Taken

by Dee Henderson

  “I’d like to add one thing to my remarks before we have round two of our embarrassing conversation,” Shannon mentioned, laying aside her half-eaten sandwich.

  Matthew wanted to wince. There went any hope she was going to skip over last night. “All right.”

  “I find it easy to give my affections.” She gave a small shrug, an equally small smile as she picked up her tapioca cup. “I instinctively latch on fast when I find someone I can trust. Because I know that about myself, I was careful in my choice of whom to approach. I had a list of names, and you were at the top of it.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  She smiled. “You should be. Which brings us to today. You have my affections, Matthew. I like you. I can accept that the friendship we have now is all it will be, be content not to change your boundaries. But if you want to be part of my life some day in the future, I would welcome your company. I enjoyed that one-off kiss very much. I placed my affections well, I think. I don’t know if I can ever love as freely as someone without my history, but I believe I could make you happy. I’m the faithful, loyal, one-guy kind of gal—I do know that.”

  The generosity in what she opened her heart to say could only be met in kind. “I’ve toyed with the idea of asking you out on a date in three years.”

  She laughed, bobbled the glass she’d just picked up, spilling some of the water. “Forgive me, Matthew, but three years? I’m trying to be patient with a plan that has me waiting three weeks.” She waved away his move to help with the spill with good humor. “I’m fine.” She used her napkin to soak up the water. “Oh, I do like you, Matthew. I need some time to get over what happened, and I do accept that. Six months is going to be plenty to know where my personal land mines are, a year after that for whatever therapy can do to have its first effect. Then I’ll reassess what life looks like. My plan was to find a guy to date sometime before the third year even starts.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh, and she joined in too. Turning serious, he responded, “You may need a little more time than that. But to be fair, you were right in assuming I could make introductions to good guys you might enjoy getting to know. And I would put myself on that list—you’re an interesting, appealing woman, Shannon. You’ve just rather . . . thrown me off-balance.”

  “You thought I’d be pretty damaged coming out of what happened.”

  “Yes.”

  “I am. I’m also just delighted to be alive. I’m not planning on letting those years be an anchor pulling me down. The interior waters are murky and still slopping around—I get that, but I can swim. I can deal with the problems that have to be faced. But I do want my dreams, and time’s a-wastin’, as they say. I’m ready to get on with my list.”

  “You’ve got a good future ahead of you, Shannon. The past isn’t going to stop those dreams of yours. But you need time. And I am keenly aware I’m the first safe guy in your world—”

  She lifted her hand and cut him off with a sudden grin. “It’s okay, Matthew. Enough said on this awkward conversation. I promise I won’t contribute to an eleven p.m. moment to regret. I’m simply going to enjoy the delight in having you around. It’s sort of like having a crush on a guy, something I should have been able to enjoy when I was sixteen.” She pushed her chair back from the table. “John will be here to pick me up soon. Do you think our host might own a Scrabble game or should I buy one while I’m out shopping?”

  He tried to stay with the change in conversation. “There’s one on the shelf in the hall closet.”

  “Want a game later?”

  He wanted two aspirins, then to rewind the last half hour of conversation and hit delete. “Sure.”

  Her phone rang, and she reached for it as she finished the last strawberry on her plate. “John’s on his way up,” she confirmed. Matthew pushed back his chair and went to greet John and see Shannon safely off to her afternoon shopping. Then he returned to the kitchen to finish his lunch.

  He thoughtfully returned to their conversation. She was in the early days of coming out of a tragedy, fifteen years younger than him, and their friendship was already beyond complex. Friendship was where the line had to rest. Maybe in three years, five, he could let himself consider inviting her on a date. He liked her. A lot. It was good that she liked him, that trust had formed, and true affection had followed. But she needed to live a lot longer in her new freedom before she could even be sure of what she wanted. He would do everything he could to help her spread those wings. So . . . friends, with some exquisite care to avoid any steps that caused her emotional turmoil. She was freer with her feelings, despite all that had happened, than he had ever learned to be with his. She’d be an easy woman to love, he realized, as she was at times simply enchanting. But he refused to let himself follow the thought.

  He was glad he had a run scheduled for today. Maybe after five miles he’d have his mind wrapped around the conversation they’d just had. Maybe make it ten miles. The woman so easily tied him in a knot.

  He should buy her a camera. That thought came out of left field as he cleared the table and put away the lunch items. He pondered the idea while he went to change clothes. Those five items deeply mattered to her. It was time he put a good camera in her hands. He’d concentrate on that idea for a bit, as it was a lot more manageable than the discussion they’d just finished. Maybe the camera shop would have a decent used one in a newer model so she wouldn’t balk at accepting the gift. He found his keys, confirmed he had his phone, and went to join Paul and Bryce.

  21

  Shannon played a Y, completing the word yellow. “Tell Paul I’m ready to take him to see the farm.”

  Matthew looked up from the Scrabble board. She’d been playing in silence for the last half hour, had said very little over dinner. Tired, quiet, on the edge of subdued—he’d expected as much after an afternoon of shopping, and on the heels of all that had unfolded during the last week. He wasn’t unduly worried at the emotions he was picking up from her. “Tomorrow?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  She’d managed to get the board into a very unwieldy layout. All he could do was play the simple word fun. “Do you want to see your parents after that? Jeffery thinks it’s time. They both want to see you.”

  “He told me. They weren’t ready for it last week, and it turns out I’m not ready for it now. Maybe something at Jeffery’s this Friday or Saturday evening. If we run out of things to say, we can always talk about my niece.”

  Her fears for the reunion physically hurt to hear. “The evening will be fine after the first few minutes. Your parents are truly overjoyed to have you back, Shannon.”

  “I know, and I’m sure it’ll be welcoming smiles and hugs, followed by polite conversation with everyone trying to ignore the underlying awkwardness. I just need a few more days. If my mom asks for my forgiveness I’m going to have a difficult time replying. And what do you think, do I call him ‘Dad’ or use his first name?”

  Matthew briefly closed his eyes. “Dad,” he counseled softly. “Nothing in this changes the heart of the matter. He’s been your father since the day you were born.” He placed letters on the board to extend a word to joyful. “Give him a chance to show he wants the relationship with you that you’ve always had. Hold that door open for him,” he encouraged.

  “And Mom?”

  “She’s still your mother. You need her, Shannon, no matter how deep the hurt is right now. Show her grace, make it easy on her. She needs her daughter back. She’s mourned for you, missed you every day, every hour, for eleven years.”

  Shannon didn’t answer him. She played time, then arranged the letters for throw on her next turn.

  Matthew shifted the subject slightly. “So it’s a visit to the farm tomorrow, see your parents Friday or Saturday night, have Jeffery make the news public the following Monday?”

  She nodded. “He’ll have to by then, if not before. Once cops enter the farm, word will get back to the group, they’ll scatter, and the only way Paul will be abl
e to track them down is to make their photos public nationwide.”

  “Adam York can release the photos in connection with the abducted children who have been returned home, buy us a few more days before the reporters make the connection between the abductions, the farm, and you,” Matthew suggested.

  She shrugged. “Whatever seems best. It would be good if the next week could end it. The farm, meeting my parents, making the news public, giving Paul what I can remember about the other stash sites. I’ll still need to show you their place out East, and there will be some sites I’ll have to visit to see what I can remember about the precise locations. But otherwise my initial list will be finished. It would be seriously helpful to me to get this over with.”

  Matthew considered that an exquisite understatement. He extended a word to play halftone. A year from now, her life would likely be depositions and trials. “I’ve got a few things on my list for you to consider. Choosing a doctor you’d like to help you process everything. You need a valid driver’s license. Do you want to be known as Shannon Bliss or switch to another name that might not attract attention? This would be the right time to decide that.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.” She played falling. “Charlotte obviously decided changing her name made sense.”

  “It’s something to consider. I don’t know that it’s realistic to keep you entirely out of the public eye, given your brother may be in the governor’s office. You’ll just be setting up reporters to watch him until he leads them to you, regardless of the name you’re using.”

  “I’ll talk to Jeffery about what makes the most sense. I won’t be seen in public until after the election—that much I’ve decided.”

  “For the next five months until the vote, that would be wise,” Matthew agreed. “Any plans with Charlotte? You were talking with her by phone earlier.”

  “She has coffee Saturday mornings with Ellie and Rachel, Bryce’s mom and sister. She invited me to join them.”

  “You’ll enjoy that.”

  Shannon half smiled. “I’ll have to start a social calendar. Was that your doing?”

  He didn’t have to ask what she meant. “No. Charlotte’s invitation didn’t originate with me.”

  “It’s awkward, figuring out who to trust.”

  “You don’t have to decide that right away, Shannon. Simply observe, try out some low-key interactions, and determine whom you’re comfortable with. And if you’re overly cautious for the next few years, you don’t need to apologize. People will understand.”

  “I’ve decided I like Charlotte.”

  “I’m glad.” She was in the early stages of making new friends, which was one of his hopes for her. Once she spoke with her parents, finished talking with the FBI, and the news became public, her focus would need to shift to working with a doctor and getting whole again, physically and emotionally. The last big question would then come into play: where did she want to settle down to start her new life? He thought maybe somewhere in Wisconsin or Indiana. A few hours outside of Chicago would be ideal—close enough that John could help her with security matters, where she could still be with family for an evening or a weekend, but still be outside the reach of the Chicago press. The national press interest in her would continue throughout the first year, but after that it would start to settle down. He’d help her look at some towns in the Upper Midwest when she was ready.

  The letters left in the Scrabble box lid were down to less than a dozen. He took three more to fill his tray.

  “Do you have someone in mind for a counselor?” Shannon asked.

  He considered his word options, rearranged letters on the tray. “Rachel suggested a friend of hers, Sandy Post, and Bryce gave me the same name. She works primarily with women veterans who have seen combat. She sees a few patients in the Chicago area, and could meet you for a walk one morning. Afterward you could both decide if it feels like a good fit. Rachel mentioned she’s a bit . . . unorthodox in her style, but that’s why she likes her.”

  “How so?”

  “She’ll train and run a marathon with one patient, design and landscape a flower garden with another, take a Spanish class with a third. She’s not one for appointments in an office if there’s another way to accomplish her goal. She wants to get inside your head, your heart. And she’s going to stay on mission until she’s done that, until she’s figured out where your perceptions of yourself and the world are affecting your mental health.”

  “She’s a Christian?”

  “Yes. If you aren’t comfortable praying aloud with someone, you’ll have an interesting time adapting to her help. She’s as likely to address a question to God about you as she is to ask you the question.”

  The thought seemed to intrigue Shannon. “A nice way to keep a conversation honest. ‘God, is she lying to herself or to me with that answer?’” Shannon smiled. “I’d be willing to meet her for a walk, maybe next week, after the conversation with my parents. One thing at a time is about all I want to handle right now.”

  Matthew nodded. “It’s going to help you—having a professional in the mix.”

  “Do you think I should let her read the diaries?”

  He hesitated before he answered. “I don’t know. I think it might be better if you talked about matters first, let her see how the memories of events are playing out for you now. But if you can’t talk about a subject, then yes, giving her the appropriate diary would be better than her not knowing.”

  “I’m doing a good job coping right now by simply accepting it happened, and then moving on.”

  “You are,” Matthew agreed. “But you’re still in survival mode. Do you realize that? It’s useful for me to see it, because the pace you’re moving through all the details would be trouble for you otherwise. But there will be a day you’re past this initial unpacking of events, and then that survival mode is going to begin to ease. It needs to. You’ll be able to grieve about what you lost over the last eleven years, and you’ll feel a natural sadness begin to swell.”

  “I’ve already grieved, Matthew.”

  He didn’t think she had even begun that process, but he only said, “You’ll grieve some more, Shannon. And those days too will pass. A good life is going to form over the next years, and I’m looking forward to seeing how that happens for you.”

  “You’re expecting me to be fragile, like your daughter. I’m not like that, Matthew.”

  He gave her a searching look. “Becky had a period where she was truly fragile, but that’s different than what I see in you. Fragile implies being unable to handle something, of cracking when the pressure and stress arrive. I agree you’re not fragile right now. You’re extraordinarily strong in some ways because it’s necessary. But grief isn’t fragile. It comes along with strength, facing the losses in life, the reality of what you won’t have back, then turning to the future to create what can be built. Grief is part of accepting what was; it’s what takes the sharp edges off your history. It’s emotion and it’s reality. It’s mostly not hiding, letting your mind present what needs processing and dealing with all the implications of those memories.”

  She was listening, toying with the final letter on her tray.

  The game was finished, but he didn’t move to total the score or put away the pieces, but instead looked at her and carefully selected his words. “You survived by hiding, Shannon. It’s still how you cope when events or situations hurt you,” he said gently. “I’m glad it’s a strong instinct because it’s getting you through this. But it’s a defense. Grieving is about letting down that shield, not having to keep that defensive wall in place. When you can lower it and not get overwhelmed by the memories, you’ll know your healing is mostly complete, you’ll have ‘rubbed off the jagged edges’ of your history, as you described it, and be ready to move on.”

  She thoughtfully began storing letters in the box. “Not sharing something is not the same as not being aware of it. I’m not hiding from myself.”

  He thought maybe she was ri
ght, and yet . . . not. “You’ve learned to endure, to live strong in spite of all that’s been thrown at you. That’s powerful and good. Maybe what I’m trying to express is that I think you’ve dealt with matters by a sequence that was basically ‘It happened, it was horrible, it’s over, move on,’ and your emotions learned to function that way as well. But that was a learned pattern. Freedom is going to shift your emotions to something that’s more . . . expansive is maybe the word I want. You’ll feel things with larger and wider emotional swings again, because now you have the freedom to experience those normal emotions. It’s going to be a good thing.”

  “You don’t think I have that now?” she asked, looking curiously at him over a handful of letters.

  He realized she didn’t see it yet and simply looked at her for a long moment, pondering how to present it. Finally he said, “I think you have a shadow of it, but not the substance, and I’d hate for you to misjudge which you have. I’m hoping, praying, that the wall you’ve had to put in place around yourself and your emotions will come down. That there will be more of you appearing. Wider emotional swings both up and down. More energy. Dreams for your life. Things you want. Desires of the heart. And, yes, also a deeper sadness. Grief. All of it. That’s life, and the more of it you are feeling, the closer you are to being whole again.”

  “That’s what healing will look like,” she said, thoughtful.

  He nodded. “Mostly. It will be the ability to see the world around you as it exists, both good and bad. It will be having a life that isn’t being steered by the past, where it doesn’t feel like the past is a daily anchor weighing on your thoughts, or on your impressions of places and people. Healing will be the capacity and the ability to love family and care about friends. It will be about having dreams for yourself and the confidence to work toward them. Healing in part is being able to feel you are free of the past.”