Page 26 of Curves for the Mountain Man

A hand squeezes mine, and I startle awake.

“Shh,” a familiar voice says, and the corners of my mouth turn up.

“Mama?” I ask, slowly opening my eyes to stare at my mother’s face. She looks absolutely exhausted. Like she’s aged ten years overnight. Guilt grips me.Did I do this to her?

“Yes, baby, it’s me. Take it easy. You’ve been through so much, and you need to rest.” Her voice trembles as she squeezes my hand lightly.

“I can’t wrap my head around it all,” I say drowsily, shaking my head from side to side gently against the pillow. “It comes to me in pieces, but I can’t remember it all. How long have I been here?”

She presses her lips firmly together. “About two days now. You came in with bacterial pneumonia, which turned into sepsis. I lost count of how many different antibiotics doctors tried until they found something your body responded to. Oh, my baby girl, you’ve been through so much!” Lament fills her voice, and shelooks at me with apprehension as though there’s so much more she wants to say. I nod, fighting to hold back sobs.

Taking a seat, she adds, “But we’ll get everything sorted out. Everything. I promise.”

“Where’s Roscoe?” I ask quietly, and her face freezes, her mouth motionless. So, I repeat myself, “Where’s Roscoe? Roscoe Vaughn?”

She covers her mouth with her hand, staring at me with pitying eyes. “Where he can never hurt you again, baby girl. I promise.”

“What?” I ask, furrowing my brows and feeling my heart quiver.Where he can never hurt me again? What does that mean?My mind races to the things he confessed to me … about wanting to self-delete. If anything has happened to him, I won’t be able to go on. Fear grips me along with anger. How could he leave me like this?

But then it hits me. Despite everything that happened in the cave, Roscoe never promised me anything. I bury my head in my hand, trying to make sense of everything.

She continues, “We don’t have to talk about this now, Ginger. We can save it for later…when you’re stronger. But all you have to know is that he can never hurt you again.”

Oh God! My mind spins toward a thousand different conclusions at the finality of her words.“Please tell me he’s okay…” I squeak.

Her eyes narrow, her face grimacing. “He’s in jail.”

“But why? And why do you think he would hurt me?”

“You need to rest. We can talk about?—”

“No,” I interrupt, using my arms to sit up and failing miserably. It’s as though all the strength has been drawn from my body. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Jail?” I bite my lower lip, my head churning with so many disordered memories,all thrumming around in my head like the pieces of a shaken jigsaw puzzle.

“For what he did.”

I stare at her incredulously, my face twisting. My memories may be a jumble, but I know one thing with complete certainty. Taking a deep breath, I declare, “I would have died without Roscoe Vaughn.”

“No, Ginger,” she says flatly. “I don’t know what he tried to make you believe. How he might have gaslighted you after kidnapping you, but?—”

“Gaslighting me? Kidnapping me? Are you out of your mind?” My pulse pounds furiously at the accusations. How can my mother, who was nowhere near the woods where Roscoe found me, try to tell me what happened?

“Police are holding him for the assaults and murders of Tiffany and Crystal and a young man who was a graduate student at the U. I can’t remember his name off the top of my head. A handsome young man with curly brown hair … a senator’s son.”

How can she have the story so backward? I stare at her in mute horror as she continues, “Police have gathered all the evidence they need in your case, too.”

“My case?”

She looks down at her hands, shame clouding her face.

“What he did to me? I don’t understand.”

Exhaling sharply, she says, “We should leave this for another time.”

“No, I want to know now.”

She swallows loudly. “When you were admitted to the ER, you consented to a sexual assault forensic exam.”

My head spins. I don’t remember any of this. Not even being admitted.

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