Nicole has her coat and boots on by the time Dalton arrives. As we walk through town, she asks if Dalton can hang behind when we get into the forest. She might pretend “setting a trap” is only an excuse, but she is hoping to do that. Hoping he’s out there and if he sees her, accompanied only by a small woman and a puppy, he will strike. We know that’s unlikely, but Dalton agrees.
As we reach the forest edge, Nicole slows, quick breaths controlling obvious anxiety, but when either of us looks her way, she squares her thin shoulders.
Before Dalton leaves, he says, “If this becomes too much, say so. There’s no one here you need to impress.”
She gives him a weak smile. “Sometimes, wanting to impress is what keeps us moving when all we really want to do is curl up in a fetal position and whimper.”
“Okay. Just be warned, if you feel the need to curl up on the path, Storm will think you’re playing dead and maul you.”
She chuckles. “I’d be okay with that.”
He hands me the leash, and as he does, he squeezes my hand and says, “You know.”
“Be careful?”
“Yeah.”
I squeeze his hand in return and take the lead, and he heads into the forest. The trails are in better shape now. After a snowfall, Dalton has the militia ride over them with the snowmobiles. They aren’t bare, but we don’t need snowshoes.
Nicole stays quiet for about ten steps. Then she looks over her shoulder, in the direction Dalton went and says, “Where do you get a guy like that?”
“Cranky, sweary, and overprotective?”
“With the guys I’ve dated, those would be their good qualities. Which means obviously I need to change my criteria.” Her cheeks flare. “And I can’t believe I’m talking about that. As if, a few days after being rescued from one guy, I’m thinking of what kind of man I’ll date next.”
“You weren’t dating him.”
She laughs.
“Which means it’s not the same thing at all,” I say.
She wraps her arms around herself. “It isn’t, but it’s like I still feel, after that, men should be the absolute last things on my mind.”
“Because that’s what others will think?”
A pause. A long one. The she nods. “Like others will be judging me, and if I start checking out guys after my ordeal, maybe that means it wasn’t so bad.”
“Anyone who believes that is an idiot.”
She smiles. “Thank you.”
“You’re separating the two just fine. Don’t second-guess, especially not for others.”
She glances over. “You sound as if … I mean, I don’t want to pry. You’re a police officer, so you have experience in that way.”
“I was attacked,” I say. “Four guys. Serious beating. Rape? I don’t know. Which sounds crazy, but I’d have been unconscious at the time, and I was in such bad shape that someone decided testing for it wasn’t necessary.”
“Do you wish they had?”
I walk in silence for a minute, and she starts to apologize for asking, but I say, “I think so. I know I probably was, so afterward I had issues—with men, with sex, separating that from my attack. Like you said, it wasn’t so much a matter of me having difficulty separating them as feeling like I should have difficulty. But I never say I have been raped, because that feels like I’m appropriating an experience.”
“I don’t think there’s a club. And if there is, I don’t think there are levels of membership.”
“True.”
“You can’t judge someone else’s trauma, right? No one has the right to say you’re a real victim or not.”
“Survivor,” I say. “Not victim.”
“Right. I’ve heard that. Now the trick is to reach the point where I feel less like a victim and more like a survivor.”
“You will.”
We walk in silence. I’m never that open about my past, but I feel almost obligated with Nicole. On the job, I offered sympathy while maintaining professional distance. That’s gone here. Or it is with Nicole, as if rescuing her gives me some responsibility for healing her.
“Can I hold that?” she says, gesturing at the leash.
I hesitate. Storm is darting from side to side, chasing whatever snow we kick up, constantly in motion, constantly tugging. Nicole is keeping up, but only because I’m taking it slow, and even then, her breathing says this leisurely hike is the equivalent of a 5K run.
“If it’s too much, I’ll give her back,” she says. “I don’t want you to lose her.”
There’s little danger of that. Even if Storm breaks free, she’s still a puppy, with puppy-short legs and a puppy-short attention span. I’m more worried about what she’ll do to Nicole.
Nicole has her hand out. “Please.”
I hand the leash over. Storm promptly races behind us, twisting Nicole in the lead. I grab for it, but Nicole only laughs and untangles herself. She gives Storm a tug, and we continue on.
We’re walking and talking, staying on the trail. I catch glimpses of Dalton—intentionally revealing himself to say I’m still here. Even when I don’t see him, I feel him there, the sense that I can relax and get caught up in conversation with Nicole. Someone is watching out for me, and yes, I can do that myself, but it’s nice to know I don’t have to all the time.
I am on alert for one thing, though: Nicole’s energy level. As it drops, I say, “I think we should turn back.”