Harvest Moon (25 page)

When they stopped, he got lost in the dark sparkle of her eyes. “Better?”

“Much. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For doing things to make me trust again.”

He hugged her tight, wishing she’d never leave his arms, hoping nothing ever came between them.

The hard, uncooked lasagna noodles, layered with sauce and ricotta cheese and surrounded by a small moat of water, appeared unappetizing and just plain wrong in their current form. Veronica figured she’d have to trust her sister, whose cooking skill ranked higher than her own. She placed foil over the top, stuck it in the preheated oven, and hoped it would come out looking like Martha Stewart had prepared the dish.

The dog followed Veronica to the bedroom, where she shimmied out of her work clothes, tossed on a pair of denim capris and a striped tank top, and left on her jewelry. The idea that her past and present would collide tonight drew her to the dresser. She opened the drawer, pushing aside her panties and bras until she located the article hidden back there many years ago.

She unfolded the thin pages from the magazine, using care not to rip the fragile sheets she’d pulled from the publication at the dentist’s office. Even now as she read the title, all her fears and hopes crawled to the surface. “What is Rape Trauma Syndrome?”

A few years after her attack, the article had drawn her attention like an accident on the roadside, hard to look away from. Sitting in her dentist’s waiting room, she trembled as she read the details. When another patient came in, she’d torn the pages from the magazine and stuffed them into her purse.

Later that night, she’d found the courage to try again. Symptoms of shock, dismay, and disbelief were listed, all so familiar to Veronica that her stomach knotted while reading. In the months following her assault, the rape was all she’d thought about. Unsuspecting triggers would kick off flashbacks. The article discussed these very signs, bringing some relief she wasn’t alone.

A part of the process she hadn’t given much thought was called “An outward adjustment.” Hers had come in the form of denial. Denial had made it easier to reenter the world. The idea of seeing Gary made her skin crawl, so she’d found an excuse to skip graduation. Fear of men in general and a need to feel secure had made her run back to Northbridge, the only place she could feel safe. All these things had provided the outward appearance of a normal life, the only way she could kick-start herself to get through each day.

Veronica had taken some relief in knowing she wasn’t abnormal, her behavior close to textbook fashion, in fact. The words she’d read made her believe that because she could function, she was fixed.

Although she really wasn’t better. A truth she could only admit lately. She folded the article but left it on the dresser. Maybe she’d show it to Trent.

Earlier today, Ry had responded to her admission that Gary might be at the party. She couldn’t quite put her finger on his reaction, but it was…well, off a notch. A quick response, almost tense. He’d suggested she place her faith with this new man in her life—even tell him about Gary. Maybe he was having a busy day.

The idea of following his suggestion to tell Trent, though, was as acceptable as her sister’s promise that the lasagna recipe would turn out amazing; she didn’t have complete faith in either choice.

* * * *

Boomer rushed to Trent’s car. As he shut it off and opened the door, the dog jumped up before he could step out. Trent buried his hands in the dog’s thick fur. “Hey, pal.” Boomer licked his chin.

Veronica rose from her seat on the front steps and came toward the Jeep. He drank in the gentle sway of her hips and the sparkle in her eyes, like stars against a dark sky.

She slipped her fingers through Boomer’s collar and pulled him away. “Okay, relax, Boom-boom.”

He only panted and stared at Trent, her efforts to rub the dog’s chest and calm him down doing very little.

“Must be hell having all this fur in August.” Trent picked up the DVD he’d shown in class from the passenger seat and got out.

“Ah, but when you’re freezing this winter, you’ll look at him with envy.”

He placed the DVD on the car hood. Resting one hand on her hip, he slipped a finger under her pearls. “You can keep me warm.”

Her cheeks flushed, a pink hue settling over the gentle tan of her skin. “I’ll do my best.”

He moved his hand up her spine, until he reached her slender neck, and his palm settled underneath the curls resting near the nape. Rather than kiss her, he waited. Tonight, with the topic on hand, he wanted her to feel in control. In the space of a heartbeat, she stretched on her toes and brushed his mouth with an eager kiss. He cradled the back of her head so she wouldn’t stop and parted her lips, exploring her warm, moist mouth while getting lost in her intoxicating citrus scent.

Boomer wedged himself between their legs.

Trent pulled away and shook his head. “Dude, timing is everything.”

The large dog stared back, a neon tennis ball peeking out of his mouth.

Veronica chuckled and stepped back. “You’d better play or he won’t leave you alone.”

Trent wiggled the slobbery ball free and threw it so far it landed near the bushes on the property’s far side.

“Good throw.”

“I used to play baseball. Still got a little left in me.”

“Come on, Mickey Mantle. Let’s go in, get those hands washed. Want me to grab that?” She motioned to the DVD on his hood.

“If you could. It’s what I showed in class the other night.”

She raised a brow, picked it up, and headed toward the front door.

Trent hoped tonight she took Ry’s advice and spilled the details about the man who’d be at the party.

He needed to be sure not to slip and say the wrong thing. The stress of this dual identity thing grew worse as each day passed.

Boomer galloped in behind them, the ball in his mouth.

“I figured we could eat out on the deck.”

He followed her through the small living room he’d seen on his first visit, the eclectic mix of knick-knacks and comfortable furniture welcoming. They entered the kitchen. Dated pine cabinets contained enhancements, like newer black hardware, plus a new blond wood floor and black marble countertop, erasing some of the room’s age.

“There’s some soap.” She motioned to the sink and placed the DVD on the counter. “Sorry about the slobber. It’s a Newfie occupational hazard. Some iced tea okay? Water, seltzer…”

“Iced tea. Go ahead and drink something stronger if you want.” When he’d finished rehab, it had taken a long time for him to say those words and mean them.

She removed two tall glasses. “I’ll have the same for now. When we tackle that…” She tipped her head toward the DVD. “I may need something stronger.”

After pouring two drinks, she handed him one. “Let’s go outside.”

The spacious deck overlooked a private back yard. Tall trees offered shade from the early evening setting sun, and bushes lined both sides of the property.

She returned inside to get something, and he studied her as she walked away. Her presence unraveled him in ways he’d never expected. Tonight his lust for her got tangled with protective urges over the topic at hand. The effect left him helpless.

He leaned on the deck railing, sipping his drink. A moment later, the back door opened and hands slipped around his waist from behind. Veronica pressed her cheek against the thin fabric of his shirt and sighed.

He put the drink on the wood deck’s flat top railing and rested his hands on her arms, rubbed them slowly. “You okay?”

“Yes. Thanks for doing this.”

He turned and tipped up her chin with a finger. “Anything for you, Pearls. Don’t forget, we can take this slow. If you decide halfway through watching it’s too much, we stop. As far as trying out the techniques that the DVD instructor suggests for this situation…” He blew out a breath. The way to practice fending off a sexual attacker meant intimate physical contact between the two of them. “Let’s cross that bridge after we watch the video.”

Why had he ever offered to do those exercises with her? He didn’t want his hands on her body to be associated with her attack, but now it almost seemed impossible to avoid.

* * * *

Two hours passed quickly. Conversation glided from topic to topic, easy and comfortable, as if they’d done it forever. They discussed Trent’s marriage, Veronica’s break up with Marc, and family stories. She learned details about Trent’s visit to Buzz and Marion in his teenage years, while in search of his real father’s identity. His eyes gleamed when he talked about his band friends and their upcoming performance at the tasting room’s grand opening.

She wished they’d never have to stop and discuss the subject that brought him here this evening. Yet the real issue beckoned.

She squeezed his hand. “How about we tackle that video? Before I chicken out.”

“Good idea.” He stood and she could see the wheels turning inside his head. He pulled her into his arms, gave her a quick kiss. “Remember, Pearls, you’re in the driver’s seat. One word, and we stop.”

Inside her living room, they sat on the sofa, Trent a few feet away.

The content of the DVD was similar to the one she’d watched online, playing out a scene of a woman being sexually attacked. Trent made occasional commentary. She sensed him watching her reactions, so did her best to keep a tight lid on what roiled inside her.

“Pay close attention to this next part,” Trent said quietly.

She met his gaze and nodded, afraid to speak a word. Her emotions stood as shaky as a house of cards.

She tuned her attention back to the instructor on the tape. “Now, a rapist or predator is expecting a fight and is going to wear you down. But here’s the trick…. If you stop your struggle, he’ll let up, thinking you’re too tired. Pretend to act tired before you’re tired. Make sense?”

Easier said than done.

“Rape isn’t about sex; it’s about power over someone. As soon as you stop your struggle, you’re sending a message to the attacker. You’re saying he’s won. You surrender. You haven’t though, far from it.”

“A fake surrender,” Trent said quietly. “Very important.”

Veronica’s cheeks burned. Swamped by memories of her own struggle, she replayed over and over the moment when she’d no fight left, the moment Gary undid his pants and…

“Ladies,” the instructor said to the small class assembled for the video. “We’re going to show you a demonstration on how to make the fake surrender work for you.”

Two instructors positioned themselves, male instructor on top of the female, his position close and intimate. He secured her at the hips, rounding her torso with his abundant arms and upper body. Ragged breaths bottlenecked in Veronica’s throat as they re-enacted the struggle. Only this time, the victim stopped sooner and said, “I give up.” A chill ran up Veronica’s neck, the fake surrender scary, too. The assaulter loosened his hold, freeing her hips. In a matter of seconds, she wiggled, slipped out from underneath him, and was in a better position to fight for her freedom.

Regret and anger rushed Veronica, a tidal wave of emotion over what could have been if she’d been armed with this information years ago. The video ended and they sat quietly. Only one thing would make her secure enough to go to Gail’s party.

She turned to Trent. “I need to try that.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, reluctance spreading across his face. “Are you sure?”

“Hold on.” She stood and went to her bedroom, retrieving the article she’d been reading earlier.

She returned to the living room. Trent sat on the sofa’s edge, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, concern etched on his face. Standing in front of him, she handed him the papers.

He glanced at them, then met her gaze. “Rape Trauma Syndrome.”

She nodded, inhaled deeply, and lifted her chin. The admission she was about to confess carried the fear of stepping off a plank into dark waters, but she wanted it done.

“Twenty years ago, a man raped me. I-I’ve lived with some of the after effects in that article, but now I want my life to be different. First, though, I want to tell you want happened to me that night.”

Trent spread a blanket on the lawn while Veronica gated Boomer on the deck. For a second time, he’d heard the details of Veronica’s assault. In person, however, her tear-stained face and faraway stare made his heart weep even further. When she finished, he gathered her in his arms, in awe of her courage to tell him, plus her willingness to face a mock struggle.

She headed toward the area he’d set up, where a soft spotlight beam from the house gave them a well-lit spot to practice the false surrender move. Over the years of teaching self-defense classes, he’d never actually participated in this type of exercise, always considering it a true violation of a woman’s personal space. If none of the female class attendees wanted to try it in teams, he’d always end his lesson at the video demonstration. To do this to a woman he cherished, seemed vile and yet…

Veronica wanted—no, needed to test her resolve to move forward. This was a trial of her trust in him and, in a way, a chance for him to let her know how much he cared.

“Okay, ready?” She kicked off her sandals and stopped on the edge of the plaid blanket.

“Are you?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“How about we rehash some of the techniques from class again. Escaping from a sexual assault is one thing, but you want to know how to keep from getting there in the first place.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Let’s start with one of our first exercises. One of the most common ways to grab someone is by the wrist, a position that’s resistant to escape.”

She flopped her hands on her hips, raised her brow. “The one Wanda struggled with?”

“So you paid attention? Good. Then it should be easy. Put out your arm and try to get away when I grab hold.”

She did as asked and he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, holding tight.

“Ready?”

Determination glowed in her eyes and her arm muscles tensed. “Yup.”