How does one respond to this? Saying sorry doesn’t seem like enough. I’d hug her if I could reach her from across the table. But Roxy doesn’t wait for me to respond.
“I never told anyone except my best friend, Miranda. For years, I walked around not wanting to look pretty. I wore sweats and got a job as a day shift waitress. One night, I don’t know why, Miranda picked me up telling me we were going to a movie. We ended up at the support group. She told me she was tired of watching me hide from my life. I was against it, but after she had refused to drive me home unless I went in, so I gave up.” She pauses and sips her coffee. “Listening to other people’s stories, what they went through, made me feel not so alone. I noticed Blake, even though he always led the group, never spoke. He never told his story. After a meeting one night, he asked me to stay and asked why I hadn’t told my story. I told him I wasn’t ready to share it with the group yet. I just wasn’t.
“What if you shared it with me? Right now?” he’d asked.
“If you share yours first,” I’d responded.
“That night we stayed two hours late, and he shared his horrible experience, then I shared mine,” Roxy states. “That night, your husband saved my life.”
Lexi finds my hand under the table and squeezes my leg. I find pride in Blake, helping this woman, but there’s hurt there, too. Why was it he could share this with her, but not me, his wife?
“The last time he saw me,” Roxy says, quietly, “he gave me Connor’s information and told me to write him. He said Connor needed as many friends as he could get, and I was a good friend.” She smiles as her gaze glosses over. “I came to the funeral, but having never met you I knew it wasn’t a good time to introduce myself. There were so many people there, you probably didn’t notice me.”
She’s right. I didn’t, which I find odd because Roxy is the kind of woman that stands out in a room. She’s too beautiful not to be recognized. But I was an emotional wreck, and I guess she slipped under my radar.
“I know . . .” she hesitates. “I know you may feel hurt that Blake didn’t share this with you. Rape and molestation are hard, and there’s a shame that buries itself inside of you. It never really leaves,” she explains with a sigh as she wipes under her eyes. “You feel . . . dirty, tainted. Unworthy. Of course, I know feeling those things are ridiculous. I’m not those things, but I still feel it, and I have to fight that negative thinking on a daily basis. I think Blake liked that you saw the good. Maybe your love fought all of those feelings inside of him. Maybe he was afraid if he told you it would somehow change or dim that. All I know is, Demi,” she pauses with a smile, “he loved you so much. I remember when he told me he’d been on a date with this amazing girl. You made him very happy.”
Lexi squeezes my leg under the table again, and when I look at her, she smiles sadly. I have no idea what to say or how to feel about these revelations. I need time to process it all. And quite a few questions are swirling through my mind, but frankly, Roxy can’t answer them. They’re all questions for Blake. And Blake can’t answer them either.
“What did Connor tell you when he called you last night?” I ask, deciding to focus on the here and now. I’ll think about my late husband’s secrets later. Right now, Connor needs my help, even if he doesn’t want it.
“We were supposed to meet. He called to tell me he couldn’t make it. When I asked why, he said he’d been arrested. Then he hung up.”
It’s so sad that it makes me feel a little better that he cut her off too. I know how pathetic I am for feeling that way. “So how’d you find out about the bail hearing?”
“A friend of mine works admin for the Sheriff’s department. I called her, and she got me the details. I came by your house first, but you weren’t home.”
“And you told Jim Burgess about the support group?”
“Yes,” she admits, with a nod. “I don’t think Connor would have wanted anyone to know, but I thought it might help. I decided to wait outside because I didn’t want to see him mad at me. Does the lawyer think he can get him off of these charges?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “He won’t tell me what Connor is saying.”
Reaching across the table, Roxy takes my hand and squeezes. “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know. Connor is a great man. If he did do it,” she pauses and shakes her head, “there was a good reason for it. I know it.”
Lexi tosses a twenty on the table and slides out of the booth. “We need to go Demi,” she says. “You need a shower, and we need to be ready when Jim calls and says Connor is being released.”
Looking to Roxy, who is still holding my hand, I say, “Thank you for telling me . . . everything.”
“I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you,” she replies. “I hope you won’t be mad at Blake. Shame makes us do stupid things sometimes.”
I nod once. I’m not sure how to feel about Blake’s secret. Maybe I’m feeling too many other things to focus on it right now. All I know is, Connor needs my help, and he’s getting it whether he wants it or not.
It’s five in the evening before I’m allowed to sign Connor out. When he sees me waiting for him, his mouth flattens, and he shakes his head. Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for. The day matches our mood; dreary. I feel like I haven’t seen the sun in years.
Connor stares out the window as the rain pelts against my car, the wipers swishing on high speed. The windows are beginning to fog, but I’m still able to see after wiping the glass with my hand. The ride home is silent. He hasn’t spoken a word to me—not one word.
Finally, we make it home, and as I park the car and switch off the ignition, he turns his head and stares straight ahead at the garage.
“How’s your head?” he asks, gruffly.
I try to tame my sigh of relief. He’s talking to me. That’s something at least. “A little tender, but better,” I answer him.
“Where’d you get the money?” His words are tight, his voice deep. Clearly he’s unhappy that I’ve bailed him out—as I knew he would be. But I don’t care.
“I took it out of my savings.” I only had to put down 25,000 to bail Connor out, but if he were to run, I’d be stuck with paying the total 250,000.
“And what if I take off? Disappear?”
“You wouldn’t do that,” I affirm.
“But what if I did?” he persists. “You’d be stuck paying 250,000 dollars.”
“Then I’d put the house up to cover it,” I answer simply and unapologetically as I begin digging through my purse. I don’t need a thing out of it, but it’s a distraction—I can’t look at him. But Connor isn’t having any of that. When he grabs my arm, stopping me, I look up and meet his hard gaze.
“You shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t ask you to do that.”
Hurt and anger surge through me. “I didn’t need your permission,” I snap. “I know you’re innocent, and I’d spend every last dime I have to help you.” The admission came easily. I don’t think until I said it that even I realized the lengths to which I’d go to protect Connor.
His chest rises and falls once with a deep inhale. “You really don’t remember anything?”
“I don’t understand why. It’s just a big blank spot in my memory. One minute I was walking across the street and the next I was sitting in the ambulance.” I look at him, my eyes pleading. “What happened Connor?”
“You really don’t remember?” he asks, dumbfounded.
“I swear, I don’t. You don’t believe me?”
His gaze softens. “It’s better you don’t remember.”
“Please tell me,” I beg.
He doesn’t answer my request. Instead, he pivots. “You shouldn’t have wasted your money.”