The only problem with any of this was the fact that she was afraid to get out of her car. Almost petrified, thanks to the fact that she’d been attacked two years ago on her way from class, back to her car.
It had been bad. They’d robbed her, broke her arm when she’d struggled. And when they’d forced her down on the pavement, her face had been smashed into a shard of glass—a thick, jagged piece that left a deep scar, even though the doctors at the hospital had repaired it as best they could.
Chill bumps grazed her arms as she recalled everything else. Everything she hadn’t been completely coherent for. Everything that the doctors at the hospital had said had happened.
Since then, a lot of things had changed. She’d become almost afraid of her shadow. Her brother Dylan, whom she’d always been close to, had become more stressed than usual. Their parents had tried to get her to move with them to Hilton Head. Some of her friends had drifted away when their sympathy ebbed and their confusion about her fears of men—and to a smaller extent, the whole world—increased.
She’d ended up moving from downtown Cincinnati to Bridgeport, where Dylan had gotten a job in the police department. And because he was so busy, her fear had reached a dangerous point.
That was when she’d finally started counseling. She’d been going for fourteen months now and had made a lot of progress. Now she could actually admit that she’d been attacked by three men, raped by one of them, and was never going to be the same for the rest of her life.
Melissa, her counselor, had smiled the first time Jennifer had said those statements out loud. But no matter how much better it was for her to face the truth, Jennifer had only felt sick.
Now Melissa had given her homework to work on in between appointments—assignments to go out into the world. She could now visit a few restaurants and public places if Dylan took her.
But this was a big deal. She was finally going to go someplace by herself. And not just “go” there, either. She was going to get out of the car, walk into a store, and even speak to a stranger.
That was why she was sitting in the parking lot. Yesterday, at the end of her session, she’d promised Melissa that she’d go to Backdoor Books. Not only that, she was supposed to go to the cookbook section, pick out a book, and purchase it.
Two years and two months ago she wouldn’t have even been able to imagine doing any of that.
Could she do it now?
She was petrified. But did she really want to tell Melissa on Tuesday that she’d chickened out? Imagining the conversation, she knew that her counselor would nod, look her in the eye, and say she understood . . . but that she was disappointed.
Jennifer didn’t want that.
More than anything she wanted to be able to tell Dylan that she had left the house and was trying to get better. Remembering her breathing exercises, she opened her car door. It was maybe thirty-one degrees out. Gray sky, old snow on the ground. Damp and bitter cold. The air clung to her skin, seeping in—making the warm lights shining through the bookstore’s windows look even more inviting.
She looked around. There were only around eight other cars in the parking lot. It was also the middle of the day. She wasn’t in danger.
But still, she hesitated.
The front door of the shop opened. A man who had to be in his seventies walked out. In one hand he held a paper coffee cup. In his other a packed shopping bag. He looked both ways, then crossed the parking lot. She watched him walk to one of the handicapped spaces near the front, get in his car, and drive away.
It was time.
Picking up her purse, she stood and closed the car door, but kept one hand on the roof of her car. She wondered if her therapist would think she’d done enough.
She wouldn’t. She’d only look at Jennifer, lean back in her swivel chair, and ask if standing against her car in the cold was the same as walking into the bookstore and looking at cookbooks.
No. No, it was not.
She started walking. Barely remembered to stop and wait for the SUV that was zipping too fast through the parking lot. Then got to the door.
“Hey, hold that open for me, would you?” a man called out.
She froze. Looked behind her.
It was a guy about her age holding a squirming black-and-tan puppy and a large cup of coffee. He had sunglasses on even though it wasn’t sunny.
“Do you mind?” His voice was more impatient.
“What?” Realizing he was about to be by her side, she yanked open the door.
“Thanks,” he smiled at her just as the puppy squirmed again and yipped.
And . . . his coffee cup flew out of his hand and sailed toward the ground at her feet. They both stared in dismay as the lid popped off, as if in slow motion, and the hot liquid splattered out onto her legs.
“Oh!” She jumped back.
“Crap. I’m so sorry.” He went down on a knee. The puppy scampered free as he reached out a hand.
Afraid he was going to touch her, Jennifer stepped back.
“Sorry!” Looking embarrassed, he picked up the fallen cardboard cup just as the puppy trotted closer and gave the spilled coffee a tentative lick.
“Jack?”
He looked up. “Hey, mom.”
Obviously excited to see a friendly face, the puppy ran toward the woman.
She bent down and picked it up. “What is Harvard doing here?”
“You know I couldn’t leave him home,” the guy said as he got to his feet. “Not yet, but that’s not the issue.” He turned to Jennifer. “Miss, are you hurt? Did you get burned?”
Her leg was wet but nothing hurt. “I’m fine.”
Still holding the puppy, the guy’s mother turned to face her. “What happened to you?”
“My coffee just spilled all over her, Mom. Miss, are you sure you’re not hurting?”
“I’m fine,” Jennifer said again.
“Oh dear. Come on in, honey.” As Jennifer stepped in, the lady put the puppy back down. It yipped, smelled a stack of books, then circled back to her. When she looked down, it wagged its tail.
It really was too cute. The dog didn’t look like it was any sort of particular breed, more like a mishmash of a half-dozen. But seeing its sweet brown eyes and gentle personality, Jennifer decided it was a combination of all the best parts.
Ignoring the coffee spill on her leg that was now just more of a bother than anything, Jennifer knelt down to give Harvard a pat.
The dog wagged its tail some more.
“He’s really soft,” she said, looking up.
“He’s a mess, but he’s a keeper, for sure,” the guy said as he knelt down next to her.