Page 87 of A Mean Season


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“When did this happen?” I wondered. Did people think she was watching TV at two in the—

“It started around midnight. That’s when he got here.”

That was almost four hours ago. That put things into a horrible perspective.

“I’d like to take you to the emergency room.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You may be injured in ways you don’t recognize,” I said, probably too vaguely.

I knew that HIV could be easily contracted in prison where Stu Whatley had been for most of the last ten years. This had been all over the news, not to mention John and I having talked about it. Candy needed to go onto AZT for her own protection. It was the last thing in the world I wanted to tell her. That’s what doctors were for.

“Ways I don’t recognize?” she asked, looking offended. “I was there. I think I know exactly how I was injured.”

“You could have been given a social disease.”

She stared at me a moment, absorbing that.

“I’ll see my doctor this week.”

“I have a friend who’s an ER nurse at Long Beach Memorial. We could go and see him.”

She got quiet again. I felt like I might have made some progress. ‘Friend’ had a safe ring to it. And it might be embarrassing to talk with her regular doctor.

“You know, I almost didn’t come forward. After Joanne’s rape,” she said.

At first, I had no idea what to say to that. Then, “He was the wrong man, but he was a rapist. You probably saved a lot of women.”

“And got myself raped in the bargain.”

“I am sorry...”

“If I go and see your friend, he’ll have to call the police. I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m not trying to trick you. I’m trying to help. You called me to help you. And this is the best help I can offer you.”

In a small voice, she said, “Fine. We’ll go see your friend.” With that, she left the room. As she turned and walked away, I noticed there was a small blood stain on the back of her outfit. We were doing the right thing.

I picked up the paper bags and left the bedroom.

Candy found her purse and we left the house. The Taurus was parked in the alley in front of her garage. I got her settled in the passenger seat and walked around to the driver’s side. Before I got in, I called Ronnie.

“Is John working?” I had no idea what I’d say to Candy if he wasn’t.

“It’s almost four in the morning, why aren’t you in bed next to me? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s a friend.”

“What friend?”

“I can’t tell you, it’s confidential.”

“Is it something to do with work?”

“Is John working?”

“I think so, yeah. I don’t hear him snoring.”

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