“It’s Henry, right?”

　I shake my head, and put my finger to my lips. We have arrived at the girls’ gym. We walk into the locker room and abracadabra! all the girls stop talking. Then there’s a low ripple of talk that fills the silence. Helen and I have our lockers in the same bay. I open mine and take out my gym suit and shoes. I have thought about what I am going to do. I take off my shoes and stockings, strip down to my undershirt and panties. I’m not wearing a bra because it hurt too much.

　“Hey, Helen,” I say. I peel off my shirt, and Helen turns.

　“Jesus Christ, Clare!” The bruises look even worse than they did yesterday. Some of them are greenish. There are welts on my thighs from Jason’s belt. “Oh, Clare.” Helen walks to me, and puts her arms around me, carefully. The room is silent, and I look over Helen’s shoulder and see that all the girls have gathered around us, and they are all looking. Helen straightens up, and looks back at them, and says, “Well?” and someone in the back starts to clap, and they are all clapping, and laughing, and talking, and cheering, and I feel light, light as air.

　

　Wednesday, July 12, 1995 (Clare is 24, Henry is 32)

　

CLARE: I’m lying in bed, almost asleep, when I feel Henry’s hand brushing over my stomach and realize he’s back. I open my eyes and he bends down and kisses the little cigarette burn scar, and in the dim night light I touch his face. “Thank you,” I say, and he says, “It was my pleasure,” and that is the only time we ever speak of it.

　

　Sunday, September 11, 1988 (Henry is 36, Clare is 17)

　

HENRY: Clare and I are in the Orchard on a warm September afternoon. Insects drone in the Meadow under golden sun. Everything is still, and as I look across the dry grasses the air shimmers with warmth. We are under an apple tree. Clare leans against its trunk with a pillow under her to cushion the tree roots. I am lying stretched out with my head in her lap. We have eaten, and the remains of our lunch lie scattered around us, with fallen apples interspersed.