Alicia lets out a long sigh. “No, it’s fine. I guess if anyone had to know, I’m glad it was you. So…what exactly did Ro say?”
I can’t tell her all of the details because they need to come from Rowan.
“All that I’ll say is that he definitelydoesn’tthink there’s anything wrong with you. The rest you’ll have to ask him about.”
We spend the rest of our time catching up on everything but O’Nelly’s and Irish soccer players.
After lunch, I head home to go over my study guides again, but as I settle on the couch, books and note cards spread out on the coffee table beforeme, when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but the area code is from back home, and a sense of foreboding washes over me.
“Hello?” I answer cautiously.
“Hello, this is Detective Morrow from the Ozark Police Department. Is this Norah Grady?” a deep and matter-of-fact voice asks.
I’m stunned momentarily but slowly say, “Yes, this is Norah Grady.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I understand you went to high school with an Ashton Kirk. Is that correct?”
My blood runs cold, and my hands start shaking. I feel like I’m going to throw up.
“Um,” I start, my voice shaking, “Yes, I did. I’m sorry, what is this about?”
“We’ve recently launched an investigation into some allegations made against him, and your name was given to us by another one of your former classmates who prefers to remain anonymous. She’s accusing Mr. Kirk of assault and gave us a list of some of his possible past victims. Ms. Grady, I realize this is probably very uncomfortable for you to hear, but I’d greatly appreciate any information you may have,” Detective Morrow states professionally.
“Um…” I say again, “Did this person say how she found out about that?”
My mind is reeling. The only person I told in that town was Charlie.
“Our source said that she found a notebook in Mr. Kirk’s home listing his victims,” he tells me.
My stomach rolls, but I take a deep breath. If this other person can be brave enough to tell her story, then I can be brave enough to tell mine.
“Yes, Detective Morrow. Ashton Kirk raped me when I was seventeen.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Grady. May I ask why the incident wasn’t reported at the time?” he asks, honest curiosity in his voice.
“Honestly? I was terrified and convinced that no one would believe me. He was the golden boy of our town. In hindsight, I realize how stupid it was of me to not tell someone, but I was seventeen and naive,” I say, then add, “I’d never been intimate with anyone before.”
“I understand, Ms. Grady. Times have certainly changed regarding sexual assault and victims reporting it. I’ll be frank with you. According to thislist, Mr. Kirk raped or assaulted fourteen girls and young women between the year you graduated and now. I know this will be difficult, but would you be willing to come to the station to give your statement?” he asks.
I choke on a sob, completely devastated by the number of women who endured the same abuse at Ashton’s hands.
“Is it possible to do this remotely, Detective?” I ask. “I live in North Carolina now, and I’m in the middle of final exams.”
“Yes, Ms. Grady,” he says, “I can take a verbal statement over the phone, then you can type it up and send it via email. However, when the case goes to trial, you’ll likely be called upon to testify in court.”
My stomach revolts again, but I tell him, “I understand, Detective. I’ll do all that I can to help.”
After giving my verbal testimony and reliving the horror of the attack, I hang up the phone. As soon as I do, I break down, sobbing uncontrollably. I can feel myself starting to sink into a panic attack, but I can’t get a handle on it. I never thought I’d hear Ashton’s name again, let aloneseehim. I moved forward with my life. I live in a wonderful city, have an amazing job, and incredible friends, and I found Eamon. I’m trying to focus on these things, but my throat is tightening and my heart is pounding out of my chest. I’m gasping for breath when there’s a quick knock on the door and Eamon walks in.
He’s immediately on his knees before me, cupping my face in both of his large warm hands.
“Norah! Christ, what’s wrong?”
I can’t answer him.
“Norah, look at me. Focus on my face,” he commands. “That’s it. Now take a deep breath. In and out. Breathe with me, love. There’s a good lass. In. And out.”
He keeps a firm grip on my face, eyes locked with mine, breathing deeply with me. Finally, my eyes begin to clear and the sobbing subsides. I’m still shaking slightly, but he rubs his thumbs soothingly over my cheekbones until it stops.
