“Ms. Barbieri, your sister was attacked on campus this evening. I’m following the ambulance —”
“I’ll meet you there. Call your chief,” I say grabbing my coat. “Mom, get in the truck. Call Daddy. Max, if you get there before me, you don’t leave my sister’s side. Do you hear me?”
I feel like I’m yelling at him. I don’t care. I’ll yell all I want.
“Yes, ma’am,” he responds and then is quiet, but I know he’s still on the line. I can still hear the crackle of the radio. “Stella, I got there in time. I just want you to know, she was beaten pretty badly. I want you to be prepared.”
I don’t know why he sounds like he owes me something, owes me these words and kindness. I don’t know anything right now other than to keep moving.
Out the front door.
Into the truck.
Onto the road.
And into the night.
***
“Jenny? Jenny?” I hear my dad yelling for her as he runs through the emergency room doors seconds before he sees us. “Where is she? What happened?”
He looks like a wild animal, caged and scared, as he looks around the room. He’d been sound asleep when Mom called from the truck and it took the entire drive here to get him to stop asking questions. We didn’t have the answers to give.
“Dale, she’s okay, but she’s hurt,” Davis says, walking up to my dad as he takes in the scene — Mom and I sit unmoving, staring at the doors they took Steph through as the shock starts to hit and reality comes crashing down around my mom. I can’t let it get me, too.
I hear Davis’ voice. It’s low and rumbly as he tells Daddy what we know so far.
Steph was working late in the library on campus. She says she left when the library closed and started walking back across campus to her car.
In the shadows from one of the buildings, she heard someone say her name and stopped.
He left her lying on the ground.
Colton found her covered in blood and unconscious.
“She has a broken leg and we suspect a couple fractured ribs, Dale, but they just got her back there not too long before you got here,” Davis says, his hand on Dad’s shoulder as they stand eye-to-eye, friend-to-friend. “If it weren’t for the Chauncey boy, we may not have even gotten a call yet. That campus is deserted for break.”
Davis doesn’t tell Daddy the worst part. The part about how the physical wounds will heal, but the emotional wreckage that’s been left behind may never go away, not completely.
“I have an officer back there with her. He was the first to respond to the call and will stay with her until they get her stable,” he says, moving easily from friend to police chief mode. “Let’s go grab a coffee for you and Jenny. It’s going to be a long night.”
He doesn’t tell him that Steph’s panties were torn from her body. He doesn’t give those details.
Davis doesn’t even know those details yet.
Max told me. Max found her lying on the ground, her head in Colt’s lap as he talked to her, trying to get her to respond to him, to give him a name or a description.
Mom is sitting on my left. I reach out my right hand and pull Colton to me as he starts weeping into his hands again, the blood still drying on his jeans where Steph’s head lay while they waited for the ambulance.
My sister’s best friend, her other confidant, the only boy who’s never been a love interest for her, now has to prepare for a war on the emotional battlefield right beside her.
“If I’d known that guy was violent with her ...” Colton starts saying again. “Stella, I didn’t know. I would never have let her walk alone if I thought she was in danger.”
“Don’t think about the ‘what ifs,’ Colt. Just don’t. They’ll chew you up and spit you out,” I say rubbing his back. “I knew, we’d talked to the chief, she wasn’t ready to press charges. Now she doesn’t get a choice because it’s been taken out of her control. Darren Judson’s going to find himself in prison if he knows what’s good for him.”
I’m thankful Colton was there; I feel blessed Max Wyatt was the first to respond.
The “what ifs,” the same ones I don’t want Colt to think about, those are going to consume me.
What if I’d forced her to press charges, pulled the Big Sister card like I did when we were kids?
Would he have come after her anyway? Would he have found a way to hurt her? Or would he have already been sitting in a cell?
We know next to nothing about this person.
But I do know one thing for certain. I want him to pay for this with his life.
Dad walks up and hands Mom a paper cup filled with hospital grade coffee. He sits down in the hard, uncomfortable chair next to her, taking her hand in his as he does. These two people, my parents, they are a sign of strength and I hope that strength is enough to get us through whatever will come at our family now.
I watch for a moment as Mom lays her head on my dad’s shoulder, closing her eyes and letting some of that strength seep out around the edges. He gently kisses her hair, whispering something for her ears only while massaging his thumb across her hand. And despite it all, she smiles.
He makes her smile in the face of fear and the unknown.
I’d be envious of their love if I didn’t know I had that kind of connection with Brian. I let my mind wander, thinking about how I need to call him, but know I’ll wait until I’ve seen Steph and know the details.
I’m absentmindedly rubbing Colt’s back, thinking of all the ways I would torture and dismember my sister’s stalker, when Max comes walking out with the ER doctor, a woman I’m not familiar with. The only thing that matters to me is if she’s been able to fix my sister.
We’ve been here for hours, the minutes ticking by so slowly, and now we’ll get some answers.
“Stephanie’s stable, but understandably shaken. The break in her leg was fairly clean so we were able to set and cast it without surgery. She had some deep lacerations that we’ve stitched up and,” she stops, looking at my parents, one standing on either side of me, before continuing, “we’re running a rape kit.”
“Rape?” My dad’s voice waivers. “He ... someone forced himself on my baby girl?”
I watch his hands clench, rage flashing in his eyes as the doctor continues telling us the extent to Steph’s injuries.
I try not to hear the word “trauma.” I wish I could ignore the phrase “sexual assault.”
I can’t, so I slip away without notice, allowing my parents room to hold one another — Dad’s fury barely contained, Mom’s anger bubbling over.
“Max? How is she, really?” I ask, daring to glance in my parent’s direction as Davis joins them, carrying himself like the cop he is instead of the family friend he’s always been.
I don’t want a medical answer. I need the truth and for some reason I feel Max will give me that.
“She’s hysterical. They sedated her a while ago so they could check her over and do what they needed to. We’re going to have to get an official statement from her once she’s awake,” he says, removing his cap and rubbing the back of his head with the same hand. His other hand rests at his hip and for the first time since I met him, the day he caught Brian and I on that back road, I see how much of a baby he still is.
“I’m sorry I called you on her phone, but it felt like this one was personal once I found out who she was. If the boy she was with hadn’t said her last name, I wouldn’t have known until we were here that she’s your sister,” he says apologetically.
“You’re right, it is personal,” I say, not even knowing what I mean by that. I clear my throat, trying to remain firmly beneath the cloud of ambiguity — show no emotion, not yet — and ask him if I can go see her. “I need to see for myself she’s okay, Max.”
Placing the cap back on his head, he takes my elbow and without another word leads me toward the double doors and my sister. I see Davis watching us, but instead of stopping me, he nods his head and continues listening a
s the doctor talks to my parents.
***
Max and I are silent as he leads me back to where Steph is. They plan to admit her at least for the night and move her to a room until they can be sure the extent of her injuries aren’t more than what they appear to be and there isn’t swelling where swelling shouldn’t be.
It’s medical terminology I can’t even fathom right now.
Max holds a curtain back for me and I walk through, seeing my baby sister for the first time since yesterday morning ... but this is a horrible nightmarish version of my Stephie, and the strength I’ve exuded from the moment I answered the phone shatters.
“Oh God, oh Stephanie,” I whisper, but it feels like I’m screaming.
I look at Max, and he turns his head as the first tears fall from his eyes, matching mine drop for drop. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I step further into the room as he lets the curtain fall, remaining outside — my sister’s guardian on what feels like the coldest night of the year.
And suddenly I’m alone, with the beeping of a heart monitor and the steady rise and fall of Stephanie’s chest as she sleeps.
Somewhere beneath the purple bruises lies my sister. Hidden under the sutures on her cheek and blood caked in her hair is the beautiful girl I grew up with side-by-side.
Pulling up a chair, I sit next to the gurney she’s on and look her over. I make a mental note of every visible section of skin while going over the “what ifs” in my head again.
Steph’s hand is laying on top of the thin sheet covering her good leg, and I touch it tenderly, afraid everything on her hurts and I don’t want to add to her pain.
It doesn’t matter that she’s sedated.
All I want is to take her hurt away.
“You can’t catch me! You can’t catch me!” I yell running circles around Steph.
I’m eight; she’s four.
We’re in our grandmother’s backyard playing. It’s spring and almost all of the snow has melted except a few piles left over from the snowmen we built after the last good storm.
I keep running faster and faster until she’s spinning instead of chasing me. Giggling, I taunt her again.
“You can’t keep up because you’re a baby still and I’m super fast,” I call out.
Steph stops spinning and regains her balance while I keep circling her. Once she has her bearings back, she runs full force toward me like she’s going to tackle me.
She’s going to take me down. We roughhouse even though Mommy doesn’t like us to, and I get ready for Steph to barrel into me.
Neither of us sees the pile of ice and snow until Steph’s foot catches on it and she tumbles face first into the hard ground, scraping her chin and splitting her bottom lip.
We don’t see the big kids in the neighbor’s yard laughing at us instead of helping.
But I see her hurt.
And I never want to be the reason my Stephie is hurt again.
“Stella?” I hear Max’s voice on the other side of the curtain, beyond the veil to my childhood memories. Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I respond enough so he knows I heard him. “I’m going to go out and talk to my chief. Will you be okay in here until I get back?”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine. I’m just ... you go ahead. Let my parents know I’m back here, though? Please?” I ask, though it’s not part of Max’s job to be my personal messenger.
I hear him walk away and allow myself to truly look at Steph.
Holding her hand, I can’t help but feel responsible. I should have pushed harder to keep her safe. I should have tried harder to make sure someone was with her if she was going to be on campus late.
“I’m not a baby, Stell, you don’t have to watch me sleep,” her voice cracks through the beeping.
Her eyes are still closed, but I smile.
“How about you not be a smartass and let me love you for a few minutes,” I say, emotion thick in my throat, before letting the quiet settle back over us. “We’re going to make sure he gets what he deserves, Steph.”
“I know, Stella. I know.”
Steph tries to sigh. She tries. But it hurts.
“What time is it?” she asks, finally opening her eyes a little against the dim light. “I know they knocked me out. How long have I been sleeping?”
“Just a few hours. How’s the pain?”
She tries to scoot up in the bed. I try to help her.
“Everything hurts, Stell,” and she looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Everything.”
I crawl up on the gurney or bed or whatever the hell this thing is my sister is lying on and I pull her carefully into my arms.
“Everything. He’s on me everywhere,” she sobs into my chest and I don’t care so much if I hurt her already wounded body because the one part of her I wish I could heal can’t be hugged.
Brian
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tommy and I stayed up way too late drinking.
It feels like someone kicked me in the head with a steel toed boot.
“Tommy, turn off the sun,” I grunt, throwing my arm over my face. I grab for the covers with my other hand but come up empty handed.
“T, stop blowing on my face,” I mumble feeling a warm breeze lift the short hairs lying across my forehead. I swat at him only for a cold nose to get shoved in my ear.
Sitting up faster than I should have, I scoot across the bed. Not a bed. This is not a bed.
The fuck happened last night? I wonder, grabbing my head as I feel my stomach roll and twist, the first waves of nausea hitting me.
I’m still clutching my head when I see two small brown paws stop between my legs. My bare legs. I have no pants on. Why do I have no pants on?
That tiny cold nose sniffs at my face, then plants a puppy kiss on my lips and I don’t know if I want to treasure the puppy breath smell or vomit all over it. I reach up and push the pup away, petting him — her? No, that’s a penis — as I move him to my side.
“You’re up,” Tommy yells reaching the top of the stairs and I glare at him as he starts laughing at me. “Just like old times, eh, brother? Next time you challenge me, make sure you haven’t left your tolerance up north.”
“Why am I naked in the loft? And whose dog is that?” I ask, swallowing. Correction, trying to swallow. Someone just put me out of my misery.
“Well, since you asked, you got crazy drunk on that apple pie moonshine and insisted your jeans were killing your manhood. Not sure what that’s about. Then there was some ranting about how Stella was going to be really ticked that you were running around in just your boots and boxers,” Tommy says, barely containing his laughter. “And then you decided you wanted to get Britt a puppy. So we went and bought a puppy from the farm up the road.”
“I got hammered and bought my kid a dog? Who does that?” My headache suddenly seems like the least of my worries.
Tommy covers his mouth in an attempt to hide his shit-eating grin. “Apparently you do, dumbass. You named him Whiskey Sour,” he says tossing my jeans to me. “Get dressed. Mama’s got bacon on.”
***
We got here in time for dinner last night. Britt was in all his glory running around the garage with my dad and helping Mama with Thanksgiving dinner prep after we cleaned up. Something tells me his specialty is going to be apple pies instead of muffins and biscotti, but I could be wrong.
Tommy and I walk through the mudroom to the kitchen, the smell of bacon grease and coffee making their way to my brain.
“Found your glasses by the fire pit. You really need to be more careful, Brian,” Mama says handing them to me with a look of disdain. “You boys. You never learn with that homemade stuff do you? You’re lucky Britton was asleep when you really tied into it. He doesn’t need to be around that.”
“Yes, Mama,” Tommy and I say simultaneously.
“Now that we’ve had our morning after verbal lashing, may we please have coffee and food? Mama, I need food so bad.”
I sound like a petulant child b
egging for a handout, but if I don’t get something into my stomach soon to soak up whatever is left of the alcohol I’ll be wrecked for the rest of the day.
“Mama, I need food,” Tommy says mocking me. Some things just don’t change.
So, I slap him in the back of the head and pull on my big boy pants.
“Never mind, Ma, I can get it,” I say walking over and opening the cupboard for a coffee mug. “I’m fully capable of getting my own coffee, like a man. Here, T, let me get you one, too.”
Rubbing the back of his head, I hear Tommy call me an asshole under his breath and the sound of Mama’s hand upside his head right after. I smile to myself as I pour two mugs of coffee.
Just like old times, indeed.
“Watch your mouth, Thomas, you’re still in my house.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I’m starting to see why Tommy’s moving north with me.
“And Brian, watch yourself, too. I can just as soon reach out and smack you, as well. Don’t think I won’t,” she says, grabbing a laundry basket filled with folded clothes from the table and leaving the room.
I hand Tommy his coffee and lean back against the counter, staring at him while I sip from my mug and eat slices of bacon from the plate next to the stove. No point dirtying dishes.
“Spill. Why’s Mama so pissed at you?” I have no idea if we talked about this last night. I don’t remember.
“According to everyone in town, and all their friends, I’m not living up to my potential, whatever the hell that means,” he says looking into his cup like it’ll have all the answers to the universe within its murky contents. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“The beginning works,” I say reaching for another piece of bacon as I wait for him to gather his thoughts.
It takes a few beats, but he finally shrugs and gives in.
“I’ve always been in your shadow or riding on your coattails,” he says not looking at me. “The girls loved me in high school because I was your baby brother. The teachers loved me because I got good grades because you helped me. But, college was hard because you weren’t there with me.”
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