Though she continued to protest, Katherine climbed on the gurney and allowed herself to be wheeled to the ER.
Dr. Fisher, the nurses, Becky and Sara—she was surrounded by friends. They comforted her, treated her injuries. Finally, she was dressed, and ready to go home.
Dr. Worth, the ER supervisor, knocked at the door. “Katherine, how are you?”
“Uh, okay.” She dropped her eyes and shrugged. “I guess.” She had stopped crying, but the tears were just below the surface.
“I want you to take a couple of days off.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“It’s Tuesday, we’ll see you next Monday morning.” He turned to Becky and Sara. “If she needs more time, call me. She won’t ask.” He turned back to Katherine. “A police officer, Detective James, Anne James, is waiting to talk with you. She’s in my office.”
“I don’t want to make a report.”
“It’s already been reported. She needs to hear it directly from you. Talk to her, Katherine.”
***
Katherine would never have taken Anne James to be a detective. She was short and dark, with black hair and blue eyes. She stood as Katherine entered Dr. Worth’s office.
“Dr. Jackson, I’m Detective James. You can call me Anne.”
“Katherine.”
“I’m so sorry, Katherine. Sit down. Tell me what happened.”
Katherine began with Bill’s call, ended with her arrival at the ER.
“You didn’t put up a fight.”
Don’t fight back if you want to live.
“No.” Katherine shook her head. “We were taught not to fight, if you feared for your life. We were told you were more likely to survive if you didn’t fight.”
The detective nodded. “You feared for your life?”
“I’ve never been so afraid. It was in their eyes—one of them had a beer bottle. He held it by the neck, kept slapping it into the palm of his hand.” She swallowed hard, her eyes squeezing shut before she opened them again and looked at the detective. “I imagined it crashing against my head. I thought he would attack me with the broken bottle. I couldn’t fight three of them. I was afraid they would kill me if I tried.”
“What were their names?”
“No.” Katherine shook her head. “I can’t tell you their names.”
“Why not? You knew one of the men. Surely you heard the others’ names. Did they threaten you if you identified them?”
Katherine tried her best to explain her fears, but she could see that the detective was not buying it.
“You don’t come from a town like mine,” Katherine mumbled.
“No, and I’m glad that I don’t. Katherine, you will survive the gossip. You don’t even live there anymore.”
“But my mother does, and my father, my aunt. I can’t do that to them.” Katherine looked at the door, wanting to run away.
“You’ll tell no one? Your boyfriend?”
“He’ll not want me now.” Her lip began to tremble.
“And why not?”
“I’m ruined.” She dropped her head into her hands and began to sob.
Detective James stared at Katherine. “A real man wouldn’t care. Mine didn’t.”
Katherine looked up. “You were…”
“Yes, and I didn’t start to heal until I saw the bastard in cuffs. Katherine, you need to give me their names.”
Katherine shook her head.
The detective sighed.
“I have the report. I’ll have the photographs, the lab results. If you change your mind, if you want to talk,” she handed Katherine her card. “Call me.”
***
Bill had not waited to see Katherine reach the elevator. As soon as she’d left the room, he closed the door and, fully dressed, stretched out on the bed. He was asleep within minutes. He awoke two hours later. At first he thought he had dreamed it all, but he found Katherine’s coat and tote bag beside the closet, her other clothes tossed carelessly in a corner.
He dropped his head in his hands. How had things come to this? He had intended to woo her, not attack her.
Damn booze.
He sighed deeply. Alcohol, resentment, other guys—sympathetic, bitter ones—to hear him talk, to egg him on. He couldn’t recall where the idea had come from. Surely, it wasn’t his. But it really didn’t matter now. Of course, he reminded himself, everything he’d told her was true. Her superior attitude, she was a tease—she had ignored him and had not appreciated his efforts. She truly was to blame.
What if she goes to the police?
“She won’t do that,” he told himself. He had seen the fright in her eyes when he’d talked about the Hamilton rumor mill, the look of shame on her face. She knew she was to blame, knew it was her fault, all that had happened. She wouldn’t talk. Probably.
But what if she did? What if she told her roommates and they called the police? What if officers knocked on his door tonight? Found her clothes? Whose story would be more credible to a New York police officer?
The image of being led out in cuffs pushed him into action. He called the airline and found a late flight for Richmond. He could make the flight, be out of town, on his home turf, should anything be said. He began to pack—he had little enough, a single carry-on.
His eyes fell on Katherine’s tote bag. He rummaged through it, finding her keys, her wallet, her ID badge. He couldn’t leave this behind. The police might find them here, in his room. He certainly couldn’t take them with him either. Throw them away? With his prints on them? He knew where she lived. He could leave them by her door. Get rid of them.
He looked at his watch. He had time.
Thirty minutes later, Bill’s taxi stopped on the street in front of Katherine’s apartment. The windows were dark and it didn’t appear that anyone was at home. Bill had rolled Katherine’s things, her clothes, her wallet, her keys, in her t-shirt and had stuffed them into the tote bag. He walked briskly to the door. He planned to set them down, knock, and run, like a child playing a joke on a neighbor.
As he reached the stoop, he tripped over an empty flowerpot, sending it, and him, crashing against the wall. He scrambled up, holding his side, expecting Katherine, or one of her roommates to look out. Instead, a light flicked on, and the door behind him opened.
He heard a man’s voice. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. Yes, you can.” Bill turned and found Katherine’s neighbor standing in his doorway, a pistol in his hand. “I, uh, I, uh—Katherine Jackson, she lives here.” He motioned at the door. “Katherine left these.” He held out the bag and the coat. “I was returning them, but no one seems to be at home.”
The man eyed Bill, but did not respond.
“I didn’t see the flowerpot.” Bill stared at the pistol. “Do you know Dr. Jackson? Could I leave them with you, or I, uh, can just put them by the door.”
The man reached for her jacket and the tote bag. “I’ll see that she gets them.”
The taxi driver blew his horn.
“Well, uh, thank you. Thank you very much. I, uh, need to be going.” He motioned toward the cab and started to walk away.
“Can I tell her who left them?”
Bill stopped.
“She’ll know. She’ll know.” The taxi honked a second time. “I really need to go.” Bill trotted back to the taxi and departed for La Guardia.
***
Katherine, Becky, and Sara finally made it home. Katherine slumped onto the sofa and sat, staring into space. Becky knelt beside her, holding her hand.
“Do you want me to call your parents for you? Steven? It might be better if they heard from me.”
“No.” She sat up straight. “I told you, tell no one. No one is to know.”
“Steven would want to know.”
“No one. Not Steven.” She wiped at her eyes. “He deserves someone better than me.”
“Better than you?” Becky said. “You’re blaming yourself for this? You were attacked.”
�
�Maybe Bill was right. He said I was a tease, that I led him on and then paid him no attention.”
“No, it’s not true. That bastard ignores you. Even if it were true, you were still attacked.” Becky was beginning to shout.
“It doesn’t matter.” Katherine shook her head. “Steven won’t want me now. He deserves better, anyway.”
As Becky looked at Sara in alarm, there was a knock at the door.
“Ask who it is,” Katherine almost shouted as she started to run from the room.
Sara checked to see who was knocking. “It’s Christa, Katherine. It’s just Christa.”
She opened the door. “Hi, Christa.”
“Hi, is Katherine here? Oh, yeah, here you are. Some guy dropped these off a while ago. Said you left them?” She held out the tote bag and coat.
“He left them with you?”
“Yes, it was rather funny, really. We heard a crash on the stoop. Ben looked out and saw this guy. He seemed to have fallen over, and he was getting up from the ground. So Ben took his pistol, flipped on the light, and opened the door. The man’s eyes got big, he started stammering.”
“Ben should have shot the bastard!” Becky said.
“Down low!” Sara added.
“Quiet!” Katherine motioned for silence.
“What?” Christa looked around. She seemed confused. “Anyway, he said you left these and no one was at home. Ben told him we would give them to you.” She started to leave but stopped as she reached the door. “The guy was really strange. A taxi was waiting by the curb, and the driver started honking. He practically ran back to the car.” She chuckled. “Either he was in a real hurry or Ben scared him to death.”
When Christa left, Katherine dumped the bag on the floor.
“My ID, good. My keys, my wallet.” She checked the key ring, finding all of the keys. She looked through the wallet, finding her money and cards. She unrolled the t-shirt and her underclothes fell to the floor. She tossed the bag on the floor and dropped the coat on top. “Trash them.”
“Katherine, you’ll need your coat.”
“I’ll get another. Trash them. Burn them. Whatever.” She was shaking. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Please throw them out for me. I’m going to shower.”
Katherine saw Sara and Becky standing together across the room as she walked down the short hallway on her way to the bath. She could hear them whispering, but they stopped immediately when Sara noticed her.
The telephone rang and Katherine paused to listen, as Becky answered it.
“Hi, Steven. Uh, Katherine? She’s…okay.” Becky held out the telephone, but Katherine shook her head. Becky looked from Katherine to Sara, and back. “What do I say?” she mouthed, but Katherine did not respond.
“Uh, no, Steven, she can’t talk right now. I’ll tell her you called.” Becky tapped her foot on the floor as she listened. “Okay. Yes. I’ll tell her you called.”
Becky replaced the receiver and looked at Katherine. “He said that you bumped into him on the street. You looked disheveled, screamed, ‘Don’t touch me,’ and ran away. He’s been calling for over three hours.”
Katherine stood by the door to the bathroom, looking straight ahead, saying nothing.
“I can’t do this, Katherine. Pretend everything is all right when it damned well is not. You have to tell him what happened.”
“I’ve tried to explain. I can’t tell anyone. You don’t understand!” She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, looking at the floor. “I shouldn’t have told you, shouldn’t have gone to the hospital, and certainly shouldn’t have talked to the police.” She wrung her hands together. “I didn’t give her names. No names. I’ll be all right.” She looked up. “If he calls back, I’ll talk to him. Break up.”
“Break up? Katherine, don’t be a fool.” Becky ran to Katherine and took her head between her hands, forcing her eyes up. “Give yourself some time. Please, Katherine, give yourself some time.”
Katherine turned away. As she started to close the door, she nodded. “Okay. Not tonight.”
***
Katherine was sitting by the window in the living room when Steven called the next morning. The telephone rang ten times before she answered.
“Hi, Katie. I called the ER and they told me you didn’t come in today. I was worried. Everything all right?”
“No, not feeling well. I didn’t go in today.” She turned so that she could look out at the street while they talked.
“Are you sick?”
A man walking down the street paused in front of the apartment. Katherine’s entire body tensed and the telephone dropped from her hand, tumbling to the floor. She stared at the man until he moved away, then she bent over and retrieved the telephone.
“Katie, are you there? What happened?” She could hear the panic in Steven’s voice, even before she placed the receiver to her ear.
“Nothing happened.” She took a deep breath. “I just don’t feel well.”
“Last night—was something wrong?”
“What do you mean?” Her voice rose. “Why would something have been wrong?”
“When you bumped into me on the street, near my house. Were you all right? You didn’t seem—”
“Why all of these questions? Why would I not be all right?” she asked, feeling defensive. “What do you think happened?”
“Katie, calm down. I was just concerned about you. You seemed frightened. You ran away from me.”
“I was just, well, I don’t know. I wasn’t myself. I’m sorry you were worried.”
“Okay.” He waited for her to say more, but she did not continue. “We’re going to a movie tomorrow night, remember.”
“Why would I not remember?”
“Katie! It was just an expression. Do you want to go to an early showing or later?”
Katherine didn’t respond for several seconds, trying to decide what to say. “I need to cancel, Steven. I, I don’t think I’ll feel well tomorrow either.”
“Well…maybe I can bring over a pizza, Katie?”
“Not tomorrow, Steven. And stop calling me Katie!”
“What? Okay. I’ll talk with you later. Bye…”
***
Steven put down the telephone and shook his head. He had not known what to say. Katie had never before canceled a date.
“Something wrong, Steven?” Martine appeared in the doorway, a stack of papers in her hand. “You are frowning.”
“Oh. No. Katie, Katherine, isn’t feeling well.”
“Is she pregnant?”
“No.” His head snapped up. “What? Pregnant? Where do you get these ideas?” He shook his head and chuckled. “You’re fishing again. In the gutter this time.” He pointed to the papers. “What are all of those?”
“A fax. From Oxford. It’s about your lectures.”
“Good, I’ve been expecting it.” He took the fax from her and laid the papers on his desk.
“They want you to come back.”
“Of course they do. I’m wonderful.”
Martine didn’t smile.
Steven sighed. “You know that I’m giving a lecture series there in mid-January.” He had given Martine the same speech almost every day for the past two weeks. “I’m giving the lectures at Cambridge a week later, and I’m returning to Oxford for the opening of an exhibit on early Greek pottery. They’ve asked me to consult on some pieces they may be adding to their collection. I’m not staying, Martine. I’ll be back by the first week of February—in plenty of time to buy you a Valentine.” He leaned back in his chair.
Martine sniffed. “Your friend, the professor…”
“Professor Spence?”
“Yes. He wants you to go back to England.”
“England is a wonderful place.”
“It’s cold and dreary. The food is tasteless.”
Steven laughed. “I know he wants me to go back, Martine, but I’m not going. Not now, anyway.” Steven picked up the fax and began to leaf through
it.
“Because of Katie Lee Jackson?”
“No, not just because of Katie.” He glanced up at Martine. “But, in part. In large part.”
***
Katherine was still sitting at the front window, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, when Sara arrived home from work late in the afternoon.
“Hi, how was your day?” Sara asked.
Katherine didn’t turn around. “Okay, I guess.”
“What did you do?”
“I, uh, I just sat around. Nothing,” she said in a flat voice.
“You’re still in your pajamas. Have you eaten anything? Have you even moved?”
Katherine turned and gave Sara a weak smile. “I have moved. I called the ER to make sure they didn’t need me. I got a Coke to drink.” She sighed. “I’ve been here most of the day.” She turned back to the window.
Sara crossed the room and peered through the window. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know. I just feel better if I’m looking, watching.”
“Well, it’s my turn to fix dinner. Want to help?”
“Sure, what can I do?”
“Start peeling the potatoes while I change. Four of them.”
When Sara returned fifteen minutes later, Katherine was at the sink, peeling. She was halfway through the first potato.
“How’s this?” She showed Sara the potato.
“Looks good,” Sara said. “I tell you, though, let me finish. You just rest.”
“Okay.” Katherine put the knife down and returned to her seat by the window.
“You’re sure you’re not looking for something?”
“Is that him? Look, is it him?” Katherine jumped from her chair, pointing toward the street.
Sara ran to look. “Who, Katherine? Who is it?” Sara looked through the window. “Who do you see?”
“I guess not. No, it’s all right. I thought I saw one of them.”
“One of the men?”
Katherine nodded. “But I didn’t.”
The Handfasting Page 15