“I? Why hadn’t I trusted myself? Because I’d trusted the woman across the street instead, that’s why. That grown up. That Assistant Principal. So in a way, it had been my fault. But in another way, not. But no matter whose fault it was, I still had bruises on my arms. And now, memories I didn’t want.”

“Trust is weird,” my mother said. “People give it too easily, most of the time. Because somebody is attractive, they expect him to be good or honest. Or like pushy salesmen—somebody who carefully makes you feel like you’re emotionally obligated to trust them. Like you’re the rude one if you don’t. Trust is really something that needs to be earned. Hard earned. If somebody every says, ‘Don’t you trust me?’ Just say, “No, as a matter of fact.”

“I was thinking about his hands on me. Nobody had ever treated me like that. Not ever. But now they had. And how was I ever going to forget it? I would never. I would never.”

“And then I did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. “They’re not here,” I said. I knew, as the words left my mouth, that I had just made a deep mistake.”

“Why would I assume that the guy wanted to hurt me when nobody’s ever tried to hurt me before?”

“I walked Sam up to his door and gave him a huge hug. He looked me over in the porch light and leaned over—just a little. He whispered, “You know, I’m glad you wore this costume tonight. Now I know, when you’re fifty three, you’re still gonna be lookin’ good.” So I hit him. Which really wasn’t what I was wanting to do.”

“She wants me to cut through all the sweetness and light in my head,” I said, “so I can see the truth.” “Which is?” Tommy asked, not turning around. “That nothing is what it seems to be.”