I didn’t know how to say what needed to come next. Back then my definition of rape was so narrow. It was something that happened to women who were attacked in dark alleys by unknown assailants. It wasn’t something that happened on dates or, God forbid, in marriages. We had all sorts of other euphemisms for that.Was a little excited, took things too far, got carried away.
In the vaguest possible terms, I told him what had happened, scared that if I said too much, he’d report Paul to the master-at-arms and kill his career in the process. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have spent a second worrying about that, because in 1975, what a naval officer did to his wife in the privacy of his home was still very much his own business.
“So you’d take the birth control pills in secret?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
He thought for a minute. “And what if you’re already pregnant?”
That concern had haunted me since Saturday night. “Is that something you can test for?”
He shook his head. “Too soon for that, I’m afraid.”
“Okay,” I said, and a new wave of panic washed over me.
He pulled out his prescription pad and started to write. “This is a prescription for Ovral, which is a pretty standard birth control pill. We carry it downstairs, so you should be able to pick it up on your way out.”
I took the piece of paper from him and studied his chicken scratch.
“You shouldn’t smoke while taking it. Some women have developed blood clots.”
“Okay.”
“And look, if anyone asks me, I’ll deny telling you this,” he said. “But assuming you really don’t want to be pregnant right now, take two of those pills now and two more in twelve hours.”
“And that’s it?”
“It’s not a hundred percent effective at preventing pregnancy,” he said. “But you’re at a military clinic in a Catholic country. So I’m afraid it’s the best you’ve got.”
122.
THAT EVENING BACK AT THEhouse, Paul told me he had a surprise for me. “Think of it as an early Christmas gift,” he said as he sat me down on the living room sofa and shoved an envelope into my hands.
“You don’t want me to wait until Christmas?” I asked, but Paul was adamant that I open it immediately.
I picked up the envelope and studied the stationery, which belonged to a local travel agency. “Paul,” I said, hesitantly, “what is this?”
“Just open it.”
He was giddy, and I wanted to throw the envelope in his face, tell him that I couldn’t be bought off with a trip to Rome or Venice or wherever the fuck he thought would make a romantic getaway. Also, his money was supposed to be my money, too, and I resented the fact that he thought he could go spending this kind of cash without talking to me first.
“It’s not what you think,” he said as I slid my finger under the flap and peeked inside the envelope. I’d been expecting to find two airline tickets in our names, but all I saw was a receipt.
I removed it and had to read the wordsCharleston–Olbiathree times before I understood what Paul had done. “Oh my God,” I said. “You’re flying my parents over for Christmas?”
He held up his hands like he needed to stop me before I got ahead of myself. “Just your mom.”
“What?” I said, confused.
“The ticket was an arm and a leg. Especially last-minute like this.”
My mouth went dry. “So you’re flying only my mom over?”
“I thought it’d be nice for you two to have some girl time.”
“It is. Yeah. But…”
“But what?” said Paul, who was already beginning to get irritated.
