The men’s room was foul, but I didn’t care. Nudie photos hung over the urinals, and the floor was wet and yellow where the boys had missed. A machine sold condoms and cigarettes, but someone had broken the glass and taken what was inside. The bathroom had one stall, and I ran in there and shut the door and barely got my underwear down before Niagara flooded over the cliff. I practically screamed with relief. As I sat there, I tried to read the graffiti on the door, but the dirty jokes and limericks made somersaults in front of my eyes.

By the time I was finished, yes, I was definitely crying, and I was trembling with cold so hard that my knees knocked together. I didn’t want to go back out there, I didn’t want to face everybody looking at me, I didn’t want to sit next to my husband again, but all I could do was go to the sink and try to clean myself up. I closed my eyes to make the world stop spinning, but I was riding a Tilt-A-Whirl inside my head.

Then he was there with me. I opened my eyes, and he was right there.

Ajax.

I hadn’t heard him come in. He turned me around and nudged me gently against the sink. His hand lifted my chin, and he bent down and kissed me. I won’t lie to you, sweetheart, he was a good kisser, and I needed to be kissed. I didn’t push him away. I put my arms around him and pulled him close to me. His body pressed against mine, and I could feel his muscles, hard everywhere. His hands were all over me. His fingers snaked under my skirt, pushing aside my panties, going places they shouldn’t go.

I finally woke up to what was happening, but I was too late.

I shoved him backward and slapped him hard, my wedding ring making a gash across his cheek. That was going to leave a scar. He was going to hate that. But I saw in that same moment that we weren’t alone. Ricky stood in the doorway of the bathroom. He’d seen everything; he’d seen Ajax kiss me, seen me kiss him back, seen me do nothing but moan as his worst enemy groped me under the dress I’d put on for my husband.

My cheeks flushed red. I stammered but couldn’t get out any words. Ricky grabbed my wrist. He grabbed it hard. As he pulled me out of the bathroom, I saw drunken images popping in my head like flashbulbs: Ajax bleeding profusely; people staring at us; Sandra shouting my name; the back door flying open; and then the moon and stars shining as Ricky carried me kicking and flailing across the snowy parking lot and threw me inside the car.

Nobody did a thing. Nobody tried to stop him.