As I fled, I heard Ben say, “Bad scallops, maybe? If you’ll excuse me.”
In the safety of the locked bathroom, I squatted in the corner, head between my knees. Stars danced before my eyes. Just breathe. Don’t pass out on this filthy floor. Tiny jackhammers drilled mercilessly behind my eyes. What just happened?
Frantic knocking on the door and voices—Ben and Dr. O. together. “Sasha, are you okay? Are you ill?”
I splashed cold water on my face and opened the door, nodding. We need to go home, right now.
“Thank you for all your help, Dr. O’Rourke. I’m just going to take her home. She must be coming down with something. So sorry to disturb your dinner. Come on, Sasha, let’s get you out of here.”
Ben took my hand and led me through the restaurant, every eye in the place following the tall, handsome boy leading the blotchy, clearly unhinged girl. At the front, Ben handed a fistful of cash to the hostess, apologized for any inconvenience, and shepherded me into the calm of the parking lot. We sat in the car for several minutes, staring out the windows, not speaking, just listening to each other breathing.
“So what just happened? You’re not sick. I would feel it if you were physically ill. You just freaked out, and I have no idea why. Your thoughts are a mess—something about a smell?”
“Can we just go? Please?” I whispered.
I opened and closed my fists, willing myself not to start hyperventilating again. The hammers pounded less fiercely, and for that I was grateful.
Ben cupped my face in his hands, searching my eyes. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
More than anything, I wanted to tell him, wanted to share my fears. But I hated feeling like the mental patient, always on the edge, a single whiff enough to send me careening off the cliff into a ravine of psychosis.
“You know my old nightmare, the one about the accident—the noise, the smells, the snow? Besides the odor of burning wires and gasoline, there was a sweet smell, like perfume.”
“And you smelled that perfume in the restaurant, and that’s what set you off? That makes sense—smelling your mother’s perfume could stir up all kinds of emotions. You poor thing.” He kissed me gently and started the car. “It’ll be easier next time.”
“I smelled it on Dr. O.’s sweater, and it’s not my mother’s perfume or any perfume I’ve ever smelled before, or since.”
I watched him behind the wheel, never forgetting to signal, never going over the speed limit. He drove with the precision of someone taking his driver’s license test.
“So what are you saying?” We were safely stopped at a red light, and he looked over at me. “Dr. O. was at the scene of the accident? Next to your car?”
“It does sound crazy when you say it like that. But maybe she caused the accident and was checking to see if anyone was still alive before she left the scene.” Utterly ridiculous, but incredibly real to me.
Ben shook his head. “I find that hard to believe. She leaves the scene of a devastating crash, and then becomes your therapist who’s supposed to help you recover your memories of the accident she caused? You’ve been watching way too much TV.”
“I hardly watch any TV, and that’s exactly what I’m thinking.” It had sounded more plausible in the bathroom stall. “Maybe that’s why I’m one of her few failures. She’s supposed to be this ridiculously successful shrink, and she couldn’t even manage to hypnotize me. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
“Well, Perry Mason, it’s a nice theory—very neat and tidy. But don’t you think it’s weird that the woman who killed your family would then take you on as a patient?”
The light changed and, looking both ways, Ben drove toward home, his eyes never leaving the road even as he tried to reason with me.
“If I remembered what happened, she would be in deep trouble, and the only way to be sure my memories stay buried is if she were my therapist. Or maybe she wanted to try and make up for what she did to me, somehow make it right.” I shrugged my shoulders.
“Sounds a little too movie-of-the-week for me. Maybe you dreamed about that perfume after you met the doctor.” Ben pulled into my driveway and turned off the engine.
“Definitely not. I remember it so vividly, because it was such an unusual smell, and it was always part of my dream, which started before I first saw Dr. O’Rourke. I smelled it again when your mother hypnotized me the last time.”
I had been so sure, but could Ben be right? Could my mind be playing tricks? In the days and weeks following the accident, time had stopped for me. Could I be remembering it out of order now, in my desperate need to make everything fit neatly back together?
“Let’s suppose by some insane possibility she did cause the accident. She wouldn’t leave you and your family to die. She’s a doctor, for fuck’s sake. She took an oath.”
“Maybe she was drunk or something. She was drinking wine at the restaurant. Like in a Greek tragedy, maybe alcoholism is her fatal flaw, and she realized it after she caused the accident. She panicked and left us there. And now she’s trying to undo her wrong by making me well again.” The more I thought about it, the more I liked this scenario. It was poetic and heartrending.
“Okay, Sophocles, so what you’re saying is that she didn’t help you, because she didn’t want to get arrested for drunk driving? That she left you to die with your family, since you were the only witness?” Ben put his hand on my forehead, as if feeling for fever.
I nodded.
“And then she made sure Charlotte picked her to be your psychiatrist so she could work her head-shrinking magic on you to guarantee that you could never identify her as the killer, while at the same time healing your battered spirit. It would make a great screenplay.”
“You think I’ve lost it, don’t you?”
Maybe I would have to explore this avenue of investigation with Jules. She might be more open-minded. Charlotte and Stuart would be like Ben, certain that my train had finally jumped the tracks.
“A little. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head in the bathroom at the restaurant?” He reached over and rubbed my scalp, looking for a bump.
“No, I didn’t hit my head. But I do have a headache.”
Why couldn’t I just leave my past behind already? I wasn’t cut out to be a therapist or a detective.
“What happens if she realizes you’re on to her? Maybe she’ll try to bump you off. You’re lucky she’s Irish and not Italian.” Ben flicked his thumbnail against his front teeth.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“You’ve never seen any gangster movies, like The Godfather?”
“Never.” I sighed. “I told you, I don’t watch much television.”
“You have so much to learn. Speaking of learning, are your aunt and uncle home tonight?” Ben leaned across me to unbuckle my seatbelt.
“I can do that myself, you know. I may be crazy, but I’m not paralyzed.”
Sometimes I felt like Ben’s feelings for me were mixed up with his uncontrollable desire to fix things, and I was the ultimate remodeling project. He wanted to make me better, when I just wanted him to want me.
“It gives me an excuse to touch you. That’s all.” His fingers lingered on my arm.
“You don’t need an excuse.” I would be perfectly happy if he never let go of me.
“In that case … let me ask you again, is anyone home? Because we can play in the car, if we have to, but the couch, or your bed, would be way better.” He tapped his fingers on my arm, waiting for my answer.
“They went to some jazz club in the City.”
The anticipation of his lips on mine, his hands on my body, made me weak in the knees. How was I going to walk into the house?
“Good news, and if you can’t walk, I’ll just have to carry you over the threshold. We can play wedding night.” Ben climbed out and came around to my side of the car.
“I think you will have to carry me. I’m feeling a little shaky. That thing at the re
staurant kind of threw me.”
My palms started to sweat. Wedding night?
“No problem.” He lifted me up, holding me against his chest and kicking the car door shut. “Don’t start hyperventilating again, Sasha. I was just kidding. As much as I want you, and I do, tonight’s not the night. So relax. It’s your call … it always will be.”
But could you do that other thing again? I really liked that. Too embarrassed to say that out loud, I reverted to my old ways.
“What other thing?” He paused outside the door to my room. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
You know. That thing …
“I want you to tell me what you want.” He put me down on my bed in a patch of moonlight.
I shook my head.
“Use your words, Sasha.” He was going to make me work for it.
I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to look at him. “Fine, be that way. I want you to touch me the way you did when I was at your house. I want you to make me scream again. Is that what you want to hear?” As mortifying as it was to say it out loud, it was definitely worth it.
“That’s exactly what I want.” He lay down on top of me, his legs hanging off the end of the bed. “Am I crushing you?” His elbows rested on the bed as he planted tiny kisses all over my face.
“No, you could never hurt me, but that tickles.” I twitched my nose.
“Just you wait.” In one motion, Ben slipped out of his shirt and started to unbutton mine. “This is okay, right?”
“What if I said no?”
“I might not take no for an answer.” Ben swallowed hard. “Oh, that was bad. Did that make you think of those football assholes? I’m such an idiot. I was just playing—you know that. I would never force you to do anything.”
I’m fine. I wasn’t thinking about them at all. I like when you tease me like that. It’s really hot, actually. I ran my hand down his chest, and he shuddered. So we’re okay? He nodded. Then back to work.
He kissed his way from my lips down to the top of my jeans, unbuttoned them, and pulled down the zipper. Although I was incredibly ticklish, I tried to hold it together.
Ben looked up. “You can laugh. I don’t mind.”
Pressing his lips against my stomach, he kissed a trail down to my panties. Instead of laughing, I moaned. Mind reading wasn’t his only gift.
A car door slammed once, then twice, and I let out a yelp. “Shit, that can’t be them.” Time flew when we were together, but it couldn’t have passed that quickly. I looked at the bedside clock. “It’s only nine-thirty.”
“It’s fine. Just put your shirt back on … and breathe.” Ben tucked in his own shirt and stood in front of the mirror, trying to tame his wild curls. “Do you need a little help with that?”
Alarm bells going off in my head, my fingers fumbled with the buttons. Calm and collected, as usual, Ben quickly did up my shirt and ran his fingers through my hair. “You’ve got a wicked case of bed head. Maybe you should put your hair up.”
“Good idea. We have a little problem beyond my hair, though. I decided not to tell them about my voice, and I kind of hadn’t gotten around to telling them that we were back together, either. Charlotte’s going to go apeshit.” Procrastination was a bad habit of mine, and I needed to do something about it, soon.
“Probably an understatement. Here I am in your bedroom, and it’s obvious we haven’t been playing chess. So I guess you can tell them now, at least about the back together part. The sometimes-talking part can wait. You don’t want to shock them with too much news all at once.”
We stood toe to toe, smoothing each other’s clothes. The front door slammed and I could hear voices and laughter. At least they were in a good mood.
“Come on,” Ben whispered. “The best defense is a good offense.” He took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen.
“Oh!” Charlotte jumped. “Ben, you startled me. What are you doing here?”
Stuart, more astute than my aunt, quickly sized up the situation. “Hi there, Ben. Long time no see. How’ve you been?”
“Very good, sir. And you?” With his military academy posture and Ivy League diction, Ben looked and sounded guilty of something.
“It’s good to have you back. Charlotte, Sasha and Ben have evidently patched things up. Congratulations, kids.”
I picked up my voice box. “WE JUST GOT BACK FROM DINNER. I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D BE HOME UNTIL MUCH LATER.”
“Apparently.” Stuart unsuccessfully tried to stifle his smirk and raised his eyebrows at me.
“When did you two start seeing each other again? Sasha, why didn’t you tell me? Ben, do you realize how upset we were when you left Sasha? That was a terrible thing to do.”
We? While I was happy that Charlotte cared, sometimes it sounded like it was all about Charlotte.
“I’M SORRY I DIDN’T TELL YOU. I WANTED TO SEE IF IT WAS GOING TO STICK BEFORE I SAID ANYTHING. IT WAS JUST BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT TO UPSET YOU.” Perfect explanation—diplomatic, logical, Charlotte-centered.
“Oh, sweetheart, you can tell me anything. You shouldn’t have to go through all of this alone. Give me a hug,” Charlotte said as she held out her arms.
No matter how clumsy she sometimes was at the parenting thing, it was obvious she loved me and had only the best intentions. I needed to cut her some slack.
“Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, I’m really sorry about what happened between Sasha and me. I just felt she wasn’t focusing on her recovery as much as she should, and I didn’t want to be a distraction. But I realize now that I couldn’t stand being away from her, and maybe I can help her get better if I work really hard on our relationship.”
“You’re good,” Stuart whispered to Ben. “You should go into politics with patter like that. Brilliant.”
“I really mean it. It’s not just talk.” Ben looked earnestly at my uncle and clasped my hand tightly.
Charlotte yawned and looked at her watch, apparently satisfied with all the explanations. “All’s well that ends well. Now I have to go to bed. We skipped the jazz club because after two cosmos all I wanted to do was go to sleep early, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Goodnight, children, and Ben, welcome back to the fold. Don’t you dare hurt my baby again.” There was no bitterness in her voice as she kissed Ben on the cheek. “Come on, Stuart, you promised me a massage.” She slowly climbed the stairs and disappeared into her bedroom.
“Duty calls. Goodnight, then. Sorry to interrupt your reconciliation. Feel free to get back to whatever it was you two were doing.” With a naughty wink, Stuart took a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator and two glasses from the cupboard. “Why waste a good massage? Don’t come a-knockin’.”
A door slammed upstairs, and then we heard the pop of a champagne cork and Charlotte’s unmistakable giggle.
“I like your uncle.”
“He’s a great guy. I’m really lucky.”
Stuart was the perfect tempering influence. He managed to keep Charlotte’s more hysterical tendencies at bay, and although he’d never wanted kids of his own, he truly was a natural and gifted parent. Whatever the situation, he said and did exactly the right thing. No drama, just consistent, loving logic.
“I guess I should go home now?” Clearly Ben was hoping we could pick up right where we left off, but I felt funny messing around downstairs while my aunt and uncle were going at it upstairs.
“Raincheck?” Kissing him chastely, my lips resting on his cheek for a few extra seconds … why was I sending him home again?
“I guess it would be a little weird, huh?” he asked. I held up my thumb and forefinger. “Will you at least walk me out to my car?”
In the dark driveway, Ben picked me up and sat me on the hood. I wrapped my legs around him, his hips pressing hard against me, and I could feel how much he wanted to stay.
“Are you sure we can’t go back inside?” he asked. His voice was husky.
“I’m sure,” I said, panting, although if he’d insisted, I
would’ve relented.
My body and my head were waging a death match as to which one was going to be in charge. But as usual, gentleman and voice of reason, Ben said no more, refusing to take advantage of my ambivalence. He softly kissed my swollen lips and held me tight, not forcing the issue.
After a few minutes of making out, he said, “I’m never going to fall asleep tonight, Sasha. This is bad.”
Dream about me, about next time. Can I touch you, like you touched me? I don’t want to scare you away again.
There was bold, and then there was pushy to the point of offensive. I had made that mistake once already. Had I just crossed the slut line again?
He groaned. “Not scared, but you shouldn’t have said that. I’ll never make it until next time.” Picking me up, he carried me back to the front door. “I have to go home now, and take the first in a series of cold showers. I love you, sweet girl.”
“I love you, too, and thank you for everything, for taking such good care of me tonight, and not totally mocking my Dr. O. theory.”
“No offense, but for the last hour, Dr. O. and her perfume haven’t exactly been on my mind.” He kissed my neck, lingering for a few seconds, the sound of his excited breathing hindering my resolve to behave.
“Mine either. But thanks anyway, and please stop doing that. I feel faint.”
I took long slow breaths of the cool, damp night air, trying to keep the dizziness from overwhelming me. As amazing as it felt, I needed to calm down.
“Sorry. Can’t help it. Even though I think you’re off the wall with this, I’ll help you however I can. The sooner we get your head squared away, the sooner we can focus on the rest of you.” He put both hands around my waist and squeezed.
“Goodnight, Ben. Sleep tight.”
I rested my head against his chest. His heart was beating like he’d just run a race.
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