"Uh, do you want to talk about it, or what?"
Coach slipped his arms from the cuffs of his crutches and propped the crutches against a chair. "Let's work on the 'or what' first," he said, steadying himself with one hand on the back of the chair while the other reached out to Ian's shoulder in a fatherly gesture. Before Ian could take another breath, he found himself neatly pinned against the carpet by a wrestling takedown move he should have seen coming and didn't. He was dimly aware of the phone ringing shrilly as Scanlon's voice grated harshly in his ear. "You raped Tracy tonight, didn't you, son?"
"No, no," Ian cried, but his cheek was pressed against the rough nap of the rug, making it difficult to speak. "She wanted it."
"Way I heard it, she begged you to stop, but hell, you had that hot itch between your legs, right?"
"No!" Ian started to struggle, but punishing hands forced his trapped arm toward his shoulder blades a few inches more. Biting his lip to keep from screaming, he let himself go limp.
"What's it feel like, knowing you're helpless?"
"Please, Coach," Ian whimpered, so frightened he was close to passing out cold. "Please don't hurt me." The pressure eased off enough to allow him to catch his breath.
"Isn't that what Tracy said, right before you raped her? Isn't it?"
Ian nodded. He felt sick.
Scanlon rolled off him and sat up. Ian glanced at the door, but the look in Coach's eyes told him not to try it. Slowly he sat up, his arms tingling and his wrists aching where Coach's fingers had held him.
"Is … she all right?" Ian felt his face burning.
Scanlon reined in the need to vent his own shame and self-hatred on the kid and merely shook his head. "Her mom took her to the hospital. As far as I know, they're still there."
Ian's gaze fell away, and the boy's shoulders hunched Mitch remembered the sick feeling scouring the lining of his belly when he'd seen Sarah's—Carly's—blood on his sheets
"I don't know if Tracy will press charges. I hope so."
That brought the boy's head up fast. "You mean with the police?"
Mitch could only shake his head at the kid's ignorance "Rape is against the law."
"But … I didn't mean to. I mean, things just got out of hand is all. You know how it is sometimes when a guy gets excited."
Nausea roiled in Mitch's stomach, but he managed to keep from retching. "Pay attention, Ian. I'm only going to tell you this once, and you'd better memorize every word. If Tracy doesn't press charges and the sheriff doesn't throw you in jail where you belong, you are going to become a model citizen. You'll go to class, do your homework, practice football and—if—I decide to let you play, run your butt off during the games You will not date, you won't even so much as flirt with a woman until you graduate. Got that?"
Ian looked shell-shocked, but he managed to nod. "I'm sorry, Coach. Honest to God, I didn't mean this to happen. I like Tracy a lot, maybe I even love her." The boy's eyes pleaded with him to understand. "I just got carried away, you know?"
Mitch nodded. "I know, son. I wish I didn't."
Ian swallowed hard. "Do … do you think she'll ever forgive me?"
Mitch felt his stomach twist. "I don't know. If you're lucky, maybe."
"She said she loved me." Ian stared at the floor, his face growing redder and redder. "I guess maybe I ruined that, too."
Mitch closed his eyes for a second and summoned up the image of Carly's face. Instead of love in the bright eyes he adored, he saw disgust. "Yeah, kid, you ruined that, too." And so had he.
* * *
Carly turned away from the pay phone in the hospital lobby, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Mitch still wasn't answering his phone. She'd called the first time right after Dr. Braddus had taken Tracy into an examining room. That had been over twenty minutes ago, and she'd been trying to reach him ever since.
Too wrought up to sit, she began pacing the small room, oblivious to the sympathetic looks of the two other women seated nearby. One was waiting for her daughter-in-law to deliver a baby, the other was waiting for a friend, a fact Carly had overheard while listening to the endless ringing on the other end of the phone.
"Oh, God, Carly! I got your message. What's wrong?"
Spinning around, she saw Marca hurrying toward her. "Come out in the hall," she said, grabbing Marca's arm.
As soon as they were alone, she leaned against the wall and poured out the whole story. "Tracy's still in with the doctor."
Marca's fingers dug into Carly's arm, and the sudden pain was a welcome diversion. "Oh, God. Poor Tracy. Poor you."
"Oh, Marca, this is all my fault. I should have told her the truth a long time ago. Maybe if she'd known what could really happen she would have been more prepared to handle a guy like Ian."
"But you did prepare her—in a dozen different ways. I don't know what else you could have done, except maybe follow her around twenty-four hours a day."
Carly bit her lip, then let out a harsh sigh. "There must have been something else. Otherwise, why did this happen?"
"Carly, listen to yourself," Marca implored, shaking her gently. "Aren't you really saying that you think this is all Tracy's fault?"
Carly felt as though she'd just fallen through a hole in the floor. "God, Marca, what's wrong with me? You're right. I am blaming her—and myself—I even blamed Mitch." She raised a shaky hand to her temple. "I'm not thinking clearly."
"Oh, sweetie, of course you're not. Why should you be?"
Carly flattened her back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. "When I went into Mitch's bedroom to get Tracy, I saw this book upside down on the nightstand. He must have been reading it when Tracy showed up. It was the one written by my therapist to help other rape victims feel good about themselves again."
Marca winced. "I don't know what to say, Carly. This nightmare just keeps getting worse and worse."
"I feel so … helpless. I know that's just a result of shock, but—"
"Dr. Alderson?"
Carly whipped her head toward the man's voice, thinking it was another doctor. Instead, she found herself face-to-face with her daughter's rapist. She'd never quite internalized the term "killing rage," but suddenly, she knew exactly what it meant to want another person dead. "How dare you come here?" she demanded coldly.
Ian flinched. His face was a sickly gray, and his eyes pleaded with her to understand. "Look, you don't have to tell me what kind of scum you think I am. Coach Scanlon has already made that real plain."
Carly was too upset for tact. "What's Coach Scanlon got to do with this?"
"He and I had a kind of talk, and then he told me to come over here and be tested for HIV."
Carly went cold. "Oh my God, Ian! You're not—"
"No! Honestly, I'm not. I swear. I had a physical two months ago, and the test was negative. But Coach Scanlon, he said that I should have another test so Tracy wouldn't be worried. He said she had enough to deal with already." He hung his head and gnawed his lip. "I'm sorry, Dr. Alderson. I know that doesn't mean squat, but I am."
Carly didn't want to believe him, just as she hadn't wanted to believe Mitch. "The lab is downstairs, Ian. If the tech gives you any trouble, have her page Dr. Braddus."
He nodded, shifting from one foot to the other. "Uh, when you see Tracy, tell her I'm sorry. Okay?"
Carly simply nodded. She was too spent to do anything more.
* * *
Dr. Braddus kept Tracy in the hospital overnight, more to keep her sedated and calm than for any medical reason. In the meantime, the first of the two tests Ian needed to take had come back from the lab, and his blood showed no sign for HIV. It was encouraging news, but, as the doctor had quietly reminded her, both Ian and Tracy would need to be tested again in six months before they could be sure of the final result.
By noon the next day Carly was able to take Tracy home. Felicity and Tilly treated her like pampered royalty, plumping her pillow and plying her with magazines and herbal tea. But when Tracy began t
o look terribly tired, Carly shooed them out and closed the door.
"Nap time, I think," she said, fighting to keep her emotions level and her voice calm, but Tracy's face crumpled, and she began crying again.
Carly sat on the end of the bed and pulled her into her arms, smoothing her hair gently while murmuring the same words she'd used to soothe Tracy's little-girl hurts. Gradually the tears diminished to an occasional sob, then finally to sad little sniffs.
"Better now?" Carly asked, her voice thick with the tears she wished she, too, could shed.
Tracy's head bobbed against her breast, and Carly drew back and plucked a tissue from the box on the nightstand. "Here, blow," she murmured with her most encouraging smile.
Tracy did as she was told so meekly that Carly's heart tore. "Can you stand a little conversation?" she asked gently. "Nothing too deep, just some motherly words of wisdom?"
Tracy dropped her gaze to the tissue still wadded tightly in one hand. "You don't have to say it," she mumbled in a barely audible voice. "I know you hate me."
Carly closed her eyes and sent up a quick prayer for the right words. "I don't hate you. I've never hated you, and I never will. I love you dearly." She nudged Tracy's chin up and waited until her tear-streaked eyes met Carly's. "I love you," she repeated firmly. "Never, ever doubt that."
"That's what Mitch kept telling me you'd say."
Carly smiled. "It's true. Cross my heart."
Tracy smiled a little. "You warned me. I just didn't listen. Oh, Mommy, I feel so d-dirty."
Carly took her into her arms again and held her close. "Don't even think that, Tracy. You did nothing wrong. Nothing! You just trusted the wrong man, that's all. It's happened to other women, some of them a lot more experienced than you are. You've been hurt, and you'll never forget what happened to you, but you can learn to deal with it and then put it behind you."
Tracy shook her head, the picture of misery.
"Yes, Tracy, you will. And I'll help. Grandmother and Tilly, too. And Aunt Marca. We'll all be here for you. I promise." She took a deep breath. "But there's something we have to talk about now that's pretty unpleasant. Can you be strong for just a little longer?"
Tracy looked frightened, but she nodded timidly.
"I think we should call the police and have Ian arrested."
"No! Please don't do that, Mother," she begged, clawing at Carly's arm. "Everyone would know. I'd have to testify. I saw a show about that on TV. In court … the things they asked her. I couldn't stand it if they asked me the same things." She shuddered. "Please, Mom, can't we just pretend it didn't happen?"
Carly knew that was impossible, and so, eventually, would Tracy. But for the moment she simply held her daughter in her arms.
Chapter 14
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The rain that had been coming down steadily all afternoon finally slacked off around three. Carly had left her office at noon, determined to take the afternoon off. Too much work and not enough rest over the past three months had her snapping at Sandy for inconsequential reasons and making stupid mistakes whenever she found herself forced to make anything but the simplest decision.
She'd taken a long, soothing swim, then slipped on her robe and hauled out her gardening tools. It was too soggy outside to prune the bushes that desperately needed attention, so she'd attacked the roses in the pots dotting the terrace. It helped to lose herself in the physical task. It helped more to concentrate on the flowers rather than her own misery. Heaven knows she'd tried everything else, including chocolate. Especially chocolate.
She'd put on five pounds since September, and every horrible ounce followed her around wherever she went. Scowling, she clipped another dead blossom from Felicity's favorite tree rose and stepped back to judge the effect. It was the week before Thanksgiving, a bit early to be doing a drastic pruning. But she'd needed the diversion.
The Timber Wolves were playing their last game in two days. And even though they were only seven and four and a very long shot to win the conference championship, they still had a mathematical chance. If they won this last game and the number one team lost its last game, they would end up in a tie.
She was still daydreaming about miracles and the man who was doing his best to make one happen when Tracy entered the pool enclosure through the outer door. She was wearing baggy jeans and an old Brown sweatshirt of Carly's. Raindrops still glistened on her hair from her dash from the garage to the house.
She'd moved back into the house shortly after that nightmarish night, and Carly was secretly glad. She needed the diversion of worrying about Tracy to keep her from dwelling on her own anguish.
"Hi, hon. How was your session with Dr. Stein?"
"Pretty good. How come you're home so early?"
"It was in the nature of an ultimatum. Either I got myself and my 'impossible' mood out of the office for a few hours, or Sandy was going to pitch me out the window. Needless to say, I 'got.'"
"Good choice, Mom."
"I thought so."
Tracy wandered around, inspecting the newly shorn roses. Carly watched her surreptitiously, thinking that her little girl had come a long way in only a few months. She was still seeing a therapist in Medford once a week, but she no longer had nightmares, and she was talking about dating again.
"How about a snack? I think Tilly's been baking."
"She has. Gingerbread. I figured she needed an official taster to make sure it was a good batch, so before I left for my session with Dr. Stein I snatched a piece to eat on the way."
Carly nodded solemnly. "Every now and then one has to sacrifice for the common good."
Tracy giggled, and Carly's heart soared. For weeks after the rape Tracy had been morose and withdrawn. But time and intensive counseling had gradually helped her deal with her feelings.
Following the therapist's advice, Carly had told Tracy the details surrounding her conception and her own long, slow climb back from depression and guilt. She had not, however, told Tracy that the man she'd come to think of as a close and trusted friend was in reality her father.
"I hope you saved your poor hardworking mother some of that gingerbread," Carly teased, pulling off her gloves.
"Yeah, but only because Tilly insisted."
"You're all heart, kiddo."
"Hey, you're the one who's always talking about losing ten pounds."
"Fifteen, and I'm beginning to think that falls in the fat-chance category."
Tracy groaned. "Mother, is that a pun?"
"'Fraid so. Pretty dismal, huh?"
"Pathetic."
"I'll try to do better, I promise." Carly threw her gloves and shears into the tool caddy at her feet before slowly arching her aching back. Above their heads, rain pounded on the glass enclosure with renewed fury, and she grimaced. "If this storm doesn't blow over soon, the field is going to be mud soup by Saturday."
Tracy watched the rain sheeting the window in silence for a moment, then squared her shoulders and said softly, "I think I'll come with you to the game."
Carly felt a stab of worry. With Ian still at quarterback up until now, Tracy had gotten hysterical at the mere mention of football. On the advice of her therapist, she'd quit the cheerleading squad, using a "recently discovered medical problem" as an excuse, and even avoided driving past the stadium whenever she went in for classes.
"Are you sure you're ready for that?" Carly asked casually.
"Dr. Stein suggested it. She thinks I should start getting back into my old routine again, maybe even try out for the cheerleading squad next spring."
"How do you feel about that?" It wasn't necessary to point out that Ian would have graduated by then.
Tracy managed a tentative smile. "Okay, I think." She hesitated, then kicked at a crack in one of the flagstones with the toe of her sneaker. "I found out today that Ian is one of Dr. Stein's patients, too. He's in this group she started for rapists and abusers." She pulled a crumpled envelope from the back pocket of her jeans. "Dr. Stein gave me this d
uring our last session. She's been holding it for me until she thought I was ready to read it. It's from Ian."
"What!"
Tracy grinned. "I told her you would react like that," she declared, nodding a bit smugly.
"Oh you did, did you? And what did Dr. Stein say to that?"
"She said you have stuff of your own you're dealing with, which is why you might be upset, but your stuff isn't my stuff, and I needed to read this letter."
Carly reminded herself that Silvia Stein was an outstanding therapist and swallowed her anger. "And did you?"
Tracy nodded. "Ian claims he's sorry and says he's working hard to change some things in himself that needed to be changed. He also said that none of it was my fault."
Carly took a deep breath. "He's right. I hope you believe him."
"I do." She smoothed her fingers over the envelope, a wistful look stealing over her face. "When I'm ready, Dr. Stein wants me to write an answer, telling him how I feel about what he did and about him. She also wants us to say the same things to each other face-to-face when we're both ready."
"Could you handle that?"
"I'll have to, if I want to get on with my life, because she said it's part of the healing process for both of us."
Carly smoothed Tracy's tumbled hair, her hand slightly unsteady. "I'm very proud of you, sweetheart. I know these past months have been hard, but you're doing wonderfully well."
Tracy drew a suddenly shaky breath. "Things will never be the same, though, will they?"
"No, but that doesn't mean the rest of your life can't be just as wonderful as it might have been if this hadn't happened. Perhaps, in some ways, even better, because you're so much stronger now."
Tracy carefully folded the envelope and tucked it into her back pocket again. Carly wondered if she would keep it or throw it in the trash. If it was her … but no, she thought. She didn't really know what she would have done if Mitch had written her such a letter.
They'd spoken briefly by phone after Tracy's release from the hospital, and she'd seen him at the games. He'd phoned once a week since to speak with Tracy, who always seemed more buoyant after their conversations.
Her Secret, His Child Page 24