After the Moment

by Garret Freymann-Weyr

  "Yeah, but now I can't leave," she said. "Now I have to prove to them and to myself that I can tough it out."

  If Maia was going to prove that she could tough it out, Leigh thought she should drag Oliver and Kevin to court, but he also wanted, as she said, for it all to be over. Behind them.

  She should go back to being the Maia Morland he knew.

  chapter twenty-two

  dexter clayton

  Maia's decision brought her a kind of grim peace and, if nothing else, clarity. For Leigh, her refusal to make Oliver and Kevin pay unleashed a blur of uncertainty and doubt—more than the usual amount he'd been lugging. Although she said she was relying on him to help her put it all behind her, Leigh believed there was more he should do than just ignore the reality of what had happened.

  The Internet, which had been useless in helping to gauge Maia's chances in court, was full of suggestions about how rape victims could heal. Love, time, support, understanding, sleep, getting a pet or starting a hobby, exercise, time, meditation, volunteer work, therapy, time, art therapy, or swimming with dolphins.

  The dolphins sounded a bit impractical. Maia had a hobby, although gardening was pretty much over for the year. Leigh felt like he was getting nowhere on the love, support, and understanding front, but having a pet—what recoverynow.org called an undemanding source of affection—made a lot of sense.

  He talked to Charles Rhoem to make sure that a dog would be allowed, and then drove Millie to the county pound.

  "You don't want to let Maia pick out her own dog?" Millie asked.

  "I think the pound will depress her," Leigh said, forgetting that his sister had plenty of reason to be depressed as well.

  But Millie was excited to be included in his plans and full of purpose. She and Leigh never directly discussed what had happened to Maia (an agreement of silence that stayed in place for years), but they were united in wanting to reverse any and all damage. At the pound, a clean but miserable place full of barking, and pleading eyes, Millie picked out a dog.

  He was as big as a Saint Bernard but as sweet and docile as a cocker spaniel; he looked as if a collie had run off with a giant black Lab. While Millie petted at and whispered to the huge animal, Leigh did the paperwork, asking about shots and neutering.

  With the help of some dry food, he coaxed the dog into his car, and then the three of them drove off to Maia's house.

  "Oh, my God," Maia said as the dog shot out of the car and bounded up the porch. "Oh, my God. He's as big as a pony."

  "He's for you," Millie said. "To keep you company and to guard your dreams."

  To keep you company and to guard your dreams was a line from the recoverynow.org Web page, making Leigh aware he was not the only one doing research on how to get over a rape.

  "Oh, my God," Maia said one more time, burying her face into the dog's massive neck.

  "What are you going to call him?" Millie asked, almost hopping up and down in excitement.

  "I think considering that you guys gave him to me," Maia said, "Dexter Clayton would fit best."

  Leigh thought Millie was going to burst out of her skin with pride at this reference to her romance novel. He was glad for her, but the mention of his romantic alter ego pained him in ways he couldn't name but could feel all too sharply.

  "We can call him D.C. for short," Millie said. "People will think it's for the city, but we'll know."

  "Or we could call him Dex," Maia said.

  Leigh swallowed, aware of a growing tightness in his chest. He thought of the first day of school, back when Franklin still called him the duke's dark son and Maia the American heiress. He simply could not bear the impossible gap between then and now. Lately, his skin hurt all the time and he was forever blinking, the way you do when something's in your eyes, or the sun's too hot.

  "What do you think?" Maia asked Leigh. "D.C. or Dex?"

  He could still build his universe on Maia, who continued to smile when she saw him, and whose smell he inhaled whenever she was close enough to touch. But other people had crawled inside this world, and there was no denying that he couldn't look at his beloved without also seeing Oliver Lexham and Kevin Staines.

  "D.C. seems good," Leigh said, telling himself he saw agreement, not disappointment in her eyes.

  The best he could do for her was this dog, who barked when Maia called his new name. It was a high, yappy bark, totally unexpected from such a large animal, and it made them laugh.

  But even that tiny success was threatened when Esme discovered her cat hiding under the bed and quaking in terror. Esme and Charles had a huge fight, with Maia's mother wanting to get rid of the dog.

  "Charles thinks that the cat will get used to D.C. and should be forced to suck it up for a few days," Maia said. "So of course Mom is livid with him."

  Leigh had already guessed that Esme was never thrilled when her husband took too active an interest in Maia's well-being. In fact, the growing evidence (fixing her lunch and driving her to the shrink) that Charles Rhoem was doing just that had been one of the reasons Josh wanted Maia to pack her bags for Closson Hall. Josh, who had witnessed Esme's wrath over his own affection for Maia, thought sparing her a second round of it was a good idea.

  "Do you want us to keep the dog for you?" Leigh asked, wondering how upset Janet and Clayton (not to mention Bubbles) would be if D.C. were to suddenly appear in the house.

  "No," Maia said. "I want my mother and her cat to suck it up."

  This didn't seem like the wisest course of action, but Leigh was beyond trying to guess, evaluate, or judge her actions. He felt his connection to Maia slipping away under the weight of all he didn't know, and he had no idea of how to get a firmer grip on it.

  ~~~

  The days passed, as days will, until Thanksgiving was no longer just a holiday in the distance but here, only one day away. Millie and Janet made pumpkin cupcakes, and Millie brought a dozen into school to share with people. That Wednesday always had a holiday air to it, what with classes usually ending an hour or so early in order for people to get a start on their travels or their cooking.

  At lunch, Leigh watched as his sister neatly arranged her offerings on a heavy flowered plate, wiping away smudges of icing. Franklin ate his cupcake in two bites, but Leigh cut up both his and Maia's, knowing it was easier for her to swallow small pieces.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Jonathan Kimber sit down between Diana Jane and Kevin Staines. Millie waved to Preston Gavenlock, who came over with his lunch tray, scooting into a chair next to Franklin.

  "Hey, kid," he said to Millie. "Are these all for me?"

  "One each," Franklin informed him.

  "Preston gets two," Millie said. "For being exceptional."

  Kevin's old girlfriend, Beth Goldman, walked by them and accepted a cupcake from Millie.

  "I used all organic products," Millie said.

  "I just did my whole history paper on sustainable farming," Beth said. "Organic is its own industry now."

  Beth asked Franklin something that Leigh didn't hear because a comment of Franklin's from what seemed like ages ago was suddenly demanding attention. On the video Leigh hadn't seen but that Clayton, two lawyers, and Franklin had, Oliver was talking to someone behind the camera.

  There had been someone else in the room. Someone filmed what happened to Maia—someone smart enough not to answer any questions. Someone sick enough to run a camera while a drunk girl and two drunk boys displayed what happens when everyone forgets the rules about drinking and sex.

  It had to be Jonathan Kimber, Leigh thought. Although Maia had said they'd left his house. Plus, he had wanted to call a cab before Oliver offered to drive her home instead of Diana Jane. Leigh looked at Maia, who was picking up her last piece of cupcake.

  "Who ran the camera?" he asked, keeping his voice low, hating himself for asking but needing to know. "Who was the third guy?"

  "Are you kidding me?" she asked.

  "Who was it?"

  He knew that a
sking questions wasn't what Maia had in mind when she said she wanted to put it all behind her.

  "Did you see him?" Leigh asked. "Do you remember who it was?"

  "What difference does it make?"

  He wasn't helping, he knew that, but he couldn't shut up, as he was unbelievably sick of not knowing. Not just not knowing what to do, or what was right, or how to behave, or where to apply for school, or how to live in the world. Maia was wrapped up in his hopes and meager plans for the future, although he wasn't sure how that had happened. Or why.

  She would always be someone who made him want to know more. Guys not that different from Leigh had done something unspeakable to Maia. It was as if they had defaced a sculpture.

  Leigh needed to know more about how they did it and why.

  "Who was it?" he asked again.

  "It doesn't matter," she said. "He's apologized like a thousand times."

  "He apologized?"

  Leigh's voice rang out, and more than half of the cafeteria grew silent—a lull that was immediately swallowed up by trays being moved and the resumption of lunchroom chatter.

  Someone at the table stood up, finished lunch tray in hand, and Maia's eyes followed the shift and then snapped back to Leigh. She didn't even have to say his name, and in the time it took to think Preston Gavenlock, Leigh had jumped over the table and empty chair.

  People talk about events slowing down in moments of duress, panic, or alarm, but really they speed up. There is no time to think, and all useful awareness vanishes, hovering outside of you, like an observer. That this was probably exactly how Maia had felt with Kevin on top of her was not a thought that reached Leigh until it was all over.

  He and Preston hit the floor with a thud, and Preston wasted his advantage by rolling on top to speak instead of to hit. Leigh always knew that if in that moment Preston had apologized, things would have gone even worse for him. But what he chose to say—"I didn't touch her. I swear."—didn't improve his chances any. Leigh didn't even bother, with the guy practically on his chest, to attempt a punch.

  Instead, he brought his knee into Preston's back, and then, as Preston fell forward, his face twisted, Leigh punched him. Hard. Punched him hard a lot—until they rolled too close to a table and Preston landed one on Leigh's face, and now the blood everywhere belonged to both of them.

  The problem with fighting outside of a boxing ring is that it's hard, messy, and terrifying. Leigh didn't think—he simply tried what he could. There was no room for anything but movement and two thoughts, which alternated like knives through his mind: I'm going to die and Kill him! Everything else was irrelevant.

  People were screaming and standing on chairs, and the school's one security guard hauled Leigh up while Mr. Wynne, the strict firster, grabbed hold of Preston.

  "I will kill you!" Preston screamed, although it was not clear if he was talking to Leigh or Mr. Wynne.

  Leigh, somewhat shocked to have been picked up with such ease, felt his blood cool as the other man's chest pressed against his back. Nothing would be gained by involving a stranger who outweighed him, and Leigh took his satisfaction in the swollen and bloodied face that stared at him.

  Preston, bruised, furious, and not at all happy at the limited damage he'd managed to do, broke free of Mr. Wynne, charging for Leigh. As Preston's head hit him in the stomach, Leigh felt the man holding him stagger back. He had one clear thought—Kill him!—before grabbing on to Preston's back as the guard's arms dropped away.

  Released from all doubts and uncertainties, Leigh let himself be brought to the floor, and got hit in the face three times before rolling over and banging Preston's head against the floor. Leigh could feel the side of his own face swelling up and his mouth oozing with blood; Preston's nose and shirt were covered in it.

  Later, Leigh would learn that the guard had hit his head against a table edge, and that Preston, while breaking Mr. Wynne's hold, had dislocated the man's jaw. There was no one to stop them—to stop him—until Preston, who had been banging his knees into Leigh's back ribs, became, suddenly, still.

  Leigh, already having sharp pain when he drew a breath, looked behind him, then back at Preston.

  The heaving chest did not move, and the sound of wet, ragged breathing that had been driving Leigh crazy had stopped.

  Someone ran over to them and knelt on the floor next to Preston.

  "What is wrong with you?" a furious voice demanded.

  The someone was Maia. Leigh tried wiping his eye—the one not swollen shut had something in it. He peered at his hand. Blood.

  "God, I trusted you," she said, turning to Leigh, her face a mask of disbelief. "I trusted you."

  Maia put her ear to Preston's mouth. People moved around the three of them. Mr. Wynne, an ice pack pressed against his jaw, was on a cell phone he'd had to borrow from a student. The security guard told Maia to move. To Leigh, he said, "I wouldn't be young again, no, I wouldn't."

  Maia moved over to Leigh and touched his face, her hand coming away sticky as he probed his mouth for where he was bleeding.

  "Don't," he said, meaning don't touch, he was covered in blood, he would get it on her.

  It hurt to talk, and his mouth felt funny.

  "Your lip's split," she said.

  Behind her, men in uniforms moved into place. A man felt Preston's pulse, and opened his eyes to peer at them with a pencil flashlight. Somebody else wrapped a band around his arm. The men shouted numbers at each other.

  "This was so stupid," Maia said. "What were you thinking?"

  "Honey, move out of the way," one of the men said.

  They had put a brace on Preston's neck, had an IV bag going, and were getting ready to move him onto a stretcher. Maia stood up.

  "I wasn't, really," Leigh said, but no sound reached his ears. The pain when he moved was not that different from when he'd bruised his ribs last year, only it was sharper, more intense.

  "I didn't want this," Maia said. "This makes everything worse."

  "Can you move?" one of the men asked Leigh. "Hey, how many fingers?"

  He held up three, the number the hand in front of him had extended. A pin of light flashed in each of his eyes.

  "You're coming with us," the man said. "That eye needs stitches."

  Leigh nodded. They would find out soon enough that he was going to need help standing up. Maia stood to get out of the way, and what was left of his good eye froze while his hand shot out to hold her leg still.

  There was blood seeping across her socks, and the sight of it scared him. Over the past three months, Leigh had expended a lot of effort in trying to take off her socks, but she removed her bra more readily. She knew he wanted to see her scars and she wanted to hide them.

  "I would never have told you," she said once, "if I'd thought we'd ... you know."

  "Fall in love?" Leigh had asked her, running his hand up her leg. "Fall madly in love?"

  "Right," she had answered, giggling. "I'd never have told you about my stupid feet if I had known we'd wind up stupidly in love."

  "Desperately," he said.

  "Truly," she said.

  "Forever."

  "And ever."

  He had, in the end, left her socks alone, allowing them to protect her hurts and injuries. But on the day that he shattered Preston Gavenlock's right cheekbone, blinded him in one eye, and gave him a concussion, Leigh understood that while it hurt to breathe, far worse than anything else was the blood all over Maia's ribbed yellow socks.

  It was probably Preston's, from when she had knelt by his head, but Leigh had bled from his mouth throughout the fight, so who knew whose blood it was staining her feet, ruining her socks. The medics squirted saline into Leigh's open eye.

  "Inflamed vessels, but pupil's clear," one of them said. "What's your name?"

  Leigh opened his mouth but decided not to answer. His tongue, which would need three stitches, was too clumsy to work.

  "It's Leigh Hunter," Maia said. "Is he going to be okay?"

&nb
sp; Whatever the man who was taping Leigh's ribs said, it didn't much matter.

  The answer was no.

  chapter twenty-three

  friendly fire

  Millie, who insisted on going along when the medics helped Leigh into the ambulance, called her mother, who met them at the county hospital.

  Janet, after saying Jesus Christ, what were you thinking, was very helpful, explaining that the pain was because, yes, he'd bruised one rib, but broken two others. They didn't think his eye needed stitches after all, but his tongue did.

  She would talk to the floor nurse about getting him some painkillers.

  Somewhat reluctantly, he asked about Preston. Leigh's hands felt sore and he was oddly upset at how easy it had been to damage Preston's face. Knocking someone out was harder than it sounded but easier than it should have been.

  Janet said that Preston had come to in the ambulance, thrown up, gone under again, and now had a fever. The fever was a bad sign, but the vomiting a good one. She was going to call Clayton now. Did Leigh have any questions? Did he want a mirror? They'd done a good clean-up job, she told him, but he was going to have a hell of a bruise along his right temple.

  When Janet left him to go in search of a place where her cell phone would work, Millie came to stand beside her brother.

  "I wish you'd done it to Oliver too," she said. "And Kevin."

  ~~~

  It took three days for doctors to give Preston an all-clear. He had flatlined twice, would need reconstructive surgery on his face, and had a detached retina, permanently damaging his vision. Rumors flew around school, parents phoned each other, and lawyers were hired. Leigh remained at home while the administration debated his fate: suspension or expulsion.

  Thanksgiving, at least in the Hunter household, was skipped over, save for some cupcakes and bowls of cold stuffing. Leigh, his mouth full of stitches, ate Jell-O, broth, and slices of soggy toast.

  No one called Lillian, and Leigh had the impression that his father was afraid of telling her anything until he could present it as an entire story. At the hospital, Clayton had asked what had possessed him, and all Leigh had to say was "He shot the video."