of her and he’s so heavy and she can’t get him off, and she feels really helpless and wants him to stop since she’s never done this before, but by then she’s so dizzy she can barely talk and can’t call for help, and he probably would have had his way with her except that another couple who was staying in the room happened to show up, and she staggers out of the room crying and holding her dress. Somehow she finds her way to the lobby bathroom and keeps crying there, and other girls she’d traveled to the formal with come in and see the smeared mascara and torn dress and instead of being supportive, they laugh at her, acting like she should have known what was coming and got what she deserved. Finally she ends up calling a friend who hopped in his car and drove out there to pick her up, and he was smart enough not to ask any questions the whole way back.”
By the time she finished, I was rigid with anger. I’m no saint with women, but I’ve never once in my life considered forcing a woman to do something she rather wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could muster.
“You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do it.”
“I know. But I don’t know what else to say. Unless . . .” I trailed off, and after a moment she turned to me. I could see the tears running down her cheeks, and the fact that she’d been crying so silently made me ache.
“Unless what?”
“Unless you want me to . . . I don’t know. Beat the crap out of him?”
She gave me a sad little laugh. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do just that.”
“I will,” I said. “Just give me a name, but I promise to leave you out of it. I’ll do the rest.”
She squeezed my hand. “I know you would.”
“I’m serious,” I said.
She gave a wan smile, looking simultaneously world-weary and painfully young. “That’s why I won’t tell you. But believe me, I’m touched. That’s sweet of you.”
I liked the way she said it, and we sat together, hands clasped tightly. The rain had finally stopped, and in its place I could hear the sounds of the radio next door again. I didn’t know the song, but I recognized it as something from the early jazz era. One of the guys in my unit was a fanatic about jazz.
“But anyway,” she went on, “that’s what I meant when I said it wasn’t always easy my freshman year. And it was the reason I wanted to quit school. My parents, bless their hearts, thought that I was homesick, so they made me stay. But . . . as bad as it was, I learned something about myself. That I could go through something like that and survive. I mean, I know it could have been worse—a lot worse—but for me, it was all I could have handled at the time. And I learned from it.”
When she finished, I found myself remembering something she’d said. “Was Tim the one who brought you back from the hotel that night?”
She looked up, startled.
“Who else would you call?” I said by way of explanation.
She nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. And he was great. To this day, he hasn’t asked about the specifics, and I haven’t told him. But since then he’s been a little protective, and I can’t say that I mind.”
In the silence, I thought about the courage she had shown, not only that night, but afterward. Had she not told me, I would never have suspected anything bad had ever happened to her. I marveled that despite what happened, she had managed to hold on to her optimistic view of the world.
“I promise to be a perfect gentleman,” I said.
She turned to me. “What are you talking about?”
“Tonight. Tomorrow night. Whenever. I’m not like that guy.”
She traced a finger along my jaw, and I felt my skin tingle beneath her touch. “I know,” she said, sounding amused. “Why do you think I’m here with you now?”
Her voice was so tender, and again, I suppressed the urge to kiss her. It wasn’t what she needed, not now, even though it was difficult to think of anything else.
“Do you know what Susan said after that first night? Once you left and I went back to the group?”
I waited.
“She said you looked scary. Like you were the last person on earth she