Page 89 of Mending Hearts

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

After the first time, I’d tried to get out of meeting with him alone. But the whole experience had been so confusing that I didn’t have thewords to tell my mother or anyone else why I couldn’t meet with him in private. I’d been ashamed that I’d allowed it to happen and confused about what it meant that I’d frozen stiff, hadn’t fought him, hadn’t said anything other thanI’m not surein a whispered voice.

When I finished telling him the whole tale, I raised my head. His was still bowed over the paper, frantically scribbling notes. At last, his pen stilled, and he twirled it without looking up. “Anything else?”

“Should there be?” The ice was back. The question undermined my experience. What else did he want? Blood? Gore? The damage had never been physical. Kenny Connors had ripped me open in his office, torn so deep I’d never looked at myself the same way again. At thirteen, I’d fought off my mother’s boyfriend, defended myself, hadn’t allowed him to do more than squeeze a few parts. Why hadn’t I done the same with Kenny? The question haunted me.

“His defense will dredge up anything they can find to discredit you, so I want to make sure we know everything.”

“One of my mom’s boyfriends tried to attack me when I was thirteen. I fought him off. Is that what you mean?” I cocked my head. “I told you all the Kenny stuff—that’s it. Twice. Just like I told you.”

“Were you on birth control? Did he use any form of birth control?”

“They’ll ask me that?” I straightened in my chair.

“Yes, I believe they will.” He fiddled with the edge of the folder.

“I was fifteen, and I wasn’t sexually active. So, no, I wasn’t on the pill. Did he use a condom? Doubtful given how quickly it all happened both times. One hand over my mouth, the other pinning me in place—I can’t see how he could have.”

“Were there any consequences to those two assaults?”

“Consequences?” I frowned, and my hand unconsciously went to my rounded stomach. “You mean like an STD or something?”

“Or a pregnancy.” His voice was flat.

“No, no.” At the back of my mind, a memory niggled, threatened to snap back to the surface. “I would have known if I was pregnant.” I pointed to my stomach. “I mean, you can’t exactly ignore it.” God knows I’d tried.

From his folder, he pulled out a white sheet and stared at it for a moment before sliding it across. “You went to a clinic just outside Nashville with your mother. Do you remember that?”

“I had ovarian cysts.” I couldn’t look at the sheet, refused to lower my gaze. Tears pooled in my eyes, blurring my vision. “My mom said I had ovarian cysts.”

“You didn’t go there for ovarian cysts.” He pursed his lips. “That’s not the procedure you had done.” He inclined his head toward the document in front of me. “Is that your signature?”

Through my tears, I scanned the document. “No, it’s not. That’s my name. That’s not my signature.” My mother sometimes signed things as if she was me, but she never quite got the M right. “Dilation and curettage—that’s what it says here. What’s…what is that?”

“It’s often called a D and C and is used in abortions.”

“An abortion?” I dropped the page as though it burned my fingertips. When I’d woken up groggy from the sedative, my mother had brought up Kenny. For the first time, I had told her the truth—too out of it to care what was said. Or I’d told her some of it, anyway. How had Laura known? I hadn’t even realized I was pregnant. “I didn’t sign this. How…how could this have happened to me without my consent?”

“There is mounting evidence that Kenny Connors might have orchestrated abortions when he impregnated the young girls he was producing.”

“But I didn’t even know I was pregnant.”

“A week before the abortion, you went to the clinic with your mother and had bloodwork done.” He removed another paper from the folder and slid it across the desk.

“Sure, for the cysts.” Except it wasn’t about cysts. I’d probably never had any cysts. I groaned and cradled my head in my hands. “To confirm I was pregnant.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God.” I repeated the phrase over and over, trying to wrap my head around what he was saying. “I don’t understand how this is possible.”

“It’s not legal. What happened to you isn’t legal. The clinic has been shut down. Charges have been laid against the people working during these procedures.” A heavy silence sat between us. “If you didn’t sign your name, who did?”

“I wasn’t the only one?”

“I don’t have all the details. The prosecution tomorrow will decide what you need to know.”

“I need to know it all.” I stood up, the chair tipping with the force of rising. My body, still sore from giving birth, protested. “Are we done here? Because if you can’t give me answers, I know someone who can.” Rage coursed through me, so violent, so unexpected I feared I might murder someone.

---