The Subtle Art of Brutality

“I see.”

Silence between us.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asks.

“Yes.” I think of a kind, pleasant way to ask, and then decide on how I always ask things. “Did your father molest you growing up?”

Silence. Different quality than the last one.

Might as well say yes.

53

“Belinda?” I have to ask. She hasn’t so much as breathed since I brought it up.

“Mr. Buckner, I have no idea how you would get such a—”

“Your mom hinted at it,” I say, snorting smoke. “Your dad dodged it like a bull was coming and he was wearing all red.”

“Dad...he, uh...we might have...oh, oh I wish Mom would keep her damn mouth shut! I have worked so hard to get beyond this and I have, I really have, and now fucking Delilah has to go and disappear when she knows how worked up Mom gets over her little angel with dirty wings and she starts telling people things and—”

I wait. I light another smoke. Wait more. Her rant ends and time stretches out. Finally I hear her sniffing back small cries.

Whisper, confessional: “Dad touched us a little. I described it to my therapist as ‘exploratory.’ Nothing more. I think he was...weighing his options. That’s all.”

“You said ‘us.’ Delilah too? One of your friends who spent the night?”

“My sister. She brought it up one time. Her experience was the same as mine. No intercourse, no...just, as I said, exploratory. I told her to tell me if it happened again. She never did.”

Exploratory could mean a few things but I’ll leave it alone.

“Tell your mother?”

“No. No one.”

“Not a teacher, not a policeman? Not a stranger on the street?”

“I said no one.”

“What about her? She tell anyone?”

“Who knows. Delilah has this way of starting to confess things that she thinks in the moment are great ideas and then as the words are coming out she just clams up. Thinks better of it.”

“Your mom said the same thing.”

“I hate that about Delilah.”

“You think your dad got her pregnant?”

“Oh God! Could he have? I mean Jesus, how could she—”

“The timelines don’t readily match up but I seriously doubt anyone has told the truth so far. Hell, for that matter Delilah might not be pregnant. But if she is...and if Delilah is as desperate and out of options as you say she is...I don’t know her. You do. Could she exchange help from your father for sex?”

“Mr. Buckner, I—”

Cuts off. She moans. I wait.

Belinda Boothe vomits. I hear it splash on the other end of the line. She chokes out the words, “I have to call you back,” and hangs up.