The Color of Hope

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE





Stephanie couldn’t jump in her car fast enough, heart racing the entire way to Charley’s house. What in the world was Sam doing there? Why was she with Ben at one in the morning? And why couldn’t Ben take her home?

She felt her hand squeezing the steering wheel. Better be because he’d left town. Because if he tried anything with that girl, Stephanie would kill him.

As she approached the house, she saw drama unfolding with a policeman, Charley, her mom, and Skip Willoughby. There’d been a flurry of phone calls that precipitated that. After Marcus called the police, Charley got a call from her grandfather, who’d apparently gotten a call from the sheriff, a personal friend. The sheriff had wanted Skip to come down to the police station; Skip arranged for a meeting at his house.

As much as Stephanie wanted to know what was happening over there, she spotted the main object of her concern on the front step. And when Sam spotted her car, she came quickly down the steps and into the street. Stephanie threw the car in park as Sam opened the passenger side door and got in. She reached for her seat belt and clicked it, barely looking at her.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Stephanie.”

Her voice was so thin that Stephanie stared at her a moment. “No problem at all.” She drove off, noticing the pretty shirt Sam was wearing, one she’d never seen. “So . . . I’m surprised you’re here, visiting Ben so late.” She glanced at her. “How did that happen?”

Sam stared downward.

“Sam?”

The girl turned toward the passenger window. Stephanie caught her wiping tears.

Lord, something has happened, and everything in me is saying it’s something awful. Please give me the strength to help Sam. Give me the words. Help me not to break down or do something rash—because, Lord, if Ben . . . She took a breath. I love this girl, Lord. I know You love her more. Help me to be what You want me to be for her in this moment.

Stephanie pulled in beside Sam’s mom’s Oldsmobile, hoping she was asleep so they’d have some time. She cut her lights.

“Sam, come here, sweetie.” Stephanie tugged at her gently and opened her arms. “Come here.”

Sam reached for her and broke down in such sobs that Stephanie began crying herself. She held her, stroked her hair, rubbed her back.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam blurted suddenly. “I’m so . . . sorry.”

“Sorry for what, sweetheart?”

“You told me to stay away from him, and I didn’t listen. I didn’t listen.”

Stephanie dabbed her tears and looked directly at Sam. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

She looked down, racked with emotion. “I can’t.”

“Sam . . .” Stephanie lifted her chin with a finger. “Yes, you can. Tell me everything.” She reached for a box of tissues on the floor in the back and gave her one.

Sam blew her nose and stared out the side window. After at least two minutes, she said, “He called me after the game tonight, said he wanted to celebrate.”

Stephanie heard the backdrop in that one statement. Ben had already been working her.

“I thought we were going out somewhere”—her breath caught as the sobs came from her chest—“but we went back to his house and watched a movie in his room.”

“What time did he pick you up?”

“Eleven thirty.”

Jerk. Probably had already been out with another girl for the real aftergame celebration.

“Okay, so you watched a movie . . .”

“No.”

Stephanie waited.

“It was only on maybe ten minutes, and he started feeling on me and kissing me. And . . .”

Stephanie’s stomach tightened.

“. . . and . . .” Sam let out a low wail. “He started taking off my clothes . . . and I told him no . . . I told him I was a virgin, and he didn’t care.” She blew her nose again. “I scratched his back hard, but he wouldn’t get off me. He was too heavy . . . so heavy . . .” She turned red eyes to Stephanie. “It hurt.”

“Oh, baby girl . . .” She embraced the younger girl, tears flowing down Stephanie’s face faster than she could wipe them.

“I feel so ashamed. I was trying to look cute. I wanted to look sexy. If I hadn’t—”

“Uh-uh.” Stephanie looked at her. “You’re not going there. You can look cute all you want. This is the bottom line—he had no right to touch you. This was rape. What he did was criminal.” She pointed down the street. “We need to go back to that police officer outside the house and tell him what happened.”

Stephanie thought of the irony. They can haul away both of those jokers.

“No, no.” Sam was shaking her head again. “I’m not telling anyone else. Please don’t tell anyone. It’s too humiliating.” She stared downward, still shaking her head. “I hate my life. I hate that I never had a dad. My Grammie was taken from me. You were taken from me. My virginity was taken from me.” She rolled the tissue around her finger. “My mom doesn’t care about me. She was more excited about my going out with a boy than going to a Bible study. I’m just . . . sick of my life. It’s not worth living.”

Stephanie put her hand on her shoulder. “You have everything to live for, Sam. I’ve told you before and I’m telling you again that you have no idea how much God loves you. He loves you. Life can be horrible at times. People can do horrible things. Moms and dads might not be all that they should. But I want you to keep your focus on God. He never fails.”

“Miss Stephanie . . .” Sam looked at her. “He failed tonight.”

Lord, what am I supposed to say to that? I’m not good at this stuff.

“Sam, all I can tell you is I believe the Bible—it took me awhile, but I do—and the truth is that God never fails. It doesn’t mean He controls our every action. We’re sinful people. We do sinful things. And He allows that. But you know what?”

Sam stared at her.

“Those sinful things let us know how much we need Jesus,” Stephanie said. “I need Jesus, right now, because I hate Ben for what he did, and I’m supposed to love him and pray for him. Ben needs Jesus—clearly. And, sweetheart, you need Jesus. That’s been my prayer for you, Samara.” Stephanie squeezed her shoulder. “That your eyes will be opened to the truth of your desperate need of Him—just like the Samaritan woman at the well.”

Sam was quiet a moment. “I don’t know about anything right now. But I know I’m not going back to that school. I can’t face him.”

“Sam,” Stephanie said, “you need to talk to your mother about all of this. She needs to know what happened. And you should talk to her about going to the police.”

“I’m not telling her.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

“That wouldn’t help. And anyway, she wouldn’t care.”

“Oh, Sam, yes she would. Let’s just—”

“No.” She shook her head for emphasis.

Stephanie blew out a breath and tapped on the steering wheel, debating her next step. She suddenly threw the car into reverse.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“I have to take you to the police station.” Tears started again. “I have to.”

“I’m not telling them anything,” Sam said. “You can’t make me.”

“Sam, this makes no sense. You can’t let Ben get away with this. Anyway, if you change your mind—and you will if I have anything to do with it—this is for your protection, for the police to have the evidence they need.”

Stephanie had never been to the police station, but she’d passed it enough in town to know where it was. She pulled into a parking spot—and thirty minutes later she was pulling back out.

“I told you I wasn’t saying anything,” Sam said. “I just want to put it behind me.” She added, “And I wish you hadn’t told them it was Ben Willoughby. They probably have kids at my school. People will know.”

“They’re professionals, Sam. They’ll keep it confidential.” She looked at her. “I just wish you would have cooperated.” She got an idea. “I know,” she said. “We can go to the hospital in Rocky Mount and do a rape kit. That way—”

“Noooo.” Sam began crying. “I would’ve walked home from Ben’s house if I knew you were gonna do this. Please, just take me home.” She was sobbing now, the weight of the evening hitting her again. “I want to go to bed. Please!”

Stephanie wanted badly to at least take her to her house, let her be loved on by her and Janelle. If Sam’s mom wasn’t home, she would’ve done just that.

She pulled in front of Sam’s house again, checking the clock on the dash. “We’ll talk again in the morning,” she said. “I want you to really consider telling your mom. She needs to know.”

Sam sighed. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”

“I love you, Samara.” Stephanie didn’t know why she was suddenly using Sam’s whole name, but she liked the sound of it. “And see, I wasn’t taken from you. As God would have it, I’m still here.”

Sam reached for her and held her tight. “I love you too, Miss Stephanie. Thank you.”

“Look for my call later this morning.”

“Okay,” she said. “And, Miss Stephanie, please promise me you won’t tell anyone what happened.”

Stephanie sighed. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Please. You have to.”

“I’ll respect your wishes,” she said, “but only until we talk again. I really don’t want him to get away with this.”

Sam got out and went into the house.

Stephanie drove off, her mind in a million directions, her heart torn to shreds.