To this end, Tom was not anywhere reasonable when it came to finding his daughter’s rapist. In spite of his guilt after the attempted suicide and the reconstructed reality he created, Tom never let up. He may have persisted with less conviction or a lowered emotional attachment to the process as he was lulled into believing that his wife was right about Jenny’s recovery and the need to “move on,” but he did persist. As far as anyone in the town could detect, Fairview remained fully committed to finding Jenny’s attacker, and the reports about blue sedans came in nearly every month.
Now, the only things that resulted from those reports were distracted cops and a few moms getting away with speeding on their way to a school pickup. Until a year later.
The car was spotted on a street adjacent to the high school by a pair of senior girls making their way to town. It’s only a half-mile walk, and the kids like to gather for milk shakes and mischief, though there’s not much trouble to be found in downtown Fairview. Still, this path is well traveled. The driver of the car obviously had no idea a virtual posse had been enlisted to secure his capture.
Jenny had not yet returned to school. That made two spring terms in a row that trauma had caused her to abandon her life. Still it was my advice that she immerse herself in the therapy and acknowledge the gravity of what had occurred both recently and last spring. I hate the armchair psychologists who postulate that the best remedy for trauma is getting back to normal life. It’s nothing more than a wives’ tale, for lack of a more politically correct expression. At some point, that would be the right course for Jenny. But not until she had completed her work with me. It had not served her well thus far, agreed? Have you ever tried to concentrate on work after receiving devastating news? Or exciting news? What do you do? Do you go outside for a smoke or to call your wife, or cry or jump up and down? You do not sit at your desk and return to your work.
Officer Steve Koper took the call. The girls had tried to be discreet, turning the corner before dialing 911 from a cell phone. The school had sufficiently scared the student body and their parents after the rape. E-mails went out monthly, reminding parents about the blue Civic, and about warning kids not to venture out alone in secluded areas. There had been speakers about rape and abduction, and pamphlets with safety measures children should take. And, of course, news of Jenny’s attempted suicide had gone “viral,” bringing everyone’s mind back to the rape and the blue Civic. I’m quite certain this is why the girls noticed the car. Everyone was again talking about Jenny Kramer.
It’s a funny thing, teen culture. As ruthless as it can be, teenagers still take their cues from the adult world. Had Jenny not been raped, her story from that night would have resulted in merciless ridicule. She’d been jilted by Doug Hastings. She’d puked in the bathroom. She’d run away crying, alone into the woods. I have no doubt she would have lost some friends over it, been forced to turn off her social media for months, maybe even the year. I have several teenage patients. This is mostly what they talk about. But Jenny was raped, and the seriousness of her rape was made clear by the police, the school, and the local media. Jenny was suddenly the girl everyone had to be nice to. She was invited to parties, sleepovers, ski weekends in Vermont. She was asked to join the school paper, Model UN, acting club. Everyone wanted kudos for showing kindness. Even Doug Hastings, who (can you believe this?) asked her to the movies.
Jenny had floated through, accepting invitations, putting on an appropriately happy face, stealing pills from bathrooms.
It felt like I was a celebrity or something. Like I had done something special, so now everyone liked me. What had I done? I was stupid to run into those woods. To get so drunk. To get so upset over a guy. Over a jerk like Doug Hastings! All the teachers and those people who came to talk to us, everyone was basically saying, “Don’t do what Jenny Kramer did. Don’t be stupid like Jenny Kramer.” I felt like saying to all of them, “If I’m such a stupid loser, why do you want to be friends with me?” It shouldn’t have been both ways, you know? And the thing is, if I had done something good, like made the Olympic track team, no one would want to be my friend. They would all be jealous and would find reasons to hate me. That happened to this guy a few years ago. He won some national math thing. He met the president and everything. He might as well have had Ebola. Everyone called him a geek, made fun of everything he wore and said and did. I don’t even know what I did or didn’t do. I don’t know if I fought him off or just lay there and let it happen. I don’t know, so they can’t possibly know. Except for one thing: That he won and I lost. That’s the bottom line, right? That I lost that fight.
You can see the strength in this young woman, can’t you? Her irreverence, her sense of perception, which is well beyond her years? She even had a sense of humor. Remarkable.