"I didn't want you to feel overwhelmed, but I opened myself up enough so I could read you a little, and so you could sense some of how I was feeling about you. Enough so you'd know I meant you no harm. That you were safe with me. It was good to feel you enjoying yourself. But it was troubling to sense your fear and self-doubt."
"Have you been reading me all this time? Since the night at the park?"
"No," he answered. "When I close myself up―which is probably the first thing Dad and I are going to work on with you―it pretty much prevents me from reading people thoroughly. I've made some progress in separating the two skills, but I'm not there yet. In the meantime, it's plain old unhealthy for me to walk around open all the time. Like you, it's just too much.
"I knew it wouldn't be good to expose you to too much, too soon. So, that first night, I just opened up a little bit. And that's all I read of you, too. But I discovered it was enough for us to start conversing spirit to spirit again. It was so exciting to do that. It seemed to come back to you so naturally.
"After your panic attack at the game, I was pretty upset with myself that I hadn't read enough to avoid that situation for you. It was awful that I put you through that, Cassie. I'm so sorry."
Hearing his experience of the last few days―the way he held himself back to protect me, his heartfelt sorrow from believing that he could have prevented my suffering (when I could and probably should have prevented it myself)―he was simply beyond belief. In an unequivocally favorable way.
And he loved me. That was even more unbelievable.
"Cassie, whatever you're thinking just now, it's not good. Please tell me," he pleaded.
I would have to be more careful all the time now, it seemed. Well, perhaps only part of it would satisfy him. "I was thinking about how unbelievable you are. In a good way, though."
"That's not all of it," he stated matter-of-factly. So much for evasion.
Oh, all right. "And how unbelievable it is that you could love me," I added reluctantly.
"No, it's not. Cassie, please don't ever think that. It's not true." He was sincerely distressed.
"I don't know if I can do that right away, Will. I've been thinking I must be unlovable for a long time now. It's not the easiest habit to break." But I now knew for myself it wasn't true, and I didn't want to hurt him. "I'll do my best, Darling." Did I just call him that? Kind of old-fashioned . . . .
"That's all you can do, Love. But it will get easier, and quickly. I'm confident of that because I'm going to do everything in my power to make you realize just how lovable you are."
"Please do. When will you begin?"
"I hope I already have. Do you know I love you?"
"Yes."
"Then that's a start. And I am determined to have you as my wife. Does that help?"
"Yes."
"And I know we both need to go to sleep, but I have absolutely no desire to stop talking to you. How's that?"
I chuckled. "That works, too."
He was silent for a minute. “Cassie?”
“Yes?”
“Because I find you lovable―in fact, so lovable that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you―there’s something I would like to do with you. On a regular basis. Starting right away, if you’re willing.”
Huh? Does he mean . . . ? No, we already dealt with that. “What?”
“Pray.”
Oh. “Um . . . okay.”
“You sound uncertain.”
Honestly? “I am.”
“Do you want to think about it?”
Not really. “No. I guess I’m not sure exactly what you are asking me to do. Will I have to pray out loud?”
I could almost hear him smiling. “Not if you don’t want to. I would just like to have a prayer with you each day. Mom and Dad have done it since before they were married, and they say it’s been a really good thing for them. I’d be happy to say it if you don’t want to. And we can do it over the phone for now. I really don’t think God will mind. What do you think?”
“I think I want to be happy like your parents are. So if that helps, I’m game. Is now alright?”
“Yes, now is quite alright. Shall I go ahead?”
“Sure.”
So, he did. It felt kind of strange at first, but then it felt peaceful. And while he was thanking God for me, it felt . . . comforting. Delightfully comforting.
Will concluded by saying, “Amen,” which I echoed.
“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asked.
“Oh, I think I could get used to it,” I replied.
“Glad to hear it.” He chuckled softly. Then yawned, loudly. “Oops. Sorry. You know, as much as I hate to admit it, we haven’t gotten much sleep lately, and it would probably be better if we were both awake during our classes tomorrow. Why don’t we plan on continuing tomorrow?"
"How about I call you before school?"
"I'll be waiting."
And he would. "I can't seem to find the right words to tell you how much I love you, Will."
"Those were perfect. And I understand. I love you that much, too. Sweet dreams, Cassie."
"Just until I call you in the morning?"
"Or before then, if you need to. Any time, Love."
I sighed. "Good night, Darling." I did like the sound of that, old-fashioned or not.
"Good night." And we ended the call.
I did have sweet dreams that night. And the next. And the next . . . .
We talked every morning before school. Monday through Friday, he picked me up after school with Melinda and took me to their house with them. Monday through Thursday he also drove me to work at four, then picked me up at eight and took me home. He arranged the pickup with Mark and Gina himself. He simply told them he wanted to make sure I got home safe and sound. How could they argue with that?
Of course, he became acquainted with Sam in the process of transporting me to and from work. The first time she saw him was the first time he brought me to work. He parked and came in to meet her, introducing himself as my boyfriend. She just looked at him, wide-eyed, her mouth almost, but not quite, gaping open. Then she looked at me, then at him again. Then at me again. And then she got this look on her face, kind of a cross between a huge grin and a smirk. I was sure she was going to start hassling me about him immediately. But she actually waited until the next day to begin.
Incidentally, I did end up with enough time to complete my homework at the shop. And, most of the time, Sam did hers, too.
Since I didn't work after school on Fridays, Will and I would spend the rest of the day together. The first Friday of "my new life," we actually went out shopping for our engagement rings. Instead of going to the mall, where there were several jewelry stores, Will took us to a family owned jewelry store in the center of town. One of those shops that's been there forever.
I had anticipated having to look for quite a while. But we didn't. An older, grandfatherly gentleman helped us. Maybe I just had it stuck in my brain, but it almost seemed like he could read our minds. He chalked it up to years of practice in determining what jewelry suited which people. In any case, we told him what we were looking for and, less than an hour later, we were finished.
Will enthusiastically approved of the engagement ring I liked the best, although I didn't think the center diamond needed to be quite so big. It was a half carat, round cut stone in a yellow gold setting with two tendrils of gold wrapping around the center stone, and stones of decreasing size extending from either side of it down the band.
I was equally excited about the ring Will chose. It was a large, deep blue sapphire set in a yellow gold band, with small diamonds forming a border around it.
My first week's earnings from the Boutique were enough for a down payment on Will's ring. Although I had the impression that Will could have paid for my ring on the spot, he arranged for the same amount of time to pay mine off as I did for his. So, in six months, we would both have our engagement rings.
When I opined t
hat my ring shouldn't cost so much more than his, he gave me a funny look and said, "Owe me, then."
"Owe you what?" I questioned.
He paused, considering. "Anything you want."
I thought about that briefly, and decided that I could probably turn it to account someday. But I couldn't see exactly how at the moment, so I just accepted his easy terms and let it go―temporarily. "Okay."
After that first one, we spent Fridays at Will’s house. We would hang around the house, going for walks, making dinner (he was a good cook), watching movies, listening to music―whatever. We even managed to study together, when necessary. And he would take me home before my eleven o'clock curfew.
Saturdays, I would finish my laundry and other chores (including my room) as quickly as possible so I could be free for the rest of the day. But I didn't want Gina and Mark to feel abandoned. Will and I wanted them to know and like and trust him (all the better for announcing our engagement later on), so he often came over and helped with some chores, then hung out with Mark for a while before he drove me back to his house for my meeting with him and his dad around noon.
Dr. Stuart immediately started working with me on determining what kind of protection I would use to become more comfortable in my world of unending human input. "Will uses what he calls 'shields.' Other people use 'walls,' or 'filters.' Whatever you want to call them."
"Curtains," I said immediately, for some reason I couldn't put my finger on. Maybe it was the irony of a soft, flexible curtain being impenetrable.
"Good. Now, we'll start with three separate curtains. Visualize in your mind a curtain that you will use in the places and around the people you feel safest with." He went on to have me describe what it was made of, how it looked, and―in some detail―exactly what it would let in and what it would keep out. We then went through the same process with a medium weight curtain, then the heavy duty "stage curtain," as I called it, which kept everything out.
"Thoughts are very powerful, Cassie. How we perceive things is our reality, and our emotions and physiology respond to that reality. So, as long as you are clear in your own mind about the power of these curtains to do exactly what you have described that they do, the rest of your consciousness will cooperate and they will work in precisely that way. Your thoughts will control the influx of others' thoughts."
It sounded, and felt, right. So I worked on it. I practiced it with Dr. Stuart and Will, and even the rest of the family came in for me to practice with sometimes. Then I conscientiously practiced on my own every day―virtually all day at first, out of self-defense―wherever I was. I noticed an encouraging change almost immediately. And, before the first two weeks were over, I was able to filter out a lot of the extraneous input and enjoy a significant decline in my daily anxiety level, most notably at school.
I was also becoming proficient at reading people more clearly and in more detail, especially people I knew well (who were, admittedly, few in number). I had never tried to do it much before. I had already been feeling overwhelmed, and, too, it seemed nosey. It still felt rather intrusive. So I quickly learned how to turn that off. Also in the process of experimenting with that skill set―under Will's tutelage―I found out from him that his family had actually learned to put up barriers of their own around their more personal inner workings. Those barriers didn't really keep him out, but Will respected the intent, nonetheless.
As to the rest of the weekend―
After our meeting with his dad, Will and I were, again, free to do whatever we wanted for the rest of the day. Whatever it was, we invariably termed it "therapeutic intervention," in honor of my work with him and his dad. Our goal was to get me out and in different environments as much as possible. Will was ideal for me to work with on this because he could tune in to me and help me identify when I needed to leave before having a full-fledged panic attack. The attacks, with my increasing skill, became less and less frequent.
We tried everything from restaurants and movies to museums and the zoo. All the places I had painstakingly avoided for most of my life. Sometimes I couldn't stay very long, but we went. I was frequently worn out from the effort, and was grateful to retreat and relax afterwards, usually at the Stuarts’ home as it turned out.
You see, since I was now gone on Friday evenings and most of Saturday, Mark and Gina had started going out more themselves. They had even begun an eight week ballroom dance class together on Saturday evenings. And they were having a great time. So they encouraged me to go over to the Stuarts’ because they didn't want me to be home alone. Or home alone with Will, I deduced.
That was alright with me, for the present. As much as I loved showing Will just how much I loved him―especially when I could do it in private―it was easier to keep my promise to him about physical restraint when I knew his family was in the house with us.
Another change was that it quickly became custom for Mark and Gina and I to have brunch with the Stuarts on Sunday. We settled on going to the Stuart's home when it was determined that Melinda really didn't have much to entertain her at our house. We only had one television, which Mark regularly commandeered for sports viewing. Gina and Mrs. Stuart were always doing something together that Melinda called "mom stuff," sharing music or talking about their children and such. Will and I tried to include her, but she informed us that she was simply not willing to tolerate all the "public displays of affection. Ew." At her house, where she could invite a friend, or have another television available, or just hang out in her room, she was happy as a clam.
Later, we would eat dinner and, afterwards, all do something together―usually a movie or a game. And both of our smaller families felt like one big family. In spite of the gradually emerging memories of my absent birth parents, I was genuinely happy. So much of my missing life and family was filled in by the Stuarts that the hole created by the absence of my birth parents was at least provisionally overlaid. Their universally beneficent approach to life provided me with a keen sense of well-being in their presence, much the same as I experienced with Mark and Gina.
And I was even more comfortable with all of them because of my increasing skill with my "curtains." Although I didn't generally feel overwhelmed by them and could have done with less, for the sake of their privacy I made a habit of keeping up at least a moderate barrier with them. And it worked quite well. With one exception.
I still couldn't keep Will out at all when he wanted in, at least when we were anywhere near each other. But, from what he had told me, distances were still mostly safe―except for general impressions. So, it continued to be necessary for me to avoid inner topics that I didn't want him to know about when I was close to him. But those were so few and I was usually so happily occupied with other things when I was with him, it didn't seem to be a problem.
One thing I made sure Will didn't know―at least, I didn't think he did―was that, every Sunday morning before leaving for brunch at his house, Gina was teaching me to sing. Yes, I decided to go ahead and do it. Some of my returning memories had provided a few glimpses of me singing. And Will’s reaction to my declaration that I didn’t sing made me think that it might have been something we had done together. In any case, it was obviously important to him. I figured if I had done it before, I could do it again.
I discovered it wasn't painful or even hard. Gina told me that I had a lovely voice, a good ear, and that it just came naturally to me. She got music for me, taught me how to read it, and practiced with me. I began enjoying it so much that I started singing around the house―when Will wasn’t around, of course. I caught both Mark and Gina smiling at me, and sometimes each other, as I warbled away. (They both agreed to keep my vocal endeavors a secret. In fact, as shy as I had always been, they weren’t surprised that I wanted it that way.) I enjoyed the music so much, I promised myself that, if the singing continued to go well, I would satisfy my long standing fascination with the piano and ask Gina to teach me. But that would have to wait until at least after graduation.
I
still didn't know why my singing was so important to Will. But it was, so I learned how. There must have been some history between us that would enlighten me. It hadn't surfaced yet, but I was certain it would one day.
Mark and Gina were so comfortable with the Stuarts, and happy with their part in my major improvements of late, that they actually planned a trip alone together over the Thanksgiving break from school, and I was going to stay with the Stuarts. Yea! For all of it. They certainly deserved and needed to get away by themselves. And I was overjoyed at the prospect of several uninterrupted days with Will.
That's when I was going to sing for him. I only knew some simple songs, but decided they would probably be like the ones I had last sung for or with him when, presumably, I was seven. I only hoped I could sing as well now as I did back then.
. Chapter Fourteen
Thanksgiving break finally arrived.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving was a professional development day for school staff, so I didn't have any classes. And Sam’s mom told me not to come in to the Boutique that day because they were closing early for the holiday, which meant that I would be free the whole day. When she found out that Mark and Gina had arranged to take Wednesday off so they could leave Tuesday evening, and were hoping to drop me off at the Stuarts’ on their way to the airport, she told me to take Tuesday off as well. Further, she said that, because I was “always so dependable and such a hard worker,” she was giving me the four hours on Tuesday as paid personal time. Yea!
The break would end with Will bringing me home Sunday evening.
Will dropped me off at home after school on Tuesday so I could pack. I was so excited (and nervous when I thought about singing for him) that I didn't seem to know which way was up. This being the first time I had ever packed to go anywhere, I needed to concentrate on what I was doing. Calm down, Cassie, I told myself. Think. Gina had traveled a lot with Mark (before me, that is), and suggested that I think through my daily routine and pack everything that I used that wouldn't be available at the Stuarts'. So I did. Or tried to, anyway. By the time I closed the old suitcase she lent me for the occasion, I was pretty sure I had everything I would need. But, I reminded myself, I had my key to the house, so I could always come back and get anything I had forgotten. All done.
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