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of August. I missed him.”

    69
    Th
    e muscles in her jaw constricted. “Hard to believe that once, we actually liked each other. Anyway, we were prac-tically living together, screwing like rabbits, and being Catholic, not using any birth control.”

    At her hesitation I urged, “Go on.”
    “Th
    at night is still kind of hazy. Th
    e Central States
    Fair had started and I’d gotten drunk in the German tent with some friends. You know the duck dance and all those drinking games they play?”
    I
    nodded.

    “My summer had been pretty boring with Dick gone.
    My car broke down and I’d spent most of my nights either at home with my folks or working, so I decided I deserved to cut loose.”

    “How did you get to the fairgrounds?”

    “Remember Nancy Rogers? Married Troy James? We worked together that summer. She picked me up.”

    “Wasn’t she going to take you home too?”

    “Not after I got stinking drunk.” Shelley made a face.

    “God, she’s still such a priss. Anyway, she whined that I was ruining her night.”
    “Were
    you?”

    “Probably. Anyway, I drank too much, threw up, and stayed behind when everyone headed to the midway because I didn’t think my stomach could handle the rides.”

    I stared at her. “Nancy just left you?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Th
    ink back. Every girl ditched their

    70
    friends when a guy was involved.”

    “Who were the guys?”

    “Troy James and that gang of jocks he ran around with.”

    I pictured the six or so guys that’d gotten laid on the periphery of Troy’s athletic greatness: Danny Christopherson, Tim O’Reilly, Bobby Adair, Mike Lawrence, and occasionally, our friend Jimmer. Th e list also included
    Charles LaChance. “What happened after they left you?”

    “I stumbled behind the Porta-potties, puked my guts out, and passed out for a while.” She tapped her fi ngers on the table, a brittle sound of frustration. “Th en someone
    pulled my arms behind my back, tied them together, and threw a coat over my head. I had no idea what the fuck was going on.”

    My palms started to sweat, my head to pound. “Did you scream?”

    “I don’t think so, don’t remember if I did. I was wasted.
    Heard maybe, six or seven voices and then they tossed me in the back of a pickup.”

    Shelley closed her eyes. “Everything was muffl ed. My
    body kept bumping up and down, hitting metal. I felt like I was gonna throw up again, but when I tried to sit up, some rough, sticky hand pushed me back down. Somehow my shirt got ripped, my tits were pinched until the damn nipples were bruised and bloody.

    “If I made a sound, I got smacked. Th
    en everything
    went black. Next thing I knew, I laid sprawled in the grass, 71
    naked, hands tied, coat over my head, some guy humping me. As soon as he fi nished, another one started. Guess I passed out a couple of times, and when I came to, they were still pounding into me like I was some life-size blow-up doll.”

    I let her catch her breath while I caught mine.

    “Hours,” she murmured. “It went on for hours. I drifted in and out, which was probably a good thing. After I’d been left alone for a while I moved around. Th e sun was
    up, my head pounded from the booze, and my body felt like . . . God, I had bruises everywhere. I had come spots in my hair, on my boobs, around my mouth, on my ass.
    Th
    ey left my clothes. Can you believe they left my fucking clothes? I put them back on and walked home.”

    My jaw dropped. “You walked home in that condition?”

    “I guess.” Her gaze lingered on the paper clean-up procedures taped to the back of the door. “Don’t really remember.”

    “Where had they taken you?”
    “Th
    at open fi eld on the hill behind Tech.”

    “How far were you from home?”
    “Th
    ree miles or so.”
    “Th
    ree miles?” I repeated inanely. “And no one saw you?”

    “If they did, they didn’t stop.” Her hands spread fl at on the table. “Everything else is pretty much a blank.