Indelible (7 page)

Sara stared at the floor, willing herself not to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.

Cathy continued. “Mason James.”

“Mama.”

“That's two men.”

“You're forgetting the last one,” Sara reminded her, feeling a tinge of regret as she saw her mother's expression darken.

Cathy folded Sara's pajama bottoms. She asked very softly, “Does Jeffrey know you were raped?”

Sara moderated her tone, trying to be gentle. “It hasn't exactly come up in our conversations.”

“What did you tell him when he asked why you left Atlanta?”

“Nothing,” she said, leaving out the fact that Jeffrey had not pressed for details.

Cathy smoothed the pajamas. She turned around for something else to put to order, but she had already folded or refolded everything on the bed. “You should never be ashamed about what happened to you, Sara.”

Sara shrugged noncommittally as she stood to get her suitcase. She wasn't ashamed, exactly, just sick to death of people treating her differently because of it—especially her mother. Sara could take the concerned looks and the awkward pauses from the handful of people who knew why she had really moved back to Grant County, but her strained relationship with her mother was almost too much to bear.

Sara opened the case and started to pack. “I'll tell him when it's time. If it's ever time.” She shrugged again. “Maybe it'll never be time.”

“You can't expect to have a solid relationship if it's founded on secrets.”

“It's not a secret,” she countered. “It's just private. It's something that happened to me, and I'm tired of . . .” She did not finish the sentence, because talking about the rape with her mother was not a conversation she was ready to have. “Can you hand me that cotton top?”

Cathy gave the shirt a look of disapproval before handing it over. “I've seen too many women fight to get to where you are and give it all up in a minute for some man that ends up leaving them in a couple of years anyway.”

“I'm not going to give up my career for Jeffrey.” She gave a rueful laugh. “And it's not like I can get pregnant and stay home raising babies.”

Cathy absorbed the remark with little more than a frown. “It's not that, Sara.”

“Then what is it, Mama? What is it you're so worried about? What could any man possibly do to me that's worse than what's already happened?”

Cathy looked down at her hands. She never cried, but she could go silent in a way that broke Sara's heart.

Sara sat on the bed beside her mother. “I'm sorry,” she said, thinking that she had never been so sick of having to apologize to people in her life. She felt such guilt for bringing this on her otherwise perfect family that sometimes Sara felt like it would be better for her to just go away and leave them to heal on their own.

Cathy said, “I don't want you to give up your
self.
”

Sara held her breath. Her mother had never come this close to voicing her true fears. Sara knew better than anyone how easy it would be to just give in.
After the rape, all Sara had been able to do was lie in bed and cry. She had not wanted to be a doctor, a sister, or even a daughter. Two months passed, and Cathy had pleaded and cajoled, then physically pushed Sara out of bed. As she had done a hundred times when Sara was a child, Cathy had driven her to the children's clinic, where this time Dr. Barney had made things better by giving Sara a job. A year later, Sara had taken a second job as county coroner in order to buy out Dr. Barney's practice. For the last two and a half years, she had struggled to rebuild her life in Grant, and Cathy was terrified Sara would lose all of that for Jeffrey.

Sara stood up and walked to her dresser. “Mama . . .”

“I worry about you.”

“I'm better now,” Sara said, though she did not think she would ever be fully whole again. There would always be the before and after, no matter how many years distanced her from what had happened. “I don't need you to look after me, or try to toughen me up. I'm stronger now. I'm ready for this.”

Cathy threw her hands up. “He's just having fun. That's all this is to him—fun.”

Sara opened several drawers, looking for her swimsuit. She said, “Maybe that's all it is for me, too. Maybe I'm just having a good time.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“I wish you could, too,” Sara told her. “Because it's true.”

“I don't know, baby. You have such a gentle heart.”

“It's not that gentle anymore.”

“What happened to you in Atlanta doesn't change who you are.”

Sara shrugged, tucking her swimsuit into the case. It was how other people had changed that made what happened even more horrible. Sara was angry as hell that she had been raped, and livid that the animal who had attacked her could, and probably would, get out of jail in a few years with good behavior. She was pissed off that her whole life had been turned upside down, that she'd had to resign her internship at Grady Hospital, the job she had worked toward her entire life, because everyone in the ER treated her like broken china. The attending who had worked on Sara could no longer look her in the eye, and her fellow students wouldn't joke with her for fear of saying the wrong thing. Even the nurses treated her with kid gloves, as if being raped made Sara some sort of martyr.

Cathy said, “Is that all I get? That look from you that says you don't want to talk about it?”

“I
don't
want to talk about it,” Sara told her, exasperated. “I don't want to talk about anything serious. I'm tired of being serious.” She tugged at the zipper on the suitcase. “I'm tired of being the smartest girl in the class. I'm tired of being too tall for the cute boys. I'm tired of dating men who are worried about my feelings and wanna take it slow and be gentle and
process
what we're doing and
plan
our future together and treat me like I'm some delicate flower and—”

“Mason James is a very sweet boy.”

“That's the point, Mama. He's a boy. I'm sick of
boys. I'm sick of people walking on eggshells around me, trying to protect my feelings. I want somebody to shake things up. I want to have fun.” Without thinking, she said, “I want to fuck around.”

Cathy gasped—not because she had never heard the word before, but because she had never heard it from Sara. Sara could think of only a few occasions when she had used the expletive, but never in front of her mother.

All Cathy said was, “Language, please.”

“You don't mind when Tessa says it.”

Cathy wrinkled her nose at the logic. “Tessa says it like she means it, not like she's trying to shock her mother.”

“I say it all the time,” Sara lied.

“Do your cheeks always get that red when you do?”

Sara felt her cheeks go redder.

“From here,” Cathy coached, pressing her hand below her diaphragm. She gestured broadly with her other hand, singing an operatic “Fuck.”

“Mother!”

“If you're going to say it, say it with gusto.”

“I don't need you to tell me how to say it,” Sara snapped, and when Cathy laughed in her face, she added a mumbled “Or how to do it.”

Cathy laughed harder. “I suppose you know all about it now?”

Sara jerked the suitcase off her bed. “Let's just say some of that expertise rubbed off.”

“Oh-ho-ho,” Cathy chuckled appreciatively.

Sara tucked her hands into her hips. “We do it all the time.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Night and day.”

“And day?” Cathy laughed again, sitting back on the bed. “Scandalous!”

“It's not like I'm seeing him for the scintillating conversation,” Sara bragged. “I don't even know if he went to college.”

From the doorway, Tessa said, “Sara?”

“As a matter of fact,” Sara continued, wanting more than anything to take the smug look off her mother's face, “I'm fairly certain he's not even that smart.”

Cathy smiled like she knew better. “That so?”

Tessa tried again. “Sara?”

“Yes, that's so, and you know what? I don't even care. He's probably stupid as a box of hair and I don't give a rat's ass. It's not like I'm dating him for his mind.”

Tessa said, “For chrissake, Sara. Just shut up and turn around.”

She did as she was told, regret taking hold like a fever.

Jeffrey was leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. There was a half-smile on his lips that did not quite reach his eyes as he nodded toward her suitcase. “Ready to go?”

A
gentle mist of rain met them as they drove out of Grant County, and Sara watched the wipers sluice water off the windshield at steady intervals, trying to think of something to say. With each pass, she told herself she was going to break the silence, but the next thing she knew, the wipers were swiping
across the glass again and nothing had been said. She stared out the side window, counting cows, then goats, then billboards. The closer they got to Macon, the higher the number got, so that by the time they took the bypass, Sara had reached triple digits.

Jeffrey shifted gears, passing an eighteen-wheeler. He had not spoken since they left Grant, and he chose to break the ice with “Car handles well.”

“Yes,” Sara agreed, so glad he was talking to her that she could have cried. Thank God they had taken her car instead of his truck or there was no telling how long the silence would have lasted. To keep the conversation going, she said, “German engineering.”

“I guess it's true what they say about doctors driving BMWs.”

“My dad bought it for me when I got into medical school.”

“Nice dad,” he said, pausing before he added, “Your mom seems nice, too.”

Sara cleared her throat, unable to recall any of the apologies she had been rehearsing in her mind for the last hour. “I would have preferred for you to meet her under different circumstances.”

“I never expected to meet her at all.”

“Oh, right,” she said, flustered. “I didn't mean—”

“I'm glad we got to meet.”

Sara nodded, thinking that the fewer times she opened her mouth, the less likely she was to put her foot in it.

“Your sister's cute.”

“Yes,” she agreed, knowing a lesser person would hate her sister by now. Sara had been hearing the same thing all her life. Tessa was the cute one, the
funny one, the cheerleader, the one everyone wanted to be friends with. Sara was the tall one. On a good day, she was the tall redheaded one.

Before Sara could phrase something more elegant, she blurted out, “I'm so sorry about what I said.”

“That's okay,” he told her, but she could tell from his tone that it was not. Why he had still wanted her to go to Florida with him was anyone's guess. If Sara had any self-respect, she would have let him leave without her. The forced smile he had kept on his face as he loaded her bags into the trunk could have cut glass.

“I was just trying to . . .” She shook her head. “I don't know what I was trying to do. Make an idiot of myself?”

“You did a good job.”

“It's part of my personality to want to excel in everything I do.”

He did not smile.

She tried again. “I don't think you're stupid.”

“As a box of hair.”

“What?”

“You said ‘stupid as a box of hair.'”

“Oh. Well.” She laughed once, like a seal's bark. “That doesn't even make sense.”

“But it's good to know you don't really think that.” He glanced behind him and passed a church van. Sara stared at his hand on the shift, watching the tendons work as he passed the cars. His fingers gripped the shaft, his thumb tapping lightly on the knob.

“By the way,” he told her. “I
did
go to college.”

“Really?” she asked, unable to check her surprised tone. She made it worse by saying, “Well, good. Good for you.”

Jeffrey gave her a sharp glance.

“I mean, that's good as in . . . well . . . because it's . . .” She laughed at her own ineptitude, putting her hand over her mouth as she mumbled, “Oh, God, Sara, shut up. Shut up.”

She thought he smiled, but wasn't certain. She dared to ask, “Exactly how much did you hear?”

“Something about me rubbing off on you?”

She tried, “I meant it in the good way.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Just FYI, I've heard you say that word before.” This time, he showed his teeth when he smiled. “Well, not say it. More like scream it.”

Sara bit the tip of her tongue, watching the passing scenery.

He said, “It's good your mama worries about you.”

“Sometimes.”

“Y'all are pretty close, right?”

“I suppose,” Sara answered, knowing there was more to it than that.

He asked, “Did you tell her I passed the test?”

“Of course not,” Sara answered, surprised he had even asked. “That's private.”

He nodded his approval, keeping his eyes on the road.

Their second date had ended with a kiss at the door and Sara asking Jeffrey to get tested for HIV. Granted, the request was a little late in coming—their frenzied first time hadn't exactly stopped for a frank discussion about the prevention of sexually
transmitted diseases—but Sara had picked up on Jeffrey's reputation well before the news had hit the Shop-o-rama. For his part, Jeffrey had seemed only slightly insulted when she asked him for a blood sample.

She said, “I saw so many cases at Grady. So many women my age who never thought it could happen to them.”

“You don't have to explain it to me.”

“Hare's lover died of AIDS last year.”

His foot slipped off the gas pedal. “Your cousin's gay?”

“Of course.”