from heels that were too high and her lower back was paining her. She was in a bad mood all around.
Just the beginning, she reminded herself and absently touched her flat abdomen. She was pregnant, though no one but she and Stephanie in New Accounts knew the happy news. She hadn’t even told Carl yet, and wondered when she would, and how he would react, as they were suddenly no longer living together. Talk about bad timing.