The terrible thing was—the confusing, heartbreaking thing was—that he had helped her. And it was that which made this so much the worse. That he had the talent and ability to do so much good and instead was using it as a tool to gratify the basest, most despicable and selfish perversions of his nature, to carelessly bend the innocent to his will, to seduce and destroy them. A strange sensation of nausea and weakness enveloped her, making her knees wobble and her stomach lurch.

“Listen,” she said with a strength that came to her suddenly out of nowhere, a strength born of living through tragedy and recovering from horrible choices; a strength grounded in the sure knowledge that you have a family that loves you and that there is a God that sees all and has set down clearly what is good and what is evil, “get your filthy hands off me, or I’ll bash in your whatyoucallit and scream.”

He dropped his hands, shocked. Swiftly, she got to the door, half expecting him to follow her and block her way. Instead, he moved back to the chair behind his desk, sitting down and leaning back, his hands folded serenely over his stomach. “All the young girls are like you at first,” he called after her. “But you’ll get used to it. You’ll beg me to take you back. And if not, your parents will.” He laughed, slapping the desk. “You know what? I think you need an extra session this week. Come back tomorrow at six o’clock. If not, I’ll call your principal.”

She glanced over her shoulder, shocked, then ran out the door.

In the hallway, she pressed her back against the wall, feeling her heart hammering its way out of her chest like a small, tortured creature desperate to escape. She fled down the staircase, snatching hurried glances over her shoulder in fear that he might be following right behind her. Only when the doors to the building delivered her safely to the street did she stop moving, staring up at the floor where his office would be. Even though she knew he had no windows, she could have sworn she saw him staring down at her.

24

LEAH TAKES STOCK

Leah looked at the ton of papers scattered over her desk. And if that weren’t enough, toys were lying underfoot, the laundry was piled up, and pots still waited to be scrubbed in the aftermath of the usual Shabbos turmoil. In the background was the incessant ding, ding, ding of email notifications from impatient customers, going off on her iPhone like little hammers to her skull.