Page 84 of Sex Coach

Twenty-Eight

Michelle

A unt Blair pickedme up from JFK .

I'd taken a cab there, but when she texted me yesterday to ask if I wanted lunch and I'd told her I was in Philly for a few days, she offered to pick me up and we could get lunch after .

Now, as I sat across from her at one of our favorite bistros a few blocks away from Times Square, I couldn't stop thinking about an interview I'd read online from Whitley McCrane .

She'd given the interview to one of the online sites last night and it had since been read and shared hundreds of thousands of times .

It wasn't because of the 'alleged' affair either .

That was barely even remarked on .

Whitley knew how to spin the media, that was for certain. She'd found somebody to talk to that understood women's issues and the entire focus was on her rape. Much of the story was about how freeing she found it to no longer have to pretend that the entire ordeal hadn't happened, not to have to hide away from it anymore .

"Darling...you're a million miles away again," Aunt Blair said softly .

Shifting my gaze to her, I thought again about what Whitley had said in that article .

Freeing.

What would it be like to be free ? Free of the nerves and the fear and the insistent shame that crept up on me when I was unaware ?

"Honey?" Aunt Blair leaned over and touched cool fingertips to the back of my hand. "Are you okay ?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it. When I opened it again, the words came pouring out like somebody had opened a floodgate .

"Mom's brother Parker raped me. When I was fifteen. He'd been bothering me for months, and I never told anybody because he told me all these lies about how they'd never believe me if I went to them and try to tell..." Everything tumbled out and I couldn't stop it .

Aunt Blair's face was rigid and taut, but her eyes burned hot, then iced over, before burning once more. She listened to every word I said, her hand still resting on mine .

At some point, I turned my palm upward and she laced our fingers .

Still I talked .

"I couldn't stay in Chicago anymore. Mom's family blamed me. It was like it was my fault he'd done something so awful, my fault that he'd gotten caught, my fault that he raped me. They couldn't believe we'd gone to court, were appalled he'd have to go to jail..." My voice hitched, and for a moment, I had to stop and look away .

Aunt Blair just waited, her hand in mine, warm now and steady .

Once I looked back at her, she squeezed my fingers gently. "Keep going," she advised. "You got this far. Don't stop now ."

"They didn't get it," I whispered. "They were angry with us . They blamed us . Mom no longer talks to them. I wasn't there when my grandmother died, I didn't go to her funeral. I didn't want to go. She yelled at me, Aunt Blair. She called me a liar and a whore ..."

My voice broke .

Aunt Blair slid in around the table and settled close to me on the booth, using her body to shield mine from anybody who might be nosy enough to look deep enough into the shadows to see. "She's a horrid old cow, then. It was her fault too. Her fault, and her husband's, for not raising him to be a better man than that. She knows it too. Deep inside. But it's easier for weak people to lash out and blame others." She rocked me a little. "That's why you went to Iowa for college, isn't it? And why you moved here? You had to be away from there. From him...from them ."

"Yes." Covering her forearm with my hand, I leaned against her, uncaring that we were in the middle of a restaurant at the time. Nobody seemed to be paying us any attention anyway. "He did a year in prison, got out for good behavior...good behavior ."

"The judicial system sucks eggs in this country, sweetheart." Easing back, she studied me for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. "You're good. Aren't you ?"

"I'm getting there." Managing a smile, I said, "Hardly anybody knows. Mom and Dad, of course. It barely even hit the papers back home. Mom's family, fighting to protect their boy and all. But...I don't...I can't tell people. I practically hide from the truth myself ."

Brushing my hair back, she asked softly. "So, what changed ?"

Needing some space, I eased away and looked out over the restaurant. My water sat in front of me, mostly untouched, and I reached for it, needing to wet my throat. After a long drink, I put it down, then looked over and met my aunt's eyes. She'd understand. Better than most people, I suspected. I didn't know how I knew that, but she would understand .

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