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“Don’t tell me you’re buying into that ‘woman scorned’ bullshit they’re pedaling on the news outlets. She’s a victim.”
He barks out a laugh. “A victim? She killed a man, Lori.”
“No, she killed a fucking monster.”
He shakes his head in disgust. “Again, she could have told someone what he did. She didn’t have to kill him.”
“Tell someone…You have no clue what you’re talking about. You have no idea how hard it can be to tell people something like that happened to you. It’s hard enough to admit it to yourself.” My voice cracks, my face tingling as tears prick my eyes, and I bite into my lip to keep myself from breaking down—to keep from telling him I believe Ashland because I’ve lived the same hell as her.
My father watches me, his eyes unblinking, and my pulse quickens, worrying my words and temper have exposed too much.
“All right,” my mother says. “That’s enough. We need to change the subject.”
My father looks over at her this time, nodding in agreement before taking another bite of his lasagna. I sigh, then do the same, unsure if it’s in frustration or relief.
One thing I am certain of: I won’t be telling him my story any time soon.
* * *
My eyes close before my head even hits the pillow. It’s been a long, grueling day, and I’m thankful it’s over. My cellphone rings just as I begin to drift off, and I curse as my eyes shoot open. I reach for my cellphone, and my stomach flutters. You would think as much as we talk now, I would be over that, but I suddenly feel wide awake.
I clear my throat and sit up, answering his call. “Can you not tell time?”
He chuckles, and I grind my teeth, irritated by the buzz on my skin. “Since when do you go to bed this early?”
“It’s been a very draining day.”
“Are you referring to Ashland or your parents?”
“Both. I had a wonderful discussion with my father at dinner. It’s so good to know how he feels about victims of sexual assault, especially since both of his daughters have been through it.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, just that he thinks Ashland is a liar because she didn’t speak up sooner.”
Spencer sighs. “He wasn’t talking about you, Lori. Ashland’s situation is different.”
“Not really.”
“She killed someone, and your dad won’t be the last person to have very opinionated thoughts about her.”
“Before you ask, yes, I’m still sure I want to write her story.”
“I wasn’t going to ask that,” he says, and I huff. “Okay…fine. I was going to ask you that. I can’t help worrying. But I’ll behave.”
“I went through my notes when I got home tonight. That bastard had a psychology degree. He probably used that to help him prey on women. Especially young, insecure women like Ashland and my sister. There isn’t anything anyone could say or do to keep me from telling this story.”
“I hear you and support you. Promise.”
“Anyway, how was couples’ night over at Eric’s?” My tone is full of annoyance, despite my efforts.
“It was fine,” he answers with a chuckle. “We didn’t really do much, talked about the plans for Brenden’s bachelor party.”
“Well, I already know there won’t be any strippers there. So…that’s lame,” I tease.
“He’s with Lizzy, why would he want to look at a stripper?”
“Okay, gross…she’s like my sister, I don’t want to hear that.”
