Ascent

by M. C. Zappitello

  "Here she is, Mom."

  Mrs. Stuart turned to look as Melinda exclaimed, "You look totally hot in that suit, Cassie."

  "It does look great on you, Cassie. So now you need to decide if you'll be comfortable swimming in it," advised Mrs. Stuart.

  But what would Will think? Would he like it? I walked over and stuck my head outside the entrance to the fitting rooms so I could see him. "Will?" He got up to come look as I waited just inside the doorway. "What do you think?"

  It instantly occurred to me that he may never have seen me in a swimsuit, and certainly hadn’t for at least ten years. That was probably why he looked so utterly shocked. But I couldn't tell whether it was good shock or bad shock, and I was too nervous to be able to read him clearly. "Is something wrong?" I worried out loud.

  Someone was giggling. It was Melinda. "Nothing's wrong, Cassie. Trust me. He just didn't realize how sexy you would look in a swimsuit."

  "Melinda," her mother cautioned. "Don't embarrass them, please."

  "She's right, though." Will walked up to me. His hands were on my shoulders, then following my arms down to my hands, which he grasped rather firmly. "You look unbelievable." He seemed to be forcing himself to look at my face instead of . . . well, elsewhere. After a few seconds, he addressed his mother, though he still stared at my face.

  "Mom, I think I'll go see what Dad's up to." Then, speaking to me, "Will you be okay for a few minutes?"

  What was going on? His feedback had been positive, hadn't it? He promised to stay with me. Why was he leaving even for a few minutes? I didn't get it. At all.

  "I think so."

  "Good. I'll be back . . . soon." He dropped my hands, shoved his hands deep in his pants pockets, and strode away. "It's not you, Love. And it is you. Maybe a one piece suit would be a good idea."

  Okay. Huh? I was definitely missing something. Melinda thought it was funny. And his mom knew what was going on―I could tell from the look on her face. I didn't even have to try and sense her, which was good as I was too agitated to be successful at it anyway.

  "You know, I think a one piece suit might be more comfortable for you, Cassie," she suggested, almost echoing Will's words. Okay. I'd go along. Mostly because I agreed anyway. It just felt like there was too much of me out there for the world to see in the two piece.

  We decided on a suit with a black background―diagonal lines woven into the fabric―with large tropical flowers. It was a simple one piece with a scoop neckline in front and a lower back. But I wouldn't have to worry about it shifting out of place or coming off when we went swimming.

  By the time we were finished choosing the suit and moved on to find a beach towel, Will was back and seemed himself again. He put his arm around me and asked, "So which one did you pick?" I held it up for him to examine. He seemed pleased. And relieved.

  But I still don't get it.

  "I'll explain when we get home."

  You'd better. I'm feeling completely dense.

  He chuckled, and blushed at the same time. "You're not. You just haven't had any adolescent brothers or boyfriends before."

  What in the world . . . ?

  We finished shopping quickly after that, drove home, and I dragged him upstairs to the guest room. I pulled him in and closed the door. "Please?" I begged, as I sat on the bed trying to get him to sit next to me. He stood. (Oh, right. No bed.)

  He was blushing again. "I've been thinking about how to put this. Would you understand if I said that if you weren't so incredibly attractive to me, I wouldn't have trouble controlling certain . . . um . . . body parts?" He seemed very uncomfortable, and very intent on not being more specific.

  So I looked down, and thought. And I remembered what had happened at the store―the look on his face, the way he shoved his hands in his pockets, his abrupt departure, the way he and his mom both suggested a more modest swimsuit . . . . And I finally got it. Then it actually tickled me that I had that effect on him. But I could see how disconcerting it would be for him, especially in public. I stood up and walked over to him.

  He already knew I understood. "I've had to work so hard on mastering myself just to function well in this world. I have a really hard time when there is something―especially a part of myself―that won't cooperate. It's not usually a problem. But you . . . I mean . . . I just wasn't prepared for you to look . . . so . . ."

  "Hot?" And I smiled. I couldn't help it. I'd never thought of myself that way before, and discovered it was indescribably reassuring. I liked it.

  "Yes. Exactly." He smiled back. "Thank you for picking a one piece suit. That will make it easier, though I can't promise it won't happen again."

  I reached up to put my hand on his cheek. "What a lovely compliment."

  It did seem easier for him the following morning when we all went swimming. Fortunately, we were most of the few who apparently considered swimming an activity of choice for the Thanksgiving weekend. So it was pretty quiet.

  Will and I drove together to the rec center, then I met up with his mom and Melinda in the locker room. We three "girls" finished changing about the same time. I was interested to find out that Melinda also wore a one piece suit, like her mom and me. It was cut lower in the front and back, and higher in the legs, but was still a one piece suit. "The two piece suits are great to look at, but not practical at all to swim in," she explained. "If I'm going to swim, I'm going to swim." Okay.

  We found a dry, empty bench where we put our towels and such, then Melinda and her mom went on into the water. I chose to sit and wait for Will.

  Will and his dad came out together, walking toward me. It wasn't until he got close and was putting his towel with the others next to me that I saw them. And locked on them. Scars. On his lower legs. Probably faded with time, but distinct indications of some serious injury or surgical procedure. Or both? My insides twisted, and I cringed―as if I were feeling some of the pain he had suffered. As if he were still feeling it now. Something deep in my mind stirred. Something disturbing. Something dark, and painful.

  Will’s dad didn't seem to notice my interest and was already in the water. But Will did. His eyes instantly became solemn. Mine had started to tear.

  What had happened to him?

  "Will?"

  He moved the towels over and sat carefully beside me, taking both of my hands firmly in both of his. "It was a long time ago, and there's no permanent damage. Just the scars. I'm perfectly fine. And I've waited for years to be able to swim with you. Please, let it go for a while?"

  I tried to read him, but he was almost completely closed. He really didn’t want to go there right now. Alright. So I searched his eyes for confirmation of the words he had just spoken that he was “perfectly fine.” It was there. He was. And it was time to play. Okay, I decided. "For you."

  "For both of us," he said and, standing, pulled me to my feet. "Ready?"

  I took a deep breath, letting it out in a huff. "Not really."

  "That's okay. Just go down the ladder, and I'll meet you there." So I did, and he was, and for the first time in my life I experienced just how enjoyable swimming could be. Will really was a strong swimmer. He put me behind him with my arms around his neck and towed me leisurely around the pool. He showed me how to float on my back and focus on the sound of the water, letting the rest of the world dissolve away.

  I had never before felt safe in the water, but Will's presence changed that. In fact, I was so not worried that I let him persuade me to do things I remembered dreading―even fearing. We swam underwater, going between each other's legs. (More than once, instead of going on through, he caught my legs on his shoulders and lifted me entirely out of the water as he stood up.) He coached me to do somersaults, forward and backward, which I had not been able to master before. And, finally, I dove off the side of the pool, then―miracle of miracles―off the diving board.

  Will's parents stayed pretty much to themselves. They were in a separate lap pool, leisurely swimming synchronous laps. After a while, the
y went over to the hot tub where they relaxed until we left. Melinda entertained herself by staying at the deep end of the pool―occasionally diving, but mostly talking to (flirting with?) the lifeguard on duty.

  "When can we go again?" I asked Will on the way home.

  His face was beaming as he answered, "Any time. We just have to work it into our schedule." He kissed the hand he was holding, and we drove in peaceful silence the rest of the way home.

  Once we arrived and were walking upstairs to take care of our swimsuits and all, I reminded him. "Has it been enough of a while?" I asked.

  He immediately knew what I meant, and sighed. "Yes. It has." He frowned slightly, thinking. "If you don't mind, I'd like Dad to be there."

  "Okay." Why?

  "I'll see if he can do it now."

  "Okay." So I went into the guest bedroom to take care of my swimming gear while he took care of his and went to find his dad.

  .Chapter Sixteen

  A short time later, we were all three sitting in what had become our usual spots in Dr. Stuart's study. "Do you want to remind Cassie about your legs, or would you like me to?" he asked Will. “Remind”? What exactly did that mean?

  Will looked at his dad, then got up and went to the window. He stared through it as if he were viewing something at a great distance of either space or time; maybe both. After a few minutes, I caught Dr. Stuart's eye and asked him, with a look, if I should do or say anything. He held up his forefinger, indicating we should wait.

  After what seemed an interminable amount of time, Will turned to me. "I'm afraid this is going to be pretty intense, Cassie. Do you want me to sit with you, or do you need to sit by yourself?"

  I didn't say anything, but held my hand out to him. He came and took it, sitting next to me on the sofa. "I want you to tell me if it starts to be too much. Or, if you start to remember it on your own. I’m going to be managing myself, so I won’t be able to read you very well. And you don't need the emotional input from both you and me at the same time. Promise?"

  “Remember it”? "Yes."

  "Okay." He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and began. "I'm going to keep this as simple as I can. From what Dad has explained to me, the basics should be enough to jog your memory, because you were there." I was?

  "Remember how Dad explained that the plan was for your parents to escape to Mexico and set up a new life?" I nodded. "And Dad and Ben Hudson agreed to make sure you were safe until they were ready for you to join them?"

  "Yes."

  "After your mom and dad left, Ben needed to hide you for a couple of days while he and Dad made final arrangements to get you safely out of town. The plan was for Ben to get a rental car under another name and drive straight through. He said it was the surest way to move you safely. He'd bring food and water, and use rest stops instead of restrooms at the gas stations."

  Some pictures were coming to my mind―too fast to sort through at first. But there was a central figure in them. "You know, I think I remember some of that now. Is Ben a big, black man with a beard?"

  "Yes, that's Ben. He had a beard then," Dr. Stuart confirmed.

  The memories were slowing down, and were more complete. "He had me lie down on the floor with something over me―a blanket or sleeping bag maybe―when we stopped for gas. He said it was a game of some kind. I don't remember much else, except using a smelly bathroom that had a cement floor, with lots of trees around it."

  "Probably a rest stop somewhere," Dr. Stuart commented.

  Will continued, "From what Ben could tell, the men he was concerned about had followed your mom and dad; but, sooner or later, they would figure out that you weren’t with them, and come back. When they did, it was likely that they would check our house. So, it wasn’t a good idea for you to stay there. Ben and Dad decided that it would be best for Ben to take you to a hotel on the other side of town. And, of course, I insisted on staying with you. I was only ten, but I was determined to do my part to help. And I wasn't about to leave you until I absolutely had to.

  "Ben was getting the last few things ready that day. Mom had put the food and water and all together, including some books and things to keep you occupied on the trip. Dad had it all in the trunk of his car, and was going to bring it to the hotel with him after work―he had to keep a regular schedule so as not to arouse suspicion―and take care of blocking your memory, which he didn’t want to do until the last possible moment. Then you and Ben were going to leave." I didn't have to see Will's face or sense him. His voice was giving away the fact that dredging up this experience was very hard on him.

  His dad intervened. "Will, you may not need to finish the rest of the story. Cassie may remember now." He turned to me. "Do you?"

  "I think so. Should I tell you what I can?" I asked both Will and Dr. Stuart.

  Dr. Stuart answered, "If you are up to it. Remember that it is important for you to stop at any time you feel the need. There is no reason to hurry this process, and a lot of good reasons why you shouldn't. Alright?"

  "Okay." I sat back on the sofa, and Will took my hands loosely in his. He was obviously aware of something that I wasn't.

  I closed my eyes and described what I could remember. It was almost like viewing a movie in my head. But there were smells and feels, too. It was definitely getting clearer. "Will and I are in a room that looks kind of like a small living room. It must be summer, because we're wearing shorts. It looks like we're alone."

  "That's right. It was actually in September, a few days after your birthday. Ben had to leave for a little while to get the rental car and cash for the trip. He didn't want to risk using anything that might be traceable. Will had a cell phone, and knew to call Ben and then me if anything happened."

  "We are playing a board game,” I continued. “Chess? Will is ahead in pieces, but I think I see a way to put him in check with my bishop.” Hmm. I knew how to play chess.

  "Now there's someone knocking on the door. No, not knocking. Pounding. Will is going to look through the peephole. Now he's taking me into the bedroom and locking the door. I ask him what’s wrong. I’m getting scared. He's says it's a man with a gun. He's seen him before. The man wants to hurt Will and take me away.

  “He can't do that!" It was so vivid, it was almost like I was there again. I was breathing hard and starting to shake.

  "Cassie? Look at me." It was Will talking. I opened my eyes. "It's already over. It happened years ago. We're both fine and here, together. Okay?" It was true. He was right next to me, holding my hands.

  "Okay. Okay." I focused on breathing deeply, and the shaking began to subside.

  "Do you need to stop?"

  "I would rather have it over with."

  "Then keep in mind that it is only a memory. It's not really happening." But his voice sounded tense. What was coming next?

  I reclosed my eyes. It's only a memory. It’s only a memory. "We're in the bedroom, the door is locked, and Will is calling someone on the cell phone. He's saying, 'Ben, that man is here and he has a gun.' He listens and then says, 'Okay. But I'm not going to let him touch her.' Then he ended the call."

  "There was a big crash, and we knew he had broken in. Will is telling me, 'We have to get out of here.' But the only way out is through the sliding glass doors to the balcony."

  "How far up were we?" I kept my eyes closed this time. It's only a memory. It's only a memory.

  "The first floor of rooms above the main floor," Will responded. Then he offered, "It wasn't very high." His voice sounded more tense.

  "You're leading me out onto the balcony. You're saying that we'll have to jump. I'm telling you it looks too far, but you're saying we just have to land on the grassy spot below. Just like jumping out of the swings at my house. It will be soft, and we'll be okay. But I'm scared, Will."

  "Cassie, it's just a memory. It's not really happening."

  But it did happen. And I was being pulled into the middle of it, again. “I'm too scared to jump. You're telling me you'll hold me a
nd we'll jump together. We'll both be fine. He's breaking into the bedroom now. He's got the gun in his hand. He's so angry, Will. I'm afraid. You’re climbing onto the ledge on top of the railing. You’re holding on to a support post with one hand to balance. You’re helping me up onto the ledge. But I’m too scared. I won’t jump.

  “You're telling me you're going to give me a piggyback ride, just like at home. But you can’t get me up on your back with just one hand. And I’m too scared to climb up. You’re holding onto the post and me, and squatting way down so I will reach up around your neck from behind. You’re straightening up. You're saying to hold on as tight as I can.”

  I wasn’t just remembering any more. I was lost in the memory, and was reliving it. “Hurry! The man is right here! He's reaching for us!" I stopped talking and stopped breathing while again, in my consciousness, I held tightly on to Will as he jumped from the balcony. We hit the ground and I tumbled off his back.

  "You did it, Will! He didn't get us!” No answer. “Will?”

  As I looked around to find him, I saw him lying partly on the grass and partly on the sidewalk. He wasn’t moving. I hurried over to him, kneeling quickly beside him. His eyes were closed. “Will, what's wrong? Will!”

  He opened his eyes and looked at me, then closed them again in a grimace, clenching his jaw firmly shut. It was then that I looked at the rest of him―his torso, his arms. His legs . . . .

  "Cassie! Cassie! Listen to me. Open your eyes. Open your eyes, Cassie." I heard Will's voice, and I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn't let go of what I had just seen―what I had just relived. "Cassie, Love, you've got to open your eyes."

  It was "Love" that hooked me. Will was calling me that now, today. He wasn't ten years old and lying on the ground―bloody, with broken bones protruding from both of his lower legs, his face contorted in pain. I was sweaty and shaking and hyperventilating. But I opened my eyes and Will was right there, his face inches from mine, his concern evident. "That's how your legs were hurt," I stated matter-of-factly. Because of me.