Will did insist that his father had to know how deeply the news about my family had affected me; and, even more importantly, that I blamed myself for it all. "You've got to get this guilt issue taken care of once and for all, Cassie. You can't change who you are, or what talents and abilities you have. And you can't control other people. You aren't responsible for anyone's actions but your own," Will told me.
I realized that he fully expected his father to pick up on the related suicidal ideation and induce me to face that as well. But, to me, that part was already resolved. Suicide was quite plainly not a viable option after all―for many reasons.
Will wasn't willing to let me out of his sight. When his parents realized how much our separation had obviously traumatized him, they agreed to his proposal of moving me to his bed, with him on a cot in the room. The door wide open, of course. I figured that they both realized it was more than just our separation affecting him. But, again, they trusted that he would share the rest with them soon. As soon as he was ready.
Mark and Gina had no idea what I had been up to. And I wasn't about to tell them. They were out of town anyway, and thought I was enjoying myself at the Stuarts the whole time.
You see, amazingly enough, while Will was occupied with saving my life―again―his mom was foresightful enough to call Gina and arrange to pick up what I would need for spending the night with them, as previously planned. Given the circumstances, she was sure we wouldn't even think about it until later. Probably too much later. And while she and Melinda were gathering my belongings, she managed to arrange for me to stay the rest of the week as well―encouraging Gina and Mark to go on a spontaneous out of town trip with friends that they had mentioned, but were concerned about following through on because of me.
I was very grateful. Particularly since it was better that Mark and Gina didn't see me just yet―
I was not in very good shape, physically or emotionally. The highs and lows of the last week had taken a heavy toll on me. It felt like every nerve in my body was burned out; overtaxed almost beyond repair. I was exhausted, but also jumpy and nervous. After we arrived at the Stuart’s that first morning, it was hard to settle down anywhere or concentrate on much of anything.
Except Will. I felt as if I were thirsting to death, and drinking him in was the only way I could stay alive.
I gazed at him constantly, watching everything he did, hanging on every word―inside and out. I needed my curtains in place for everyone and everything else right then, but I made sure he knew he was welcome―in fact, needed―inside me as much as he wanted. He, in turn, kept his new shield down so I could access him freely. And we found ourselves in contact constantly, one way or another.
There was so much I wanted to know from him, and it was easier to access it directly inside him instead of having to struggle with words back and forth. It was during the morning of that first full day back together―New Year's Day―that I found myself also connecting to all the sensory information in his consciousness. It was a two-edged sword, however. While it was thrilling to be able to experience his life as he had―all senses engaged―some of the experiences were more upsetting than they would have been had I experienced them in a more limited way.
For example, he was indeed on the edge of danger from the time he arrived in Mexico until he left. Ben had to go to great lengths to avoid "the bad guys"―disguising his appearance (and having Will do the same), having someone else pick Will up at the airport so they wouldn't be seen together, and on, and on.
Will had to continually sense the individuals around them, what they knew or didn’t know, if they were being honest or not. So just being there was hard on him, especially when he had to keep himself open enough to sense potential danger as well as deceit. And he had to keep that up the entire time he was gone. It was very draining.
His most distressing recollections, however, had to do with me. Will called my cell phone while he was in Mexico, but there was only sporadic service. The one time he had gotten through to his dad, he had resorted to a land line. And he tried numerous times after arriving in Denver, but, of course, I never answered. It was late enough at the time that he didn't want to wake up his parents by calling them to check on me. So he waited, attempting to convince himself that my phone just wasn't working right, or some such thing.
The next day, while waiting for his final flight, he got through to his family, who had no news of me. It was a few minutes later that his dad happened to be in the study, heard my phone when Will was again trying to get hold of me, and answered it. (I hadn't thought to turn the ringer off.) Dr. Stuart pointed out to him that there were a number of ways it could have ended up there; that I had been under quite a strain and might not even realize that I didn’t have it with me; and, that there was probably no need to worry.
But I had promised Will that I would keep my phone on and with me. So, in spite of his father's reassuring words, he rightfully suspected that something was wrong. Very wrong.
He tried reaching me telepathically. But, at first, he was too far away. Then, he was so concerned―especially when I didn't come with his family to pick him up at the airport, and they knew from trying to get hold of me at home that I wasn't there, either―it took until he got home for him to calm down enough to reach me in that way.
When he finally did, and discerned what I was doing―it devastated him. That was when he frantically cried out to me. It required almost superhuman self-discipline for him to control his feelings enough so he could pinpoint where I was. Then he tore out of the house and down the road in his car.
As heart wrenching as it was to experience all I had put him through, what troubled me the most was that he wasn't going to go back without me. It was a foregone conclusion for him that if he didn't get to me in time, there would be no reason for him to prolong his life. He had lived without me before, and he wasn’t going to do it again. So he had determined that whatever happened to me would happen to him, too.
Will and I were semi-reclined together on the sofa in the family room when I happened upon this revelation. It hit me so hard and disturbed me so much that I became instantly and overwhelmingly nauseated. (Undoubtedly due in large part to the fact that I hadn't exactly taken good care of my body for a few days.) Then I got up so fast, it made me dizzy. (Which didn't help, either.) I barely made it to the bathroom in time.
Will was right behind me, of course. He held my hair back out of the way while I threw up. He got me some water to rinse the bad taste out of my mouth. He flushed the toilet. He handed me tissues for my eyes and nose. And he knelt on the floor, waiting with me to see if I was going to throw up again. Which I did. Twice more, actually. And then there was nothing at all left to throw up.
A reasonable wait after the third time, he put his hand gently on my back as I continued to lean over the toilet. "Are you finished?"
"I think so," I said. I closed the lid and sat down weakly on the floor.
He got up and stepped just outside the bathroom door. "Mom! Would you come here, please?" he called, not willing to leave me.
"Where are you?"
"The bathroom!" he answered. He knelt beside me again, feeling my forehead, then the back of my neck. "You don't feel warm, Cassie.” He paused, thinking. “It was something from me, wasn't it?"
"Yes." I covered my face with my hands, but that didn't prevent the recollection from assaulting me again.
Will quickly searched inside me. He needed to know exactly what was causing such a severe reaction.
He found out. And groaned.
Sobs rose in my throat. "Oh, Will," was all I could get out before they took over. And now I'm crying again.
"You're entitled." Will sat down by me on the floor. Facing the opposite direction, he eased my head over to rest against his shoulder, and sighed.
"That really doesn't look very comfortable, you two. What's going on?" Mrs. Stuart asked.
"Cassie's been throwing up, Mom. But she doesn't seem to have a fever," Will e
xplained. He was going to let her draw her own conclusions.
Melinda appeared at the door. "What's everybody doing in here?"
"Cassie's sick,” her mother responded. “Sweetheart, would you please go up to her room and get a pair of pajamas and some socks? Oh, and the pillows from her bed, and a blanket from the closet?"
"Sure. I'll be right back." And Melinda was gone.
Mrs. Stuart leaned over to feel my forehead and the back of my neck. “Hmm.” She considered for a moment, then placed her hand lightly on my head. "Cassie, do you feel well enough to change by yourself?"
I nodded into Will's shoulder.
She straightened up, and addressed Will. "Let's get her settled on the sofa in the family room so we can keep an eye on her. We'll get Dad to check her, but I imagine she's just had too much to deal with lately, and it's finally showing up physically."
"You sound like me." Now Dr. Stuart was at the door. "Melinda filled me in as she flew past me on the stairs. Angel of mercy on a mission?” he asked his wife.
“Yes,” she answered, a smile in her voice.
“Well, she should be back pretty quickly, then.”
He was right. Just a couple of minutes later―
"Here are the pajamas and socks, Mom," Melinda said breathlessly, coming to an abrupt halt just outside the door. Dr. Stuart stepped aside so she could hand them in to her mom, who set them on the counter by the sink. "I put the pillows and blanket on the sofa. Anything else?"
"Not right now, Sweetheart. Thank you."
"I'll be right out here if you need me," she offered, and was gone again.
"Okay, everybody out so Cassie can change," directed Mrs. Stuart.
Will was the last to leave. "I'll be right outside." I nodded. He closed the door, and I eased myself up. Standing didn't feel like a good idea―too light-headed, and now sore stomach muscles made it uncomfortable to straighten up―so I sat on the toilet lid to change. When that was done, I tried standing again, but sat right back down. Same, same. Calling out loud would be too much work. And my throat kind of hurt. Will?
He opened the door immediately. Assessing the situation quickly, he didn’t ask. He carefully picked me up and carried me in to be ensconced on the sofa. You didn’t have to carry me. I just wanted a little help so I wouldn’t tip over.
"I know."
The rest of the family watched while Dr. Stuart checked me over, determining the same diagnosis as his wife, but in somewhat more clinical terminology―physical and emotional exhaustion. "Alright young lady," he began as he put his thermometer away in his bag, "you are going to stay put for at least the rest of today and let us take care of you. Not because we have to. Because we want to. And you are going to allow yourself to relax and enjoy it. We'll see about tomorrow when it gets here.
"And the same goes for you, Son," he added. Will responded with a "Who, me?" expression on his face. "You're going to be in the same shape if you don't help yourself recuperate. You are a very strong person, but you are not indestructible. So stay here with Cassie, and take advantage of your day off."
"Yes, sir," he agreed with a reluctant grin.
His mom walked over and stood in front of him. "Believe it or not, it's okay for someone else to take care of you, and Cassie, from time to time. You're not in this alone, you know."
"Thanks, Mom."
She winked at him. "Alright, everybody. I know we're all upset from the news about Cassie's family. And I know we all need to grieve, each in our own time and our own way. But all of us also need a break―especially these two characters on the sofa―and this is a holiday. So let's all try to lighten up and start acting like it as much as possible. Not forgetting Cassie's family, but in honor of Cassie and her family. Questions?" There were none.
"Nicely said, Laura," commented her husband.
"Thank you, Dear. Would you please be in charge of entertainment? Movies, football, whatever? Melinda, would you please bring Cassie some soda crackers and water? Cassie, be sure to chew the crackers thoroughly and sip the water until your stomach is completely settled. Will, what would you like for lunch?"
So the day went on, Will's family waiting on us, hand and foot. And they seemed to enjoy it. Melinda had a particularly grand time, invoking her father's instructions and ordering Will to "stay put" whenever he made a move to get up. She didn't have to tell me―I didn't feel well enough to get up anyway.
She couldn't stop Will from doing some things for me, though. He started out by rubbing my feet. It felt incredibly good, and was so soothing that I went to sleep.
In the late afternoon, Dr. and Mrs. Stuart agreed that they wanted to get out of the house for a while, and decided to go pick up something special for dinner. Melinda wanted to go, too, and assured her parents that she had trained us so effectively during the day that she was confident we wouldn't move an inch while they were gone. They laughed, and told her to hurry and get her coat.
Once they left, Will turned off the television and put in a CD. As the music began, he adjusted the volume so it was not too loud, but not too soft. I noticed it was instrumental―some kind of soft jazz, or such. Then he came and rearranged my bedding and me so I was lying with my head on a pillow on his lap. He began humming with the music as he ran his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp. I closed my eyes to enjoy his touch more fully. He gently stroked my face, and reached underneath to rub the back of my neck. Then, one at a time, he took my hands and expertly kneaded them with his fingers. He paused to lift one hand to his lips, then began the cycle over again. And again . . . .
"He's good, isn't he?" his mom's voice inquired. Could they be back already? It sounded like she put something down on the table by the sofa.
Will didn't stop, so I didn't open my eyes. "Mm-hmm," I responded.
She chuckled. "Well, we got lots of Chinese food. We thought your stomach might be well enough to handle some steamed rice, if nothing else, Cassie. If that doesn't sound good yet, we'll find something that does. So, whenever you're ready . . . ."
"Hey, you weren't supposed to move, remember?" Melinda pointed out as she entered the room and, from what I could hear, also put something on the table.
And more somethings were being placed on the table. "You've done a great job, Melinda. But I think it will be fine if he gets up occasionally," her father’s voice opined.
"Well, you're the doctor," she conceded. "Time to eat!"
Will finally stopped, so I opened my eyes. "Hungry?" he asked.
"A little."
He helped me sit up with the pillows out of the way and the blanket over my legs. “There's plenty to choose from," he suggested, drawing my attention to the table with a wave of his hand.
Yup. There was―several cartons of various Chinese foods, along with disposable plates and cups, plastic forks, paper napkins and chopsticks. Mrs. Stuart was just putting some bottles of water on the table.
Melinda rubbed her hands together greedily. "Where to begin?"
Good question.
After successfully eating some steamed rice with a little butter and salt (not oriental, but it sounded good), I ventured to try part of a spring roll and discovered it was time to stop. Everyone else enjoyed the array of food off and on during the evening as they talked and laughed, played Phase Ten (which took a while―Mrs. Stuart won), and decided to watch a movie before retiring for the evening.
Will declined the movie, saying he was tired, but I knew his true concern was my sagging posture as I leaned more and more heavily against his arm during the course of the game. Melinda was kind enough to carry my pillows and blanket up to Will's room, in spite of the fact that I insisted on walking so he would be free to do it. (I suspected collusion.) And I made it, holding onto Will's arm. Until the stairs, that is. Between the railing and Will, I went slowly up two stairs. I checked to see how much farther it was, and it looked like Mt. Everest to me with as little energy as I had left.
"Will you let me carry you now?" he asked.
I just looked at him, entirely ready to accede. He bent over to tenderly put my arms around his neck, then pick me up in his. I rested my forehead against the side of his head, my face close to his ear. "Love you," I whispered.
He waited until we arrived in his room. Melinda had apparently turned down the covers (bless her fourteen-year-old heart), so Will put me down on his bed and covered me up. Then he leaned over me, brushing the hair back from my face. "Do you know I love you?"
"Yes." I did know that―incontrovertibly. And smiled because I did.
"Good." He smiled and kissed me lightly on the lips. “I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." Very funny, I grimaced at him. He chuckled. Then he went into his bathroom to get ready for bed.
That first night in his bed, I couldn't stay asleep unless I was touching him. Probably strange, even for me. But true. At first, he brought the desk chair over and sat by me, and we had our prayer together. Then he held my hand until I dozed off. But as soon as he let go, I jerked awake. After a few more failed attempts, he moved the cot from the foot of the bed to the side where I was lying. So we went to sleep holding hands. And, in the morning, we woke up still holding hands.
Will was already awake, watching me, when I opened my eyes. He smiled. "I like waking up with you like this."
I sighed my agreement.
He touched his lips to the hand he was holding. "How do you feel? How's your stomach?"
"Fine. I think." I tried rolling on to my back and stretching. A little stiff and sore, but much improved from the day before.
"I noticed last night that someone apparently decided that you would be using my bathroom this morning, and put some of your clothes and things in there. So, you want to go first, or shall I?"
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