Funeral for a Friend

24

Andrea made pancakes on the griddle on her kitchen stove, mindlessly flipping them as they browned. The morning news droned in the background at a low volume. Her sister, Denise, stood near the rear window, drinking a mug of coffee and admiring the collection of suncatchers in the early light.

“These are pretty,” she said. “I don’t remember seeing these before.”

“I’m not sure I had them up when you were last here.”

“Well, I like them. They add color to the place. You need some color. Where do you get them?”

“A secret admirer,” Andrea replied.

Denise turned around with the mug of coffee at her lips. “Sorry, what?”

“Someone sends them to me. I don’t know who it is. It’s been happening for years.”

She didn’t mention that her secret admirer also broke into her house to deliver his gifts and that they came with the same strange message each time.

“That’s sort of weird, isn’t it?” Denise said.

“Well, it’s probably a former student who’s still bringing the teacher an apple. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“I guess not.”

Denise sat down at the table, and Andrea put a plate of pancakes in front of her, along with a glass of orange juice. She did the same for herself. For a few minutes, they ate without talking or looking at each other. Denise checked her phone; Andrea read the News-Tribune.

They had never been particularly close as sisters, and Denise moving back to Duluth hadn’t changed that. Andrea wasn’t looking for a confidant, and with their parents gone, it had been painfully obvious to both of them that they had little in common. Even so, they were taking baby steps toward a better relationship. The occasional breakfast together was part of that.

As she stabbed her pancakes with a fork, Andrea realized that Denise was staring at the television over her shoulder. She turned around and saw that the morning news program was broadcasting from inside Duluth’s harborside convention center. The talk of the town was Devin Card’s upcoming town hall meeting that night.

She turned up the volume and listened to what the news anchor was saying.

Andrea picked up the remote control and muted the TV.

“So what are you going to do?” Denise asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t you want to tell your story?”

“I told my story. I talked to a lawyer. I wrote a letter. I never intended for any of it to become public.”

“But it did. Without you to back up what you wrote, Devin can stand up there and call you a liar. Is that what you want?”

Andrea shot a look across the table. “Well, you think I’m a liar, don’t you?”

Denise put down her fork and looked stricken. “Andrea, no. When have I ever said that?”

“I know your tone. You’ve never believed me.”

“It isn’t that—” Denise began, and then her words trailed off.

Andrea made a little snort of disgust, because she heard the same tone from Denise again. The tone that announced all of her doubts about Andrea’s story. Her sister must have heard it in her own voice, because she stopped talking and took a minute to regroup. When she spoke again, she was firm. “I believe you.”

“But?” Andrea said. “Because there’s obviously a ‘but.’ Go on, fire away.”

“It’s not a ‘but.’ I’m not doubting you. I just want to know why didn’t you tell me when it happened.”

“You were gone, remember? You left for basic training two days later.”

“We talked on the phone.”

Andrea gave a sour laugh. “Yeah, how would that conversation have gone? ‘Hey, Denise, how’s Air Force life? By the way, Devin Card raped me at that party.’ Don’t you get it? You left, and by the time you came back, we were strangers. You have no idea what I went through. None.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Denise. I don’t blame you.”

“But I pushed you to go to the concert and the party,” her sister pointed out. “I didn’t look after you while you were there.”

“I went because I wanted to go. I wasn’t looking for a chaperone.”

Denise looked down at her plate and tilted it to make the syrup run. She didn’t look up at Andrea. “Tell me what happened.”

“You already know.”

“Not the details. I don’t.”

Andrea shrugged. “It started after you had sex with Peter Stanhope. Remember that? You did it in front of everybody.”

Denise closed her eyes. “I didn’t realize you saw that.”

“Of course, I did. Everybody did. You know what? I was jealous of you. My sister was cool and out there and willing to do all this shit that Mom and Dad didn’t know about. And me, I was the good girl. The virgin. I was sick of it. So when Devin Card told me how pretty I was and started to make out with me, I thought it was the hottest thing ever. I’d never made out with anyone before, but Devin Card?”

“You’re sure it was him?”

“One hundred percent.”

“We were all drinking, Andrea. You’d hardly ever had a drink before, and you drank a lot.”

“It was him. Do you think I wouldn’t remember that? I was with the guy that all the girls wanted. You had sex with Peter Stanhope, but I was with Devin Card. Guys were watching us together and drooling over me. Me. So when he asked me to go upstairs, I said yes. I consented. But later, when it started to happen, I said no. I said stop.”

“Maybe he didn’t realize you were serious. I mean, sometimes guys—”

“Really, Denise? You’re defending what he did to me?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Yes, I was drunk. Yes, I agreed to go upstairs with him, and you know what? I probably thought I wanted sex. But when he started taking off my clothes, I did not consent. I told him to get out. He raped me! That’s what happened!”

Her voice had gotten loud. Somewhere along the way, she’d stood up from the chair, and she was shouting and jabbing a finger at her sister. Tears came down her face. The memories roared back the way they always did. She stopped and shut her eyes tightly. Her body twitched, as if he were on top of her again in the dark bedroom. She could still feel him. She could still hear herself begging him to stop, to go away, to get off her. She could still smell the scent of him afterward as she lay there alone, with the awful ache between her legs and the stickiness of her own blood on her thighs.

Andrea opened her eyes.

Denise shook her head. “Jesus, sis. I’m so sorry.”

“I know.”

“I wish you’d told me. I would have tried to help.”

“You couldn’t have done anything. Nobody could. My life was already over.”

Denise got up, too. She went over to Andrea and hugged her, and they stood there in that tight embrace for a long time. It felt good; it felt safe. Andrea couldn’t remember the last time they’d done that.

Then, when they separated, Denise’s face screwed up in disgust as she noticed the television. Andrea turned around, and there he was. Congressman Devin Card, perfectly dressed, serious and earnest, such a decent, moral man. She turned up the volume again.

This time Andrea switched off the set entirely.

She stood in the kitchen, breathing hard, still lost in the past.

“You can’t let him say that about you,” Denise told her. “You can’t let him get away with it. Andrea, please. You can’t stay quiet anymore.”

Andrea inhaled, then exhaled.

It was like that moment right before you jumped out of the airplane. And once you did, there was no going back.

“You’re right,” she said to her sister. “I can’t.”