How long we held each other, I’m not sure. I am, however, completely certain that reacquainting myself with him had more than consumed the last of my waning reserves, and I fell asleep in his arms.
The first thing I experienced as I began to wake was his quiet voice asking me, "How are you?" Although the barrier between us was mostly back in place, I could still sense enough to know that Will was concerned about my emotional state, in spite of―or perhaps because of―our profound emotional reunion. He wasn't certain how I might choose to react to . . . well, everything. Maybe I had been overwhelmed one too many times in the last few days. Maybe it had all been more than I wanted in my life.
But that wasn't how I felt at all.
As I tried to move, I realized that he had enclosed me in his winter coat with him. So I wriggled around to answer him by putting my arms about his neck and pulling myself up to kiss him briefly, yet enthusiastically, on his mouth. I then put my lips to his ear and whispered, "Sex couldn't possibly be better than that, could it?"
At first, he seemed taken aback―undoubtedly astonished by my extraordinarily rapid improvement. (I couldn't blame him. I was rather astonished myself.)
"Cassie," he hesitated, "do you remember me now?
Yes, I do.
"Really?" It was a one word question, but he was asking me more than that. There was a particular way, a word, that we had always used to respond when we asked this of one another. He was checking; making sure that he truly had me back. And I knew exactly what he was hoping against hope to hear:
Honest.
Will laughed out loud, and hugged me so tightly that I couldn't quite get a complete breath. But it didn't bother me, because I hugged him back just as tightly. It was like old times, but better. Our relationship had now grown a whole new dimension. And one that I no longer had any qualms about enjoying completely.
Which reminded me of the question I had asked and Will had not yet answered. Coincidentally―or not―he chose that same moment to bring it up himself. "I haven't answered your question," he said. Putting his lips to my ear, he whispered, "Let's find out."
I put my hands on his chest, pushing myself back enough so I could see his face. What exactly was he proposing? "Now?"
"How about right after we're married?" Well, “proposing” was certainly the right word.
I didn't have to think it through to know that this was the only reasonable course for us to take. I took his face in my hands and kissed him again―this time more slowly, giving him a chance to participate. His eagerness to thoroughly kiss me back delighted me so much that I began to giggle. Then the giggle faded as the movement of his lips on mine lingered on. And on.
He completed his kiss by gradually separating our lips, and barely brushing my top lip, then bottom one, with both of his. I sighed, and let myself go limp in his arms. He chuckled. "You are adorable," he asserted. "Does this mean you are going to marry me?"
"What else would it mean?"
"You can also be exasperating!" he grumbled. Suddenly, a mischievous look appeared on his face. His eyes narrowed in pretend ferocity, he growled, and he went after my neck, playfully growling and nuzzling me. Then I was lying on my back, and his hands went to my sides, tickling me until I ached from laughing.
"Don't! Stop!" I tried to gasp out between bouts of giggles.
"Don't stop? Okay," and he went back to tickling me.
"Will!"
He stopped. Then he leaned over me with one hand on the ground on either side of me and his face close to mine. "Say, 'Yes, I will marry you,'" he instructed me.
I struggled to get breath enough to speak. "Yes," I managed to get out, still breathing heavily, "I will marry you."
"Finally," he said, amused, as he rolled on to his back next to me.
I stayed still just long enough to catch my breath. That accomplished, I got on my feet, and, crossing my arms, informed him matter-of-factly, "You know, that doesn't really count because it was elicited under duress."
That said, I took off through the trees before he had time to get to his feet. But with those long legs of his, it didn't take any time for him to catch up, capture me by the waist, turn me around, and request, "Would you stay put for just one minute? Please?"
"Yes, sir," I responded.
"First," he said, holding my coat out for me to put my arms in, which I did. (I hadn't even noticed that he had it with him. But I wasn't surprised. I now knew―or recalled―that this was like him; something he would do.) That done, he got down on both knees in front of me, took my hands in his, and said, very simply, "Will you marry me?"
I answered, very simply, "Yes." We smiled knowingly, confidently at each other.
"Thank you," he stated conclusively.
This was like it had been before with us. Affectionate. Open. Spontaneous. The renewed awareness spread through me, filling me up, strengthening me. Healing me.
As he stood up, I took off running again, this time toward the house. He was close on my heels, but let me get all the way to the porch and sit on the steps before he caught up and sat beside me.
"I believe a kiss is customary after a proposal of marriage is accepted," he declared with mock solemnity.
"As you wish."
Deliberately, possessively, he took me in his arms. My fingers caressed his face. "I love you, Will. With all of my soul." And he kissed me with all of his as my arms stole around his neck to draw him even closer.
We were still embracing each other when the front door opened behind us. It was Melinda, grinning. She put her hands on her hips. "Well, it's about time. We've been wondering when you two would show up. Are you coming in for dinner, or what?"
.Chapter Ten
We spent most of the evening basking in each other's company. And I don't mean just Will―although he was the most important to me. The usual barrier was back up between us, but I was okay with that. I knew it could be let down again. Besides, I now knew what was on the other side of it. And it was all reassuringly familiar to me. Because it was all Will.
Shortly after Melinda came to find us, Will and I managed to disentangle ourselves from one another and make it into the kitchen. Again, he kept possession of my hand the whole way. Dr. and Mrs. Stuart were putting food and glasses of water on the table.
"See. I told you they’d be back for dinner," Melinda announced.
Will's mom smiled at us, then continued on with what she was doing. Dr. Stuart walked over to us. He put his hand on Will's shoulder, and addressed me, "Looks like you're doing much better, Cassie. Are things starting to make sense to you now?"
"Yes," I answered readily. "But I've got a lot of questions. And they seem to be multiplying," I added apologetically.
"Of course you do. And we," indicating his family, "will probably be able to answer a lot of them―over time. However, the first thing we're going to do is eat dinner."
"Consider it 'doctor's orders,' Cassie," suggested Will. "Anyway, you don't want to miss Mom's stroganoff."
"It used to be one of your favorites, Cassie. Will asked me to fix it tonight, and now I understand why," she said, glancing accusingly at her husband and son.
"Will and I had hoped I would have the opportunity to remove the block on your memories this afternoon. I told Mrs. Stuart and Melinda what was going on while you two were gone," explained Dr. Stuart.
"It's a good thing, too. It was getting harder and harder not to slip and say something," Melinda complained.
"And not just for you," Will agreed. He motioned for me to sit in the chair he pulled out from the table.
Such service. Thank you.
"My pleasure."
"Yeah." Melinda studied the both of us briefly. (As did her mom and dad, I noticed.) "It was worse for you. But Mom and Dad had it easy," she added, then turned to me. "They didn’t have to be around you every day."
"Gee, thanks," I said, deliberately putting a false twist on what I knew she meant.
"That's not what I . . . ," she started,
then saw the grin on my face. "You know that's not what I meant."
"Yeah, I know." And I did know. Melinda didn't have an unkind bone in her body. Everything seemed to be gently flowing into coherency now, unlike the avalanche earlier. What exactly had happened to me, anyway? "Dr. Stuart, what did you mean about a block on my memories?"
"I would be happy to explain, but I'd rather wait until after dinner. Let's just relax and enjoy the meal. Okay?" he asked, in his kind fatherly tone.
"Okay," I replied.
"By the way―Will, do we need to restate the policy about telepathic conversations at the dinner table?" his father inquired of him.
Will sighed. "Probably. Cassie," he continued, "we have a rule about having only audible conversations during meals. Want to guess why?"
"Because you and I used to carry on inaudible conversations during meals?"
He chuckled. "Yup."
Now it was my turn to sigh. I enjoyed carrying on private conversations with him where his voice was actually inside me. It was fun. But it was important to be polite. "I guess I can control myself for that long."
Everyone else started laughing. "What?" I asked, perplexed.
Mrs. Stuart answered. "That's exactly what you used to say. You never liked the restriction any more than Will did." I caught his eye out of the corner of mine. He winked, and my heart bounced.
This was great! No more hiding things, no more pretending. Here, it wasn't a problem. It was just something I―we―did. And it was okay. Wow! What next?
"Alright, everybody. Let's have a blessing on the food and eat before it gets cold," Dr. Stuart prompted. As it turned out, they held hands and took turns blessing the food at meals. He did it himself this time. It felt strange and familiar at the same time. Mark and Gina believed in God and all that, but we didn't really do a lot about it beyond some basics. We would usually go to a church service on Easter, the Sunday after Thanksgiving and the one before Christmas. Mark would generally bless the food at dinner, and Gina would occasionally ask me if I was saying my prayers. But that was pretty much it. I now seemed to recall the Stuarts attending church regularly . . . with me and my parents? Hmm.
It turned out that everybody helped with the dishes until they were finished―except Mrs. Stuart, that is. The cook got to sit out. But she went ahead and assisted in cleanup this time. She said it felt so good to have her "other daughter" back that she wanted to be around me while she could, even if that meant working longer in the kitchen. Dr. Stuart suggested that she just sit and watch, but she said she would find it hard to sit still right then and might as well use the excess energy constructively. She warned, however, that it probably wouldn't happen again in the near future.
"You seem to be remembering our after dinner routine, Cassie," she observed as we finished up.
"Yeah. It seems to come to me as I go along," I confirmed as I put the last of the pans I had washed in the dish drainer and dried my hands. Will, who had been washing the table, came up behind me. With dishcloth still in hand, he bent over enough to put his arms under mine and around me, his head over my shoulder. "It is so wonderful to have you back," he spoke softly in my ear, then kissed me on the neck.
"Ew, Will! Please remember there are minor children here," Melinda protested playfully. She rolled her eyes. "I knew this would happen."
"So did I," interposed Will's mom. "And I agree with Will, Cassie." She reached for me, and Will released me long enough for her to take a turn at putting her arms around me. "Welcome back," was all she said, but I felt that those few words bespoke volumes more.
"Are we all finished?" asked Dr. Stuart shortly thereafter. I wasn't sure if he meant the dishes or the hugging, or both.
"Looks like. Thanks again, everybody, "Mrs. Stuart answered.
"You're welcome, Mom. I'm going elsewhere. Too many public displays of affection around here," Melinda declared, turning up her nose and stalking out of the room. She made it as far as the dining room before she could be heard laughing, presumably at herself. The other four of us just looked at each other, Dr. Stuart shaking his head.
"She's fourteen," reminded Mrs. Stuart.
"That does explain a lot," Dr. Stuart returned.
Will took the opportunity to put his arms around my shoulders from behind. My hands instinctively reached up to his forearms, lightly running my fingers back and forth across the hairs they found there.
"Cassie," said Dr. Stuart, "there are some things I need to make sure you remember and understand as soon as possible, and that's going to require some time and emotional energy. Melinda has been wanting to have you over to spend the night, and this might be a good time. Would you be willing to do that? We can all take it easy for a while first―watch a movie or something―then we can take care of it all without being rushed. And you'll have plenty of time after to regroup before going home tomorrow."
More time with Will? Absolutely. "Sure."
"Do you think Mark and Gina will be okay with that?" asked Mrs. Stuart.
I stayed overnight with Sam sometimes. "Probably. But I'm sure they would want to talk with you or Dr. Stuart. And they may be a little concerned about . . . ," and I tried to look up at Will. I couldn't see his face―he was resting his chin on the top of my head―but I could imagine the expression on it as he said:
"Who, me?"
Yes, you. You are dangerous, you know.
"Only to you. And I did warn you."
Warn me?
"Yes. About your hair . . . ."
My hair?
"I'm afraid it makes you look too alluring, Love."
Oh. That wasn't bad, was it? Really?
"Honest." I smiled. Will undoubtedly did, too.
"Ahem. I really don't want to be rude and interrupt your conversation, but it is sometimes rather difficult to know when you have finished," Mrs. Stuart commented.
"Sorry," we said, simultaneously. It felt familiar.
"We were talking about . . . ."
"It does smell a little different, though."
I stepped on his foot. Not hard. But I was trying to listen to his mother.
". . . that character standing behind you." She frowned at Will. She knew what was going on. "I understand, Cassie," she assured me. "Why don't I call and talk with Gina? I'll make sure she knows that we will supervise you and Will so nothing inappropriate happens. I would like to get to know her anyway. Do you mind if I invite them―and you, of course―to come over next weekend to eat and visit for a while?"
"I think that's a good idea―I mean you calling her. And next weekend sounds great. Thanks," I said. But I wasn't sure I liked the part about supervising Will and me. What did that mean?
"It's not a bad smell. Just different."
I stepped on his other foot. But still not hard. I didn't want to actually hurt him.
His mom was waiting. Apparently, my stepping on Will's foot was her cue to continue. "You're welcome. Is now a good time to call?" she picked up where we had left off.
"I think so."
"Okay. I don't need to ask if their number is already up here, do I?" she wondered out loud, going to a list of phone numbers fastened to a bulletin board-cum-dry erase board on the wall by the fridge.
"Of course not," Will confirmed.
"Good. Now, shoo." She picked up the phone, and started to call.
"Yes, ma'am," we both said at the same time. Yup. Nothing new. In fact, one scene after another instantaneously slipped through my mind, reminding me of how frequently Will and I had done this in the past.
I looked around. "Where's your dad?"
"He left while Mom was talking to us. He has a knack for knowing when to leave. He's probably watching the movie with Melinda." Will took my hand and led me out of the room. "We have to talk."
"Okay. About what?"
"Let's wait until we get to my room. Alright?"
"Sure."
So he led me to his room, closed the door and locked it. "Melinda has a tendency to pop in unannounced a
t the wrong moment," he explained. What wrong moment was he anticipating? He started to walk toward his bed, then murmured, "No. Bad idea," and veered off toward the sofa. We sat down next to each other. Consternation showed clearly on his face. I was starting to get worried.
"Cassie, you are driving me crazy."
"I'm sorry?" What had I done? I was confused.
Suddenly, he laughed and his whole demeanor relaxed. "You are absolutely, totally adorable." He moved so he could see my face more directly. "That didn't come out right. Let me start over, okay?"
"Okay."
He took my hand in both of his. "I need your help."
"Anything." Truly. "How?"
It must have shown in my face. "Oh, Cassie. When you look at me like that . . . ." He got up and started pacing.
"Will, what is it? Please?" I was getting more worried.
He stopped abruptly, facing me. "I didn't think it would be so hard to keep my hands off you!"
"Oh." But he hadn't kept his hands off me. In fact, he had been touching me a lot―touching my face, holding my hand, kissing me, hugging me. So what did he mean . . . ? Oh!
He knew that I got it. "I want you so much it hurts, Cassie." He came and sat by me again. "It was bad enough when you didn't remember. But, now that you do, and I really, truly have you back . . . ." He knelt down on the floor in front of me, taking both my hands in his. "I meant what I said about waiting until after we're married to have sex. And not just for the moral reasons Mom and Dad have taught me.
"Dad and I have talked a lot about this―knowing how you and I have always felt about each other, and how we would probably grow to feel about each other when we were back together. No, how I knew we would feel about each other. (It happened faster than I expected, though.)
"Right now, you have to deal with remembering the first seven years of your life, and the last ten years of not knowing the first seven, and our relationship, and the change in our relationship, and school, and life in general, and . . . ." He stopped, wanting me to extrapolate.
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