Nothing Sacred

“Very.”

What a bizarre conversation. Ellen really just wanted to go to sleep. Was that too much to ask? A little sleep?

For the next five years or so? Maybe longer if she woke up and found all of this was still here, too much for her to deal with.

“Can I tell you something?” Martha asked, taking Ellen’s hand again.

“Of course.” She braced herself.

“I’m glad.”

Ellen looked away from the road for the first time since she’d got in the car. She stared at her mother. “You are?”

Martha nodded, and from her vantage point, Ellen could see the moisture glistening in her mother’s eyes. “I’m glad it wasn’t your first time.”

So was Ellen. Really glad.

Not that it made the memory of last week any less awful. Not that it made the insidious terror any less potent.

Would she ever feel safe again?

“I don’t understand why you won’t call him, then,” Mom was saying now. “You love him so much and I know he loves you….”

Aaron again. Her counselor had been harping on that today, too. Why did they have to poke and prod at wounds that were already too gaping to heal? Why couldn’t they all just leave her alone?

“Because I’d rather die than have him know!” She hadn’t screamed since the man had silenced her with his mouth on hers seven days before. “I don’t want him to ever know, you got that?” she hollered. “I don’t ever want to have him look at me like he would if he knew.”

She couldn’t seem to stop yelling, not even after her mother pulled off the freeway and stopped the car.

“That’s why I broke up with him, okay?” She was screaming so loudly her throat hurt. “Because I’m not sure what I’d do if he touched me right now and I’m not sure if I’ll look different or feel different to him and I don’t—”

She wasn’t aware of much, except that she couldn’t hold back the sobs anymore.

And that her mother’s loving arms around her were the best thing that had happened to her in a long, long time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

BECAUSE SHE’D BEEN the only child of an absentminded father, her mother having been killed in a car accident when Martha was too young to remember, Martha wasn’t all that familiar with the experience of being nurtured. But that first Saturday in March, at lunch in the home of her best friend, she drew strength from the wealth of unconditional love and care.

Shelter Valley’s mayor, dynamo Becca Parsons, had called the first-ever meeting of what she termed the “heroines of Shelter Valley.” They all knew each other. Most of them were friends, at least distantly or through one another. They’d all attended the Parsonses’ Christmas parties. And, at various times, Shelter Valley Community Church, although one or two were members of the Catholic Church in town. They’d all come to Becca’s swearing in. Sam Montford’s dedication. The Fourth of July festival. Little League games. And more… But they’d never, ever gathered, all at the same time, just the eight of them. Martha wouldn’t be there then if not for Becca’s insistence that the meeting couldn’t take place without her.

Martha didn’t agree. All the other women invited had not only faced but also conquered some of life’s greatest challenges. Contrary to Becca’s claim, there was nothing heroic about Martha.

Maybe that was why she was sitting at the perfectly set oblong table in the glass-walled family room of Becca’s million-dollar home, feeling as if everyone else there had a secret that hadn’t been revealed to her. Some way to overcome adversity that she hadn’t yet discovered.

“That jerk doesn’t have any idea what he’s up against,” Randi Parsons Foster announced, brown eyes glinting, her short blond hair bouncing with the force of her words. The youngest of five, Randi had learned early on to speak up for herself. Becca’s husband, Will, was one of Randi’s four older brothers. “He might think the women of Shelter Valley are naive in our seclusion, but he’s wrong.” She took a bite of the tofu mixture Becca had prepared especially for her. “Underestimating us will be what gets him.”

They were talking about the rape, of course. It was the reason Becca had called them all together. The town had been in shock since a copy of the composite drawing had come out in the paper the week before. None of the women present, with the exception of Becca, had any idea that Martha’s own daughter had been the victim.

While the others seated at the formal table, with its candles and white linen, nodded, Martha thought about the pristine white tennis shoes she knew Randi was wearing. For some reason, her shoes always had to be sparkling clean.

The rest of the women were in various stages of polishing off Becca’s famous Parmesan chicken salad. Martha was having trouble swallowing. Will and several of the other husbands had taken all ten of the offspring under the age of five to a circus in Phoenix. Tim and Rebecca had gone along, as well, supposedly to help baby-sit. But Martha figured they’d been the most excited of the bunch.

“We just need to be sure we don’t underestimate him,” Tory Sanders said, the worried look she’d worn when she first arrived in Shelter Valley four years ago marring her lovely features. “He got one of us.”

If she looked under the table, Martha would bet she’d see Tory wearing really high heels, even with the white blouse and jeans she had on. Tory always wore high heels. Martha wondered why. She’d never thought to ask.

“I understand why the woman’s name was left out of the paper, but I sure wish we knew who it was,” Cassie Montford said gently, her long red hair twisted up on the back of her head. She’d brought the dessert; Martha had seen her carry it in. Cassie was famous for her desserts. Not her shoes.