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even more frightening. She said she thought the nuns would protect her and he wouldn’t find her.

The two detectives made many notes, and asked as few questions as possible so as not to interrupt her.

When it was over, they told her they would be contacting the LAPD to add her case against Sam Steinberg to the others, rather than opening a separate case in New York. It would be more effective to keep all of the cases in a single jurisdiction. They were going to try to keep her case sealed because she was a nun, but couldn’t promise it.

There were so many cases being reported now, in the newspapers and online, that it was becoming commonplace. Hundreds of victims had come forward to accuse dozens of men, nearly a hundred so far, and the majority of them well known. The entertainment industry was being decimated. Hattie’s case was one of the worst, but not unusual. They filed it under her name at the time, and kept her religious name confidential, which they said would make it harder for the press to find her.

“The press?” Hattie looked panicked.

“They see all the police reports,” the sergeant explained, “but there are too many to follow up on, and they’re more interested in famous actresses who have stepped up to accuse the offenders.” It made for more lively reading. It had been going on for weeks, nearly a month by then, and the number of cases was still growing. It hadn’t slowed down. In fact, the furor was increasing.

“You’ve helped all the other women who’ve come forward, and those who haven’t yet but want to, by telling your story,” the lieutenant told her when she thanked Hattie. She looked dazed after telling it again for the third time. It was like reliving it.

“Will I have to go to court and testify against him?” Hattie asked them.

“It’s very unlikely. When all the cases have been reported, I’m sure he’ll plead guilty. He’s not going to go to court against all of you. No jury will look favorably on him. Some of the others may be able to cut a deal, but he’s one of the worst offenders. He’ll go to prison. Some of them attacked minors, drugged them and raped them. That doesn’t seem to be his M.O.”

They typed up Hattie’s statement on a computer, printed it, and had her sign it. The three women were silent as they wended their way back through the police station, and back to the parked car. It had been an impressive experience, and Hattie had been very brave.

On the way back to the convent, Hattie told Melissa they were sending her to a retreat house in Vermont for a few weeks until she felt better, and also to make sure the press didn’t find her. “I’ll be there for Christmas.” Melissa nodded. They hadn’t spent Christmas together in years anyway. Not since she had entered the convent. “I’ll write to you,” she promised. They hugged for a long time, and Hattie followed Mother Elizabeth into the convent, as Melissa watched them. Then she went to the hotel, picked up her bag, and headed back to Massachusetts. She cried on and off during the trip, and Norm was waiting for her when she got home. He had dinner in the oven. He had made a French dish, hachis parmentier, which was duck with mashed potatoes and black truffles. She didn’t think that she was hungry, but found that she was ravenous when she tasted it. It was a good winter dish, and she marveled at his cooking again.

“How did it go?” he asked her after a little while. She looked exhausted, after the meeting with the police and the long drive.

“It was hard, but she was very composed and coherent. They say he’ll go to prison, where he belongs.” Norm nodded. He thought the idea of these men preying on women and particularly young girls was heinous. Hattie had given up her dreams of acting, the career she had studied for, and her freedom, to hide in the convent for eighteen years as a result. It was a lot to lose, and Melissa wasn’t sure that the life she had chosen had compensated for it. She was almost sure it hadn’t, and it was obvious she was having doubts now.

Melissa was grateful to nestle in Norm’s arms that night.

The next day, after he left for work, she was at her desk paying bills when the phone rang, and she picked it up absentmindedly.

A cheerful “Hi, Mom!” came through the receiver, and for a minute she assumed the caller had the wrong number. The greeting was unfamiliar, and suddenly she realized who it was. It was Michaela. She had just called to chat. Melissa smiled broadly once she knew who it was.

“Well, this is a nice surprise. How’s everything in L.A.?”

“Crazy busy before Christmas. We can’t wait to come see you.”

“I can’t wait to have you.” The normalcy of the conversation almost made up for the past week of Hattie’s miseries. Michaela had no particular news, she said she just wanted to hear her mother’s voice. It reminded Melissa again of how much Hattie had done for her. And she wished she could do more for her in exchange now. Hattie was on a silent retreat so she couldn’t call her, nor could Hattie call out.

Michaela and Melissa talked for ten minutes, and then got off. It raised Melissa’s spirits just thinking about her. She had presents wrapped for them, and they were going to rent skis and ice skates for the children when they got there. The best Christmas gift of all was the one Hattie had brought her. She had a daughter.

—

It had been years since Melissa had spent Christmas with anyone, or New Year’s, or any holiday except the recent Thanksgiving. She had spent them all alone, in the silent house, watching a movie on TV, or reading a book, without celebration. But this year