An Act of Love (34 page)

“In addition, the police have taken Bruce’s clothing, as well as any signs of evidence from the crime scene, and this will be used against him in court.

“Now. The major evidence for the charge of rape is the statement of the victim. Against that we have the statement of the defendant, that sex occurred, but that it was consensual.”

“It
was
,” Bruce said.

“Against that, the prosecution will have photographs of the bruises on the victim’s face and neck, and the physician’s report as to the lacerations in the vaginal area. All of which presume violence.”

“I didn’t
rape—
”

“In your defense, Bruce, several things will help. First of all, you have no criminal history, is that correct?”

“Correct,” Bruce answered.

“No charge of rape brought against you before?”

“No,” Bruce said immediately.

Linda and Owen looked at each other. Linda felt herself flush, but she did not speak.

“We’ll be able to get good personal references for you from teachers and students at Hedden? Especially from women?”

“Well, sure.”

“Any other outbreaks of violence of any kind recently?”

“No,” Bruce said quickly.

“Wait a moment,” Owen broke in. He looked at his son. “What about the fight with Jorge?”

“Dad, that wasn’t
violence
. That was just … stuff.”

“I’d like to know about it,” Larson said.

“About a month ago,” Owen told him, “Bruce was involved in a skirmish with another boy at school.”

“Did Hedden suspend him?”

“No.”

“Did they take any disciplinary action?”

“They warned him. It was his first offense. He’s been, I think you’ll find when
you talk to the school, Bruce’s been a model student.”

Larson was taking notes. “Good grades?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll get copies of his school records. Friends?” He looked at Bruce. “Who’d be willing to testify on your behalf? As to your character?”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“All right. Now. Let me tell you the various ways this could go. Bruce didn’t sign a statement, which is good. Lorimer got me there immediately, which was a good move, an excellent move, on the school’s behalf. And on yours. You should thank Mr. Lorimer.

“The victim’s family flew up today. They’ll meet with a lawyer and with the police and then we’ll know whether or not they’ll take this to trial. Sometimes, as I’m sure you’re aware, rape victims don’t want to face the publicity and intrusion and difficulties of a trial. But one possibility is that they will take this to trial. And we will be pressed to prepare the best defense we can.

“Another possibility is that they’ll approach us with an offer to plea bargain. For example, they might suggest that Bruce admit to simple assault. Bruce could admit to that and be given pretrial probation. The court could continue the case for five years, on the conditions that Bruce have regular counseling. This I see as your best outcome.”

“And the worst?” Owen inquired.

Larson cleared his throat. “It would depend, of course, on the judge. According to current Massachusetts law, this kind of crime against the person could bring imprisonment for up to twenty years.”

“Shit,” Bruce whispered.

Linda’s fingers went numb with fright. She saw that Owen and Bruce had both gone pale.

“I hasten to add that I don’t foresee this consequence,” Larson added. “It’s a first offense. If it were a second offense, it would bring life imprisonment.”

“Dear God,” Linda said.

Larson squinted his eyes, studying her. “I’m talking about a previous, court-tried, guilty verdict. A record of offense. Not just a charge.” He looked at them sternly. “There is no former recorded conviction?”

“No,” Owen said.

“Good. All right, then. I’d like to get a bit of personal information about Bruce
and his family and his educational background from you.”

Linda and Owen looked at each other wearily as they answered Larson’s questions, which were not so different from those asked when Emily was first admitted to Basingstoke Hospital.

It was with
grim efficiency that the three McFarlands decided, standing in the cold air in front of Paul Larson’s office, how they would proceed with their day. Owen would take Bruce back to Hedden and help him pack; Linda would make a run to the grocery store and prepare breakfast for them all. No one wanted to eat in a public restaurant. No one was hungry, for that matter, but Owen knew he and Bruce would need some fortification before the long drive back to the farm.

Linda moved numbly through the necessary motions of shopping for groceries and carrying them into her car and then into her house. While she waited for the men to arrive, she made a desultory attempt at shoving the cardboard boxes against the wall. She wanted to make more room in this tiny apartment. More than that, she felt a compulsion to move, exert energy,
fix something
. She wanted
order
. She could not simply sit down.

She made a fresh pot of coffee, and scrambled eggs, and cleared the stacks of papers, catalogues, and magazines off the kitchen table and threw a fresh tablecloth over it. She had planned to spend some time making the place look less like a train station and more like a home for when Emily got out of the hospital and came to live with her, but there just was never enough time, and besides, she hadn’t cared. It had rather suited her frame of mind to live in a place so obviously temporary.

When Owen and Bruce arrived, their male bodies loomed large in the small rooms. She hung their overcoats in the closet and gestured toward the kitchen.

“Coffee’s ready,” she told them. “And I made scrambled eggs. And bagels. With strawberry jam. And cream cheese.”
This is what you do
, an odd little voice in her head said,
this is what you do when you discover your stepson is a rapist. This is how you continue with your life. This is how you make it through the day
.

Bruce sat at the table. He had shaved and changed into khakis and a sweater.

“Thanks,” he muttered when she poured juice into a glass and set it before him.

“You look better,” she told him.

He shrugged, not looking at her. He had not looked at her directly yet this morning.

“We saw Lorimer,” Owen told her as they sat around the table. “We’re going to keep him informed as things develop. He needs to consult with the trustees and with the executive committee, but of course everyone’s scattered now with the holidays. So at the moment the school is taking no official action.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Linda said.

“I can’t go back there anyway,” Bruce said bitterly.

“Yeah, and why is that, Bruce?” Owen asked, his voice suddenly harsh.

“Let him eat,” Linda said in a low voice.

“I’m not hungry,” Bruce snarled. “I just want to go home.” Tossing his half-eaten bagel on the plate, he went into the living room, found the remote control, and turned on the television.

“He needs a kick in the ass,” Owen murmured angrily, but his eyes were despairing.

“He needs therapy,” Linda said.

“We all need therapy.”

“But he needs it the most. The most urgently.”

“This will be in the Basingstoke paper,” Owen muttered. “Everyone will know.”

“That’s the least of our problems,” Linda said. “It doesn’t matter what people think of Bruce. It only matters that Bruce get over this, this … compulsion of his. We’ve got to help him recover the good young man we know is there. We’ve got to work with him.”

“You keep saying
we
.”

“I mean it. I must somehow be part of the problem. I want to be part of the solution.”

“Does this mean you’ll move back home?”

“No. Emily won’t be ready yet. And while Bruce is so … volatile, I don’t think it would be a good idea. We would only be setting up some sort of disaster. But I’ll see a therapist with you. With you and Bruce. And I’ll come to the farm when I can. I’ll spend time with you, and with Bruce.”

They looked into the living room where her stepson sprawled on the sofa, his face
adamantine and grim.

“I don’t think he’ll be pleasant to be around,” Owen warned her.

Linda laughed briefly. “Oh, really?” But she nodded her head, determined. “I don’t care if he’s pleasant or not. I’m his stepmother. He can’t get rid of me.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Emily was playing
Scrabble with Keith when a nurse entered the ward living room and said, “Emily? Dr. Travis would like to see you a moment.”

“What’s up?” Emily asked, but the nurse only shrugged and bustled away.

“Now what have you done?” Keith scolded and Emily mumbled, “What
could
I have done in this place?”

She was startled to see her mother sitting in Dr. Travis’s office, which now, only five days before Christmas, was cheerfully chaotic with red-and-white poinsettias and cardboard cut-outs of Santa Claus, Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Dr. Travis, for a change, was in a dull mode, wearing all black, with a gold necklace and earrings. Probably, Emily thought, she had some kind of board meeting today.

“Hey, Mom,” Emily said, crossing the room to kiss her. “What are you doing here?”

“Sit down a moment,” Dr. Travis directed. “We have something to tell you.”

“Don’t look so worried.” Linda smiled. “It’s not bad news.” She added, “Well, it’s not good news, either.”

Emily sank onto the sofa. Automatically one hand found the other and began to tear at the skin around the nail.

“Shall I …?” Linda asked Dr. Travis, who nodded. “Emily. Emily, Bruce was arrested last night. For raping Alison Cartwright.”

Emily could only stare.

“Go on,” Dr. Travis said.

“Alison is in the hospital.”

“Is she okay?” Emily asked.

“She’s not badly injured. She … she was bruised on her neck and face, and I guess, I guess there was some tearing in the vaginal area.” Linda’s eyes welled with tears. She looked at Dr. Travis. “I don’t know why this is so hard to say.”

“It happened last night?” Emily asked.

“Yes. At the school. In the music room.”

The three women sat in a somber silence while the circuits of Emily’s brain raced with this new information.

Then Emily said, “It’s all my fault.”

“What?” Linda was startled. “Honey—”

Emily was tearing at her hands again, her hands that had begun to heal. “It’s really all my fault. I hate myself.”

“Emily, how can it possible be—”

“If I had made you believe me, you would have stopped him. I did it all wrong, I acted crazy, I should have been calm, I should have made you believe me, then he wouldn’t have done it again.”

“Em, no, honey, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes emotional sense,” Dr. Travis interjected. “It makes sense to a woman who has been raped. This is not an uncommon reaction.”

“But don’t you see,” Linda pressed, “now everyone knows the truth!”

Emily nodded. She was working on her hands, digging in the flesh, digging, digging.

“Now Owen knows the truth,” Linda said. “He knows, he can’t
refuse
to know, that Bruce raped you.”

Something welled inside Emily, bubbles surfacing, bursting in her chest, space opening up around her heart. She had more room to breathe. She looked at Dr. Travis. “That’s right. Now Owen
knows
. Now
you
know. You know I was telling the truth.”

“I always believed you,” Dr. Travis said.

“And I can tell Zodiac, and Cordelia, and Ming Chu.”

“Yes, Emily,” Linda said. “Now there is no doubt.”

Emily frowned, trying to make sense of the sensations surging within her.
Relief
. She
was
relieved, she felt bizarrely,
desperately
glad that now there was no doubt, now everyone knew she had not been lying. She was not a liar. Yet something was struggling against the rising lightness, something strung of anguish and horror was caught on the effervescence of her relief, clawing it, weighing it down.

“Mommy,” Emily cried suddenly, “Mommy, what will happen to Bruce now?”

Linda cleared her throat. “Your father and I, Owen and I, we’ve just spent the
morning with a lawyer, Bruce’s lawyer, and we’ve been in court. Bruce is out on bail. The trial is set for January fifteenth. We don’t know what will happen. He could go to jail.”

Emily burst into a rage of tears. “What is
wrong
with him! How could he be so
stupid
? So fucking fucking stupid!” She stood up. She thought she would wrench the chair off the floor and throw it through the window. She thought she would claw the paint off the walls. Slam her head against the door.

Linda stood up and grabbed Emily against her. “Baby, baby, it’s okay.”

“It’s
not
okay, Mommy,” Emily cried. “I don’t want Bruce to go to jail. Oh, Jesus Christ, I hate Bruce. I
hate him
.”

“I know, Emmie, I know, honey,” Linda said. “My heart is breaking, too.”