she typed the fellow’s name into the computer. Three different possibilities came up, but with only a few keystrokes, Emma found the Dallas who had gone to school at the same college that she did. His obituary said that he had died five years ago during a robbery in an illegal gambling establishment owned by one Terrance Farnsby. Just a little more research and they found out that Terrance had been sentenced to five years in prison and had died six months before his term was up.
“I hope they didn’t do that to any other girls, but thank God I didn’t kill anyone,” Emma sighed. “But it was so real in the dream.”
“Since that part isn’t real, is there a possibility that the rest isn’t?” Sophie asked.
“No, that’s what happened,” Emma answered. “I remember the details now—the satin sheets, the pain, and all of it. Now that I’m thinking rationally, Mother would have said I was stupid and irresponsible to get myself in that situation, and then she would have asked me if I’d been leading them on by wearing inappropriate clothes.”
“Nothing could make me madder or sadder or . . .” Sophie’s voice cracked. “Or make me want to shoot someone myself than thinking about what was done to you. You trusted your friend, and he betrayed you. The first time you went to a guy’s apartment, he molests you. You don’t trust your mother enough to tell her what happened. I’m so sorry this happened to you, but I’m most sorry that I wasn’t there to help you through this.” The waterworks turned loose, and Sophie sobbed. “No woman or girl should ever have to endure something so horrible. Please remember, none of this is your fault.”
“My mind is reeling.” Emma grabbed Sophie in a fierce hug. “All these years and now I find out that I’m really, really damaged goods. Even if I could ever be”—she wiped her eyes—“in a relationship, who would have me? Please don’t tell the others. I couldn’t bear the sympathy right now. I need to sit on this for a while before we tell anyone else, not even Rebel.”
“Whatever you need, I’m here. We can talk. We can take walks. Whatever you want to get through all this. It won’t be easy.” Sophie hugged Emma again. “It’s up to you when we tell other people, if we ever do.”
“I blamed myself.” Emma wiped her wet cheeks on her shirtsleeve and then buried her face in Sophie’s shoulder. “Even in the hospital before I ran away, I knew I was at fault. I shouldn’t have gone. I shouldn’t have had any of the champagne. No one would ever have believed me if I had told. He was the big shot on the football team. So I made myself believe that it didn’t happen. Do you think the nightmares will ever stop?”
Sophie hugged her even tighter. “Like I said before, and I’ll say every day from now on, none of this is your fault. Remember that most of all. Hopefully, in time the dreams will stop.”
“Do you really think that’s even possible?” Emma’s chin quivered.
“Yes, I do. You will find your strength, Em, right here away from everything and everyone in your past except me. I love you like a sister. And the other three folks here—well, they already care about you, so you’re among friends. If you want to throw stuff or scream or curl up in a ball and cry, I’m right here for you,” Sophie said.
“Look at us.” Emma tried to smile. “We look like we did that last day when we knew we wouldn’t see each other again. We both cried, and after Rebel left with you, I curled up in a ball in my bed and wept until there were no more tears.”
“Tears wash our souls,” Sophie told her as she stood up and went to the kitchen.
“Tears on the outside fall to the ground and are slowly washed away. Tears on the inside fall on the soul and stay and stay and stay,” Emma whispered. “I’m glad you are sharing this soul cleansing with me.”
“Who said that?” Sophie opened the refrigerator and brought out a quart of strawberry yogurt.
“It was a framed quote on one of my many therapists’ walls. I have no idea who said it.” Emma took the last paper towel on the roll and wiped her swollen eyes. “I thought friends cured their emotional pain with ice cream.”