Before I could say anything, she was gone and you were on top of me and I couldn’t get you off. You’d passed out and you were so big, so heavy, I couldn’t move you.
Then Denny was there, in the room, and I know he was in the room the whole time. He saw the whole thing. He was laughing, thought it was funny. I was trying to think straight, get you off me, get to Feb. I asked him to help me but he just kept laughing, saying, “Now it’s over. Now it’s over.” He said it again and again. He sounded so happy. I knew he wasn’t right then. I knew it. Really not right. But I didn’t see it, couldn’t think straight. Not until later, what he did to me and then, a lot later, what he did to Angie.
I got you off and I couldn’t get untangled from the sheets, I was so muddled, and I just gave up and started crying. Craig was there then and he was so mad at Denny and I was lucky, for once, because Craig took care of me. He took care of you and me.
That was hard but this is harder because you have to know why I didn’t say anything. Why I didn’t tell you or Feb what happened.
The next day, my folks went to church and Denny came over. I felt sick, from what happened and from whatever he gave me and trying to figure out what I’d say to you and Feb. That’s why I didn’t go to church with them. But, even if I wasn’t like that, I still couldn’t have fought him. I did fight him, but I didn’t win.
He hurt me, Colt. Right in the living room of my own home. He told me I couldn’t tell you or Feb what happened. “Don’t you fucking open your mouth,” he said. I’ll never forget it, those words, the way he said them. He wasn’t a Denny I knew. But I told him I was going to tell you and he got mean, then meaner, then he hurt me, Colt. In the worst way. The very worst way.
Colt pulled in breath then sat down in a chair.
He didn’t violate Amy and he didn’t have a son.
He’d been right. Denny had raped her.
The first didn’t make him feel better because he now knew the last.
He ran his fingers through his hair and then curved them around the back of his neck, squeezing tight, his eyes closed, the papers in his hand, Amy’s words, written in pretty, neat handwriting. He wondered how many times she wrote and rewrote them. Or if she just poured it out and sent it to her parents. The writing was too neat and he knew she’d practiced.
He bit his lip and pulled in another breath before he opened his eyes, slid the first sheet, which he’d read front and back, behind the other and started on the next page.
He left me and told me there was more of that if I opened my mouth. He knew, when I came up pregnant, that he did that to me. He sent me a note, put it in my mailbox and all it said was “Keep your mouth shut.” I kept it and gave it to Mom and Dad with this letter. I don’t know if it helps at all, but I’ll ask them to give it you.
Colt, I didn’t want that to happen to me again. That’s why I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until he hurt Angie, put her behind the bar, that I knew I had to do what was right. Don’t ask me how I knew it was him, just that, I did.
But I went to the bar and I couldn’t. The way Feb looked at me. I knew what she thought. And I couldn’t hurt either of you anymore than I already did. And I didn’t want him to hurt me.
So, by the time you get this, I will have made it so he can’t hurt me but you’ll know.
You can show this to Feb, I don’t mind. Promise. You were sweet together and I like the idea that maybe I did a little something to make it all right between you two again. I’m just sorry I left it so late, too late for Angie but maybe not too late for you and Feb.
Please don’t hate me, Colt. I couldn’t stand that. I promise, I wanted to do right.
And look into Denny. I can’t say I know that he did that to Angie except that I do. If he could do that to me, to you and to Feb, he could do that to Angie. He just could, Colt, trust me.
And one more thing and I’m sorry for this because I’m asking a favor I don’t deserve to ask. But I had to do it, to protect him and I know you’re a good man and you might not want to protect me but I figure you’ll want to protect him.
I lied on the birth certificate. I said the father was Craig. I thought, if my boy ever came looking, that he should have a father he’d want to find, not Denny. If my boy comes looking, you have to talk to Craig. You have to tell him to keep my secret. You have to help protect my boy. I know it’s a lot to ask, of you and of Craig, but I don’t want him knowing, if he ever wants to find out, where he came from. Tell him Craig and me were young, but we were happy and we were in love. We weren’t, but he was a good friend and he’s a good man and every child should think they have a good Dad and they came from love, don’t you think?
My folks know what happened, they got their own letter and I know they’ll stand by me. I just hope you and Craig will too. Will you do that for me? Please?
That’s all there is to tell except to say I’m sorry. Really, so sorry. You don’t know how much.
Amy
Colt read the last line again then again and he knew Amy was wrong. He knew how sorry she was, he’d seen her hanging from her ceiling fan. He knew just how sorry she was for something she fucking didn’t do.
He slid the papers back into the envelope slowly and smoothed the clasp shut. Then he set it on the table and went to the door. He opened it to find the Harrises standing outside, Mrs. Harris holding a paper cup with a cardboard protector, the string from a teabag dangling.
“Would you come back in?” Colt asked.
They nodded and walked in, their eyes on the envelope.
“Please, sit.”
“Are you okay, son?” Mr. Harris asked instead of sitting and Colt looked at him.
“No,” he answered truthfully. “You had a beautiful, kind daughter who is no longer of this world and never did a thing wrong to anyone and definitely not to me but she lived twenty-two years thinking she did. I’m not okay with that.”
Mr. Harris’s body grew taller, his shoulders straightening.