Page 44

Ava

“Will Dad be home for dinner?” Sophia enters my makeshift office and pulls me away from an email from Reid’s mother.

She has requested his remains and plans to hold a memorial service back in Ohio.

I emailed almost a week ago, and when I heard nothing, had begun preparations for a service here.

But the email Reid had for his mother is one she doesn’t use often.

They fell out of touch. Addiction rips relationships to shreds.

The people too. Logically, I know I am not responsible for Reid’s death. But reason and emotion do not align. Not with this. I didn’t return his calls. I wasn’t there to watch over him.

“Ava?” Sophia’s question pulls me back to the room.

“Yeah. Sorry. He said he would. He’ll probably be back after his lunch meeting.”

She smiles, and her wavy, loose skirt bounces as she flaunts to the sofa. She pulls her legs up under her and places a throw pillow in her lap.

I barely saw him this morning. He woke before the sun rose for a vigorous workout, then showered and jumped on calls with the East Coast and who knows where else around the world, all before my brain had processed daylight.

I wish I’d thought to ask him what exactly he wanted me to say to his daughter about us, if anything, because the way she’s staring at me right now has me feeling uneasy.

“Are you and my dad seeing each other?” All my inner working stop functioning. “You know, he was really sad after he and mom divorced.” That must have been so hard on her, because I’d bet money she observed Jack closely, and he didn’t communicate with her at all.

“What was that like for you?”

She rolls her eyes at me and shakes her head like I’m the child and she’s the parent. “You can’t stop being a therapist, can you?”

I shrug. “I’m genuinely interested in hearing what it was like for you. My parents are still married but fought like crazy, and I hated it. What goes on impacts the kids, whether the parents want it to or not.”

She falls back against the sofa, and her blue, childlike eyes judge me. I sit straighter, hoping I pass whatever mental litmus test she’s conducting.

“My parents fought too. I think it’s better they got divorced. They cheated on each other. It was a mess.” She scrunches her lips and looks at me with guarded caution, like she’s not sure she should have shared.

“That sucks.”

“Are you going to think less of my dad because he cheated on my mom?”

“Honey, I am not one to judge. Ever.” She gives a slight nod. “How did you find out?”

“What?”

“About your parents. Cheating on each other,” I clarify. My guess is that the experience could not have been pleasant.

“I overheard my mom telling a friend on the phone. I think she was talking to Aunt Alex about it.”

“Alex? Ryan’s wife?” She nods again. “Relationships can be complicated.”

Sophia sucks on her lower lip, processing my statement.

She swallows, and when her gaze lifts, it’s clear she’s decided it doesn’t matter.

“I think whoever she was talking to was angry at her. And she was defensive. She said he had cheated on her for years.” She rests her head on the back of the sofa and closes her eyes.

“I saw her kiss Wayne. Once. That’s why I was listening in on her phone conversation. ”

“Have you ever told anyone? About your parents cheating.”

“No,” she answers immediately.

“Why?”

“Because it wouldn’t look right. People would judge. And gossip.”

“Did your mother not like gossip?”

“She hated it.” She raises her gaze to me. “Don’t you?”

“Everyone hates gossip, I suppose. But it’s important to realize that sometimes we need to talk about things.

Get things off our chest, you know? There’s research that shows that talking about our emotions helps.

Things can get bottled up, and they hurt when they are locked inside us, like a million knives, you know? ”

“Or weighted stones.”

“Right. There’s no wrong feeling. Talking about those feelings… it’s some of the best therapy there is.”

“Which is why you’re a therapist?”

“Well, I’m not really a practicing therapist.” She squints.

“I don’t think I’m the best at it. My preference is to help others by providing them a safe and productive environment to transition back to the real world.

” I think of Reid, and one of those heavy weights Sophia mentioned bores into me.

“When someone is in a bad place, it sucks.” My eyes glisten as the truth of my words circulates.

“But then there’s the recovery. And that sucks because, you know, there are all kinds of emotions and cravings and regrets and wishes, and they steamroll, and you have to figure out how to deal with all of that blending and mixing and hurting.

” My hands roll together, visually playing it out.

“And then there’s the transition back to real life.

That’s hard because you run into people who have expectations, and you don’t know what they know about what you’ve been through, and you don’t know if they’re judging or what they are thinking about you, and the reality is a lot of the times they probably aren’t even thinking about you at all, but you don’t know that.

And transitioning back is like starting over.

Yeah, you might know how to walk and eat, but there’s a lot of other stuff to learn all over again. ”

I look at Sophia, knowing she’s been putting off her transition, and I remind myself her transition will be a very different experience from mine.

“Transitions are tough. No matter what or who or why. It’s a day-by-day, and sometimes hour-by-hour kind of thing.

And I prefer to help people navigate the transition. ”

“But not with therapy?”

“Sometimes with therapy. But for those coming out of rehabilitation, there are some basic needs that really need to be met. A safe place to live, food.”

“The basics in Maslow’s hierarchy.” She uses the pillow in her lap like a drum. “We learned about it in school.”

“Exactly.”

“Before I met you, when Dad told me about you, he said you’d been through trauma.” Those blue eyes glisten in the hazy morning light. “That you’d been raped too.”

That’s something that’s not exactly on my resume. I’ve never known what Mark told his nephew that made him willing to introduce me to his daughter. But none of that matters.

“I have been.”

“What was that like?”

Jesus, Sophia, what was it like for you?

“Honestly, I don’t remember a lot. At the time, I was addicted to heroin.

I needed heroin so badly I would do anything for it, and I put myself in precarious situations.

” I had sex for drugs and money, but those are things Sophia doesn’t need to know.

“When I was strung out, like really strung out, a group of men raped me. I only remember little snippets. I might not know at all, except they also beat me, and I ended up in the hospital.”

“That’s like me.”

I almost miss what she said, she’s speaking so low. I get up and join her on the couch.

“Not the craving. Not that.” She blinks, and there’s a faraway look. “But I just see little flash frames. Like photographs of it happening. It’s blurry, and the edges of the photo are dark.”

“You were high when they raped you?” I place my hand over hers where she’s gripping her knees to her body. “It’s probably a good thing. You don’t have to—”

“How is that a good thing? I don’t remember all the men…or their faces.” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I don’t even remember losing my virginity.” Her lips quiver, and tears spill over and pour down her cheeks.

“Oh, honey. You’re still a virgin.”

“Don’t…” She looks up at me with a mix of anger and sadness that tears at me. “Don’t lie.”

“What is a virgin, Sophia? A woman with a bit of skin that hasn’t been broken?

Do you realize how many women rupture their hymen with tampons years before they have sex?

Or while riding a horse, or hell, doing anything?

The way I define virginity is when a woman willingly chooses to have sex with someone else.

You didn’t willingly have sex with those men. ”

Jesus. Men? How many men Sophia?

“They removed the choice from your hands. And when you choose to have sex with someone, it will be meaningful for both of you. And you will remember it. They didn’t take that away.”

She buries her head in the pillow, and her shoulders shake. I wrap my arm around her and wait. Moments pass, and her shoulders still. She lifts her head and sniffles.

“Lauren’s coming over today.”

That’s fantastic. She’s refused to see any of her friends. But I merely squeeze her shoulder and wait. She has more to unload.

“She’s going to know I’m not a virgin. And she’s going to ask me what sex is like.”

“Oh, honey. You know, you don’t have to tell her anything you don’t want to.”

“We tell each other everything.”

“But I honestly can’t imagine she will ask that. I would expect her to just be happy to see you again.” Her tearful eyes tell me I am na?ve. “But if she asks, a perfectly acceptable answer is that you aren’t ready to talk about it, or that you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not with Lauren.”

There are a number of ways I could deal with this, but I sit back, giving her space.

“At school, before the end of last year, there were two girls who had sex. Everyone knew. I mean, every single student knew. Within like a week. And now, everyone knows I had sex.”

Shit. She’s right. The news coverage didn’t shy away from covering the facts. And when her accused rapist was killed in prison, they rehashed everything.

“Everyone knows you were abducted and horrible things happened. There’s a difference.”

She leans her head back on the sofa and places her palms over her face. “I liked it.”

I lean forward again, straining to hear her.

“I liked it. You’re not supposed to like being raped.”

“Honey, you mean what they did felt good?”

Her lips scrunch together, and she curls over her knees, crossing her arms and burying her face against them.

“Honey, it might have been them, it might have been the drugs. Heroin loosens your inhibitions. And women, well, we’re equipped with body parts that enjoy stimulation.

But, honey, Sophia, I can’t stress this enough.

Your body reacted in one way. But it was still rape.

They violated you. And there is no reason to feel guilty for how your body responded. ”

“You said no emotion is wrong.”

“And that’s true. Guilt is probably a very natural and understandable emotion.

But that doesn’t mean you deserve to feel guilty.

Now, what happened to me? One could argue I made choices that put me in a dangerous place.

One could argue I even deserved what happened to me.

Some would argue that, but some would argue I am not at fault.

But let me tell you, Sophia. In no rational world was your abduction or rape your fault.

None of it. Sick men injected you with drugs.

Horrible men raped you against your will. None of that was your fault.”

“I hate them.” She raises her tear-streaked face.

“I hate them, too.”

And Jesus, it all becomes clear. She’s afraid of telling her friends she remembers it felt good. The thing is, it was probably the drugs more than the sick bastard fucking her.

By the end of our session, she’s pulled herself together.

I think she’s prepared to tell her best friend she doesn’t want to talk about it, but I still can’t imagine her friend will ask.

But I can’t convince her of that. Sometimes we build up others’ reactions in our minds, and the only solution is to face the fear.

She pauses at the doorway before leaving. “You never answered my question.”

“Which question?” My eyes sting from the emotion that welled up while holding Sophia, wishing so much that I could take her pain away.

“Are you and my dad seeing each other?”

My head shakes back and forth and my lips scrunch together. I don’t have an answer. I should. This is my fault. I should have discussed this with Jack.

She nods and heads down the hall. I close my eyelids, knowing deep down that I just fucked up. So, I call my best friend.

“Hey, you. Back in la-la land?” Patrick chuckles, and that familiar, deep, rhythmic sound lightens the weight against my chest. “So, Sophia suspects…or hell, she knows something is going on with her dad and me.”

“How’re you feeling about that?”

“Not too happy. She’s got so much shit going on, and she’s dealing with so fucking much. This whole situation is so fucked up.”

“There’s a lot fucking wrong with that fucking shit.” He’s joking.

“I’m not joking,” I blurt.

“Your abundant use of expletives makes that abundantly clear. Look, I don’t know what to tell you. Dating a Sullivan is some fucked up shit. My recommendation is that you complete your contract, return home, live your life, and do your damnedest to forget about all of them.”

That response doesn’t sound like Patrick at all. “What’s going on?”

“Just another day in la- la land.”

Shit . We’ve been down this path before. “Patrick. What did Mark do?”

“Oh. He didn’t do anything. Unless you count choosing to go through chemotherapy in Houston, away from his life partner. Because, you know, god forbid one of those self-righteous right-wing nut jobs see him with a Black gay man.”

“Mark has cancer?”

“He does. And he’s… he won’t even let me get near him as a friend. Even though he has straight men around him all the time. Says everyone will know.”

“That’s not fair. I wouldn’t know you’re gay just from looking at you.”

“Bullshit.” He sounds so resigned. And broken. What a fucking day.

“Fine. I’d suspect you might be gay. But only because of your muscles and because you dress… you know.”

“I dress to show off the goods. You can say it. It’s fine. But I know how to tone it down.”

“Does Jack know?”

“Mark doesn’t want anyone to worry. Planning to keep it private. He’s such a stubborn motherfucker.”

“Should I tell Jack? I think he’d want to know.”

“Sure. Tell him. I don’t like the idea of Mark going through chemo alone. No one should.”

“Jack knows about you and Mark.”

There’s a long pause.

“And?”

“He’s fine with it.”

“See? This is what I’m talking about. The people he cares about won’t give a damn that he’s gay.”

I think about Sophia and the fear she’s built up in her head. For very different reasons, admittedly, but fear is fear. And it’s all kinds of powerful.

“Patrick?”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetie pie.”

“I’m gonna tell Jack.”

“Mark’s gonna be madder than hell at me. But yeah, you tell him. His family needs to know. He’s stage two liver. His outlook isn’t horrible, but his family should be there for him.”