22
10:00 a.m.
Jo locked the bathroom door and walked to the sink basin and stared at her reflection in the mirror. They’d made it all of a mile from the clinic when she’d told Tony she needed a bathroom.
He’d swerved into the first gas station they encountered and she’d scrambled out of the car.
Voices from eighteen years ago whispered through her mind. She’d had light brown, shoulder-length hair back then. No lines around her eyes like now. She’d wanted so badly to move on to the next phase of her life. Mostly she wanted a relationship. All through high school and so far in college, she’d been the friend. Nobody’s girlfriend. She’d thought that would happen in college. For Christ’s sake she had lost the weight. The braces were gone.
She’d heard other girls talking about being on the Pill. Why not be prepared? She carried condoms in her bag. Why not take the next step?
The doctor had noticed her birthmark.
Jo lifted her sweatshirt and looked at the rectangular shape that was several shades lighter than the rest of her skin. She’d always hated it. What kind of birthmark was shaped like the state of Tennessee?
She walked over to the toilet, closed the lid and sat down. She rummaged in her bag for the cigarettes and lighter. She fished a smoke out of the pack and jammed it between her lips, but didn’t possess the wherewithal to light it.
Squeezing her eyes shut she tried to remember why she had come here. What did she really expect to accomplish? Ellen was dead. What difference did it make if she uncovered the name or names of the person or persons responsible for what happened to them? It wouldn’t bring Ellen back. Wouldn’t give comfort to her husband and children. Or her parents and little sister...
Ellen didn’t really have a little sister.
Jo opened her eyes. She tore the unlit cigarette out of her mouth and tossed it into the trash can. The pack and the lighter followed. She didn’t want to smoke; she wanted to make the bastards who had damaged and taken so many lives pay.
She dragged out her cell phone and stared at the recent calls list—Ellen’s number.
It had been years after what happened before Ellen had told Jo about the child. Right after the semester ended and they both went back to their respective homes, Ellen had discovered that she was pregnant. The first missed period hadn’t surprised her considering what they’d been through, but when she missed the second one she knew something was wrong.
Several home pregnancy tests had confirmed her worst fears. She was pregnant. Since, like Jo, she’d been a virgin before the abduction, the baby unquestionably belonged to her rapist. For weeks she had toyed with the idea of an abortion. Her parents had stepped up and assured Ellen that they would support whatever decision she made. A compromise of sorts was reached when her parents offered to raise the child as their own, allowing the baby to believe it was Ellen’s younger sister. Ellen would only have to miss the fall semester of school, and then she could get on with her life. Ellen had agreed. After all, she’d insisted, it wasn’t the child’s fault. The baby was innocent.
Jo hadn’t been very kind about the news when Ellen told her. She’d made a remark about how she should have aborted it. The kid would probably grow up to be a monster just like her father.
Ellen hadn’t called her again for a long time after that.
Jo had never apologized. She should have. Goddamn it, she should have.
She bit her lip and blinked repeatedly to hold back the tears.
Who’re you crying for? Your friend or yourself?
Ellen had not really been her friend—just her partner in tragedy.
Later Ellen had told Jo that maybe she had been right after all. The girl had problems. She’d been diagnosed with some sort of severe mental disorder. Jo had felt like a total asshole.
The damned tears she’d tried to hold back slid down her cheeks. It wasn’t her fault Ellen got pregnant or that her baby was ill. Ellen had made her own choices.
Yet, somehow it felt like Jo’s fault. She should have been a better friend. She should have answered when Ellen called that last time before she took her life...
But she hadn’t. She’d been selfish and uncaring.
She swiped the dampness from her cheeks and pressed the number for Ellen’s phone. Two rings later Ellen’s husband answered.
The man was keeping his dead wife’s phone charged and handy. How pathetic was that? Jo wouldn’t know because she’d never had a man besides her father who cared enough about her to want to call her again much less hang on to any part of her.
“Hey, Art. This is Joanna. How’s Alton?”
As Ellen’s husband explained that they’d gotten to go home today, Jo unrolled enough toilet paper to dry up the damned flood of tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Good. I’m glad he’s getting better. And Elle?”
He assured her that his little girl was fine. A moment of silence lapsed between them before Jo gathered her courage once more.
“Art, I just wanted you to know that Ellen did the best she could. Something really bad happened to her a long time ago and she just never could get over it.”
Ellen had never discussed what happened with her husband. Having been from Kansas, he’d never even heard about it.
When he asked Jo what she meant, she cut him off, “It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that I’m going to make it right. You have my word. I promise I’m going to make it right.”
Before she could get away he asked Jo did she know Ellen’s sister. She said no. If Art now suspected that the girl was Ellen’s, she wasn’t going to give him another reason to think badly of his dead wife.
Apparently the girl had run away from home. Ellen’s parents were worried sick.
Jo said goodbye and ended the call.
More of those damned tears came. She cursed herself and wadded up more toilet paper.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“You okay in there?”
LeDoux. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
She rolled her eyes at the raw, emotional sound of her voice.
“Open the door, Joanna, or I’ll make a scene.”
God. She glared at the door. “Go away. Give me just five fucking minutes, please.”
“I’m getting the manager.”
Jo reached across the tiny room and unlocked the door without even having to get up. His tall frame crowded into the room. He shut the door and leaned against it because there was no place else for him to be.
She warned, “Don’t say a word.”
He held up his hands and kept his mouth shut.
Jo threw the wad of paper into the trash can and stood. She squeezed between him and the sink and washed her face with cold water. Did nothing to chase away the redness or the puffy eyes.
She patted her face dry, tossed the paper and turned to him. “It’s nothing. I’m okay.”
He nodded. “Good.”
When he started to turn around he stopped and grabbed her, pulled her into his arms and hugged her.
She tried not to... Damn it, but she couldn’t help it.
She cried again and she hugged him back. Relished the warmth and strength of his arms. How long had it been since anyone had held her like this?
Maybe not since that day in the hospital when her folks were finally allowed into her room. Her dad had hugged her just like this.
At that moment she realized how tired she was. So very tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of running from the past. Tired of the secrets and the lies.
Tired of the silence.