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“He brought Paul home one day, saying he’d caught him playing with himself in the toilets by the park, he said he would lock him up as a sex pervert, l begged him not to hurt Paul, he told me he would let him off if l went to bed with him. I didn’t have any choice David, l feel like some cheap tart, l thought it would be just the once but he keeps on coming back, l’ve been terrified my husband would find out. What are you going to do?”“Don’t worry,” he said, kneeling in front of her, “look at me,” he put his hand under her chin, lifting her tear streaked face to look at him. “I’ll think of something, but l will stop him, l promise.”“Oh you’re so sweet David” she sobbed, “but l don’t see how you can stop him, he keeps threatening to lock Paul up if l don’t do what he wants, l just can’t see a way out, l know my husband is going to find out one day, l’m so afraid of what will happen to Paul.”“Hey,” David said, taking hold of her face with both hands, bending forward and kissing her. I slipped the picture into a drawer. Jenn usually had a calm but vibrant smile. It was one of her many attractive qualities. It was the same with the way she said “Hello”, a quick sample of her voice, gentle with an unexpectedly charming boyish lilt to it. Standing at my door, there was no smile, no “Hello” from her. She wasn't upset, though. What I sensed in her placid expression was angst; something I had rarely witnessed from her. As I led her into my apartment, a flourish of moments, mostly only scant seconds long, flooded my memory: those connections when we talked, those slight glances towards each other that lingered maybe a bit too long, the extra tight squeezes when we hugged. Most of all, those times when we walked along the sidewalks, chatting, the backs of our hands brushing one another, thinking nothing of it at the time, but keeping them safe in my memory. Jenn stood in the center of my living room, her back to me, rubbing her arm quietly. She'd never seemed so.
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