Page 64 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars

“I guess. Was I an unlucky child?”

“Some people might think so.”

“To me, luck implies the presence of a supernatural being moving us around like pieces on a chess board.”

“Like Tyche? The Greek goddess of luck and fortune?”

“Exactly. Someone in the heavens choosing our fate. I think chance is a better word. I don’t believe in luck. It was chance that Nancy fell pregnant after sleeping with Edmund. Chance that she was married to Don, and therefore I was born to a guy who hated me even before I left the womb. It’s chance when you’re in a certain place at a certain time for an event to happen.”

“So you don’t think I was unlucky to be assaulted?”

I look across at her. She meets my eyes for a moment, then returns them to the road. Is that what she thinks? That it was luck or fate that put her in the path of those imbeciles? That her path was chosen for her? That it was a lesson she was supposed to learn? She said she didn’t believe that, but she didn’t say she isn’t religious anymore, and I know how deep the roots go, snaking down into the soul. No doubt Atticus would have spoken to her about her assault from a religious viewpoint, and it makes me angry to think he might have implied it was all part of God’s plan.

“You weren’t unlucky, Lora. Or stupid, or reckless, or idiotic, or any other word I know has gone through your brain—you were far less crazy than millions of other teenagers when they graduate. Most kids I know have stories about getting trashed and falling asleep face down in bushes or on park benches. Waking up in bed with someone whose name they can’t remember. Getting wasted and being completely out of it—and all by choice. What happened to you was that a group of dishonest and brutal young men who couldn’t get laid made the decision to get what they wanted using nefarious means. I’m sure to them you were inconsequential. You were irrelevant, which sounds harsh from your point of view, but I doubt they even knew your name.”

She thinks about that. “I don’t know. I think they did. They chose me because they thought I was weak. The bookworm with the glasses who’d had a religious, sheltered upbringing, and who others made fun of because she was so clueless about things like sex and alcohol. I think they knew I was a virgin, and they thought it would be more fun to rape the innocent girl who was unlikely to fight back.”

I look out of the window, and don’t reply.

After a while, she says, “You okay? Sorry, did I go too far?”

“Of course not. You can always say whatever you want to me.”

“But I upset you.”

I think about how to reply. “Since Joel and Fraser told me what happened, I’ve tried very hard not to think about it too much. I’m not your father, or your brother, or your boyfriend, so it’s not my place to get angry on your behalf. I can’t change what happened. And you told me you didn’t want me to display macho bravado, which I understand.”

“But…”

I hesitate. “I don’t want to offend you.”

“Aw Linc, come on. This is me you’re talking to. I thought you said we could discuss anything?”

“All right. Look, we’re archaeologists. We’ve studied sexual dimorphism and its effects on gender through history.” I’m referring to the term that explains how in some species the sexes differ in things like height and muscle mass, craniofacial structure, and voice pitch.

“You’re trying to say men are bigger and stronger than women.”

I wince. “Kinda. Obviously, I’m not talking about gender, because that’s a spectrum, and it’s a complex interplay of biological, environmental, and psychological factors. And although sexual dimorphism influences certain physical traits, it doesn’t dictate gender identity or societal roles.”

“Linc, relax. I understand. You’re saying you’re basically a Neanderthal and feel a prehistoric need to protect your woman.”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah, that sort of sums it up.”

“Not that I’m your woman, but… oh you know what I mean.”

I smile and hold out my hand. She looks at it, then slides hers into it. I tighten my fingers around hers. “I know you don’t need protecting. You’re resilient and strong emotionally and mentally, more so than I’ll ever be. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like I want to put my arms around you and keep you safe for the rest of our days.”

The words are out before I can vet them, and they surprise me. It’s a stupid thing to say when I live on the other side of the world. But the sentiment is true, and I can see by the look in her eyes that I’ve surprised her too.

“Linc,” she says, and then she stops as my phone starts ringing.

“Sorry.” I pull it out and look at the screen. “Shit, it’s Edmund.” I press the green button, then put it on speakerphone. “Hello?”

“Linc? Edmund here.”

“Hello. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.”

“No, I didn’t think I’d hear back from the lab before tomorrow at the earliest, but I got a phone call today with the results.”

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