Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

what help we can.”
    “No.” The word escaped from my mouth.
    Carrie gripped my thigh tighter, and Jessica’s mouth dropped open. Julia and Crank stared at me, and my father did a double take. It was my mother, however, who responded.
    “Alexandra, I realize that despite our efforts, you never liked Randy. But you will behave courteously at this table. And you will go with us, as your father has suggested. He’s a nice young man. I’m sure this accusation is nothing more than scurrilous.”
    I leaned forward in my seat, my stomach cramping, and found myself grinding my teeth, trying to hold back a rage I’d never before experienced. I could feel it sweeping down my body, and for a second I wanted to smash something, anything.
    “Your mother is right,” my Dad said. “If it were up to me, you would have abandoned your puppy love for that soldier years ago, and married Randy.”
    I was paralyzed. I couldn’t say anything, because if I started, I was never going to be able to stop. I reached out, tried to pick up my wine glass, and ended up spilling it instead. Now everyone in my family was staring in shock at my strange behavior, or, in the case of Jessica and Carrie, just plain horror.
    My mother jumped to her feet, running to grab several napkins, which we used to sop up the spilled wine. As we finished, my father said, “I trust this conversation is over.”
    I shook my head.
    “Excuse me?”
    I looked at him, no longer able to hold it all back. A tear streamed down my face.
    “I don’t go anywhere near his parents. Or his house. Don’t even say his name to me. Do you understand me?” The bitterness and rage in my tone surprised even me.
    “I don’t understand,” my mother interjected. “Whatever has gotten into you, Alexandra? Randy Brewer is a perfectly nice young man—“
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Carrie cried out. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to her? When did you two become so clueless?”
    “Well, I don’t…” my mother started to say, then trailed off.
    My father’s tone was ice. “How dare you speak to us in that manner, young lady?”
    Carrie turned on him, rage in her eyes. “How dare you continue hurting your own daughter like that?” she shouted. “Can’t you see it? Even if you don’t know the details, can’t you see the pain you’re causing her? For God’s sake, that poor nice young man you’re talking about sexually assaulted your daughter twice!”
    Oh, God. Carrie, why did you blurt that out at the dinner table? I stared in horror, meeting first Julia’s eyes, then, for just a second, my father’s. Then I buried my face in my hands.
    “I’m sorry, Alex, I know I told you I wouldn’t tell them anything. But if you won’t, I will. I won’t have them torturing you.”
    My mother, in shock, said, “Carrie, we would never hurt her….”
    “You don’t know what you’re talking about, mother! Until you find out, can you kindly shut up!”
    Utter silence descended on the dinner table.
    Carrie turned to me, and in a faint, gentle voice said, “Alex, I know you’re afraid. But we’re your family. Let me tell them.”
    I buried my face in my hands and began sobbing. Sarah moved over and put her arms around me, burying her face and hair in my shoulder, and Carrie put her hand on the other shoulder and said, in a very quiet voice, “Randy tried to rape her in his room last spring. But his roommates intervened. She didn’t file a complaint, or tell anyone. But a couple weeks ago, it happened again. He assaulted her at a party. Dylan Paris pulled Randy off her, and they fought, and… Dylan beat up Randy. He ended up being charged with assault. But you need to hear me, father. I know you don’t like Dylan. I know you never have. But he saved your daughter. So you better swallow your dislike. You better just keep it to yourself. Because when the police charged Dylan with assault, they just let Randy Brewer go. And so he went, and followed a girl home, and raped her. ”
    I started crying harder.
    “I didn’t know,” my father said.
    I clenched my fists and looked up at him, rage rushing through me. “ You didn’t know? You knew Dylan was injured last spring! You knew the reason he didn’t write me was because he couldn’t, because he was so badly hurt! You knew! And you didn’t tell me!”
    My mother gasped. “Alexandra, you don’t know that.”
    “Yes, I do! Dad wrote him. He told Dylan to stay away from me, that he wasn’t good