Whispering Rock

Page 42

“I imagine it’s pretty tough.” Paul laughed. “You know, I needed that. Some great news, a good laugh. Congratulations to you both.” He lifted his glass. “This last year has been awful tough. The past month has been pure shit. Let’s toast a new year, with new stuff, good stuff. Here’s to the new baby.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Preacher said.
“And I’ll just say hear, hear, and leave you boys to your business.” Paige got up on her toes and pressed a kiss onto Paul’s cheek. “We realize that you have some grief business going on, Paul. You kind of get lost in the shuffle with Vanni going through such a terrible time, but if you ever need to talk, escape, break down or blow off steam, we’re here for you.”
He gave an appreciative nod. “Thanks,” he said.
Paul and Preacher talked a little while longer, then said good-night. It was in Paul’s mind to go somewhere he could be alone and either hit something, cry or maybe scream, and he couldn’t really think of anywhere other than the homesite. So he drove out there. But when he entered the clearing, he saw Tommy’s truck. He killed his lights immediately. He assumed they were parking, Tom and Brenda. Then he saw that the truck was empty.
Oh, damn, he thought. Tommy was in a lot of pain. He was needy and vulnerable, seventeen and in either the trailer or the fifth wheel with his girl. Paul knew that Tommy hadn’t seen much of Brenda in the past couple of weeks, given the events. And tonight of all nights, he was not only with her, he was way too alone with her. And there was a goddamn bed in that trailer.
Paul backed up, turned around and didn’t put the lights on again until he was facing away from the trailer. He drove back to the general’s house, let himself in and found Walt asleep in the chair, TV on and newspaper hanging off his lap. He roused when he heard Paul moving around. “Evening, sir,” Paul said.
“Hmmmph,” he grunted. “I must have nodded off. How was Christmas for Paige and Preacher?”
“Good,” Paul said. “They have some big news. Paige is expecting.”
“Ah, he did it,” the general said with a chuckle. “He showed up for ovulation day.”
Paul laughed. “He’s in a lot of hot water for telling too many people about that.”
“Yeah, I suppose. But it’s so like him, don’t you think? He’s so damn transparent.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to turn in.”
“Mind if I sit up? The TV won’t bother you?”
“Help yourself.” The general extended his hand to Paul and Paul took it. “Thanks for staying on,” he said. “I know it’s damn hard on you, son. And I know you’re here because Vanni asked you to be.”
“I’ll do whatever she needs me to do, sir. I gave Matt my word. And I’m awful fond of Vanni.”
“You’re a good man,” he said, giving him a slap on the arm. And he went off down the hall, his step a little slower.
This has aged the hell out of him, Paul thought. He’s buried a few hundred soldiers, but this one is taking its toll.
At ten Paul turned on CNN. At eleven he checked the news out of San Francisco. At twelve he was starting to think about driving out to the homesite, but at twelve-thirty the front door finally opened. Tommy was clearly surprised to find him up. “Hey,” he said. “You’re awake!”
“Yeah,” Paul said, still undecided about exactly the best way to handle this. But it had to be handled while there was still the opportunity for a save, and neither the general nor Vanni was up to the job.
“Good. I need to talk to you about something, man. Let me get a soda. Want anything?”
“No, go ahead.”
Tom came back to the great room with a soda, sat opposite Paul and scooted up to the edge of his seat. A little on the nervous side, Paul thought. “You want to take your coat off?” Paul asked.
“Oh. Yeah,” he said, putting his soda down and shrugging out of his coat. “Listen, I have to tell you something. I kind of borrowed your trailer tonight—I hope that doesn’t piss you off.”
Paul raised his eyebrows, waiting.
“It was a situation. I would’ve asked your permission, but I swear I didn’t plan it at all. It was real sudden. But hey, it worked out great.”
“Want to attempt an explanation?”
“Sure. Yeah. I had a Christmas present for Brenda. I bought it before… Before everything happened. I had this big idea I was going to take her somewhere nice—like maybe over to the coast to dinner or something, but the shit hit the fan. So I took her out to the site to park where I could give her this beautiful bracelet I bought her.” He smiled. “With your money, by the way.”
“And what happened?” Paul asked coyly.
“Well, it worked pretty good. She loved it. It was good for many kisses, if you want to know. But that damn little truck, you know? So I got this idea—I spotted your fifth wheel and helped myself to it. Honest to God, Paul, I would’ve asked—but I didn’t even think of that ahead of time.”
“So. Were you having teenage sex in my trailer?” he asked.
“Oh, hell no!” Tommy said. “Jeez, man, I’m not having sex with Brenda!” Then he smiled. “I am having some very nice making out with her, however.”
“Listen, Tommy—maybe we should talk….”
“Aw, save it. I’ve had this talk a hundred times. I’m not having sex, much to my disappointment. I’d love to be having sex, don’t get me wrong. But Brenda’s a nice girl, and she doesn’t move fast—which I happen to like, by the way. And besides, I’m still a virgin. You tell anybody that, I’ll have to kill you.”
Paul felt himself smile. “So, what did you do in my trailer?”
“Come on, Paul. Don’t you think that’s a little nosy on your part?”
“Under the circumstances…?”
“Man, I just wanted to feel something soft up against me, you know? This month has been so ugly. So horrible. Tonight was actually nice. We just kind of held each other, made out like rock stars and—” He got this look on his face, this dreamy faraway look. “She said she loved me.”
“Whoa! Come on.”
“I’m pretty sure it was the bracelet.”
“Give yourself a little credit,” Paul said.
“I’m giving myself credit for thinking of the bracelet. God, she is so hot.”
“You can’t use my fifth wheel to make out in,” Paul said. “You’re going to end up having sex. I can smell it. I’d feel like an accomplice or something.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said with a laugh. “But I don’t think you are. At least not anytime soon. Brenda’s pretty worried about stuff like that. So…when did you actually lose it? You know.”
“I was over seventeen,” Paul said, smiling. “I think that’s graphic enough. Do you have condoms, in case…”
“Oh, brother,” he said. “Ask yourself. Did the general give the boy condoms? Holy shit, Paul—he watched me stretch ’em over bananas. I’m surprised he didn’t make me model one. He’s probably counting ’em every day when I go to school. I kind of want to throw a few away just to get his heart rate up. Yeah, I have condoms. And—I’m not willing to rely on condoms, how’s that? I’m not having sex with anyone who doesn’t also have her own birth control—and we haven’t had that conversation, me and Brenda. You happy yet?”
“I’m getting there.”
“I’m not going to take advantage of Brenda. I really care about her. Nothing that risky is going to happen between us until it’s right for her. And when it’s right for her, she’s going to be safe and I’m going to make her safer. She’s important to me, man. I’m not going to mess her up.”
Damn, Paul thought. The boy’s got serious game. “You can’t use my fifth wheel to make out in,” he said, but he grinned when he said it because jeez, the boy was so cute. It made him nostalgic. He remembered a certain prom date that he was sure, sure was going to be it for him. It wasn’t. It came later, when he least expected it. Paul found himself almost hoping the kid could get lucky. “You understand, right?”
“Sure. But you’re not pissed off about tonight?”
“Nah, I can live with it. You’re sure nothing scary happened? Because if it did, even with a condom, we can still get ahead of it.”
“Yeah, I know about that, too. The little morning-after pill. Believe me, the only thing I don’t know about sex is how good it feels.”
Fourteen
It came too soon—the trial against Jerome Powell for rape. In the third week of January Brie and Mike returned to Sacramento so that she could testify against him. They went ahead of time so that Brie could be prepped. When the trial date arrived, Jack was determined to be there, but Mel couldn’t leave her women—Lilly had grown very ill and Vanni was in advanced pregnancy and in a state of grief. Paige and Preacher promised to back her up, as did John Stone, but still, it was very hard for Jack to leave her.
While jury selection and opening arguments were presented, Brie sat in the same room with her rapist. With her were her partner, her brother, her father, her sisters. She was definitely shored up—but the fact was she could have had the entire Marine Corps marching band sitting with her and she would still have felt shaken and vulnerable. She revisited the crime in her mind, over and over. They were all hoping that this ordeal could be dispensed with quickly.
There was a good case against Powell. Even though he’d worn a condom so as not to leave his DNA behind, the rape kit performed on Brie at the hospital had turned up hair, plus they’d found her gun in his possession. He claimed to have found it.
However, the defense had been able to suppress any testimony of earlier arrests or trials, which precluded Brie from explaining that her positive ID was based on the fact that she had prosecuted him. Since she had failed to convict him, she couldn’t testify to that. The defense suggested she might falsely accuse him in a rage at having lost the case against him.
Brie didn’t have to be in court as often as she was—she could have waited to be called to testify. But she wanted to get used to seeing him, to bolster herself before her testimony, and she wanted him to see her, to know how it was going to go down. The prosecutor was not going to accept a plea agreement under these circumstances, the crime being retribution against an officer of the court.
But seeing him every day didn’t bolster her, or calm her. Now she knew exactly how her witnesses had felt. Brie barely slept, had trouble eating and felt as though she were vibrating under her skin. The illogical reaction—all emotional—was hard for her to accept. After all, he was in custody; he couldn’t reach her. And right beside her were two powerfully strong men who would stop at nothing to keep her safe. Yet the very sight of him was making her sick.
Jerome Powell was six feet tall, tan from his stay in Florida, his blond hair thick and floppy, his jaw square. He had a big smile, one that certain women could be drawn to. He had very large hands, strong arms from working construction and was powerfully built. His eyes were dark, close together and sunken under hooded brows.
He glared at Brie. Sometimes he smiled at her, which made her stomach turn. Every time he turned his head to look at her, she felt Jack and Mike tense beside her. She looked up at their profiles, her lover and her brother, and watched the dangerous tics and tension in their expressions. These were completely fearless men—Jerome Powell should be as afraid of getting off as going to prison. But he sat calmly, unafraid, arrogant.
In the evening, conversation at Sam’s was subdued and superficial. Mike, Jack and Sam took to the patio after dinner while one or two of Brie’s sisters dropped by the house to spend time with her, being there for her. And at night, in bed, Mike would curl himself protectively around her, holding her closely, whispering to her that he loved her, that he was proud of her, that he could not imagine her courage.