“Bartholemew,” Moss read aloud. “I used to have a babysitter named Holly Bartholemew. I think I was around nine or ten.”
“My daughter.”
“No kidding? Does she still live around here?” Mike hesitated. “Not anymore.”
Moss stuffed the business card in his pocket. “Tell her I said hi the next time you see her.” He gave the detective a half wave and then walked out.
“I will,” Mike said, as his voice unraveled like lace. ^|
* * *
Daniel opened the door to find Janice, the sexual assault advocate, on the other side. “Oh, I didn't know Trixie made plans to see you.”
“She didn't,” Janice replied. “Can I speak to you and Laura for a second?”
“Lauras at the college,” he said, just as Trixie poked her head over the railing from upstairs. Before, Trixie would not have hung back like that; she would have bounded down like lightning, certain that the visitor was for her.
“Trixie,” Janice said, spotting her. “I need to tell you something you're not going to like.”
Trixie came downstairs, sidling up beside Daniel, the way she used to do when she was tiny and saw something frightening.
“The defense attorney representing Jason Underhill has subpoenaed the records of my conversations with Trixie.” Daniel shook his head. "I don't understand. Isn't that a violation
of privacy?"
“Only when you're talking about the defendant. Unfortunately, if you're the victim of a crime, it's a different story. You can wind up with your diary as evidence, or the transcripts of your psychiatric sessions.” She looked at Trixie. “Or your discussions with a rape crisis counselor.”
Daniel had no idea what went on during the times Janice had met with Trixie, but beside him, his daughter was shaking. “You can't turn over the records,” she said.
“If we don't, our director will be sent to jail,” Janice explained.
“I'll do it,” Daniel said. “I'll go to jail in her place.”
“The court won't accept that. Believe me, you're not the first father to volunteer.”
You're not the first. Daniel slowly put the words together.
“This happened before?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Janice admitted.
“You said what I told you didn't leave that room!” Trixie cried. “You said you'd help me. How is this supposed to help me?” As Trixie flew up the stairs, Janice started after her. “Let me go talk to her.”
Daniel stepped forward, blocking her way. “Thanks,” he said. But I think you've done enough."
* * *
The law says that Jason Underhill has the right to mount a defense, Detective Bartholemew explained on the phone. The law says that a victim's credibility can be questioned. And with all due respect, he added, your daughter already has some credibility issues.
She was involved with this boy beforehand.
She was drinking.
She's made some inconsistent statements.
Daniel's response: Like what?
Now that he'd finished talking to the detective, Daniel felt numb. He walked upstairs and opened Trixie's bedroom door. She lay on her bed, facing away from him.
The Tenth Circle
“Trixie,” he said as evenly as he could. “Were you really a virgin?”
She went still. “What, now you don't believe me either?”
“You lied to the police.”
Trixie rolled over, stricken. “You're going to listen to some stupid detective instead of . . .”
“What were you thinking?” Daniel exploded. Trixie sat up, taken aback. “What were you thinking?” she cried. “You knew. You had to know what was going on.” Daniel thought of the times he had watched Trixie pull up in Jason's car after a date, when he had moved away from the window He'd told himself it was for her privacy, but was that true? Had he really turned a blind eye because he couldn't bear to see that boy's face close to his daughter's, to see his hand graze the bottom of Trixie's breast?
He'd seen towels in the wash smeared with heavy eye makeup he couldn't remember Trixie wearing out of the house. He'd kept silent when he heard Laura complain because her favorite pair of heels or shirt or lipstick had gone missing, only to find them underneath Trixie's bed. He'd pretended not to notice how Trixie's clothes fit tighter these days, how her stride shimmered with confidence.
Trixie was right. Just because a person didn't admit that something had changed didn't mean it hadn't happened. Maybe Trixie had screwed up ... but so had he.
“I knew,” he said, stunned to speak the words aloud. “I just didn't want to.”
Daniel looked at his daughter. There were still traces of Trixie as a stubborn little girl - in the curve of her chin when her jaw clenched, in the dusky length of her lashes, in her much-maligned freckles. She wasn't all gone, not yet. As he pulled Trixie into his arms and felt her unspool, Daniel understood: The law was not going to protect his daughter, which meant that he had to.
“I couldn't tell them,” Trixie sobbed. “You were standing right there.”
That was when Daniel remembered: When the doctor asked Trixie if she'd ever had intercourse before, he'd still been in the examination room.
Her voice was small, the truth curled tight as a snail. "I didn't want you to be mad at me. And I thought if I told the doctor that Jason and I had already done it, she wouldn't believe I got raped. But it could still happen, couldn't it, Daddy? Just because I said yes before doesn't mean I couldn't say no this time
. . . ? " She convulsed against him, crying hard. You signed no contract to become a parent, but the
responsibilities were written in invisible ink. There was a point when you had to support your child, even if no one else would. It was your job to rebuild the bridge, even if your child was the one who burned it in the first place. So maybe Trixie had danced around the truth. Maybe she had been drinking. Maybe she had been flirting at the party. But if Trixie said she had been raped, then Daniel would swear by it.
“Baby,” he said, “I believe you.”
* * *
A few mornings later, when Daniel was out at the dump, Laura heard the doorbell ring. But by the time she reached the hallway to answer
it, Trixie was already there. She stood in her flannel pajama bottoms and T-shirt, staring at a man standing on the porch. Seth was wearing work boots and a fleece vest and looked as if he hadn't slept in several days. He was looking at Trixie with confusion, as if he couldn't quite place her. When he saw Laura approach, he immediately started to speak. “I've got to talk to you,” he began, but she cut him off.
She touched Trixie's shoulder. “Go upstairs,” she said firmly, and Trixie bolted like a rabbit. Then Laura turned to Seth again.
“I cannot believe you had the nerve to come to my house.”
“There's something you need to know . . .”
“I know that I can't see you anymore,” Laura said. She was shaking, partly with fear, partly because of Seth's proximity. It had been easier to convince herself that this was over when he wasn't standing in front of her. “Don't do this to me,” she whispered, and she closed the door.
Laura rested against it for a second, eyes closed. What if Daniel had not been at the dump, if he'd opened the door, instead of Trixie? Would he have recognized Seth on sight, simply by the way his face changed when he looked at Laura? Would he have gone for Seth's throat?
If they'd fought, she'd have sided with the victim. But which man was that?
Gathering her composure, Laura walked up the stairs toward Trixie's room. She wasn't sure what Trixie knew, or even what she suspected. Surely she had noticed that her parents barely spoke these days, that her father had taken to sleeping on the couch. She had to wonder why, the night of the rape, Laura had been staying overnight in her office. But if Trixie had questions, she'd kept them to herself. It was as if she instinctively understood what Laura was only just figuring out: Once you admitted to a mistake, it grew exponentially, until there was no way to get it back under wraps.