It was his father’s “deny everything.” Like, of course, he’d fucked up. Obviously, his dad had already decided what happened before he even asked Liam for an explanation. What bullshit! Hurt and shame pulsed through Liam. Well, he would show his dad what it was like to feel totally humiliated. To question where the hell you went wrong. To wonder how you could have let someone you loved so much . . . down so badly.
“Yeah, okay. I hear what you’re saying,” Liam told Brandon. “Don’t worry. I think I know what to do.”
8
Wanda drove Phoebe up to the emergency room in Harringdale, where, after an hour-long wait, they met with a middle-aged woman doctor who inspected Phoebe’s bruises and then, at Wanda’s request, performed a vaginal examination. Removing her gloves, the doctor looked from Phoebe to Wanda and asked:
“What happened? These are very nasty contusions and lacerations. Your daughter wasn’t raped, but everything indicates she was sexually assaulted. If that’s the case, we should alert the police.”
“No!” Phoebe said. “Like I told my parents. A boy I know just got a little rough, that’s all. Please, I’m fine. I want to go home.”
“You’re sure she wasn’t violated?” Wanda asked.
“Yes, I’m quite sure, but I have a feeling she was very lucky. I’m going to ask that you talk to our social worker. And then I think you should seriously consider contacting the police.”
“Mom, please, can’t we just leave now?” Phoebe asked. “I don’t feel well.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to be interviewed by the social worker first,” the doctor said firmly. “I’ll go get her now. And I urge you to think about the next girl who runs into this friend of yours.”
The interview didn’t take long. Phoebe answered the mostly yes or no questions and once again downplayed her recent trauma, repeatedly saying that she just wanted to go home.
On the way back to Barnsbury, Wanda tried to get her daughter to open up a little.
“You’ve known Liam for so long,” she said sympathetically. “You’ve been such good friends. You must be really hurt by what he did. But you should think hard about what the doctor said. It’s not right for anybody—even people you really care about—to be abusive.”
Wanda didn’t need to add that she should know, though the pain Troy inflicted was strictly emotional. Phoebe’s father had a quick temper, but he’d never laid a hand on either one of them.
“Yeah, I know,” Phoebe said, closing her eyes and letting her head drop back against the seat rest. “But there’s no way I want Uncle Fred or anyone else for that matter to hear about this, okay? I’m just so embarrassed.”
“I’m really sorry, honey. It’s a hard thing to have to learn, but a lot of men—and boys—can’t be trusted.”
But not trusting and no longer loving were too different things, and Phoebe was already regretting her lie about Liam. Yes, he’d hurt her—more than anyone else she’d ever known. But that’s because she loved him more than anyone else. She’d spent endless hours daydreaming about him, making up involved scenarios between the two of them in which an idealized Liam would tell her how lovely she looked, how much she meant to him, how lucky he was to have her in his life. And when Liam actually started to talk to her last summer—and she got to know the sweet, confused, flesh-and-blood boy behind her fantasies—her feelings for him crystallized into something far more real and powerful. Something that now lay in ruins around her.
She lay awake for a long time that night thinking about what she had done and what she had lost.
• • •
Phoebe didn’t know how word got out. It couldn’t have been her mom. Wanda understood her daughter just wanted the whole thing to go away. More likely it was her dad. She was aware he’d gone up to the Bostocks’ and had given them a piece of his mind. She was actually glad he’d gotten so mad. Impressed by the way he’d stood up for her. She knew he loved her more than just about anything. That’s why she assumed he would realize that she didn’t want the whole town talking about what she’d been through. Having everyone know she’d allowed herself to get drunk and be assaulted was the most humiliating thing she could possibly think of. That’s exactly how she felt when she got the first text.
OMG! Just hrd. R U okay?
It was from Lacey Ripley, Phoebe’s best friend for most of her life, who lived three blocks away in a house that was almost a carbon copy of the Lansings’. Lacey’s parents were divorced, too. Both girls were only children, being raised by their moms. Having so much in common gave them the moral support they needed to navigate the social rapids of Deer Mountain High School. They were also both somewhere in the middle of the popularity spectrum. Pretty but not knockouts (Lacey’s complexion wasn’t great), and too shy and uncertain to make it to the table in the far right corner of the cafeteria, that enviable epicenter of tenth-grade social life, where only the most popular kids were welcome.
They weren’t in the same homeroom, but they sat together at lunch, during chorus and gym, and on the bus to and from school. And when they weren’t together physically, they were texting or on Facebook. In fact, though they lived almost within shouting distance, they often texted more than they talked. So it had been easy enough for Phoebe to keep Lacey at arm’s length for a full thirty-six hours after Phoebe’s entire world fell apart, texting that she had come down with something and had to stay in bed for a day or two.
Only Lacey knew that Phoebe had loved Liam Bostock for just about forever. Only Lacey was aware of the fact that Liam and Phoebe had become really close last summer after he got in trouble. Only she realized just how eagerly Phoebe had been looking forward to his homecoming at Christmas. She even knew that Phoebe had borrowed her mother’s sweater to look her best when Liam arrived back from Moorehouse. Staring down at Lacey’s text message, Phoebe realized that lying about Liam meant lying to her best friend, too. Did she really want to keep this up?
Now the phone vibrated in her hand. She took a deep breath.
“Hey, Lace,” she said.
“You’re there! Why didn’t you call me! Oh, my God, Phoebe! I can’t believe what happened! And Liam—I can’t believe that it would be Liam of all people!”
“How did you find out?”
“Tina Hibbert. Everybody’s talking about it.”
“What did Tina tell you?”
“That Liam put something in your drink—like one of those date rape drugs—and then attacked you. But you kicked him in the balls and got away in time.”
“Oh, God.”
“Are you okay? Do you want me to come over? My mom was wondering if we should maybe bring you guys a casserole or something.”
“You do that when somebody dies,” Phoebe said. “I’m still alive as far as I know.”
“I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. That’s what Tina thinks, too. Your bravery is awesome.”
“Well, I don’t feel brave, just really sick still. I will never, ever touch alcohol again. And, just so you know, Liam didn’t spike my drink, Lace. I don’t know where that came from.”
“But he did try to, like . . . ?”
Lacey let the question trail off. Phoebe tried to figure out how to answer her. As far as she could remember, Phoebe had never kept anything important from her best friend. They knew each other’s families and houses as well as they knew their own. Phoebe had lived at the Ripleys’ for almost a month when her grandma died and her mom had to move her grandpa into a retirement community. The two girls shared every awful step of the divorces that tore each family apart. Phoebe made Lacey sleep in bed with her the night Lacey’s father, just back from his second tour in Afghanistan, had threatened Lacey’s mom with a gun. But the most precious thing Phoebe had ever shared with Lacey was her love for Liam. And, as of last summer, what Phoebe revealed of his love for her.
“So, like, you guys just talk and talk?” Lacey had asked when Phoebe told her about the nights she’d sneak out to meet Liam behind the
old elementary school. “Doesn’t he ever try to kiss you or anything?”
“No, he hasn’t yet,” Phoebe had had to admit. “I wish he would, though. I keep hoping he will.” Lacey knew that, despite their growing emotional closeness, Liam and Phoebe had continued to keep their physical distance over the course of the summer. And Lacey was aware how much Phoebe was counting on that changing the night Liam came home for the holidays.
“It was that sweater, I bet,” Lacey said when Phoebe didn’t reply right away. “I think the problem was that he kept his passion like all bottled up inside for too long—and then when he saw how totally amazing you looked, he just couldn’t help himself. Are you really bruised, though?”
“Yeah,” Phoebe said, liking the idea that she’d driven Liam Bostock mad with desire. The fact that it was Brandon who’d actually attacked her was beginning to seem less important now. She was also buoyed by people thinking she was brave. Tina Hibbert was a year ahead of Phoebe and Lacey in school and a star forward on the volleyball team. Phoebe was surprised and pleased to learn that Tina even knew she existed. Suddenly the idea that everyone was talking about her seemed less horrible than she’d first imagined.
Phoebe’s Facebook page soon filled with posts of outrage and support, and she received a dozen or so text messages along the same lines. It was Christmas break, which meant everyone had time to text and chat and voice their opinions. Phoebe was being praised for keeping her head and fighting back. The news that she’d kicked him in the balls! got a lot of play, as did the allegation that Liam had given Phoebe the date rape drug.
Liam was now remembered as that rich kid who thought he was so hot. A couple of girls who’d never actually spoken to Liam when he was still at Deer Mountain claimed he’d come on aggressively to them, too. Though up until that point, no one but Phoebe (and by extension Lacey) knew the circumstances behind Liam’s transfer to Moorehouse his sophomore year, suddenly everyone was messaging about his “drinking problem.”
Through all this, Phoebe kept thinking about Liam. Wondering what he was feeling. Why he didn’t try to defend himself. Why didn’t he just tell people Phoebe was lying? Apparently, he’d told her dad that he hadn’t touched her, though Troy had said that he’d looked guilty as hell when he said it. She knew he was on Facebook. He had to be aware of the cruel things that were being written about him. But he wasn’t responding to any of it. And his silence confused and troubled her.
Phoebe also worried about Mrs. Bostock. She, too, had made no effort to reach out to Phoebe. Usually at this time of year, Phoebe would be helping Brook at one or another local R.S.V.P. event, or putting in some extra hours up at the Bostocks’. She loved working for Brook, who was always so upbeat and kind to her, and it was really hard for her to have to face the possibility that she’d never step foot in that beautiful house again. Why should Brook let her? Considering what she’d accused Liam of doing, Brook probably despised her.
And Tilly! Dear, sweet, funny Tilly. Phoebe had lost her, too. She’d lost them all. The text messages kept coming in. She was beginning to think that it might be too late to change her story now.
• • •
“Well, I think you should tell her,” Phoebe heard her mother say as Phoebe came down the stairs. Troy and Wanda were in the kitchen. Troy had bought a couple of Phoebe’s favorite pizzas for dinner.
“Tell who what?” she asked. Her father was standing by the fridge, holding a freshly opened bottle of beer. He shook his head at Wanda before he took a swig.
“What’s going on?” Phoebe asked, looking at her mom.
“Your father took it upon himself to contact your uncle Fred,” Wanda said.
“Why do you have to say it like that?” Troy said. “I’m looking after my family. I’m thinking about the best interests of my little girl.”
“I know you think you are,” Wanda replied. “But would you be so eager to move on this if you didn’t know that Brook Pendleton was loaded? You’re looking after your own best interests, too. Admit it.”
“Will someone please tell me what you’re talking about?” Phoebe said.
“Okay,” Troy said. “I went in and told the police chief of this town what happened on his watch. And I’ve been talking to a lawyer I know about the case.”
“The case?” Phoebe said. “You mean a legal case? Against Liam? I keep telling you, Daddy, he didn’t rape me. He didn’t give me that date rape drug. I don’t know who started that rumor!”
Troy set his beer down on the counter and folded his arms on his chest. In a firm, modulated tone, he said, “You were attacked, Phoebe. You were this close to being violated. You’re still all black-and-blue. And I think you’re still in shock. Or in denial. You do realize that what that boy did to you was wrong, don’t you?”
Phoebe looked at the kitchen floor. She nodded.
“Okay,” Troy said. “So I did what any normal parent would do. I went to the police and gave them a heads-up.”
“This means your father is pressing charges,” Wanda said. “It means that your uncle Fred and his deputies are going to have to investigate what happened, collect evidence, probably interview you and Liam and those other boys.”
The words investigate and interview shook Phoebe. The truth was going to come out. Liam would certainly speak up now. She remembered Brandon’s body grinding into hers, his fingers pressing on her neck. His pug nose, the smell of his breath. The idea of having to face him again made her feel faint. It was better to let it all go. Take it all back.
“No,” she said. “It wasn’t really so bad, I promise. It wasn’t like you said, Daddy. Liam only—”
“You see, Troy?” Phoebe’s mom cut in. “She doesn’t want to relive any of this. And I don’t blame her.”
“That’s because you’re too damned soft, Wanda!” Troy shot back. “You let everyone walk all over you and never make a peep. Well, I’m sorry, but someone in this family has to take a stand. I’m sick and tired of people like us being given the shaft. How in the world could you think it’s better to let something this bad go—to just sweep it under the rug? That’s why this country is going down the tubes so fast. We’re all too damn afraid to stand up for what’s right. No one’s going to keep me from talking truth to power.”
“Well, last time I checked this wasn’t about you,” Wanda said. “It’s about Phoebe, okay? And she wants to put this behind her. She just wants to get on with her life.”
“Please don’t do it, Daddy,” Phoebe said.
“And let me remind you, Troy,” Wanda went on, “that you are no longer my husband. You don’t have the right to decide anymore what we’re going to do.”
“God—the two of you!” Troy said, throwing up his hands. “I don’t get it. You’ve seen your daughter victimized, Wanda! And you, sunshine, you’ve been treated like dirt. Like something it’s okay to just kick around. Well, it’s not okay! I don’t know how you can stomach it. I can’t. And I won’t. As far as I know, Wanda, Phoebe is legally still my daughter. My underage, innocent daughter. And I hate to have to tell you this, but I don’t really need your permission to do what’s right.”
Part Two
9
“You’re sure it’s okay for me to go?” Brook asked again. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, the day after Christmas, and Michael was driving his wife down to Wassaic to catch the train to New York for a big R.S.V.P. event that evening. The fund-raiser at Cipriani in Midtown had been in the works for months, and Alice, who was better behind the scenes than out front, had sounded slightly hysterical when Brook implied that problems at home might keep her from being there.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Michael said, glancing over at his wife. She seemed calm and composed, but he knew how alarmed she really was about what was going on with Liam. It would probably do her good to get away for even this brief period of time. She was planning on taking the train back later that evening, and Michael would be picking her up at the station. Brook didn’t like driving alone a
t night.
Christmas had not been a joyous occasion at the Bostocks’. Liam was still unable to come up with a credible account of what had happened with Phoebe. The night of Troy’s visit, Michael had waited up for his son to get through to his friends, sending a reluctant Brook up to bed at midnight. Around one thirty in the morning, Liam had come back downstairs and reported to his father, “They both say they don’t remember anything. Brandon says he passed out. Carey was already asleep.”
“This is bullshit!” Michael said. Without Brook in the room, he felt no compunction about speaking his mind to his son. “You’re just blowing smoke in my face and you know it.”
“Sorry, Dad,” Liam replied. “You told me to deny everything. Maybe that’s what Brandon’s father told him to do, too.”
“I told you that so you wouldn’t give Troy any more ammunition. And that’s what you should tell anybody else who asks. But I’m your father, and I deserve the truth. Now look me in the eye and tell me what really happened.”
It wasn’t until Liam met his gaze that Michael felt afraid. His son’s face was emotionless, almost vacant, as if Liam had somehow managed to shed his inner self—and left this shell of a boy behind in his place.
“I don’t remember,” Liam said. “Sorry.”
“Listen,” Michael said, “you’re too young for this. Drinking like this. Passing out. We’ve talked about it before. It’s dangerous, Liam. Some people, they just can’t drink. Can’t handle it. At your age—or any age.”
“Yeah, Dad.”
Nothing much had changed in the three days since. They’d grounded Liam, though Michael got the sense his son didn’t much care. When Tilly wasn’t badgering him to play Star Wars Wii games or Brook wasn’t insisting that he join them for meals, Liam stayed in his room. On Christmas Day, he’d made a small effort to seem engaged, unloading his stocking with the rest of the family and helping to take apart the mountain of presents Brook had assembled under the tree. Michael suspected the gesture was primarily for Tilly’s benefit. His daughter, who had been heartsick when Liam left for Moorehouse, had been following him around like a lost puppy since his return.
A Place For Us Page 8