Stolen Innocence - Lisa Pulitzer [132]
When Lamont told me that his mother had died after falling into a coma, I was shaken to the core. Tears clouded his blue eyes as he briefly detailed the story for me.
“I am so sorry,” I said almost in a whisper. Yet it felt comforting to have someone trust me with such a personal story. I had never had a man outside of my family confide in me like this, and for the first time ever, I had the sense that I was connecting with a member of the opposite sex.
The days wore on, and my friendship with Lamont deepened. One day he called Meg and asked for her help, explaining that he was suffering a bout of lymphedema. I asked Meg about his condition, and she explained that Lamont’s lymph nodes were prone to infection; if one shut off, the others would back up. The infections caused him high fevers and discomfort that could only be treated with antibiotics. I was upset to hear that Lamont was sick and I wanted to comfort him without being overbearing, so I sent him a text message saying, “I hope you get feeling better.”
Meg had offered to drive to Hurricane to pick up his prescription, so we hopped into my truck and were on our way. Of course, there was a pharmacy closer to home, but if we got caught there, we would be chastised. We couldn’t let people know that we were associating with a man who wasn’t our priesthood head. Meg dialed Lamont’s cell phone, and he was able to drag his fevered body out of bed long enough to meet us in the Sticks, where we could secretly hand over his meds. I worried quietly about him for the next two days, but I didn’t want to disturb him. Finally, he texted me and thanked me for what I’d done, saying he hoped we could keep our friendship in the future. I was ecstatic but a little scared. I enjoyed Lamont’s company more than that of any other man I’d met. Already our friendship had broken the rules of the church, and I didn’t know where things might go.
Just a few days after our trip to Hurricane, Meg and I were both working the dinner shift, and I could tell that something was up. Her typical carefree look was not there when she climbed into the passenger seat that night for the drive home.
“Lesie,” she said, tears filling her eyes, “I have to go.” The words came out almost in a whisper as Meg told me that Jason was coming to get her the very next day. They were heading to Salt Lake City together. “I need your help,” Meg pleaded. “Please.”
That familiar feeling of being left behind came crashing back, but I didn’t let it get the better of me. Though the loss would be monumental, I had to help my friend. She was opening up to me the way that I had wanted Kassandra to, and I could not bring myself to try and convince her to stay. When Kassandra left, I thought she was damning herself to hell, but now I knew this wasn’t true. I didn’t want Meg to end up by the side of some old man or, worse, with a man she didn’t love. Jason cared for her and she for him. That was enough for me.
Solemnly, I nodded. “Of course I’ll help you.” We shared a long hug, and I tried to control my sobs. When we finally let go of each other, I shifted the truck into drive, wanting to make the most of our last night. Together, we rode through the encroaching darkness of night, blasting our Bon Jovi and Bad Boys Blue CDs and belting out verses in a final hurrah.
We saw each other the following day, had lunch, and even snuck off to one last movie. That night, I arrived beneath Meg’s window to help her escape. I softly called out to her, and almost immediately one of her bags was thrust in my direction. With only starlight to guide us, we ran down the road to where I had discreetly parked my truck. A passing car nearly spoiled everything—you never knew who could be out making the rounds to get people into trouble—but we hid and continued on our way unnoticed. We reached my vehicle and hopped in, then drove to a gas station several miles