“I’m not saying she’s making it up. But she’s characterizing it for her, isn’t she? Let me ask you something: did your roommate run right out and report this? Or did Carrie convince her to?”
Haley hesitates. “She didn’t tell anyone for a few days,” she says. “Then, after she started talking to Carrie on the hotline, it took a few more days before she reported it. But Richard, you don’t know Jenny. Something bad happened to her. She was okay and now she’s . . . wrecked. People don’t act like this unless something awful happened to them.”
Richard puts his hands up in surrender, conceding the point. “I’m not saying it did, and I’m not saying it didn’t. I wasn’t in the room with them. What do I know? But I do know Jordan, and while he’s definitely a douche, I don’t think he’d attack some girl. It’s probably more likely that things went further than Jenny expected, she felt yucky about it the next day, and now Carrie has her convinced it was rape.”
Reasonable. That’s what he is. Completely balanced and reasonable. Not taking any particular side or demonizing anyone (except maybe Carrie, but that’s okay) and putting the whole thing in perspective.
So why does Haley look like he’s just killed somebody?
“You know what?” she says. “This was a bad idea. I’m not even supposed to be talking about this. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She stands.
Richard scrambles to his feet. “What? What did I say?”
But Haley has grabbed one of the bags and strides toward the barn.
He picks up the other and follows. “Haley!”
“It’s not really what you said, but what you think. That’s the problem, Richard,” she says over her shoulder.
“What I think? Oh, so you’re a mind reader?”
She stops. Whirls on him. “Yucky? Did you actually say yucky?” She practically yells this. A few trees down the row, he sees a father--type turn his head in their direction. “Sex without consent is not yucky, Richard. It’s a crime.”
“I’m not a caveman, Haley. I’m fully aware that no means no. But I’m also one of those guys who thinks when yes the night before turns into no the morning after, it’s a little unfair to call it rape!”
“Who said she ever said yes?!” She’s actually yelling at this point.
“He did!” Richard is yelling, too. Saying stuff he absolutely should not be saying, but at this point, what the hell? “He won’t back down. He absolutely insists she was good with it that night.”
“Excuse me? Are we talking about the same guy who, a few minutes ago, you said, ‘Don’t pay attention to anything that comes out of his mouth’?”
She’s got him there. He said that. And he meant it. He usually only half believes Jordan’s bullshit. The rest he attributes to swagger.
So Richard is arguing for him . . . why?
He likes this girl. So much. They need to get past this. He can’t blow this because of freakin’ Jordan Bockus.
“Haley.” He feels deflated. Like she just stuck a pin in him. He presses his fingers against his temples. His head pounds. “Yes. I said that. Guess I should follow my own advice. The fact is, I don’t have the first clue what happened at Conundrum that night, or what went on between Jordan and Jenny. Only they do. Those two people. So why are we mad at each other?”
“I’m not mad,” she says angrily. She resumes her march to the barn.
After a moment, he follows, a few paces behind. “You sure do a great imitation of mad,” he says as they quickstep down the row of apple trees.
No response.
“Can we talk? Please?” They’ve drawn even with an apple--picking family, and without breaking stride, Haley holds up one hand, signaling Richard to keep his mouth shut. As they hurry past, the children stop what they’re doing and watch them pass with wide eyes. Their voices must have carried.
At the barn, Haley moves straight to the checkout with the scale. Richard gets in line behind her. He stands just short of touching her, speaks quietly into her ear.
“Let me buy you a piece of pie.”
She shifts slightly forward, away from him.
No response.
“Cider donut? Cup of coffee? They sell Wicked Joe here. I could really use some Wicked Joe.”
“I need to get back to campus.” She turns her face only slightly in his direction as she speaks. “Ton of work to do.” It’s her turn at the scale, and she places her bag on it. When she pulls out her wallet, Richard reaches around and places one hand on hers. “I’ve got this,” he says.
She proceeds as if he’s invisible. “Seventeen fifty,” the woman at the scale says. Haley hands her a twenty, pockets the change, and without a backward glance stomps off with her apples to where they’ve parked the Subaru beneath a bright orange maple.
Richard heaves his bag onto the scale and tosses two tens on the counter. His apples weigh pretty much the same as Haley’s. “Keep it,” he says before the woman hands him change. He grabs his bag and heads to the car.
It’s going to be a long drive back.
. . .
There’s a line at the door. Raised voices.
“Sorry, man,” they hear. “No entry without a freshman female.”
“Are you kidding?”