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And profound, agonizing sadness.
Benton leaned forward. “Attempted rape is a second-class felony. She didn’t file a police report yet?”
Cornell thought back to John’s text and shook his head.
“What about a rape kit?”
He shook his head again.
Benton sighed. “Look, you don’t need physical evidence to file a report, but what happens after is up to the district attorney. If this guy has a prior record of any kind of assault—”
“Nothing on record.” Cornell knew that, because he sat in on the meetings with Evan and Hopperville’s Dean when Graham’s admission was first discussed. “But he… he’s done stuff like this in the past.”
And I did nothing but bring it right to my fucking front door. I gave him Ali on a fucking silver platter.
“What do you mean?”
Cornell took a deep breath and told Benton about Graham—about who he was, why he was at Hopperville in the first place. He told him how, even in his own football career, he had yet to see anybody act the way Graham did at the opening game, charging and swinging his helmet. Cornell told Benton about what Graham did in Ali’s office, about the look of pure fear he put on her face. His own twisted at the memory, and the two fell into silence as they sat on the bench.
“Does Ali want to report it?”
“No, I don’t think she does.” Cornell tilted his head toward Benton, shaking it. “She’s at her parents’ house.” He thought back to days earlier, recalling the blank stare on Ali’s face. “It’s bad, man. She’s bad. And she’s not talking to me. But no, I don’t think she does.”
Benton grew silent beside him. “Does Tara know?”
Cornell shrugged. “I doubt it.” When he called her last night for Benton’s number, there was nothing unusual about her voice, no hint of panic, sadness, or anger. She was her regular self, playfully annoyed with him. “And you can’t say anything. I know I shouldn’t be telling you, but… ”
I’m at a fucking loss.
Benton nodded sadly beside Cornell and rubbed a hand across his face, as if he realized the same thing Cornell did. Tara not knowing confirmed another of Cornell’s fears, that Ali was dealing without full support. He could imagine Ali stonewalling Bobbi and John. I know she’s dealing with this alone and it’s killing me.
“Even if she does report it. Even if the DA presses charges, he’s going to walk, isn’t he?”
“I don’t want to bullshit you, man. No evidence and no witnesses, no prior charges make this her word against his. It would be likely. It shouldn’t be like that, but it probably will,” Benton said with a sigh. “But without a proper investigation, no one can make that call. You never know what turns up.”
Cornell gripped the back of his neck. I want to fucking scream.
“I’m going to talk to you like a prosecutor with some experience here for a minute. And then I’ll talk to you as a friend, okay? Because I know Ali is like a sister to Tara, and I can’t imagine… ” Benton shook his head, his breath hissing through gritted teeth. “It’s important she reports it, even if she didn’t have an exam, even if there is no evidence, even if it goes nowhere. Because one day”—Benton paused—“one day that report might be exactly what another prosecutor needs against him. But that has to be her choice.”
Graham tried to take away her choice, Cornell thought, I’d sooner die than do that.
Benton placed a hand on his shoulder. “And as a friend and an officer of the court, I’m telling you not to do anything stupid. I haven’t been in this situation, but I gather that if I were, there would only be one thing on my mind. If you take this into your own hands, you’re going to take something else from her. And there might be days when she feels like you’re the only thing she has left.”
“Didn’t you hear the part about her not talking to me?”
“I did. But I’ve seen this, Cornell. She might need some space. She might need some time. That doesn’t mean she won’t need you tomorrow or the day after.” Benton squeezed his shoulder. “And now, as just your friend, you call me when you’re ready to fly off the handle. And I’d be a better friend if I told you, you might need to talk to a professional as much as she does.”
“Why’s that?”
Benton smiled sadly. “I know you’re a strong guy. But if you don’t look after yourself while you’re looking after her, you’re going to be the one who needs to be taken care of. Trust me on that. Secondary trauma isn’t really a second-string kind of thing.”
* * *
“Shit,” Cornell groaned when the shovel hit the bottom of the garden bed. He quickly pushed more soil into the hole, placed the seed, and covered it. He sat back, not caring that dirt streaked his shorts and sweat painted his skin.
The flowerbed in front of him didn’t look much better than it had an hour earlier, just a long, rectangular box of dirt. He had no idea if what he had done was right, even though he had followed his father’s instructions as well as the woman at the nursery who sold him the seeds and supplies, assuring him that by spring vibrant petals and rich green leaves would fill the box of dirt.
Cornell drank his beer, trying to think about all the other things Ali wanted done around the house that he actually could do as a tenant. He had changed light bulbs and patched a hole he had accidentally put in the wall when he moved in. Cornell fixed a drawer in the kitchen that had slipped off the slide and power washed the garage floor.
