Blood Ties by Lori G. Armstrong Page B

forget that night, as I’d done for years.” She licked the dry skin hanging from her bottom lip. “Guess I should’ve listened to the ‘forget about it’ part instead, huh?”
    “What
    happened?”

    “What do you think happened?”

    “I don’t know,” I said trying to keep my temper at bay. One furious person was enough in this situation. By default, Shelley had the bigger right to anger. “Th at’s why
    I asked, that’s why we’re here.”

    “Well, it sure as fuck wasn’t some big, goddamn crying 65
    scene with everyone hugging and talking about forgive-ness. Dick exploded, called me names, called Sam names and then told her he should’ve known she wasn’t his kid.
    Informed me the next time I heard from him would be through his attorney.”
    “And
    Sam?”

    “Sam?” Her abrasive tone dropped to a small, quiet pitch of despair. “It was like I watched a part of her die right in front of me.”

    Shelley’s anguish fi lled the room. Th
    e urge to run
    from the horror nearly overpowered me, yet I felt emo-tionally crippled and physically stuck to my chair as Kevin gripped my knee. I trembled; sickness seemed to seep into my every pore.

    “Shelley, I’m so sorry.”

    She dismissed my apology with a wave of her hand.

    “I know this is hard.”

    “Do you?” She bent closer, the line of grief in her eyes as threadlike as her patience. “Do you really?”

    “Look, I’m not trying . . .”

    “You don’t have kids, do you?”

    I blinked and said nothing, understanding she wouldn’t have heard me anyway.
    “Th
    en how would you know how I feel?” She stabbed her fi nger my direction, adding as an afterthought, “I ain’t talking about your brother’s death, either.”

    I knew what was coming and braced myself, but was 66
    pretty sure in those few seconds I forgot how to breathe.

    “Have you ever been raped?” she asked.

    My eyes didn’t waver. Neither did my voice. “Yes, I have.”

    Shelley scooted back into her chair and scrambled for her cigarettes. Kevin wasn’t so quick with the lighter this time. She and I exchanged a long look.
    “Th
    en you do know.”

    She inhaled, her mouth a misshapen smile, her eyes tiny slits. “So?”

    “So, you want to tell me about it?”

    “Why? You want to compare notes?”

    “No.” Her hostility aside, I wasn’t about to get sucked into a pity contest because I’d lose. “Why didn’t you have an abortion?”

    “Because I’m Catholic.”

    “Well, I’m not. Doesn’t the Pope agree rape is an acceptable reason to terminate a pregnancy?”

    “Did you get pregnant after your rape?”
    “No.”

    68

    “But if you would have gotten knocked up?”

    Nausea rose sharply against the back of my tongue, cutting the words out. “No question. I would’ve had an abortion.”

    “You think it would’ve been better if I hadn’t had Sam at all?”

    My legs trembled and I pressed them together, knocking off Kevin’s hand. “You tell me.”

    She paused, smoking for several agonizing seconds, which bled into minutes.

    “I liked you in high school,” she said. “You were diff erent from those snotty girls that showed up at Falling Rock, trying to be tough. You were the real deal. Haven’t changed much. Still got that rigid bitch act down, don’t you?”

    She almost smiled. I almost didn’t dare to breathe.

    “If you’d have come in here weepy, full of fake sympathy and bullshit, I’d’ve gladly sent you away with a black eye.” Th
    e stoic line in her spine cracked at the same time as her voice. “Jesus, most days I feel like punching somebody.
    Th
    is whole thing is a fucking nightmare. I’m sick to death of reliving this shit.”

    I was no stranger to that sentiment.

    She drummed her fi ngers on the table, maybe stalling, or maybe gathering pieces of her nightmare.

    “Fine. Here’s the truth. Dick worked in Wyoming on and off the summer after we graduated. He left the end of June and returned the middle