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He laughed, and I got into my car. “Hey,” he said after I started the engine. He leaned into the passenger-side window. “Thanks for the quid pro quo.”

“See you tomorrow,” I said. “There’s more to come.”

He stood back and watched me drive out. I waved just before turning. He didn’t wave back. He stood there staring after me as if I would be gone forever. I didn’t know whether I felt sorrier for him than I did for myself.

Since the time when I was raped, I was always worried that I would never be able to have a real and loving relationship. It had been my fear ever since that I would always pull back whenever any young man got this close to me. I would be unable to trust anyone enough, no matter how much in love with me he seemed to be or even how much in love with him I seemed to be. The wound was too deep, the scar was too thick, and the memory, even as foggy as it was because of the drugs, was persistent, stubborn, indelible. It bubbled up in hot nightmares. It flashed its ugly face every time I felt sexually aroused, whether it was from something I read or something I saw.

I should hate more and forgive less, I thought. Perhaps through the power of hate, I could overcome the ghosts that haunted me at my most private and intimate moments. Rage gave strength, and strength was something I desperately needed.

Yes, I was good at witty dueling. I could inflict pain on the arrogant young men who teased me with their good looks, and I enjoyed the adulation I won from the girls who envied me and looked up to me, but I was in pain that they’d most likely never know and couldn’t ever see. I didn’t want their sympathy anyway.

I wanted someday to be able to throw off this weight that kept my chance for happiness and satisfaction underwater. As I drove away from Ryder, I did realize that if somehow I could help him to help me, we’d both be reborn.

We’d both rise out of the thick darkness into the light of wonderful days when we would truly be able to cherish who we really were. My name would be on his lips and his on mine. Just saying them would be like kissing. We would find the warmth and the sanctuary in each other’s arms that would keep us protected, and all that had once made us lonely and lost would fall behind us as we rose toward the sun.

Why couldn’t that be?

What was out there waiting to stop us?

11

A Present

Jordan was so eager to hear about the Garfields that I wondered for a few moments if she hadn’t exaggerated Donald’s concern for my being home for dinner just so she could find out more about the Garfields. She practically pounced on me when I entered the house.

“Did you meet them?” she asked, almost before I had closed the door behind me.

“Yes.”

“Well? What were they like?”

“She’s very beautiful, and he’s very handsome,” I said.

Jordan grimaced. “I know that, Sasha. The whole world knows that. I mean, what were they like? Were they hospitable? Arrogant? Were they pleased you were invited to their home? Did they do anything with you? Oh, and what was their house like? Come in, come in,” she urged, leading me into the living room on the right.

“I didn’t spend that much time with them, Jordan,” I said, following her. “They were on their way to a publicity event for a new film.”

“Publicity event? What film?”

“I forgot.”

“What? You forgot? Your generation is so oblivious sometimes. So,” she said, sitting on the settee to my right. “Go on. Tell me about the house.”

“It’s a beautiful Italian-style house. It’s very big, open, with high ceilings, fancy floors. They have a pool, a tennis court, and a putting green.”

“Putting green? I wonder why Donald never thought of having that. We could have our own golf course here. Back to the Garfields. Were they nice to talk to, at least? I mean, the little you did speak to them.”

“Yes,” I said. If I even gave her a hint of the tensions in that home, she would be pressuring me to stop seeing Ryder. “But, as I said, they were on their way out.”

“Well, then what did you do?” she asked with obvious frustration.

“We talked, and then Ryder gave me some instructions about golf putting.”

“Really?” She perked up. “You never said you were interested in golf. I could take you to my club for some professional instruction. It was a waste of money with Kiera.”

“I’m not really interested in it. I was just being polite,” I said.

“Oh. Were his parents going to be there for dinner?”