Page 20 of When the Night is Over

“Okay.”

When I don’t move, he opens the door and gently takes my elbow to lead me out. “I think I saw your bag outside. Want me to go grab it?”

“Yeah, thanks Simon.”

I’m grateful that I don’t personally know the police officer they sent to question me. It’s all quick, matter of fact. He seems to buy my version of events. He asks about Simon twice, though, which makes me angry. He finally backs off when I repeat, “He was on his way to work, just like me. I’m grateful he showed up when he did.”

When I ask how Rudy is, the police officer tells me he was unconscious when they took him away in the ambulance. “And that man?”

“He’s in pretty bad shape too, but he’s in custody. Don’t worry about him coming around here again.”

“Thank you, officer.”

Simon comes over with my bag. “I think I got most of it.”

With the way I was swinging that bag, I imagine that money, makeup and tampons were probably strewn all about the parking lot. On a normal day I might have been embarrassed, but today I don’t possess the energy give one flip.

“I can tell Mr. Roberts I’ll be late if you want me to drive you home.”

“No, I’m working.”

The police officer gets up to go. “Is there anything else you need from us?” Simon asks.

“No, son.” He shakes Simon’s hand. “Sounds like you did good here today, real good. There’s been a string of assaults on women in Maconsville,” the officer says as he eyes me. “This guy fits the description, tattoo and all. If either of you are needed to testify, I have your information. I’ll be in touch.”

Simon slumps into the seat across from me. Two or three customers are clustered up by the register, looking over at us as they get the play by play from Denny. “Maybe you shouldn’t work today, Charlotte.”

I reach over absently and touch the cut skin on his right hand. “Maybeyoushouldn’t work.”

He takes my hand and squeezes it gently. “Why didn’t you tell the truth?”

Looking away, I keep my voice to a whisper. “Is there any point in having the whole damn county know that I wasalmostsexually assaulted? I’d be nothing but a sordid tale for the gossips.”

“I get that.”

“And I’d have to quit this job...I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Why would I have to quit, or why would I want to keep working here?” I ask, attempting to joke. Simon smiles.He should do that more often. “My father would make me quit.”

“I can understand that.”

“My alternative is answering phones at the dealership working alongside his playboy bunny of a girlfriend.” I shake my head, standing up. “Not happening.”

He stands. “Sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. And really Simon, thank you.” When I meet his eyes, I have to look away. He’s studying me, searching for something. “You should get your hand checked out,” I say over my shoulder as I make my way back to the bathroom.

I imagine him shrugging when he answers, “This is nothing.”

If there was some kind of Oscar award for good waitressing, I would have been nominated for my performance today. I was on autopilot, handling eight to ten checks at once without hitting a snag. I didn’t even take a break, chancing only one look out the window my entire shift. A cold driving rain came on around mid-morning, but it wasn’t the weather keeping me inside today. I didn’t want to be outside, didn’t want to be near that lot, and I didn’t want to look across the street to see Simon’s curious and worried eyes staring back at me. I wanted to forget the entire episode.

For the first hour of my shift, Denny, Marley and the other waitresses kept asking how I was. I shook my head, smiling and looking at them like they were being neurotic. “I’mfine,” I answered each time, until finally they stopped and things went back to normal.

I’m sure they saw through myIt’s all goodact. Each one gave me a hug with a squeeze when my shift was over, and Marley told me she’d be coming in half an hour earlier from now on. Two of us should be setting up, and no, she wasn’t saying that just because of what happened this morning.

I bite my lip to keep from bawling as I make my way out into the parking lot. The rain is coming down in icy sheets.Keys, keys.I look through my bag and then shake it to listen for the familiar jingle. The visual comes on suddenly. He’s closing in, reaching for me as I throw the keys across the parking lot. His face, his damp, dirty hands.No, no, no. I lean my head against the car door, tired and defeated.

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