Blood Ties (7 page)

“What did she want?”

“To yell at me, I guess. Pissed off that Dick kicked her out and wanted to know what I was gonna do about it.”

“What did you do?”

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“Nothing.” She gestured around the drab room. “I’m stuck in this awful place for the full three months. I told her to apologize to Dick and maybe he’d let her back home.”

“Did

she?”

“No, according to him. He claims he never saw her again.”

Claims? I wondered if Shelley had suspicions about her husband. “Did you see her after that?”

She gazed out the window. “No.”

I didn’t know Shelley well, but I was adept enough at reading body language to recognize she was hiding something. I shifted back and my nylons stuck to the fabric chair. Kevin’s hand squeezed my thigh. I dropped my hand over his as I struggled with my next words. “We know that Dick wasn’t Samantha’s father.”

“I

fi gured as much.” She faced us again. “If you’re not cops then you’re not doing this for free. Who hired you?”

Kevin

fi elded that question: “My client prefers to stay anonymous.”

“Doesn’t matter. I know it’s David. His father is a blood-sucking leech, but he’s a nice kid.”

I peeked at Kevin from the corner of my eye. His face remained blank. But I knew from his increasing grip on my thigh that he wasn’t unaff ected by this conversation.

We waited for Shelley to comment further.

She expelled a world-weary sigh; fi ngers yellowed from nicotine rubbed her temple. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, 64

isn’t it? None of this should’ve happened. If I could do it over again . . .”

Faced with her vagueness, I tried a softer approach.

“What would you do diff erently?”

“I wouldn’t have listened to that goddamn counselor, for one thing.” Shelley’s anger ricocheted off the walls. “I wouldn’t have told her. Sam should’ve never found out.

Especially that way.”

She pinned me with a haunted look I’d never forget.

“Now, she’s dead.”

Th

e enormity of the simple sentence echoed, bringing nothing but continued stillness on our part.

Finally, I managed, “Why did the counselor insist you tell your family?”

“Seemed logical. Maybe this go-around I could quit drinking if I owned up to the past. Part of me felt relieved, part of me wanted to forget that night, as I’d done for years.” She licked the dry skin hanging from her bottom lip. “Guess I should’ve listened to the ‘forget about it’ part instead, huh?”

“What

happened?”

“What do you
think
happened?”

“I don’t know,” I said trying to keep my temper at bay. One furious person was enough in this situation. By default, Shelley had the bigger right to anger. “Th at’s why

I asked, that’s why we’re here.”

“Well, it sure as fuck wasn’t some big, goddamn crying 65

scene with everyone hugging and talking about forgive-ness. Dick exploded, called me names, called Sam names and then told her he should’ve known she wasn’t his kid.

Informed me the next time I heard from him would be through his attorney.”

“And

Sam?”

“Sam?” Her abrasive tone dropped to a small, quiet pitch of despair. “It was like I watched a part of her die right in front of me.”

Shelley’s anguish fi lled the room. Th

e urge to run

from the horror nearly overpowered me, yet I felt emo-tionally crippled and physically stuck to my chair as Kevin gripped my knee. I trembled; sickness seemed to seep into my every pore.

“Shelley, I’m so sorry.”

She dismissed my apology with a wave of her hand.

“I know this is hard.”

“Do you?” She bent closer, the line of grief in her eyes as threadlike as her patience. “Do you really?”

“Look, I’m not trying . . .”

“You don’t have kids, do you?”

I blinked and said nothing, understanding she wouldn’t have heard me anyway.

“Th

en how would you know how I feel?” She stabbed her fi nger my direction, adding as an afterthought, “I ain’t talking about your brother’s death, either.”

I knew what was coming and braced myself, but was 66

pretty sure in those few seconds I forgot how to breathe.

“Have you ever been raped?” she asked.

My eyes didn’t waver. Neither did my voice. “Yes, I have.”

Shelley scooted back into her chair and scrambled for her cigarettes. Kevin wasn’t so quick with the lighter this time. She and I exchanged a long look.

“Th

en you do know.”

She inhaled, her mouth a misshapen smile, her eyes tiny slits. “So?”

“So, you want to tell me about it?”

“Why? You want to compare notes?”

“No.” Her hostility aside, I wasn’t about to get sucked into a pity contest because I’d lose. “Why didn’t you have an abortion?”

“Because I’m Catholic.”

“Well, I’m not. Doesn’t the Pope agree rape is an acceptable reason to terminate a pregnancy?”

“Did you get pregnant after your rape?”

“No.”

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“But if you would have gotten knocked up?”

Nausea rose sharply against the back of my tongue, cutting the words out. “No question. I would’ve had an abortion.”

“You think it would’ve been better if I hadn’t had Sam at all?”

My legs trembled and I pressed them together, knocking off Kevin’s hand. “You tell me.”

She paused, smoking for several agonizing seconds, which bled into minutes.

“I liked you in high school,” she said. “You were diff erent from those snotty girls that showed up at Falling Rock, trying to be tough. You were the real deal. Haven’t changed much. Still got that rigid bitch act down, don’t you?”

She almost smiled. I almost didn’t dare to breathe.

“If you’d have come in here weepy, full of fake sympathy and bullshit, I’d’ve gladly sent you away with a black eye.” Th

e stoic line in her spine cracked at the same time as her voice. “Jesus, most days I feel like punching somebody.

Th

is whole thing is a fucking nightmare. I’m sick to death of reliving this shit.”

I was no stranger to that sentiment.

She drummed her fi ngers on the table, maybe stalling, or maybe gathering pieces of her nightmare.

“Fine. Here’s the truth. Dick worked in Wyoming on and off the summer after we graduated. He left the end of June and returned the middle of August. I missed him.”

69

Th

e muscles in her jaw constricted. “Hard to believe that once, we actually liked each other. Anyway, we were prac-tically living together, screwing like rabbits, and being Catholic, not using any birth control.”

At her hesitation I urged, “Go on.”

“Th

at night is still kind of hazy. Th

e Central States

Fair had started and I’d gotten drunk in the German tent with some friends. You know the duck dance and all those drinking games they play?”

I

nodded.

“My summer had been pretty boring with Dick gone.

My car broke down and I’d spent most of my nights either at home with my folks or working, so I decided I deserved to cut loose.”

“How did you get to the fairgrounds?”

“Remember Nancy Rogers? Married Troy James? We worked together that summer. She picked me up.”

“Wasn’t she going to take you home too?”

“Not after I got stinking drunk.” Shelley made a face.

“God, she’s still such a priss. Anyway, she whined that I was ruining her night.”

“Were

you?”

“Probably. Anyway, I drank too much, threw up, and stayed behind when everyone headed to the midway because I didn’t think my stomach could handle the rides.”

I stared at her. “Nancy just left you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Th

ink back. Every girl ditched their

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friends when a guy was involved.”

“Who were the guys?”

“Troy James and that gang of jocks he ran around with.”

I pictured the six or so guys that’d gotten laid on the periphery of Troy’s athletic greatness: Danny Christopherson, Tim O’Reilly, Bobby Adair, Mike Lawrence, and occasionally, our friend Jimmer. Th e list also included

Charles LaChance. “What happened after they left you?”

“I stumbled behind the Porta-potties, puked my guts out, and passed out for a while.” She tapped her fi ngers on the table, a brittle sound of frustration. “Th en someone

pulled my arms behind my back, tied them together, and threw a coat over my head. I had no idea what the fuck was going on.”

My palms started to sweat, my head to pound. “Did you scream?”

“I don’t think so, don’t remember if I did. I was wasted.

Heard maybe, six or seven voices and then they tossed me in the back of a pickup.”

Shelley closed her eyes. “Everything was muffl ed. My

body kept bumping up and down, hitting metal. I felt like I was gonna throw up again, but when I tried to sit up, some rough, sticky hand pushed me back down. Somehow my shirt got ripped, my tits were pinched until the damn nipples were bruised and bloody.

“If I made a sound, I got smacked. Th

en everything

went black. Next thing I knew, I laid sprawled in the grass, 71

naked, hands tied, coat over my head, some guy humping me. As soon as he fi nished, another one started. Guess I passed out a couple of times, and when I came to, they were still pounding into me like I was some life-size blow-up doll.”

I let her catch her breath while I caught mine.

“Hours,” she murmured. “It went on for hours. I drifted in and out, which was probably a good thing. After I’d been left alone for a while I moved around. Th e sun was

up, my head pounded from the booze, and my body felt like . . . God, I had bruises everywhere. I had come spots in my hair, on my boobs, around my mouth, on my ass.

Th

ey left my clothes. Can you believe they left my fucking clothes? I put them back on and walked home.”

My jaw dropped. “You
walked
home in that condition?”

“I guess.” Her gaze lingered on the paper clean-up procedures taped to the back of the door. “Don’t really remember.”

“Where had they taken you?”

“Th

at open fi eld on the hill behind Tech.”

“How far were you from home?”

“Th

ree miles or so.”

“Th

ree miles?” I repeated inanely. “And no one saw you?”

“If they did, they didn’t stop.” Her hands spread fl at on the table. “Everything else is pretty much a blank. Took a shower, probably popped some pills and slept for two days.”

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“Didn’t your family get suspicious you were holed up in your room?”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “My dad was a mean bastard so I usually avoided him anyway. Told my mom I had cramps or something.”

Kevin let out a slow, quiet breath. Shelley didn’t notice, but I did. “Shelley, why didn’t you go to the police?”

“Did you?” she countered.

I shook my head.

“Th

en you understand. By the time Dick got back, I knew I was pregnant, knew the baby wasn’t his, and if I told him the truth, he wouldn’t believe it. He’d accuse me of screwing around. I had no desire to do the right thing and live up to my dad’s prediction that I’d become just another unwed mother.”

“You never considered abortion?”

“For about ten seconds.” She clasped her hands —

probably unconsciously — in a prayer-like pose. “I may be a lapsed Catholic, but I’m still Catholic enough to feel guilt. And at that young age, my ideals hadn’t yet soured.

I believed that maybe it’d happened for a reason. Maybe God had a higher purpose for the child.”

“And

now?”

“I’m not sorry I had Sam. After Dick and I got married, I convinced myself it never had happened, that she really
was
Dick’s kid. I stayed sober, for the most part, when I was pregnant.” She shuddered. “Worst times of my life.”

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“You never thought about counseling before coming out here?”

“Once, about three years ago, I went into Catholic Social Services. I hung around for a while and then I saw . . .”

She faltered; her limp hair obscured her face. “I saw that it was too late to help me, so I walked out.”

Kevin lit a cigarette. I’ve only seen him smoke twice.

Once, when I was seventeen and my father beat the shit out of me; the other, after our friend Todd’s funeral.

Messy, disturbing business, this case, and it reminded me I’d gotten off track. Nothing Shelley related so far seemed signifi cant to the case. But that was the kicker; I knew she hadn’t told us everything. “Did the counseling out here help Samantha?”

“Just made her act worse. Th

at damn counselor bad-

gered her and then Sam stopped talking to everyone.”

“Including

you?”

“Especially me. I told her to go home. If she needed to talk it out she should try CSS. Maybe they could off er her the peace they couldn’t give me.”

Kevin said, “Shelley, this is very important. Did Sam try counseling there?”

“Somewhere. I don’t know when, or how often she went, or who she talked to, but she did go.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“She told me she knew exactly who could help her.”

Another cryptic teenage remark or an actual clue? “Th at’s

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all she said?”

“Yep.” She tilted her head, gaze zooming briefl y to the dry erase board by the fi ling cabinet. “Rather snottily, too.

Told me she’d take care of it herself, since she was used to taking care of things without my help.”

“Did this person help her?”

“Not that I ever noticed.”

Kevin took over the questions. “How did she act the last time you saw her?”

“Not like my Sam. Went from being pissed off to suicidal.”

Fine, greasy blond hair swept Shelley’s narrow shoulders. “Th

at pissed me off . Goes against everything I believe in, what I’d taught her. Suicide is the only unforgivable sin, not only according to Catholic tenets, but in my eyes as well. It’s the most selfi sh act known to God.”