She sipped and then stared at the wine in the glass. “Once I reached puberty my step dad started to pay more attention to me. At first I thought he was just being nice, and I appreciated it, but then it dawned on me that he was acting the same as other men acted when they leered at me outside. I began to be afraid of him, and especially to be afraid of being alone with him. My mother misinterpreted his affection towards me as renewed commitment to the family unit, and I was ashamed to tell her the truth.”
She hesitated.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It must have been a difficult time. You don’t have to go into details.”
She appeared confused, her eyes unfocused, as if she were reliving those times. “One day when my mother was out, he grabbed me and pulled me towards him. When I tried to pull away, he hit me hard in the face with his fist. I passed out, and I woke up with a black eye, a purple bruise on my cheek, and a concussion. It was the end of the marriage. I never saw him again. He’s lucky he didn’t get locked up.”
“He should have been,” I said.
“Maybe,” she said. “I was happy just to put him out of my mind. After that, it was just me and my mother. And so it remained as I grew up, went to college, moved out on my own, became a professional graphics designer. I focused on my work, my career. And then… I put everything on hold to move back in with my mother.”
“Why?”
“She was diagnosed with breast cancer.”
At which point something inside me snapped.
We had been getting more and more intimate in our conversation, Pamela and I, even though we were all but total strangers. On my part, her connection with an old girlfriend that I had always retained positive feelings about had caused me to let down my defenses. I’d had a nasty divorce. My career success solved the pain somewhat, but inside I was still devastatingly lonely. I hadn’t even gone on a date in years. It was like I didn’t know how anymore. And here this was happening.
I couldn’t cope with it.