Shawntay gasped softly. Apparently, like Tessa, she hadn’t seen that coming. Tessa had never put words to this story, at least not outside of her own head, but Shawntay needed to know what Tessa hadn’t shared, and this was a huge part of it.
“The coroner’s report said the driver had been pinned at impact; she died slightly facing the passenger’s seat, with her hips tipped in an upward angle and her knees facing opposite directions. She was naked from the waist down and missing her bra, which was found in the back seat. My husband’s skull was crushed at impact by the steering wheel. Think about that, Shawntay. Why was the driver’s naked, open legs turned toward the passenger and where would Mark’s head have been for it to be crushed by the steering wheel?”
“Oh, honey,” Shawntay said.
“Yeah. The woman lost control of the car because she was letting Mark do what I never would. And my husband, the love of my life, died with his head between some Italian slut’s legs. It would make a great Woody Allen movie if it wasn’t so horrible.”
Tessa started to sob, and Shawntay made little “I know” noises until Tessa stopped.
“I did grief counseling after Mark died,” Tessa said minutes later. “You know that. But I never could bring myself to tell the therapist exactly why that Fiat ran off the road. So we never got through the complexity of my feelings about Mark.”
“And that’s what’s been eating at you all this time?”
“That, and the rape.”
“What!”
“Another little thing I never told anyone. Eighteen months after I lost Mark, my therapist—who didn’t know the whole picture, pressured me to start seeing people. To be fair, he wasn’t suggesting I get emotionally involved, or even sexually active. He just thought I shouldn’t be so isolated, and I couldn’t disagree. I was a junior in high school the last time I went on a ‘first date’ and honestly, I didn’t know how to even begin. So when a friend of a friend set up a blind date I figured why not.”
Tessa told Shawntay about Kent, the good-looking six-footer with broad shoulders and an athletic build. Kent was handsome, in a rugged way, but he was also well-spoken, well-educated and nicely employed. “We went out several times, everything was fine,” Tessa said. “A little hand holding. A PG-13 good night kiss. Innocent stuff.”
“Until?”
“We went out to eat one night and then to a movie. When we got out of the theater it was pouring rain. It took a while to snag a cab and neither of us had an umbrella. We were both drenched by the time we got to my place. I invited Kent up, to dry off a bit, and I was going to loan him a rain slicker for his trip home.”
“But something went wrong.”
“Yes. I sent Kent into my bathroom to towel off. When he came out, he was wearing my oversized spa robe. I hadn’t meant for him to take off his clothes but, since he apparently had, I offered to pop them in the dryer. He gathered them from the bathroom and followed me to my little laundry room, off the kitchen. He stood behind me while I put his clothes in the drier and when I turned around, he wasn’t wearing my robe. I was shocked. I said the first thing that came into my mind, which was something like, what do you think you’re doing. He laughed, pointed to his erection and said, ‘that’s what I’m doing.’ I told him most definitely not and turned my back to retrieve his clothes from the drier.”
Tessa’s voice started to shake, and snot begin to dribble from her nose. “I was bent over, reaching for his clothes when Kent slammed me against the drier. I yelped, and Kent put his big hand over my mouth. He kept saying that quiet girls like me couldn’t ask for it, even when they wanted it. He said he could tell I wanted it. I tried to wiggle away from him. I tried to scream. I didn’t do either very well.”