An Act of Love (21 page)

Linda nodded.

Then the three women sat in silence.

Linda turned to Dr. Travis. “Is there any way we can make Bruce admit … what he did?”

Dr. Travis shook her head. “There’s no way to provide absolute proof. If Emily had reported it to the police immediately, and they’d been able to take a sample of the semen, and photographed the bruises, then there would be proof. As it is now, even a doctor’s certificate saying that Emily is no longer a virgin is not sufficient proof that she was raped.”

Linda took a moment to gather her thoughts, to put them in order. Then, taking her daughter’s hands in her own, she said, “Emily, I need to say this, just once. You must forgive me for asking, but I think you understand the magnitude of your accusation. Are you telling us the truth when you say that Bruce raped you?” Before Emily could reply, she rushed on, “If you were lying, I’ll forgive you, you know I will. It would be such a relief.”

Emily said, “I
am
telling the truth. Bruce really did rape me. I swear he did. What do you want me to do? How the fuck can I prove it to you?”

“It’s all right, Emily. I won’t ask you again.” Linda tried to put her arms around her daughter. “I’m so sorry.”

Emily shrugged away. “Go on. Leave,” she said, her voice harsh. “Just get out of here. Go off with
your husband
and
leave me alone
.”

There was no choice. At the moment that was exactly what Linda had to do.

First she used
the pay phone to call Dean Lorimer, who assured them that Emily’s homework would be sent to the hospital.

“We’re close enough to the end of the semester. And Emily’s a bright student,” Dean Lorimer told her. “Her teachers have agreed that she can finish the courses if she does the required reading and writes the necessary essays.”

“Thank you,” Linda said.

“No problem. And good luck to you all.”

As soon as
they’d slammed the doors of the Volvo, shutting themselves into their private world, Owen said, “What’s going on, Bruce?”

He turned to his father, his face creased in distress. “Dad, honestly, I don’t know!”

“Did you make Emily mad? Is she trying to get back at you for something?”

“No. This is just a nightmare. It’s like Kafka. I wake up and she’s telling lies about me.”

“There must be a reason.”

“Well, I
told
you. She’s jealous of me.”

“I can’t see that.”

“Great. So you believe her.”

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t see Emily as so jealous of you that she’d do something like this.”

To Owen’s dismay, Bruce’s shoulders buckled and he bent over, head nearly touching his knees.

“Son.” Owen reached over to rub Bruce’s shoulders.

“I can’t believe you don’t believe me. I swear I didn’t do anything,” Bruce cried.

“All right. All right.”

“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t get it. It’s just fucked.”

“It doesn’t help if you swear.”

“What does help?” Bruce asked, his voice savage. Raising his head, he took the handkerchief his father offered and blew his nose. “I’ve got a shitload of schoolwork to do. I’ve got to write a really great essay for my application to Westhurst. I’ve got the interview coming up in December. I’ve got to keep my grades up. Everyone says it’s the hardest semester of my school career, and now Emily does this … this psycho act.” Roughly he blew his nose, then continued, “Plus, shit, I really like Alison. I mean, Dad, I
really like
her. If Emily fucks this up for me …” Bruce’s knee was jiggling with nerves and suddenly his voice broke as it had when he was younger. “Dad, what am I going to do?”

They’d arrived at Hedden. The grounds were empty; it was lunchtime. Still, Owen only put his hand on his son’s shoulder though he wanted to hug the boy up against him.

“We’ll get through this. Try to forget it for now.”

“Sure,” Bruce said dejectedly and left the car.

Owen called out to him, “We’ll call when something changes.”

“Right.”

Owen watched Bruce race off toward his dorm. When his son was out of sight, he still sat, working to control his breath, not sure when he’d been so close to tears.

Linda was waiting
for him under the hospital portico when he returned.

She sank into the car. “I’m exhausted.”

“I know. What now?”

“I guess you and I return to the farm.”

“And?”

“And Emily will remain in the hospital, working with Dr. Travis and the other staff. I called Dean Lorimer. He’s going to see that her homework is brought to her every few days.”

“Who’s going to bring her the homework?”

Linda shrugged. “Her friends. She is allowed visitors.”

Owen’s jaw tensed. “If Emily tells her friends …”

“Owen, Emily has promised not to discuss the rape with anyone at Hedden.”

“Can we trust her?”

“She promised us …”

“Still … she’s so angry at Bruce. She seems out to get him.”

“Owen, it was Bruce who harmed Emily.” She softened her voice. “But I’m sure she won’t talk about this to anyone at Hedden. I do trust her.”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth? About the rape?”

Linda sighed and rubbed her temples. “I think so, Owen. How can we ever know for sure? I can’t believe she would lie about something like this. But I never would have believed that Bruce would have spoken to her as he did.”

“Well, he has a right to be angry.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Oh, Owen, what’s happened? I thought we’d done such a good job! I never dreamt there was such animosity between the two of them. It’s absolutely shattering!”

“I suppose a certain amount of rivalry and antagonism exists in any family. You and I were only children, so we don’t have the experience, but I can remember how my friends in high school used to get into wicked fights with their sisters or brothers.”

“Well, sure, and Bruce and Emily did, too; they had plenty of squabbles, that’s normal. But this … this is incomprehensible.”

They rode for a while in silence, occupied with their own thoughts, and then Owen said, “So what can we do?”

“I guess we can only wait.”

They said nothing else during the ride home, but kept cold company with their own separate thoughts.

Chapter Seventeen

After lunch, Bruce
found Alison waiting for him in their usual place, a soundproof practice room in the basement of the theater arts building. Alison was a pianist, so she had access to the rooms, which unfortunately had small windows in the doorway through which mistrustful school staff often peered, hoping to find someone smoking pot or committing some other kind of crime. Alison perched on the piano bench while Bruce sat on the floor in the far corner, hidden from the window by the piano.

“You weren’t in biology.”

“My parents came for me. Took me to see Emily.”

“How is she?”

Bruce shrugged. “Not good. She’s—” To his chagrin, tears filled his eyes. “She’s hallucinating or something. Making up weird stories about people. I think she’s nuts.”

Alison left the piano bench and knelt next to Bruce, taking his hands in hers. “Oh, poor Bruce. You’re so sweet. Don’t be so sad. She’ll be all right.” She wrapped her arms around him and suddenly Bruce found his head nestled against her breasts. She smelled of some wonderful perfume.

“Sometimes I think my entire family is crazy,” Bruce said.

Alison laughed. He could hear the laugh inside her chest. “I know
my
family is. That’s why God created boarding schools.” She began to kiss the top of his head. “It will be all right. I promise.”

He let himself be consoled. He tried to believe she was right.

Dessert that night
was not more stale pumpkin pie but ice cream and sauces they could heat in the microwave, and two cans of whipped cream as well.

They sat at their table, Keith, Cynthia, Arnold, Emily, and fat Bill. Those gathered around the other table were quiet, tranqued, or flipped into a world of their own.

“Come on, Cynthia,” Keith teased, waving a spoon of hot fudge sauce beneath her nose. “Remember, chocolate is a drug.”

“Get out,” Emily said.

Bored, Cynthia intoned, “Chocolate metabolizes into the same chemicals as marijuana.”

“Hey, we grown-ups don’t go for those government-approved baby drugs,” Arnold said.

“No fair!” Keith yelled suddenly. “Look at Bill! He’s got all the Marshmallow Fluff!”

They all looked at Bill, who wrapped his giant paws possessively around the blue-and-white jar.

“Bill, you have to share that,” Keith declared.

Bill held the jar to his chest.

“Come on, Keith, give the guy a break,” Arnold said.

“Do you really want it now?” Cynthia asked in a low voice. “I think Bill’s pretty much bonded with it.”

“You can have some,” Bill said to Emily, surprising them all.

“That’s all right. Thanks anyway.”

“No. You have some.”

“That’s—” Emily began to refuse again, but Cynthia kicked her beneath the table. “Well, thanks.” While everyone watched speechlessly, Bill rose to plop a spoonful of white fluff into her bowl.

On her other side, Keith whispered, “I think this means you two are engaged.”

“Hey, Beldon!” Arnold yelled to their night nurse, who was helping himself to his own bowl of ice cream. “Bill gave Emily some Marshmallow Fluff!”

“My man!” Beldon yelled.

“Emily?”

“Who’s Heidi?” Cynthia asked sardonically.

Emily looked up to see Cordelia’s sweet face peering around the doorway from the corridor. Cordelia had obviously gotten dressed up for the visit. She wore a Laura Ashley dress of printed, smocked, lace-trimmed cotton, and her long blond hair was braided and tied with red ribbons. She made Emily vividly aware of her mustache of white fluff, which probably made her look insane, like she was foaming at the mouth.
Blotting her lips roughly, she rose.

“Cordelia, hi. Come in.”

Timidly Cordelia approached, staring at Emily’s tablemates with such obvious apprehension that it was insulting. “Am I … interrupting something?”