Reputation(102)
Greg’s. Kit’s. Maybe even my father’s.
I sit down in an orange plastic chair two seats away from Kit. The fake fluorescent light buzzes above us. “Look,” I say, my voice cracking.
“Willa,” Kit says at the same time. I gesture for Kit to speak first. Kit glances at me, then heaves a sigh. “So. You’re out of jail.”
I nod. “I was released without being charged. It doesn’t mean I won’t be charged—I’ve already called a lawyer—but not now.” I turn my hands over, staring into the lines of my palms as though hoping they might give me a prophecy. They don’t. “I did something, Kit. But not what Ollie was accusing me of.”
An expression of disappointment flashes across Kit’s face, and I feel yet another zing of shame. “Greg’s dead because of me. The hack affected your job, affected students, teachers—it’s awful. It’s been weighing on me since this all happened. I understand if you don’t want to speak to me ever again.”
Kit stares at the brown squares on the linoleum floor, looking disgusted. Defensiveness rises in me. Yeah, but I’m damaged, too, I want to snap at her.
As though sensing this, Kit clears her throat. “I wish you would have said something. About . . . you know. What happened to you. I think that’s what hurts the most.” Her eyes quickly flick to Aurora and Sienna, who’s standing in the doorway, cups of coffee in her hands. I wonder how much she’s told them. “Why did you think you couldn’t come to me about this?” she asks, her voice breaking.
“I didn’t come to anyone about it.”
“Why?”
I scoff. “Because it’s not exactly flattering.”
She looks stunned. “Who cares? It’s not your fault! You could have prosecuted! You could have taken those kids down!”
“But I didn’t see their faces. I couldn’t have accused the whole fraternity.”
Kit mutters something I can’t hear under her breath. Next to her, Aurora and Sienna shift uneasily. I can’t even look at them. All my life, I’ve wanted them to admire me, but I’m a failure. Certainly no role model. I hate that they’re growing up in this world.
Out the window, the early evening sky is a soft navy blue. I linger on it a moment, trying to put myself in another place, another time. On the other hand, maybe it’s important that I’m here, finally explaining all of this. And maybe it’s good that Kit’s daughters are here to listen. Maybe they won’t make the same mistakes I did.
I take a breath. “I didn’t tell anyone because for a long time, I blamed myself. I felt so stupid. Like, How did I get myself into this mess? And, Is this my fault?”
“Jesus,” Kit spits. “No.”
“I’ve come around since then, though. I know I did nothing to deserve what happened. I’ve gotten in touch with other women who went through the same thing. I heard all kinds of stories. Most of the women were at other schools. But I met a few who were at Aldrich. The very same frat house where it happened to me.”
Kit stares at me, her eyes wide. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.” My head drops. I can smell my unwashed skin and oily hair. I can feel the makeup caked under my eyes and the swollen bruise on my cheek. Almost as palpably, I can feel that guy’s hands on me, pressing me down, making me his. It’s incredible how that sensation has stayed with me all these years, no matter how much I’ve tried to suppress it.
“When that sort of thing happens to you, it’s like they steal your identity,” I murmur into my chest. “You don’t know who you are anymore. You don’t react the same way to things. It just . . . lives with you. So for a long time, I buried it. It was my only way to get through. I moved away from here, I came back as little as I could, and I just . . . changed my whole life. I know it’s not healthy, but it’s what I did.” I take a breath. “But then, after enough time, I got angry. Especially when I found out that this happened to other women at Aldrich. And some of them actually reported it.”
Kit looks stunned. “To whom?”
“To Marilyn, actually.”
Kit’s eyes boggle. “Dad’s assistant?”
“Yep. And she said she’d pass it up the ladder—to Dad. But then things got muddled. The story shifted. Instead, she reached out to the victims again. Had private meetings. Cut deals. I don’t know why she was trying to handle it herself—maybe she thought Dad was too busy? Maybe she thought he’d make the wrong choice, make too much out of it?”
“But she’s a woman!” Kit cries. “How could she do this?”
“I don’t know. I guess not everyone sees it like we do. And all the victims I talked to said she could be pretty scary in person. Anyway . . .”—I glance at my father in the bed—“I had to know for sure that he wasn’t involved. That this was her secret, not his.”
Kit puts her hands on her hips, ready to defend him. I cut her off. “I don’t think he was. Not anymore. There’s nothing about it in his e-mails. Then again, there isn’t much from Marilyn in the e-mails, either—whatever she said, she said it face-to-face, and it wasn’t logged anywhere. I only know from personal accounts. Every woman told me Dad wasn’t involved. But I just—I needed to know for sure.” I clear my throat. “I didn’t tell Dad what happened to me, so I didn’t know how he’d handle it.”