I just shrugged, terrified to lift my barricades. I couldn’t admit how desperately I wanted to revive the time when I was sure she loved me.

“Goddamn it, Micky! I can’t be lovers with a woman who turns into a wall.”

“I’m not a faucet to be turned on at your fucking convenience,” I shot back. “I shouldn’t have come here.” Fear came out as anger.

“If you walk out, don’t come back.”

“Good-bye, then,” I retorted. Of course, I was still in her bathrobe and my clothes were in the dryer. Neither of us moved.

Cordelia just looked at me, shook her head, then said, “I can’t fucking stand this.” Abruptly she crossed the room to me. I backed away, but Cordelia grabbed me by the shoulders and said, “Damn it, talk to me. I’ll wait for you, Micky, but not forever.”

I was backed into a wall, but Cordelia still held on to my shoulders. Caught between her and the wall, I panicked, shouting, “No, let go of me!” I twisted forcefully away from her. “Don’t touch me!”

Cordelia backed away, shaken by my vehemence. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Just don’t touch me,” I overrode her.

“I won’t touch you, if that’s what you want. But you have to talk to me.” Cordelia’s voice was uneasy, my rejection of her had been harsh.

I felt brittle and fragile, like the wrong word or look could shatter me. What control I had was only tattered strips. I had, as best I could, saved the young girls, now I was the only one left. “What I want? How kind of you to give me a choice,” I spat out. I knew I was being unfair to her, but the anger was erupting, she was here and I couldn’t stop it.

“Haven’t I always given you a choice?” she asked. But her rationality couldn’t extinguish my anger.

“A choice? You’ll say you love me if I have sex with you. I even have to pretend I like it.”

“Micky. Is that true? I never…” Cordelia fumbled.

“Have I ever said no? Turned you down? Been too tired or had a headache? Whenever you called up, I always came through. Even if I didn’t want to.”

Cordelia looked stunned. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to force you. I always thought…we both…”

“Maybe for you. You’ve got money, you’re good-looking, you’re successful. Maybe you don’t understand that not everybody has your choices.”

Cordelia looked away from me. She didn’t reply immediately. Finally, she said, “It was never my intention to use you like that.” She turned from me to hide her crying.

I had hurt her. Proved that I could inflict pain as others had used a similar power when they had it over me. I wondered if they had enjoyed it, seeing the impact they could have in a life that didn’t belong to them. I crossed the room and sat down at the table, resting my head in my hands. I felt too weary to stand, too drained to even cry.

I don’t know how long we remained as we were, Cordelia softly crying in the corner, me sitting staring at the table.

“I’m sorry,” I said to her. “I’m angry and I wanted to hurt someone.”

She slowly came over to the table and sat down opposite me.

“Is it true?” she asked softly. “Is any of it true?”

“It’s not you. It’s me,” I said slowly. “Sometimes we’ve had sex when I didn’t really want to. I’m just not very good at saying no. It’s my fault.”

“Don’t take it all on. I can’t read your mind, but sometimes I forget you haven’t lived my life. You’ve told me about your cousin. No one forced me to have sex with them when I was thirteen and did it until I ran away at eighteen.”

“That’s over. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Doesn’t it?” Cordelia asked gently. “Why is it so hard for you to take control of your sexual desires?”

“If I wanted a shrink, I’d go talk to Lindsey,” I retorted.

“It’s still here, Micky. Your past won’t just go away.”

“Oh, hell. Every ten years you should get a chance to erase the things you can’t stand to carry with you for the rest of your life,” I said.

“Yes, you should. Spring-clean your memories. Embarrassments from junior high, those college fumbles, a disastrous love affair, all in the trash.”

“Yeah. Something like that,” I mumbled.

“What would you erase if you could?”

Cordelia’s question hung in the air. My answer wasn’t an embarrassment or a fumble. If it wasn’t the whole sum and cause of my pain and anger, it was certainly the foundation. “What happened with my cousin,” I finally replied. Even that was a denial. Cordelia only knew what I’d told her, the version I’d edited to reflect the person I wished I’d been. It was the part that I had told no one that I wanted to obliterate.

“Did you get along with him before he started molesting you?” Cordelia asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“How badly did he betray you?”

“I never told you…” I said slowly. “Bayard was friendly and kind when I first came to live there. When he got a puppy, he let me tag along to help pick it out. When he had to run to the store, he took me with him, sometimes stopping for ice cream on the way back.

“I don’t even remember it starting. Maybe after a few months, he invited me into his room. It was only the usual kid stuff, you show me yours, I’ll show you mine. Then it got to be more than just showing.”

After I was silent for a moment Cordelia asked, “A few months? This really began when you were ten?”

“Yeah, when I was ten. I didn’t protest and I wasn’t coerced. Sometimes…I even started things,” I admitted. “I guess I wanted the attention. I’m afraid I…enjoyed it.”

“Your body responded physically.”

“I responded.”

“And you’re feeling very guilty about it.” It was a statement.

“I didn’t fight and protest. I even…asked for it, came into his room on my own. I guess I really did want it to happen.”

“You were ten years old. Your father had just died. You were thrown in with an aunt who understood discipline but not love, an uncle who was barely present, and your other cousins who resented you. You desperately needed affection and attention. He gave it to you.”

“I didn’t have to do what I did.”

Cordelia continued, “He hooked you in the guise of childhood play. Bit by bit, he moved the line, there was never a clear space for yes or no.”

“I guess I know all this, but I don’t feel innocent. When I was thirteen, I tried to stop it. By then I realized that we were doing something we shouldn’t be doing. I was worried that I’d get pregnant, that everyone would know. He threw in my face that I had started it and I had wanted it and it was too late to stop.”

“He used your guilt as a weapon against you,” Cordelia stated.

“I got better at avoiding it. But…I never did stop it completely. Until I left when I was eighteen. The more I hated him, the more he enjoyed making me…do things.” I paused, remembering, then I pushed the harsh image aside. “You’re the first person I’ve ever admitted all of this to. I want so badly not to have been that little girl who was so weak that she took her cousin’s dick in her mouth.”

“Your vulnerability was not an excuse for him to take advantage of it.”

I shrugged, my breath coming out as a ragged sigh. You really wanted it echoed in my head.How many times had he said that? You really wanted it.Suddenly, I remembered the note on Cissy’s picture. Who wrote that note? Who had betrayed me?

Cordelia broke into my thoughts, “I wish I could say ‘stop blaming yourself.’ You were a kid, he was five years older than you. Your body responded simply because it’s a physiological fact that with enough stimulation, orgasm usually occurs. It wasn’t because you wanted it or chose it in the way an adult can. You wanted affection, sex was the only way you could get it.”

“I wonder if I’ll ever really know that. I’m sorry about my anger. I shouldn’t direct it at you.”

“No, but I do have enough sense to know I’ve done nothing to deserve that kind of fury.”

I nodded, but felt too drained to say anything further.

Cordelia said, “I’m going to get some water. Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, water, thanks,” I responded mechanically.

She returned with two glasses, gave one to me, then sat down.

“How did you and Karen end up at the shack?” I asked. Silence was still too threatening.

“Karen wanted to see me. I agreed to go over to her place for supper. That bastard Quince and some of his men were already there. They were really after Karen, but they couldn’t very well let me go. They threw us in the back of a truck with the six girls and took us out to the shack. That’s about when you arrived.”

“What happened after you were in the lifeboat?”

“My arms still ache from rowing. I was terrified we’d end up being swept out to sea. It was dark and I couldn’t see many lights. I was worried that we’d get rammed by another ship. If I hadn’t had the kids with me, I think I would have sat down and cried when we made it to the bank. Ellen, one of the girls, had a little flashlight on a key chain. It wasn’t much light, but somehow we got over the levee and found the road. Then we walked along until a car came by. Two old women were in it—they were out late because a niece had just given birth—so I felt safe accepting a ride. They took us to the police station.”

“I’m glad you and the kids made it.”

“Thanks to you.”

I didn’t reply.

Cordelia continued, “I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since…I guess lunch yesterday. You can go back to sleep if you want, but I have to eat something.” Cordelia stood up and headed for the kitchen. “You’re also welcome to join me, although I don’t know what you’ll join me in.” I heard her open the refrigerator.

I followed her. She was staring dubiously into the refrigerator.

“Maybe I should just order out,” she said.

I looked. It was pretty dismal. “Eggs,” I said, pulling out a half-full carton. “Some cheese, a little onion. Here, wash this broccoli.” I handed it to her. I found a cutting board and knife and began chopping up the other ingredients. “Omelet Eclectica,” I named it.

“You’re a genius,” Cordelia said from the sink. “Or I’m very hungry.”

“I guess I became obsessed with this case,” I said while sprinkling the ingredients into the eggs.

“What happened to those girls was despicable. I know that, but I don’t know it the way you do. You couldn’t save yourself, but you could save them.”

“Is that what you think?”

“A guess. What do you think?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. At times, I felt like I had no limits. I don’t know if I did the right thing. The boat was only going one stop. The kids would have been rescued then. I don’t know if I accomplished anything.”

“Karen and I would have been dead if you hadn’t saved us. That’s an accomplishment as far as I’m concerned.”

“There is that.” I carefully lifted the omelet out of the skillet.

“That smells wonderful,” Cordelia said. “I’m not going to judge you on this one, Micky. I’m alive, Karen’s alive, and you’re alive. The kids, well, some of them will get help. It’s not such a bad place for things to end up.” She got silverware out of the drawer. “Let’s eat.”

We ate pretty much in silence, interrupted only by my getting up to fix toast.

After we finished, I began clearing the plates away. Cordelia also got up, as if to say she wasn’t going to let me serve her. She cleared away her dish, then rinsed out the pans and put them in the dishwasher. I took my clothes out of the dryer and folded them, hoping some of the wrinkles would come out before I wore them again.

Then, by some unspoken agreement, we went back and sat at the table.

Not wanting to answer questions, I asked one instead. “Where does this leave us?”

“I don’t know,” Cordelia said. “I was very angry when you didn’t call me after not showing up for Alex’s party.” I started to protest that I had called, but Cordelia continued, “I know you called and left a message that you couldn’t make it, but I would have appreciated a call the next day. It didn’t have to be much, just, ‘I’m sorry, a very important case has come up and I couldn’t get away.’ And every few days, calling to let me know you’re okay. I can’t take you just disappearing on me, Micky.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just…I thought you’d be mad at me, that you might not ever want to see me again.”

“So instead of risking rejection, you took a course of action that would guarantee it.”

“I’m not a gambling woman. I like sure things.” But it wasn’t funny. “Sometimes I just think I’m a clown.”

“Sometimes, yes. Sometimes you’re a very funny clown and you make me laugh. I’m…just an audience. And an audience without a clown…is lonely.”