throwing words at my back. “Wait up. Come on, Patty, don’t be pissed. I know I should have gone slower. I’m sorry.”
I don’t turn around. I can tell he’s tired; I’m moving much faster than he is now. As I get farther away, he begins screaming my name, begging me to wait, listen. I still don’t turn around. And when I spot the farmhouse, I take off running.
Within minutes, he’s running too; I hear the dry grass rustling behind me. But before he gets to me, I’m up the front steps and banging on the door. The old man is engrossed in a TV program; he just points to the kitchen when I say my car broke down a mile back and I need to use his phone.
For a while, I stand in the hot, dusty kitchen, waiting to see if Rick will try to drag me out of here. I can’t call Irene until I’m sure he’s gone; I don’t want her in the middle of this. Finally, I hear an engine. I run to the window just in time to see his taillights disappear.
The old man’s mail is stacked on the radiator next to the refrigerator; when I read the address to Irene, she says she and Harry will figure out the way and be right over. She lowers her voice. “Are you all right, kiddo?”
“Bring my baby to me.”
“Honey, he’s asleep.”
“I need Willie! I need you to bring him to me!”
“Okay, Patty. Okay.”
After I hang up the phone, I thank the old man and go out on the porch to wait. I sit down on the steps and put my head on my knees, look down at my shoes. I’m still wearing the water sandals I had on at the pool, which seems unbelievable to me. This is all the same day.
six
I rene is really good at figuring out how people feel. She always says she could see her parents’ divorce coming from a mile away, even though she was only eleven at the time. Her jewelry business is just a hobby, something she can do on the road, but even the bracelets she makes are designed to help people with their feelings. They’re made of small glass beads— emotional beads, Irene calls them—and with every sale she gives out a key to the colors. It’s not what you’d expect: hope is purple, not yellow; anger isn’t red, it’s a weird swirl of pink and green; blue doesn’t mean blue, it means happiness, at least according to Irene.
You’re supposed to twirl the bracelet around on your wrist until you know how you’re feeling by the color that attracts you most, the one you stop and stare at. When she gave me a bracelet, back when I first joined the band, I twirled it so much it broke. Irene said this meant I was confused about how I feel. Naturally, this made her even more determined to help me.
I know all this, but tonight I don’t want her help. When I walk down the porch steps and over to the Honda, I’m already annoyed that she didn’t bring Willie like I asked. She didn’t bring Harry either. She says she came alone because she was worried and she wanted to talk. She says she could tell from the way I sounded on the phone that Rick had hurt me.
Then, without even lowering her voice, she says she was afraid he raped me.
When I hear that word, I yell at Irene for the first time in the year I’ve known her. “He did not!”
“Honey, I’m on your side,” she says, more quietly. “But okay, okay.” She picks some dry grass out of the back of my hair, squints at the dark stain on my shirt. “Something happened though, right?”
I tell her the stain is blood, but it’s from a scrape on my elbow. No big deal. Then I say, “I don’t want to talk about this,” and snap on the radio. I turn the dial until I find something meaningless but upbeat. When she’s still looking at me, I tell her to go on, drive.
It isn’t until we get to the trailer that I realize I can’t go in; I can’t face the guys. I imagine them sitting around talking about me and Rick, snickering about what happened. Of course the blond bimbo has a bad-guy ex. Stupid chicks like her always do.
“I wasn’t the one who brought Rick here,”
I don’t turn around. I can tell he’s tired; I’m moving much faster than he is now. As I get farther away, he begins screaming my name, begging me to wait, listen. I still don’t turn around. And when I spot the farmhouse, I take off running.
Within minutes, he’s running too; I hear the dry grass rustling behind me. But before he gets to me, I’m up the front steps and banging on the door. The old man is engrossed in a TV program; he just points to the kitchen when I say my car broke down a mile back and I need to use his phone.
For a while, I stand in the hot, dusty kitchen, waiting to see if Rick will try to drag me out of here. I can’t call Irene until I’m sure he’s gone; I don’t want her in the middle of this. Finally, I hear an engine. I run to the window just in time to see his taillights disappear.
The old man’s mail is stacked on the radiator next to the refrigerator; when I read the address to Irene, she says she and Harry will figure out the way and be right over. She lowers her voice. “Are you all right, kiddo?”
“Bring my baby to me.”
“Honey, he’s asleep.”
“I need Willie! I need you to bring him to me!”
“Okay, Patty. Okay.”
After I hang up the phone, I thank the old man and go out on the porch to wait. I sit down on the steps and put my head on my knees, look down at my shoes. I’m still wearing the water sandals I had on at the pool, which seems unbelievable to me. This is all the same day.
six
I rene is really good at figuring out how people feel. She always says she could see her parents’ divorce coming from a mile away, even though she was only eleven at the time. Her jewelry business is just a hobby, something she can do on the road, but even the bracelets she makes are designed to help people with their feelings. They’re made of small glass beads— emotional beads, Irene calls them—and with every sale she gives out a key to the colors. It’s not what you’d expect: hope is purple, not yellow; anger isn’t red, it’s a weird swirl of pink and green; blue doesn’t mean blue, it means happiness, at least according to Irene.
You’re supposed to twirl the bracelet around on your wrist until you know how you’re feeling by the color that attracts you most, the one you stop and stare at. When she gave me a bracelet, back when I first joined the band, I twirled it so much it broke. Irene said this meant I was confused about how I feel. Naturally, this made her even more determined to help me.
I know all this, but tonight I don’t want her help. When I walk down the porch steps and over to the Honda, I’m already annoyed that she didn’t bring Willie like I asked. She didn’t bring Harry either. She says she came alone because she was worried and she wanted to talk. She says she could tell from the way I sounded on the phone that Rick had hurt me.
Then, without even lowering her voice, she says she was afraid he raped me.
When I hear that word, I yell at Irene for the first time in the year I’ve known her. “He did not!”
“Honey, I’m on your side,” she says, more quietly. “But okay, okay.” She picks some dry grass out of the back of my hair, squints at the dark stain on my shirt. “Something happened though, right?”
I tell her the stain is blood, but it’s from a scrape on my elbow. No big deal. Then I say, “I don’t want to talk about this,” and snap on the radio. I turn the dial until I find something meaningless but upbeat. When she’s still looking at me, I tell her to go on, drive.
It isn’t until we get to the trailer that I realize I can’t go in; I can’t face the guys. I imagine them sitting around talking about me and Rick, snickering about what happened. Of course the blond bimbo has a bad-guy ex. Stupid chicks like her always do.
“I wasn’t the one who brought Rick here,”
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