“That’s the last of it, dad,” Etta she limped into the bedroom carrying one last heavy box of books. She pushed the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail from her face with the back of her hand, slick with the sweat from her head. What a sweltering day she’d picked to move. Although it was certainly cooler in August in Marquette than in Minneapolis, the dew point made the 85 degrees with a strong southerly wind feel like 95. No matter where you were, hot humid heat and moving day were not a good combination.
She looked across the room at her father, Glen Staley, his polo shirt covered in sweat stains, weary eyes with obvious dark circles of worry. She hadn’t really noticed until just now, but he was starting to look old. She knew that some of the things she’d put him through in the past few months were a part of what had made him lose the look of vibrancy and youthfulness he’d always had. Her life was a mess, so much so it forced her to make this move from Minneapolis to Marquette.
“Well, I suppose when your daughter’s into writing and English lit, you can assume you’ll be lifting and toting boxes of books everywhere she goes for life. I hope it’s all worth it.” He smiled. And she returned his with a wide smile.
“Oh, dad, I’ll make it worthwhile. I promise. I won’t let you down.” She started unpacking a box of books onto the sturdy shelf in the corner. “You know, you don’t have to babysit me. You must be anxious to get home and get back to work, with your new job and everything. I know you have a ton of work and it really is all right.” She glanced over in his direction. “Do you want another beer? I can go get some more and put ice in it.”
“No. What I have right here will do me fine. And ice ruins beer, honey. Don’t you know that?” He rubbed the cold bottle against his forehead to let some of the condensation sooth his hot head. Why didn’t any of these towns on Lake Superior ever have air conditioning? Granted, they didn’t need it much of the year, but would it be a crime if they went all out and put in air conditioning? “And what if I just want to spend a little more time with you to make sure you’re okay, huh? Is that so bad?”
“No, its fine, dad. I just don’t want to put you out more than I already have.” Since I’ve almost completely ruined your career in the past few months, she thought to herself. “Really, why don’t you go back to the hotel and get some nice cool, air conditioned rest time? I’d feel better if I knew I sent you on your way at least somewhat rested.”
“I’ll take off first thing tomorrow morning so I should make that fundraiser by tomorrow night. I’ll have plenty of time to rest when I’m home in that empty house without you.” He was somewhat choked up. “You know, it won’t be the same there without you. It’ll be way too quiet.”
“Aw man, dad, don’t go getting all warm and fuzzy on me now. Since when were we ever drippy with each other?” She cast a cynical smile at him from across the room.
“Well, since some rich asshole decided to use my little girl for a personal play-toy, that’s when.” Etta’s father paced around the room, beer bottle in hand. “Are you sure this house is safe enough? Do these girls seem like the kind that will lock the doors all the time? I don’t want you somewhere I don’t know you’ll be safe.”
“Yes, dad, things will be fine. The girls know to lock the doors. Their brother just graduated school for Environment Sciences, works at a local casino and lives just a couple blocks over with some hockey buddies. And he’s a hockey player, dad. He’d beat the shit out of anybody who’d dare hurt his sisters, I’m sure. I haven’t met him yet, but he’s pretty well-known. People probably walk a mile around this house to not lay a finger on the Donato girls, Dad. I can live vicariously off of their personal safety.” She smiled at him. All through her years growing up her personal safety had never seemed her father’s concern. Much to the contrary, he often trusted her to be mature and self-sufficient when other parents were protective. But that’s how things were with her single dad. He’d dated only occasionally, probably because no woman could ever measure up to her mother.
Etta had practically raised herself. Her dad loved her, of course, but following her mother’s death he had poured himself into his work as the Chief Financial Officer of a large financial institution in downtown Minneapolis. He was off to board meetings before 6 am and often didn’t return home until nearly 9 at night. So Etta had a very solitary life as a teenager. She knew she was on her own and that nobody was there to bail her out, so the thought of “causing trouble” had never even occurred to her. No way, no how.
Etta Staley was taller than the average girl at five feet eight inches tall, somewhat lanky and gangly. She was a girl of unique beauty. She wasn’t overtly lovely from a quick glance, but it became more evident the more you studied her: her face, her creamy skin, shoulder-length, naturally wavy brownish-blond hair, the classic styling of her features. The elegance of the way she carried herself made her seem somewhat unapproachable, yet mysterious. Her best feature was her stunning blue eyes with a distinct darker-blue outer ring. It all gave her an interesting and definitive allure, which she downplayed as much as possible.
She had lived at home while attending college for English Literature and writing at Minnesota University. Most of the time she’d ridden the bus to her classes, until this past year when life had gotten complicated. Then she’d bought herself a car, an expensive parking permit that only upper-classmen were able to appropriate and driven herself to her classes and meetings on campus.
She had gone to high school in Hopkins, a middle-class Minneapolis suburb. It was a high-school with a somewhat small town feel and yet large enough for many activities, some true academic and non-academic accomplishments, rivalries and competitiveness. She had excelled at many activities, including swimming and track. She loved these team, and yet individual, sports. She could excel at her own individual accomplishments and yet, to some degree, still feel she were part of team achievements. She’d even been the lead on the relay teams, both swimming and track.
In general, however, Etta was what she’d feared as a 12-year-old: a loner, a solitary girl, yet with a beauty and grace many other girls wished they could attain and young men wished they could possess. And that’s how Owen Randall had apparently always felt about her. Like everything else in his world, he had wished to possess her.
Owen was the eldest son of the CEO of her father’s company, two years older than Etta, and a young man who didn’t take no for an answer to anything. While he’d been brought up in private prep schools, taught to have proper manners and present himself with an air to the aristocratic nature of his family, he still had a touch of the “bad boy” in him. That always came out when he played hockey for the cultured and elite team at Fletcher Academy, the private school he had attended for most of his teenage years. Hockey had allowed him to brow-beat and bring out that aggressive side without penalties, well, at least not for more than five minutes at a time.
When Owen was seventeen and Etta was yet fifteen, he had asked her to attend prom with him. Of course, Etta was surprised that he’d asked her, as she had a mouth full of braces and was still “filling out” as her grandma put it. Her father had agreed for her to be Owen’s escort and had taken her to her grandmother to get an appropriate gown for the event. God knew her father didn’t know the first thing about shopping for a gown for an elite school’s prom.
Owen had been very sweet to her at prom, bringing flowers and posing for pictures with all of his friends. Afterwards, even though some of his hockey friends were behaving rowdy with their dates, Owen had been kind and attentive. Then when he brought her home for the evening and they were in his car in front of her house, something in him changed. He didn’t want to take no for an answer when he’d begun kissing and groping her. She fought her way out of it, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could’ve held him off, if she hadn’t had the muscles from weight lifting for swimming to give her some extra leverage. She was just too young for that stuff and she knew it.
She hadn’t wanted to date Owen after that prom night. He seemed like a nice enough guy, who, like most teenage guys, really just wanted one thing. Some would say there was nothing wrong with that and by saying she’d go with him, she’d been a tease. But a few years later, when she was a junior in college and Owen a fifth year senior, she met him again, at some corporate picnic she’d reluctantly felt obliged to attend with her dad. Owen was now waiting to see if he could either get signed to the NHL after graduation or if his dad was going to be able to work magic to get him into a local law school. He asked her, again, to go out with him. At first she was hesitant, but he admitted he’d come on too strong back when he’d taken her to prom. After all, couldn’t they let bygones be bygones and try things out again? He had learned his lesson and was older and wiser now. And now he was on the hockey team at the Minnesota U. In a way he was a “star”, if playing hockey could make you a star. So she reluctantly agreed.
Again, things started out great. They went on several dates and he’d been sweet, kind and attentive. He’d taken her to nice restaurants, would have her over to his parents’ home to watch movies and snuggle. They did their fair share of kissing and had started to get more serious and intimate. But he hadn’t gotten to be groping and pushy about it. It seemed he was willing to only go as far as she was wanted until she was more comfortable. It seemed like a refreshing change of pace with Owen and he’d grown up. And her father was pleased. He’d told her more than once how this would really help solidify things for him at work, with his CEO. The partnership between them could really blossom for him from a corporate perspective now that their children were “dating”. Owen’s dad had taken her dad on several golf outings, which had never happened before.
Then the rumors started flying around campus. At first she’d only noticed people snickering behind her back. She’d been to several frat parties with Owen and there were strange looks exchanged between the young men at the parties, between Owen and the guys and herself. It was as if there was some strange conversation going on behind her back she didn’t know anything about. And it felt weird, really weird.
Of course, there was drinking at these parties and lots of drinking at that. They were mostly parties of tremendously good-looking, wealthy “connected” young men at these frats and the young ladies who were trying to impress them. Except for her father’s sake, Etta wasn’t trying to impress anyone. After all, Owen had come looking for her. He was the one doing the chasing and up until now, she wasn’t really “getting caught”, but it was as if everyone treated her as if she were already Owen’s possession.
Then there were the memory lapses, confusion and anxiety attacks. She’d be writing and suddenly her mind would go blank. She literally couldn’t remember what she was thinking about moments before. At one point, she was walking through the grocery store and had the inexplicable need to leave, feeling as though the walls and ceiling were closing in on her. She’d dropped everything and run screaming from the store, only to stop outside, hyperventilating and gasping for air.
She’d seen a doctor about her concerns, which was when the bruises got noticed. She hadn’t really paid much attention or noticed them herself. She was always running, ran her four miles every day, and she was always bumping into things. The doctor had said there were what looked to be mild ligature marks on her wrists. And that she couldn’t understand. What did he mean by ligature marks? He’d even asked if she was participating in “rough sex”. “Of course not,” she’d said.
“Well, perhaps you were unaware of having rough sex.”
“What do you mean by ‘unaware’? I would know!”
So her doctor had done some tests for something called GHB and she’d tested positive! She’d been drugged using a designer drug that renders a person unconscious in addition to a substance like Valium, to reduce any anxiety and apprehension. These designer drugs were only available to the very wealthy. She had all the telltale signs of having been raped, but couldn’t remember anything from the experience: unexplained bruising, vaginal tearing, unexplained losses of consciousness and increasingly distressing anxiety attacks. And the kicker to all had been that she’d contracted chlamydia, for which she was given antibiotics. The doctor had run a pregnancy test, a full rape kit, and tests for every STD, including an AIDS test. Thankfully the other STD tests came back negative. The doctor gave her a card, encouraging her to seek counseling, and stated that he’d be happy to testify if she wanted to proceed with official rape charges with the police.
That was when she had the most difficult conversation she’d ever had with her father. She’d sat him down, told him everything the doctor had said and honestly thought he would ask her to forget all about it. She was sure that his career would mean more to him than what had apparently been happening to her. She was sure he would say she was just imaging things. But she was wrong. She was dead wrong about her dad, and now she knew him much better.
He had remained quiet and calm throughout all she’d told him, but there was a change in the look in his eyes that she’d never seen before and she hoped to never see again. It was as if someone had thrown meat in with a caged lion. His eyes were seething with fury. “I’ll kill him!” He got up from the couch, took hold of the crystal candy dish on the coffee table and threw it with a crash into the fireplace.
“God, no, dad! You can’t! Stop!”
“The hell I can’t! No rich bastard is going to use my daughter like that and get away with it!” He was shouting and his face was red, the knuckles on his fists turning white.
“Dad, we can’t do anything about it. I don’t have any proof except for the test results and the doctor’s word. What can I do? The police will say I took the drugs willingly and that I was leading him on. I didn’t ever go into the ER and say he’d raped me because I didn’t know. I don’t really even know if it was Owen.” Etta sat on the couch with her head in her hands. “Oh, God, what the hell did I do? I’m so ashamed. Please don’t hurt him. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Tears were flowing down her cheeks.
Her father paced the floor of their living room, then at her words, sat down and cradled her to his chest. “Shh, quiet now, baby. You didn’t do anything to be ashamed of. He did. And I’m sorry I scared you, honey. It’s going to be okay. Everything will be fine.” She didn’t need his anger now, especially not turned in her direction. His girl needed him to sooth her. This was a trauma, like none he could imagine. And his little girl needed him like she never had before.
He had taken care of things as best he could. He couldn’t make things fine, but he could handle them. He turned in his resignation the next day and took a position with another financial institution in the city, with a months’ vacation between jobs. He stayed home and took care of her, arranged for counseling. He attended some sessions with her, building on their relationship and let her know he stood beside her regardless of her actions or anyone else’s. He held her hand as they talked, not just to the police, but also to the University’s campus security, who took her allegations very seriously. Of course, most of the incidents, unfortunately, had occurred at off-campus locales, but they brought the issue to the attention of the NCAA and WCHA, both of whom put Owen on temporary suspension for the remainder of the hockey season, pending the outcome of the police investigation.
Unfortunately, this action is what destroyed Owen’s as well as Etta’s life, or at least damaged it temporarily. Once Owen was suspended, the phone calls started coming. The press started hounding her. They’d show up when she’d least expect it and even a few camped out on their front lawn. Owen was angry and let her know it. Sports reporters wanted interviews, so he would go on TV and claim he was innocent of all charges. He’d insinuated that Etta’s father was a former disgruntled employee lashing out at his family. He stated that Etta was jealous of other women he’d spent time with, more beautiful, prosperous women. His chances at the NHL were over and he was obviously angry.
Etta stopped taking the bus, got a car to make it more difficult for the press to find her. Slowly, eventually, the fanfare started to die down. When the county attorney failed to get an arraignment on the filed charges for lack of sufficient evidence, the NCAA re-instated Owen’s eligibility and put out a press release that the charges could not be substantiated. Although the county attorney called to apologize, the use of these designer drugs in the commission of the rape was just too new of an issue for the judge to “destroy a young man’s life”. The issue was dropped.
That was a low day for Etta and she returned to her home frustrated and ashamed. She and her father decided it was time for her to think about getting away from the media circus. Many of the old friends she’d had together with Owen were now siding with him, as he was the wrongly-accused golden boy and she was seen by many as a societal pariah. Etta made up her mind to finish her degree and go to graduate school out of state, away from everything and start a new life.
And now, here was her dad, in Michigan, all sweaty, worried and stubborn. He’d backed her all the way. He really did love her and had shown her in so many ways in the past few months. He’d literally given up his job, a chance at the top spot and all the prestige and money that would’ve gone with it. And he’d done that for her. So if she had to make some concessions to assure him of her safety, she’d do what she had to do, this time for him.
“So have you found a local karate studio or something yet? I want to hear that you’re going to self-defense classes and know the guys’ name who’s teaching you how to kick ass.”
“Yeah, I’ll get on that first thing tomorrow morning, okay? Now, can you help me put this bed together? I’d like to get out of here, grab some dinner and A/C so I can cool off a bit before I sleep up here tonight.” Although they were both hot and sticky, as her father joined her at her mattress, she hauled him into a hug. “Thanks, Dad. I love you.”
Her father ran his hand down her ponytail as they hugged, whispering quietly in her ear, “I love you, too, baby.”