whose husband sexually harassed a teenage girl and then killed another teenage girl to keep her from talking. What kind of woman marries a man capable of that behavior? How could I not know? I have no answers. All I can think is that I was so busy keeping my own secrets—hiding my own shame—that I wasn’t really paying attention.
All my shame is on the outside now.
At first I felt like I wanted to hide under a rock. I told Morris Alcott to sell the house and use whatever he got for it for Harmon’s legal fees. He told me that Harmon had a good chance of getting off with only five to ten years for manslaughter: “He didn’t really do anything to the Fernandez girl and there’s nothing to prove that the Zeller girl’s death wasn’t an accident.”
I told him that he could address any further communication to me through the divorce lawyer I hired.
I rented a little two-bedroom bungalow down by the fishing docks for Rudy and me, but Rudy has been spending most of his time in the dorms. Jill’s doing a summer stock production of Carousel and Rudy’s playing the role of Billy Bigelow. I’m relieved he’s got something to keep him busy and glad that Jill’s chosen a lighter play for the summer.
“I may never do anything but musicals again,” she tells me when we finally get that drink in the third week of June. We meet at the Salty Dog, a waterfront bar full of tourists. “Perfect for the two town pariahs,” she says on her third gin and tonic.
“You just dated a sexual predator,” I say on my second, “I lived with one and married another.”
“Don’t forget I dated Harmon too,” she points out.
“I guess we both have terrible taste in men,” I say, clinking glasses with her. And then, when I’m on my third drink, I ask, “Did you suspect anything?”
“About which one?”
“Either.”
She considers. “Well, when you started dating Harmon I thought you were a little young for him, but that might have been me being petty. I did wonder why he was content to teach high school, because he’d been a little condescending to me about my doing it. I thought it had something to do with how the girls were so crazy about him.”
“They made him feel bigger,” I say. “I made him feel bigger. I was the fallen woman he rescued.”
“Yeah, men are like that, right? If they don’t think they can rescue you, they want to tear you down.”
“Not just men,” I say. “I did the same thing with Paola. I thought I was rescuing her from her impoverished background and instead I was introducing her to a predator.”
“And now you’re feeling sorry for yourself about it,” Jill says with a bit of the old venom in her voice.
I bristle, thinking of a stinging rejoinder, but instead take a sip of my drink and admit she’s right. “What else am I supposed to do? My blindness caused Lila’s death.”
“Stop being so blind, then,” Jill replies. “Open your eyes. Life keeps going. Rudy’s really great in this play. There will be a whole crew of new girls for you to teach in the fall.”
“I’m afraid I’ll feel like an imposter standing up in front of a class,” I say. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I should do something else.”
Jill shrugs. “That would be a shame. You’re a good teacher. To tell you the truth, I think that’s why I didn’t like you. I was jealous.”
I laugh. “I bet you’re over that now.”
“Well,” Jill says with a sly smile, “you’re a little easier to take now. You seem a little humbler.”
“Oh? And what was I before?”
“A little smug,” Jill replies, without a smile this time. “In your big house with your rich husband.”
I start to tell her she’s wrong, that I was terrified all those years in that house, but then I realize that’s what scared looks like on the outside when you’re hiding so much shame on the inside. Paola was right: shame eats you up when you have to keep it hidden. Now at least I have nothing to fear.
Or maybe that’s the three gin and tonics talking.
I switch to plain tonic water and offer to walk Jill home, but she says she’s going to stay awhile. I follow her gaze to the bar where I recognize Brad Sorensen, sunburned and fit-looking. “Oh,” I say, “how long has that been going on?”