Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  She never told Nicole, not exactly. She was too embarrassed. Too ashamed. They lay on Nicole’s rug, the last couple weeks of summer, listening to music and looking at magazines and painting their nails, and Jennifer indulged in long daydreams of a future meeting, when she’d have moved away to do … something that made her famous. Writing for TV had been her favorite one. She’d come back to town for a visit, or maybe to give a talk, since she was so successful and all, and run into Danny at Yoke’s market, and he’d come up to her and say, “Jennifer, right? I can’t believe it.”

  Her hair would be perfect, and she’d be wearing a pretty, floaty dress. She’d look at him, laugh, and say, “Danny? Oh, my gosh, that seems like so long ago.”

  Even in her daydreams, she hadn’t managed to dismiss and humiliate him. It had never even occurred to her to try. She’d clung to the fantasy that the whole thing had been romantic, but that she somehow hadn’t measured up. She wasn’t pretty enough. Wasn’t sexy enough. Wasn’t special enough.

  When her jeans wouldn’t button that winter, she safety-pinned them closed and went on a diet. She didn’t wear tight shirts anyway, not since her breasts had started developing, so nobody could see that she was getting chubby. That was what it was. She didn’t even let herself think about being pregnant. She wasn’t sick, and everybody knew that you threw up if you were pregnant. She didn’t feel different at all, except that she was more tired than usual, but that was because she was hungry. The diet, that was why.

  It was PE that gave her away, a couple weeks before Christmas. They were doing gymnastics. Tumbling, that day. Somebody must have seen something during an upside-down moment, because Ms. Guthrie, the nicer of the two teachers, pulled her aside after class and asked, “Jennifer. Is everything all right?”

  “What?” she asked, turning red right on cue. “I know I’m not very good at cartwheels, but that’s just because I’m not coordinated. I mean, I’m trying. I’ve been practicing headstands at home, and I’ve almost got it.”

  Ms. Guthrie searched her face, and Jennifer couldn’t meet her eyes. “Have you been sexually active?” she asked.

  “What? No. Of course not. I wouldn’t.” Jennifer’s fingers pleated the ugly yellow PE shirt, and she stared at the school logo on Ms. Guthrie’s polo shirt. Then she thought Ms. Guthrie would think she was staring at her breasts, so she looked up, caught the teacher’s searching gaze, and looked over her shoulder. “I have Algebra next,” she said.

  “All right,” Ms. Guthrie said. “Go on. But if you need to talk to somebody, I’m here.”

  Jennifer had fled. Now, she wondered what exactly she’d thought she’d been escaping from.

  Not much, as it turned out, because that night, after dinner, her mom asked her the same thing. Afterwards, Jennifer realized that Ms. Guthrie must have called her.

  “Of course I’m not having sex,” Jennifer answered. Well, she wasn’t now. “How could I? I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

  Her mom said, “Baby. Let’s just check. Pull up your sweater.”

  Jennifer didn’t. She just stood there, the blood draining from her head, her body suffused with heat, then with cold. Her mom pulled up the sweater instead, saw the safety pin on her jeans, and said, “Oh, honey.”

  Jennifer would never forget the sound of her voice. The sadness. The disappointment. The sound of her dreams dying. Part of her had curled up small and tight in that moment, and it had never quite uncurled again.

  After that, nothing got any better. Especially not once her mom went to the cops, and everybody in town found out. And knew she was a slut.

  She knew that was what they thought. They spray-painted it on her locker.

  “I don’t get why you didn’t just get an abortion,” Dyma said now. “I would have. I bet you’d have told me to. And don’t tell me that if you had, I wouldn’t be here. That’s a logical fallacy. Of course I wouldn’t be here. That’s the whole point. It also means I wouldn’t know, because my consciousness wouldn’t exist. And you could’ve had a better life.”

  Oh, great. This conversation was getting better and better. Harlan and Owen still weren’t saying anything, either.

  One thing, though, she’d learned by now. Wishing didn’t make anything go away, and problems stuffed under the surface always swam back up again. Problems were like seals that way. They popped up exactly when and where you didn’t expect them. Like, for instance, now.

  She said, “I’d love to have you think it was some noble reason, but in fact, it was pretty late by the time Grandma forced me to face reality. We could’ve gotten somebody to do it, given the circumstances, but you were kicking so much that even a first-time mom could feel it, and …” She laughed. “Again, I’d love to sound nobler here, but in reality, I had these notions of myself with an adorable blonde baby who smiled all the time and loved me best of all. Our hair backlit, both of us laughing as I lifted her high over my head. Hallmark Channel all the way. What can I say. I was young. I had no clue. I only got two things right. You were a girl, and you were blonde. I didn’t quite anticipate the furious bundle of personality you ended up being.”

  “I wasn’t your dream daughter, huh?” Dyma asked.

  “Nope,” Jennifer said. “You were better. Well, once I got over the shock of the ‘furious’ part of your equation. You sang and you danced and you talked like crazy, and you learned how to add and subtract when you were four years old. I didn’t have to imagine you anymore, because let me tell you, you were right there. I did imagine my future great romance with a guy who’d fall in love with both of us, though, preferably while I was still in high school, which would instantly elevate my social status. He was going to raise you as his own, while I went to … law school, or something. I was always a little fuzzy on that part. But you know what? It worked out anyway. Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans, and I’ve had a great life. It’s not over yet, either.”

  “And meanwhile, Grandma reported him, and he was arrested,” Dyma said, refusing to get sidetracked. “That part, I know about, because that part, I heard. All about it. How you wrecked his life.”

  Jennifer abandoned all hope of getting out of here with her dignity intact. She wasn’t looking at Harlan. He’d think what he thought. Nothing she could do about that. One advantage of not having all those romantic notions anymore was that hopefully you learned to live in the moment just a little, and this was the moment she was in. She said, “Yep. She did. It’s hard to fight that statutory rape charge when there’s a baby and a DNA test. A whole lot of people, though, said I ruined his life, you’re exactly right about that. He’d rushed the school all the way to the state football championship the year before, and all of a sudden, because some stupid, slutty fifteen-year-old had willingly had unprotected sex with him, he was going to jail as a sex offender, and it was going to mark him forever. They said a lot of things. It wasn’t any fun at all, and I felt pretty ashamed for a long time, but the bottom line is that he was the one who was supposed to know better. I’m not saying his life wasn’t ruined, but I didn’t pull him into that car. He ruined his life.”

  “Plus,” Dyma said, “he ruined your life. You were the one being humiliated, who couldn’t even finish college. Why didn’t people care about that?”

  Jennifer was still trying not to care that Harlan and Owen were listening to all this, but she couldn’t help but notice how serious and still Owen looked, and how furious Harlan did. She hadn’t known he could look like that. She’d started out this conversation feeling embarrassed, but now, she was suddenly overwhelmed by giddiness, the feeling you got when you did … well, some reckless act. She couldn’t think what, because she didn’t do reckless acts.

  Maybe she was giddy, though, because there really was nothing left to lose here. It was over. She’d had that baby, and she’d raised her. It was all a long time ago, and it didn’t have to be the thing that defined her forever. It had been that for too long. Dyma was going to college, and she was thir
ty-four years old and maybe leaving town herself. Time to leave the shame behind, or at least start trying.

  “Nope,” she told Dyma. “He didn’t ruin my life. You know why not? Because of Grandma. The guidance counselor told her to send me to the alternative school, where they had programs for ‘girls in this position.’ I know, because I was there. Grandma said it was my life and my decision, so I should be there. I was almost six months pregnant, and there was no hiding anything anymore. Everybody knew. My best friend Nicole was still my friend, but let me tell you, not very many other people were, and the counselor pointed out my ‘embarrassment.’ You know what Grandma did? She shot right back with, ‘Why should she go anywhere? So she’s pregnant. There’s nothing wrong with her brain, and she’s staying right here. She’s smart as a whip, she gets good grades, and she doesn’t belong over there. She’s graduating from this school, and then she’s going to college, and you can all just figure out how to help her. That’s your job, right? So get busy and figure out how to do it.’”

  “Grandma was a badass,” Dyma said.

  “Grandma,” Jennifer said, “was a redhead. Anyway, the joke’s on all of them, really, because Danny went to prison, and I got you, which was a much better deal. And a great job with Blake, and a new job coming up that, who knows? Might be even better. Also, don’t tell me the Tao has nothing to see about this. Don’t let me down.”

  “Care about what other people think,” Dyma said, “and you will always be their prisoner.” She still looked troubled, though. Too much to learn at once, maybe. Too much growing up for one day.

  Jennifer might know how she felt.

  “There you go,” she said. “See?” She smiled at her daughter, and Dyma unbuckled her seat belt, came over, and gave her a hug.

  “I’m doing a display of affection,” she said, “because really, Mom, that’s pretty awesome. And I’ve known for a long time, even though I didn’t figure it all out until middle school. It’s probably why I listened to you about sex, too, so there you go. Unintended consequences, but in a good way, right?” She looked over at Owen, waved, and said, “Virgin here. Are you impressed?”

  “Not by that,” he said, not missing a beat. “Or not exactly. I’m always impressed when people make their own choices and the choices aren’t actually stupid. Or when they’re brave. That’s impressive, too. I’ve got another Tao quote. ‘Your own positive future begins in this moment. All you have is right now. Every goal is possible from here.’”

  “They always sound so easy,” Jennifer said. “So reasonable. So inspirational. Am I the only one who isn’t inspired by inspirational? I always think, ‘Easy for you to say, buddy.’”

  Harlan said, “You and me both. If the Tao’s got something about gutting it out, though, I might listen to that. That tends to be more the way it works, from what I’ve seen. Like when people tell some guy playing wheelchair basketball that he’s inspirational for finding something he can do. What was he supposed to do, give up and lie in bed? You can only feel sorry for yourself so long. After that, you walk on. You figure there’s got to be something better up ahead, because it sure can’t be worse than this, and you walk on. At least, that’s how I do it.”

  “Nobody’s putting that in a meme, bro,” Owen said. “Or the Tao.”

  “Maybe not,” Harlan said, “but it works for me.”

  17

  Excess of Bratwurst

  The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, telling them they were landing. Dyma went back to her seat, and Harlan saw Jennifer watching her, clearly restraining herself from telling her to buckle her seatbelt, and also clearly relaxing when Dyma did it without the reminder.

  How would it feel to be that responsible for somebody? He couldn’t imagine. He really couldn’t imagine taking it on at fifteen. Grandfather and mother helping out or not, she’d been the mother of that baby, and she’d been the one going into that school every day, too.

  There’d have been a trial, too, probably. Guys like that, in his experience, didn’t plead guilty, because they didn’t feel guilty. He’d have been sure he’d get off, because he hadn’t done anything any other guy wouldn’t have done, not with the way she’d asked for it. There’d have been nobody else in the witness box with Jennifer then, either. Did they close the courtroom for an underage victim, or had a roomful of accusing eyes, including the asshole’s, stared at her while she’d told that humiliating story? Had she had to listen to his justifications, too? He was willing to bet that everybody in town had found out the details pretty quickly, closed courtroom or not.

  He remembered high school. It hadn’t always been easy, especially at home, and he’d been good-looking and a star. All those feelings, and you had about as much control over them as the tides. Whoever’d made up that thing about the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat had been talking about high school.

  He was coming back to his own high school today as a hero, and here he’d been, whining about it.

  Jennifer wasn’t looking at him, and then she was. Her color high, her eyes bright. Her chin went up, and he thought, Good for you. She said, “Well, that was more than you wanted to know.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “It had its moments. My favorite part was where your mom told that guidance counselor where to stick it.”

  She laughed. “I couldn’t believe it. She was so brave.”

  He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to kiss her cheek. She had her hands in her lap, though. She was holding herself together, and the plane had popped out of the low-lying clouds and was nearly down. He said, “She wasn’t the only one.”

  “What? Me?” She laughed again, but it sounded brittle, like she was all fragile pieces, held together with rubber bands. “When we’re … somewhere else …” A glance at Dyma, who was looking out the window, clearly fascinated. Thinking about the altimeter, or something. Jennifer went on, “Ask me then how brave I was.”

  “I will,” he said. “But you could look at it this way. Did you graduate from that high school?”

  “I did. No choice.”

  “Then you were brave,” he said. “Because there’s always a choice.” He smiled at her. It was a little painful. “And you must miss your mom like crazy.”

  As he watched, her eyes filled with tears. “She always …” She took a breath. “She always … believed in me.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “No.” She tried to laugh, and grabbed a napkin to wipe away the tears.

  “I think,” he said, “that she still does.”

  They were met on the ground by another SUV and another uniformed driver. Dyma asked Harlan, “Where do you get all the chauffeurs? Do they just follow around after you, or what?”

  “Nope,” he said. “They meet the plane, whoever’s on it. Don’t think they’re impressed by me, because they’re not. They have to be polite to everybody, even if the guy’s an ass— a jerk. It’s their job.”

  “I know the word ‘asshole,’” Dyma said.

  “I know lots of words, too,” Harlan said. “That doesn’t mean I have to use them. But that’s the secret reason I’m not a jerk. Don’t want to be somebody’s conversation piece. Hey, man,” he told the driver, who was youngish, blonde, and Scandinavian-stocky. “They get you out on Super Bowl Sunday, huh?” Then he slung his duffel and somebody’s purple suitcase into the trunk. Dyma’s, he was willing to bet. Jennifer would have a black suitcase.

  The guy said, “Yes, sir,” and reached for the other bags, but Owen already had them.

  “We’re headed over to Bismarck Century,” Harlan told the driver. “With a stop at the AT&T store first. Coming back here afterwards to fly out again, and it’d be real good if you’d hang around in case I need to make a quick getaway. There’s going to be some tailgating, then everybody’s watching the game in the gym. Stick close, OK? You like bratwurst?”

  “Yes, sir,” the guy said again, holding the door as they climbed in.

  “The name’s Harlan
, and this is Owen. The ladies are Jennifer and Dyma. If you’re going to hang with us, you can’t be calling me ‘sir.’ I’m not going to know who you’re talking to. I’d better know your name, too.”

  “Lincoln,” the driver said. “Linc. Sure, I can hang around.”

  “You play any ball, Linc? You got the size for it.” Harlan said as the SUV swung out of a nearly deserted airport—well, there you were, Super Bowl Sunday—and onto the main road.

  “High school,” the driver said. “North Prairie.”

  “Nine man,” Harlan said. “Hundred-yard field?”

  “Yes, s— Uh, yeah.”

  “You’ll be a runner, then.” Harlan told Jennifer, “You’re going to be doing more running with nine men on the field.”

  “Nah,” Linc said. “I’m not much of a runner. Offensive line.”

  “Ah,” Harlan said. “Which means you’d be a whole lot happier if Owen was the one sitting up here.” He could see the driver smiling a little in the rear-view mirror, so he’d guessed right. He went on, “I always think a good lineman’s kind of like a sergeant in the army. Everybody thinks the officer’s the one calling the shots, but every officer’d tell you it’s the sergeant who gets it done.”

  “Yes, sir,” the driver said, and this time, Harlan just smiled and didn’t correct him.

  Harlan was quiet, then, and Linc drove and got discreet. At the mall, he pulled right up to the entrance and said, “Call when you’re done. I’m figuring it’ll be a while.”

  “Nope,” Harlan said. “I called ahead.”

  He was right. Fifteen minutes later, he was climbing back into the car again. Sometimes, there were benefits to being well known.