Later that night, my father entered my room and sat on the edge of my bed. I was cocooned under my covers, and my face remained in my pillow. My father’s hand rested gently on my back. “I just got home, Chloe.”
I said nothing, swallowing back the impulse to cry.
“I’m so sorry,” he offered.
“S’ okay,” I managed.
“Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if I had been around more. Your mother doesn’t always—” His voice broke off before the full accusation left his lips. He exhaled loudly, his hand circling my back. “Anyway, Mr. Dixon will be over tomorrow to ask you some questions.”
“Great,” I muttered.
My father’s voice was softer now. “It’ll be okay, Chloe. Just try to get some rest.” He rose from my bed. “I love you, Sweetheart. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, wondering if he would still love me if he knew the whole story.
-32-
The Ending
The following afternoon Mr. Dixon showed up at my house. The four of us congregated in the living room: my parents sat on either side of me on the couch, and Mr. Dixon took a wing chair across from us. He leaned forward, resuming the detective role. “I already took a statement from Austin, and now, I need one from you.”
I shrugged. “I’m sure he told you everything.”
“Not really.” He paused. “Why was he taking you into the woods?”
“I don’t know.”
He fired another question at me. “Why were you screaming?”
“I was hurt.”
“And then the pain miraculously went away?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Why are you covering for him?”
“I’m not.”
“What are you afraid of, Chloe?”
“Nothing,” I returned emphatically.
“Then why won’t you tell me what happened?”
“I did.” I looked up at my father. “Can I go now…please?”
“No, sweetheart,” my father returned with a few successive pats on my thigh, but I wanted to push off the seat and escape from the room. I wanted to run out the front door and never look back.
“Listen, Chloe.” Mr. Dixon rested on his elbows. “I spoke with Rob yesterday because I know you two were…” I hated hearing about us in the past tense, and my eyes welled quickly with tears. I brushed them with the back of my hand as Mr. Dixon continued, “And he would be willing to make a statement on your behalf, but he wanted me to talk to you first…to give you a chance to tell your side of the story.”
I sniffed audibly, wishing I had never told Rob anything. How hard would it have been to pretend it didn’t happen? Now, I had lost everything, since I had told the truth. Rob never cared about how the truth would affect me; he just cared about upholding his principles. And at that moment, I felt a sharp pang, just thinking how he loved integrity more than he loved me, and how he would still be revered in my parents’ eyes. Anger rose up in me, and I felt such a strong hatred for him. And I wondered how it all turned out this way.
“Okay, fine,” I started, the anger coaxing me to continue. “It all started on that Saturday when everyone went on the bike trip, and I went over to Courtney’s house—”
“Wow, you mean you were actually where you said you were,” my mother interjected, but my father snapped back, “Oh, just let her talk, Liz.”
“So anyway, I was over at Courtney’s when Austin showed up.” The night played in my head as I spoke, “At first, we were all just hanging out, talking and stuff, but then I started to feel really tired and…” I looked down, losing momentum.
Mr. Dixon spoke next. “Were you drinking?”
“No, I just had one,” I defended. “That’s all.”
My mother heaved a sigh of disappointment.
“What happened next?” Mr. Dixon prompted.
I copped out. “I don’t remember.”
“And why not?”
I couldn’t come up with a good lie. “Because I just don’t.” I dropped my face into my hands, frustrated.
“But Rob knows, right?”
“No,” I said angrily, wishing he didn’t keep playing the “Rob” card. “He doesn’t know everything.” The only person who knew everything was Austin, but he was the last person who would ever tell it.
“Okay,” my mother wondered. “What exactly happened that night? And what does this have to do with yesterday…on the trail?”
No one answered her, exactly. I offered more tears, and Mr. Dixon sat back in his chair like he already knew the rest of the story. It was on his face, and he wore a look of compassion as his eyes traveled from my mother and then back to me. Maybe it was his detective nature that enabled him to complete a puzzle with so many missing pieces. Or maybe my story wasn’t any different from other victims, since rape was something so horrible, so humiliating, that a girl would hide it from everyone. The only person she would tell was her boyfriend, since his touch, no matter how gentle and loving, would catapult her back to that exact moment. Yet, when she told him, it would probably rip them apart, and no matter how hard they tried, they might never get past it.
“Chloe,” Mr. Dixon addressed with a gentle voice. “I think I know what happened that night, and I also know what would have happened on the trail had we not shown up. But do you think you can tell your parents now?”
“No,” I said softly, staring at my folded hands.
My father hung an arm around my shoulders, and my mother uttered two of the greatest clichés in parental history. “You know you can tell us anything, and we’ll still love you no matter what.”
But I knew my parents would look at me differently, treat me differently, as soon as I told them the truth. I was holding on to their untarnished view of me for as long as possible since I didn’t want to disappoint them.
Then my father drew me into his chest. I could smell his cologne and feel the softness of his T-shirt against my face. At first, he said nothing. He just took a few deep breaths, each inhale and exhale so deep and rhythmic it rocked me back and forth, and then he squeezed me tightly. “This whole time I kept hoping—no, praying—for another answer, but I know what he did to you.” My father sniffed back the tears. “He had his way with you, didn’t he?” I nodded meekly. It was easier to tell the truth from inside my father’s arms.
I heard my mother’s gasp, and it was all out in the open. As the truth filled the room, I did not feel relieved; instead, I felt cold, frightfully cold, like a person experiencing the chills of death. It was suffocating, actually, and then I closed my eyes, picturing myself running through the woods behind my house and leaping across the river. I kept going, running faster and faster, creating a path to a safe unknown.
****