approve of the Survivors Club meetings. Why should his little girl sit around with two older women talking about rape? For God’s sake, what was the world coming to?
Meg didn’t mind the discussions. Frankly, she had been a little surprised and a little pleased that Jillian had invited her to join. After all, Meg didn’t know anything. She hadn’t turned militant like Jillian. She hadn’t gone half-crazed like Carol. Meg was still Meg. She talked about her family, about the people she was learning to love all over again, while Jillian coolly discussed topics such as victims’ rights and Carol railed against the injustices of a world created by men.
“Pancakes?” her mom asked hopefully.
“Meg!” Molly screamed. “Good morning, Meg!” Molly was a morning person.
Meg let go of her mother and crossed the kitchen to plant four wet kisses on Molly’s syrup-smeared face. “Molly! Good morning, Molly!” Meg wailed back.
Her five-year-old sister, her parents’ little midlife oops, but a happy oops, giggled at her. “Are you going to eat pancakes?”
“Nah, I’m going to drink chai.”
“No chai. Eat pancakes with me.”
“Can’t, got a hot date. But I’ll see you this afternoon.”
She kissed Molly’s syrupy cheek again, then tickled the little girl until she squealed and squirmed in her chair.
“You’re leaving already?” her mother asked from the stove.
“Sorry, I’m running late. I’m supposed to be at rue de l’espoir by eight.”
“You’ll call.” Meaning if Meg heard anything from the courthouse, from Ned D’Amato.
“I’ll call.”
Her mom finally stepped away from the stove in the tiny kitchen. She held the flipper in one hand, wore an oven mitt on the other. She looked at Meg for a long time.
“I love you,” her mother said abruptly.
“I love you, too.”
“You’ll call me?”
“I’ll call you.”
“All right then.” Meg’s mother nodded, returned to the stove and dished out a fresh plate of pancakes in a kitchen where there was no one left to feed.
Meg headed out the door. The sun was bright, the morning cool but already warming with the promise of heat. A beautiful day, but that didn’t mean anything. After all, one year ago, it had been a beautiful night.
Meg climbed into her little brown Nissan, parked on the street. She tried not to notice the expired parking sticker for Providence College still stuck on her window. Her father no longer felt college was safe enough for his little girl. If he had his way, she would never go back.
And Meg? What did Meg want? She was the lucky one. Everyone told her that. Detective Fitzpatrick, Ned D’Amato, Carol, even Jillian. Sure she had been raped, but that had been it. No broken bones, no scars, no burial plots. She had been the College Hill Rapist’s first victim and after her, he’d definitely done worse.
Meg started the engine of her car. Meg drove down the street. Meg felt once more the eyes that followed her so often these days. Meg did not turn around.
But she shivered.
It had been four months now. She didn’t know what was going on. But one thing was clear. Somehow, someway, sweet lucky Meg was no longer alone.
CHAPTER 6
Maureen
I N DOWNTOWN P ROVIDENCE, G RIFFIN AND W ATERS WALKED together out of the courtyard. Griffin thought he should say something.
“Tell me about the Eddie Como case.” Okay, he probably should have said something more personal than that.
Waters shrugged. “I don’t know much. Providence handled the case.”
“Give me the headlines.”
“Four women were attacked, one was killed. The first was a student at Providence College, Meg Pesaturo. Guess her family is connected, though that’s news to me. The next victim, the Rosen woman, lives in one of those big, historical homes near Brown, which you can believe got the whole East Side screaming for better police protection. The third attack was at Brown, another college student, except the woman’s sister walked in during
Meg didn’t mind the discussions. Frankly, she had been a little surprised and a little pleased that Jillian had invited her to join. After all, Meg didn’t know anything. She hadn’t turned militant like Jillian. She hadn’t gone half-crazed like Carol. Meg was still Meg. She talked about her family, about the people she was learning to love all over again, while Jillian coolly discussed topics such as victims’ rights and Carol railed against the injustices of a world created by men.
“Pancakes?” her mom asked hopefully.
“Meg!” Molly screamed. “Good morning, Meg!” Molly was a morning person.
Meg let go of her mother and crossed the kitchen to plant four wet kisses on Molly’s syrup-smeared face. “Molly! Good morning, Molly!” Meg wailed back.
Her five-year-old sister, her parents’ little midlife oops, but a happy oops, giggled at her. “Are you going to eat pancakes?”
“Nah, I’m going to drink chai.”
“No chai. Eat pancakes with me.”
“Can’t, got a hot date. But I’ll see you this afternoon.”
She kissed Molly’s syrupy cheek again, then tickled the little girl until she squealed and squirmed in her chair.
“You’re leaving already?” her mother asked from the stove.
“Sorry, I’m running late. I’m supposed to be at rue de l’espoir by eight.”
“You’ll call.” Meaning if Meg heard anything from the courthouse, from Ned D’Amato.
“I’ll call.”
Her mom finally stepped away from the stove in the tiny kitchen. She held the flipper in one hand, wore an oven mitt on the other. She looked at Meg for a long time.
“I love you,” her mother said abruptly.
“I love you, too.”
“You’ll call me?”
“I’ll call you.”
“All right then.” Meg’s mother nodded, returned to the stove and dished out a fresh plate of pancakes in a kitchen where there was no one left to feed.
Meg headed out the door. The sun was bright, the morning cool but already warming with the promise of heat. A beautiful day, but that didn’t mean anything. After all, one year ago, it had been a beautiful night.
Meg climbed into her little brown Nissan, parked on the street. She tried not to notice the expired parking sticker for Providence College still stuck on her window. Her father no longer felt college was safe enough for his little girl. If he had his way, she would never go back.
And Meg? What did Meg want? She was the lucky one. Everyone told her that. Detective Fitzpatrick, Ned D’Amato, Carol, even Jillian. Sure she had been raped, but that had been it. No broken bones, no scars, no burial plots. She had been the College Hill Rapist’s first victim and after her, he’d definitely done worse.
Meg started the engine of her car. Meg drove down the street. Meg felt once more the eyes that followed her so often these days. Meg did not turn around.
But she shivered.
It had been four months now. She didn’t know what was going on. But one thing was clear. Somehow, someway, sweet lucky Meg was no longer alone.
CHAPTER 6
Maureen
I N DOWNTOWN P ROVIDENCE, G RIFFIN AND W ATERS WALKED together out of the courtyard. Griffin thought he should say something.
“Tell me about the Eddie Como case.” Okay, he probably should have said something more personal than that.
Waters shrugged. “I don’t know much. Providence handled the case.”
“Give me the headlines.”
“Four women were attacked, one was killed. The first was a student at Providence College, Meg Pesaturo. Guess her family is connected, though that’s news to me. The next victim, the Rosen woman, lives in one of those big, historical homes near Brown, which you can believe got the whole East Side screaming for better police protection. The third attack was at Brown, another college student, except the woman’s sister walked in during
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