“Because you got up on a stage and announced it. And now, after twenty years, I’m trying to be the friend you wouldn’t let me be back then.”

Caitlin stared at the road. “Standing up on the podium, I thought, No big deal, but actually staying here in Bloomington, it’s gotten harder.”

“Well, let’s Ya-Ya-sister-pants this bullshit.”

Caitlin jerked her thumb toward the back seat. “Want to help? Root around in my bag until you find a police report.”

“Okay.” Mary found Caitlin’s assault folder. “A reading from the rape of Caitlin Bergman.” She stared at the contents, flipped a page. “Huh.”

“What?”

“I’ve never really looked at something like this.”

“Good for you. What’s in there?”

“Okay, the first page looks like a summary document. Next page looks like an initial incident report, handwritten. Was that the sheriff’s department?”

“Yes, Deputy Lyle something, right?”

“Oh, that’s what that is. Deputy Lyle Sugar.”

At no point in the last two decades had Caitlin thought about Deputy Sugar—or his warning: They’re going to tell you to stop, to reconsider, to keep the whole thing quiet … Don’t let them stop you, ever. In the end, she hadn’t followed his well-intentioned, but unrealistic, advice.

“What else is in there?”

“Looks like the medical report. Oh, Jesus.”

“What?”

Mary’s hand reached for Caitlin’s shoulder, but she stared at the folder. “Pictures.”

Another precious moment forgotten until now. The nurse with Deputy Sugar had taken a full spread of photos from the worst possible angles. “Maybe skip the bruised ribs and torn vagina images and get to the written material, Lubbers.”

Mary didn’t look away. “I can’t believe someone did this to you.”

“Mary?”

“Right, sorry.” She flipped ahead. “Here’s a transcript from the interrogation of the accused.” She looked over. “Troy Woods … Wait, didn’t I introduce you two?”

A flash of young Mary’s hand tapping Troy Woods on the shoulder in a crowded bar brought a sudden tightening to Caitlin’s chest. She gasped.

“Caitie?”

Ignoring Mary, she fought an overwhelming urge to close her eyes. Luckily, a competing urge surfaced—the refusal to pay for a totaled rental car. She checked the mirrors, slowed to a stop in the middle of the road, and lowered her window to let in fresh air.

“Caitlin, why are we stopping?”

Another image surfaced. The ER nurse with the camera trying to maintain her composure but unable to hide the trembling of her hands or the tears she wiped away.

Caitlin unbuckled her seatbelt and looked out the open window. The fresh air helped.

Mary tapped her shoulder, gently, but with worry in her voice. “We shouldn’t stop here.”

Caitlin took another breath. “Just getting some air.”

“Maybe pull over to the side of the road. I see a whole bunch of air over there.”