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"I can see that. Mother. You're not getting enough rest. Are you sleeping enough?"
"Yes." She looked down and then up at me: her eyes had never been so full of fear and pain. "What is it. Mother?"
"He's all right in that room. but I still can't go into it. It used to be such a warm and beautiful room. I had all my dolls, my precious gifts. Jackie Lee had that canopy bed custom-made for me. I felt so safe there, so cuddly safe and warm all the time." She paused, caught up in her memories, then went on.
The first time he came into that room alone, he sat on my bed and talked about himself as a young boy. He was a good raconteur, weaving stories like fairy tales. I was so innocent, he had little difficulty taking my hand and leading me down the primrose path. Whenever he touched me then. I thought it was the touch of a loving parent, a caress to soothe and comfort.
He began by holding my hand or putting his on my shoulder. Sometimes, when he told me a tale, he fingered my hair, and he always kissed me good night, starting on my forehead, then my cheeks, and one night a quick peck on my lips that came as such a surprise. I barely had time to react. I thought about it all night because it had left me feeling so different.
"It was a very slow, careful seduction, you see. I trusted him. If he came upon me when I was still in my undergarments. I had no fears, no inhibitions about it. He didn't seem to have any reaction. He led me to believe he saw me as asexual, saw me the way a parent should see his daughter," she said.
"One night he came in while I was still in my bath, in fact. I had a sufficient blanket of bubbles and suds to feel okay about it, but he lingered, deciding to wash my back for me. I kept my hands over my breasts, but he talked about so many things while he did it. I relaxed, thinking he didn't see me as a naked young woman. But after he finished and I submerged myself, his hand managed to graze my breast. He smiled down at me and left.
"Two nights later he returned. Jackie Lee was out with some of her friends. I had just crawled into bed and was reading when he came in, telling me he was lonely, that my mother had left him again.
"He talked about how hard it was for a man, harder than for a woman, he claimed, to be lonely. He told me men have greater needs.
Women find it easier to be nuns than men do being monks.' " he said. He had such a confident, assured way about him and was so worldly. I believed every-thing he told me.
"He asked me about my relationships with boys and if I had ever gotten excited in a female way. I knew what he meant, of course, but all I could do was blush. He took it from there, telling me how natural it was and how I shouldn't be afraid,
"Men, he said, get excited faster, easier, and for a longer period. He told me it was better that I understood it than be caught unaware; what sort of stepfather would he be if he didn't prepare me for all this? My mother, he claimed, was just too distracted and missed seeing how grown-up I had become.
"Then he flattered me so, talking about my looks, my body, and finally confessing that I aroused him. He made me see it was true.
"I was terrified, of course. I remember I could barely breathe, and then he crawled into the bed beside me and began to caress me and coax me until... it happened.
"The moment after it had, my room changed for me. It was the setting for all that, you see. Like me, it had lost its innocence, its magic. I couldn't sleep. My heart would thump the moment I entered.
"It still does," she confessed. "And now Linden is in it, and I feel such trauma every time I go to him. Maybe that's why I'm so tired.-
She looked at me and saw some of the shock in my face. Her story made me tremble to the bone.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you all that. I have never told anyone except your father when I was in the clinic."
"No. I'm glad you did. Mother. But I'm worried about you I'm taking you to the doctor first thing tomorrow. You need a goad physical."
"Na. no. There's nothing wrong with me, other than having these recurring memories and my getting older." she insisted. "I'll be fine. Time will heal. I'll get over it, you'll see. Besides, you're just starting a new and wonderful life here. Let's not put any new problems on the table. Are you still going to attend some summer-school classes?"
"Yes. I'm looking forward to that."
"Good. Then no more talk of doctors. I've had my fill of doctors, and so has Linden," she declared firmly.
"If you continue to be tired--"
"Then I'll go."
I wasn't happy with the compromise. but I let it be rather than see her disturbed any more. I left her. I was still trembling inside, thinking about Kirby Scott and how he had painstakingly worked on her until he had seduced her. But she was right. We had to put it all away, bury the past. It made me realize how wounded she was, however, and how wounded Linden had been. too.
No psychology student had as much work at home as I did, I thought, tying to put a little lightness into the dark.
I went to talk to Linden, who had returned to his studio. He was sitting before a canvas outlining some new idea.
"I'm sorry to disturb you." I said after knocking on his open door.
"No, no, please come in. I'm just doodling at the moment, tying to find the center of something. You look tanned and rested. I guess you had a wonderful trip after all."
"Why shouldn't it have been wonderful. Linden?"
