He was the one I called when I finally found a pay phone over two hours later. I woke him up, but when I told him where I was and a little about what had happened, he immediately agreed to come and get me. (I called my parents too and told them not to worry—that Gunnar had had a flat tire on the way home, but that we’d called AAA.) Forty minutes later, Kevin finally arrived in his parents’ car. It was almost two in the morning. “You okay?” he said once I’d climbed inside. “Yeah,” I said, but I wasn’t okay, and he knew it. I started to tell him what had happened, but I’d barely even begun when I burst out bawling. “Hey,” he said. “Sokay.” Then he held out his arms for me, and I buried myself against his chest. I’d never cried in anyone’s arms before, but I have to recommend it. It felt really good. After that, I finally told the story of everything that had happened that night. He just listened, and when I was done, he told me that I’d done the right thing by leaving, and that I didn’t have anything to be ashamed of by crying.
