• Trigger warning, sexual assault

We Love You, Molly Devereaux

1

Molly softly shut the door to her bedroom, in pursuit of elusive but precious privacy. She didn’t like her stepbrothers just barging in on her. Butch was mostly okay, but the other one was — dangerous. Mostly he was just ignorant, and plainly didn’t know how to live with civilized folks. She plopped down on her bed, took out her yearbook and glanced through the photos of fellow students from her sophomore class last year. So immersed was she in her reverie that she didn’t hear the knob turn and the door open silently. She didn’t see the shadow fall across her prone form and she didn’t understand what was happening, as she was seized from behind by strong, brutal hands. Her dress was forced up her body and she was soon naked from the waist down; then her assailant penetrated her. She opened he mouth to scream in pain, but rough hands clamped around her lips to silence her.

. . . . .

When Sergeant Mike Dudley glanced out into the waiting room of the police station, at first he didn’t spot the child. But then, there she was, standing quietly before the window. Dudley frowned, looked beyond the girl and sought out an adult who must be accompanying her. There was no one. He peered over the small ledge abutting the window.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked.

She spoke right up. “I have been raped,” she said.

Dudley frowned more deeply, then he went to the door and invited the girl to enter. “Follow me,” he said, and she fell into his wake. He took her to an interview room, sat her down, and then introduced himself. “What’s your name?” he asked softly. She gave it to him. “How old are you, Molly?” he asked next.

“Sixteen and a half,” she said bleakly.

Dudley went on to ask Molly her address, telephone number (her family had no phone), her parents’ names, who else lived with her and her parents, and the garden salad variety of questions that the police asked everyone who passed through their portal. Finally, he got down to brass tacks. But for her brief answers, she was remarkably subdued.

“Who assaulted you, Molly?”

Molly looked down at her shoes. “I can’t tell you,” she replied quietly, peeping out of a well of shame and self-rebuke.

“Why can’t you tell?” Dudley inquired.

“Well, I want to know what would happen, if they got arrested. Would they have to go to jail? Can’t we discuss it like a ‘what if’?” She asked. Dudley blinked at her,  but relented, and gathered the speculative particulars of the incident. Gently, he extracted the 16-year-old’s horrific account of the ordeal. Had the rapist beaten her? No. Had he threatened her with harm? Not really. Had he overpowered her? Yes, he was very strong.

After conducting the interview for some little time, Sergeant Dudley excused himself to Molly to consult with the watch commander. He leaned in through the commander’s open door.

“Captain Davis,” said Dudley, “I’ve got a teen out here, a Molly Devereaux, said she was raped by someone she refuses to name.”

The commander regarded his Sergeant incuriously. “What does she want us to do about it?” he asked bluntly. “It’s already happened, can’t take it back. Besides, think of what pressing charges would do to whoever did it. Probably another randy teenager.” He shook his head dismissively. “In this state, they’re talking about introducing ‘sex education’ in high schools.” He chuckled. “Tell her to consider this her advanced placement.” Dudley didn’t smile, but stood there and stared at his superior. Davis went on thoughtfully, “I guess sixteen is old enough to get knocked up…”

“She said he used a rubber,” Dudley spoke up.

“And now she wants to claim rape?” asked the watch commander incredulously. “What did she do, help him slip it on?” He snorted  “She was complicit, you ask me.”

“So what do you want me to do? How should I handle it?”

“The parents, they got a phone?” the other man asked. Dudley shook his head no. The commander rolled his eyes. Still, Dudley stood there expectantly, waiting. “I tell you what, Mike,” said Davis. “Blow it off. Tell her to keep it under her hat, that she can get into serious trouble spreading lies. She only wants attention. But, that’s no reason to take it out on everyone else. How was she dressed?” he asked.  Mike shrugged. “It’s a mare’s nest; just sit on it, Mike.”

“No police report?”

“Hell no!”

Mike nodded and exited the watch commander’s office. Returning to the desk where he’d left Molly, he observed the teen earnestly watching him approach. She looked awfully small and vulnerable, he thought. Pretty young girl, no wonder she got raped. It’s asking a lot of a healthy young man to resist a normal temptation, he reflected, recounting his own youth.

“I talked to my captain, Molly,” began Mike. She looked up attentively, but peering closely, he could see she was trembling slightly. “And he said you should just try to forget about it.  The boy probably didn’t mean any harm. He didn’t actually hurt you, right?” He peered into her beautiful but troubled green eyes.

She took a great breath and released it. “No, sir,” she murmured softly. “He didn’t hurt me. But, I’m scared of him now. Now he can do it again, anytime he wants. That’s why I reported it,” she explained. “I was reading this book…”

“No, Molly, I don’t think he’ll ever do it again. Boys are like that, they experiment, take dares, act out, you know. He probably only wanted to show off for his friends.” He smiled kindly. Without another word, Molly climbed to her feet.

Mike stared at her as she walked away, buttoned her jacket, and swiftly departed the room. He heard her footsteps echo as she walked across the tile station floor and out the door.

“What,” thought Mike tiredly, “could I have done?” After a moment, his interest in the girl faded and he proceeded onto important police business: he had to monitor the Deale Street parking meters this afternoon, he remembered.

2

“Get to bed, Molly; it’s near midnight,” said her mother Debra from the doorway of her daughter’s bedroom. Molly rolled her eyes impatiently, but rose from behind the deak, closed her textbook with a snap, and prepared to comply. “Come give us a kiss, babe,” said Mom. Molly walked into the living room and bussed her mother’s cheek.

“How ‘bout one for dad?” asked Don, her stepfather, sitting at the end of the dining room table, smoking a cigarette. Molly visibly hesitated for an instant, but once more, complied. Don patted her rump and Molly stiffened for an instant, then danced off to her bedroom, glad to be alone again.

. . . . .

At practice on Thursday afternoon, Lucy noticed that her best friend just wasn’t with it. In fact, the cheerleading coach upbraided her for inattention and lack of concentration. “This is the game of the season, ladies, and we want to do our seniors proud,” crowed Mrs. Buchanon. They went through their routine yet again.

Afterwards, in the girls’ gym dressing room, as they changed out of their costumes, Lucy asked her friend, “Mol. what’s eating you?”

Molly looked up from tying her laces and shrugged. “Dunno. Just not into it today, I guess.”

“Trouble with Bobby?” she asked with a  malicious twinkle.

Molly smiled wryly and shook her head. Bobby was the fullback on the football team and their best player. “My life is a mess,” she admitted, but Bobby is my rock. Nothing would count without him.” She could never let Lucy believe there was anything wrong between Molly and Bobby; she would grab him in a hot minute. Bobby was all Molly’s!

“Brothers?” inquired Lucy with an arched brow. “Again?

With a frown, Molly nodded. “Before Mom and Don got married, we only got together for like, dinners and stuff, but since the wedding they’re always in the way, you know?”

“Yeah,” agreed Lucy. “Butch is sort of a terror, but I think that Tod is pretty cute.” Molly froze, and took shallow breaths as Lucy went on about Tod’s sculpted arms and shoulders, from all the weightlifing he did.

“You wouldn’t think so, if you had to live with him,” she remarked, finishing tying her sneakers and springing to her feet. It felt good, just to talk about it, if only superficially. She couldn’t tell the whole truth, not even to Lucy.

. . . . .

At the football game that Friday night, Molly was clearly distracted, and it showed. The next morning, Mrs. Buchanon suspended her from the cheerleading squad for one game, unheard of discipline that the coach hoped would jolt her awake.

“You can’t take me off the squad, Mrs. B,” pled Molly, tears welling in her eyes. “Cheerleading is the only thing I have going for me right now,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Molly, I’ve got counseling to do right now; we’ll talk this afternoon,” and  she picked up a tote bag filled with files and left the office.

. . . . .

“They scrubbed you off the cheerleader squad?” exploded Bobby, wiping sweat from his brow. They were meeting at the practice field, where he was working out. “What kind of shit is that?”

“Mrs. B thinks my mind isn’t on my workouts,” she explained. “She suspended me for a game.” She shrugged helplessly. “She thinks maybe I’ve got too much on my mind.”

“Bogus,” snarled Bobby, then approached Molly and encased her in his strong fullback’s arms. She nested her head against his chest. “I mean, what could possibly be on that pretty mind of yours? You want, I can tell Coach to talk to her. He got her the job.”

She pulled back from his chest. “He did?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah, they had a thing going, back in the day, and he recommended her,” replied the student athlete. And Coach was on the team with the Superintendant, like a thousand years ago. They go way back. That’s the only way you get anywhere,” he said ponderously, tipping up Molly’s chin with his finger. “It’s not what you know, but who you know,” he declared knowingly.

“But I don’t know anyone,” she lamented. My dad is the garbage man.”

Bobby chuckled and said, “You know me. And I take care of what is mine. You’ll be back on the squad by tomorrow, I guarantee it. By the way,” he said winsomely, “I love you, Molly Devereaux.” Molly gazed into the distance and frowned thoughtfully.

. . . . .

“Molly, I love you; I love all my girls and I want to help you to be the best you can be. Cheerleading is the highest crest that a girl can reach, and I want you to appreciate the opportunity — and bear the responsibility — you hold as a student leader.” So said Mrs. Buchanon later that afternoon.

Molly stood in the girls’ athletic office, quietly sobbing. Mrs. Buchanon spoke again, in a kinder voice, “Tell me, Molly. I know something serious is bothering you.  Are you doing alright in your classes?” Molly nodded. “Then,” said Mrs B, “are you having problems outside of school?” Molly said nothing. “Talk to me girl,” she coaxed. And so she did.  Mrs. Buchanon was probably the only person she could trust. So Molly opened up. The last thing she said was that “he’s done it twice, so far. Once in my bedroom and once in his.” Mrs. Buchanon grew quiet as stone and pondered.

3

Molly lay flat on her stomach across her bed, reading the Maya Angelou book that she’d found in the school library. This new writer was really good. She paused suddenly in her reading and froze. Turning back a page, she read and read again. She had stopped breathing. Suddenly a weight fell heavily across her body and she shouted in alarm.

“What’re you screaming at?” asked Tod, grabbing her hands and playfully holding them behind her back. As she struggled, he laughed hoarsely. Into the room burst her stepfather Don, who made Tod release his stepsister at once.

“What the hell?” Don demanded.

Tod was still laughing. “We’re just roughhousing,” he explained, getting up off the bed and sauntering blithely out of the room.

Molly lay there shivering. “You alright, Mol,” he asked tentatively. But she wouldn’t speak and she wouldn’t look at him.

. . . . .

“Mom,” began Molly, catching her mother alone in the kitchen, “did you think about what I asked you?” Her mom was peeling carrots, holding them under the water, and then dropping them into a steaming kettle of water.

“I did, Molly,” she replied. “Don and I discussed it and he feels that putting a lock on your door would be a mistake.”

“But why?” she inquired, frustrated.

“He said that when he was growing up, he never had locks on his doors, and he just doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He thinks it would be — unfriendly.”

“But, he grew up with four brothers.”

Mom shook her head. “I’m sorry, Molly, I talked to your father like I told you I would, and he said no. And he’s the man of the house, so he’s the boss.”

“He’s not my real father,” she mumbled crossly.

“Molly Devereaux!” admonished her mother. “You know Don tries, and so do the boys. You just need to loosen up, let them love you. They do love you, you know!”

Molly could only shake her head. “Thanks for asking, Mom,” she said in defeat, and picked up a carrot and began peeling it.

4

“Molly,” said Mom, stepping boldly into her daughter’s bedroom. Molly jumped, then gulped some air. “What’s wrong with you?” asked her mother sharply. “You’re on pins and needles.”

“Nothing, why? You just surprised me is all.”

“Something’s going on,” accused Debra. “Mrs. Buchanon, your guidance counselor, called today. Molly thought for a moment. Mrs. Buchanon was also her cheerleading coach. “She said that your chemistry teacher told her that you’re failing her class.” Molly looked annoyed. “Science is your best subject, Molly, and now your bottoming out in a basic science course. You wanted to be a doctor.”

“You wanted me to be a doctor,” Molly corrected her.

Debra frowned. “And you’ll be bumped off the cheerleading team too, if you fail a course. And,” she added sternly, “there’ll be no more Bobby.”

At this, Molly’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “Not Bobby,” she fairly squealed. “He’s the only reason I can go on,” she cried. “He’s the most popular boy in the school and he’s the best football player, and he’s so gentle…”

“Maybe you’re seeing too much of that boy,” Debra suggested. You spend every weekend with him, when you need to be studying chemistry.”

“You don’t understand the pressures I’m under, Mom,” she said wretchedly, as tears welled up once again.

“Then explain them to me,” she said. Molly said nothing. “Well,” said Debra, I’m having a parents/teacher conference with your guidance counselor tomorrow.” Molly’s face fell. “I’ll ask her what to do,” said Mom.

“You’ll be seventeen years old in three months and in a year you’ll be going off to college.”

“I don’t want to go to college anymore,” said Molly peevishly. “I want to drop out of school and get married.”

“Oh no you don’t,” snapped Debra. “That was my plan too, and look at me, scrubbing tight-fisted women’s filthy floors for $2 an hour. No, Molly Devereaux, I demand so much more for you, because you’re smart. Not like me.” Molly’s heart melted. “Don feels the same way about the boys; he doesn’t want them to grow up to be a garbage man like him! That’s why I’ve always been so hard on you. I will have more for you! We’ll talk again tomorrow night.” She paused in the doorway for a moment and murmured, “I love you, Molly.” Clutching her dish rag, she walked out of the bedroom.

Would the B tell Mom what had happened? What they had talked about was confidential; she couldn’t tell!

5

Debra appeared as if by magic at Molly’s door, before supper the next evening. She stood in the doorway for some time before Molly looked up from Maya Angelou. Molly jumped in surprise. “Mom,” she began, did you and the…Mrs. Buchanon talk?”

Debra said nothing, but entered the room and sat next to Molly on her bed. To Molly, this felt heavy. Then Debra spoke. “Molly,” she said, “I’m really disappointed in you.”

“Why, what do you mean?” she asked.

“Mrs. Buchanon told me what was happening with you and Bobby,” she replied.

“Mom,” she interrupted, “I wanted to tell you, but….”

“You didn’t think I could understand?” conjectured Debra.

“No, I knew you’d understand.”

“Molly, are we talking about the same thing?”

“You love Don,” said Molly. “And I know that he forces you to have sex with him at night, after you’ve both been drinking.”

Debra’s face grew dark as a thundercloud. “Stop it! Shut up! Don’t you dare talk about your father like that!”

Now Molly was confused. “But, I’ve heard it before,” she said plaintively. “IThe sounds, the voices, coming from your bedroom. I just thought that’s what married people did. People who loved each other. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t feel right to me.”

“We’re not talking about the same thing,” said Debra.

“Well, what did Mrs. B and you talk about, then?” asked Molly.

She told me she talked to you, and you confessed that you were trying to get yourself pregnant by Bobby, so he would drop out of school and miss college, to marry you and raise up some bastard.” Molly could  only stare at her mother, aghast. Debra went on, “You may decide you have no future, but that boy will amount to something. He’s signed a letter of intent to play football for an Ivy League college next fall, and we’ll be damned if we let you get away with it. Mrs. Buchanon also got a call from a Captain Davis, with the police department, and he said you filed a bogus rape charge against poor some unnamed student. He wanted to know if there was anything to it. She told him there wasn’t.”

“I filed the complaint after I read this book,” said Molly, holding up “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.”

Debra huffed. “And there’ll be no more of this nonsense,” she said, seizing the book and confiscating it. “You’ll not get away with this, girl. There’s a penalty for lying!”