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“My favorite age to dress,” Miss Becky said kindly. “But you know, I’m out of a lot of things. There’s a place in town, though, and I can special order if you just tell me what colors and styles…”
But Dora had already uttered a hasty “excuse me” as she rushed out of the shop, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, her cheeks burning with humiliation. She rushed through the lobby, taking the stairs two at a time to her room, but when she arrived, the door wouldn’t open, and she remembered that Sadie had told her she would have to get her fingerprint scanned in order to gain access. She hadn’t done that yet.
There was a window with a dormer seat at the end of the hall. Dora flopped down on it with a sigh, surveying the busy Ranch below. Bare patches of ground sprouting grass were now dotting the grounds. She steeled herself for Bobbi to arrive and press her for an explanation for why she’d left. When Bobbi didn’t come, Dora felt equal parts relieved and sad. No, she wouldn’t have to talk about her shame to a stranger, but she’d also just alienated someone who wanted to give her the friendship she longed for.
“Hey.” A male voice from the end of the hall called and she looked up to see Dr. Weston heading her way, his hands in his pockets. “Mind if I sit down?” he asked when he reached her, and Dora shrugged and scooted over. Dr. Weston settled beside her, his elbows on his knees. He didn’t immediately look at her; this was one of the ways he made her feel comfortable. When Dora was upset, for someone to confront her directly made her flustered and feel accused, even if that wasn’t the other person’s intent. Because of this, when she got upset during therapy sessions, Dr. Weston would give her space. He never had to ask if she needed it. He just knew.
“Bobbi didn’t want to come here,” he said. “For years we lived out our dynamic mostly in private. I thought the community would do her—us—good. Did you know I almost lost her here? She ran away and it was just by dumb luck that I found her.”
“Why did she run away?” She couldn’t imagine anyone running away from Dr. Weston.
“Because she didn’t feel heard. She was crying out for help, for understanding, and I wasn’t listening.”
This seemed more unimaginable. “But you always listen.”
He sighed. “I tried. But she couldn’t hear me over the voices of doubt in her head. You see, they were too loud. They lied to her and told her I didn’t care, and because of that she acted out, and I responded with strictness instead of gentleness, and that was on me. Usually Bobbi finds comfort in limits, but she needed understanding.” He turned then and put a gentle hand on Dora’s shoulder. “It’s so easy to just run away, isn’t it? To listen to familiar voices. Then we just end up more misunderstood than ever.” When Dora sniffled and nodded, he continued. “So, tell me,” he said gently. “What are those voices saying to you?”
“Oh… you’re fat. You don’t belong here.” She told him then about the comments in the playroom and the embarrassment of realizing that all the pretty clothes she’d seen wouldn’t fit her. “I don’t want anyone to go out of the way for me, you know. It makes me feel bad that someone is going to have to sew special clothes just for me, or that other Littles on the playground are afraid that I’ll hurt them.” She began to cry. “I want to be Little so bad, but I’m just a big freak.”
Dr. Weston took hold of her chin. “Dora, look at me.” He spoke to her in a tone that was far firmer than he’d ever used. “You are not a freak. Do you hear me? You are a beautiful, intelligent young woman. Everyone needs some kind of accommodation. Bobbi has Oppositional Defiance Disorder. She can be extremely difficult, and the staff has had to deal with her outbursts on more than one occasion. As the staff psychologist here, I am often asked to counsel other Bigs and let me tell you, there are plenty of ways Littles can hurt each other that have nothing to do with physical contact.
“I know this is new and that you’re scared.” He paused. “What can we do to make it easier?”
Dora thought about the question. “I met a woman named Kit this morning. Do you know her?”
“Blonde hair? Sweet smile?” he asked, and when Dora nodded, he continued. “Yes, she’s one of the service subs.”
“I think maybe I’d like to join that program. I know you say I shouldn’t feel like a burden, but everything here is so nice, and I don’t think I can accept all of this plus specially made clothes without feeling really guilty about it…” When Dr. Weston started to speak, she held her hand up. “Please… just listen. Maybe… if you don’t mind resuming my sessions, we can work on helping me not to feel so undeserving, but for now I just think that would be good for me. Can you help me get into the program?”
“Absolutely,” Dr. Weston said, “and what I was going to say was that I’m more than happy to see you one or two days a week. I think the Service Sub Program would be a good way for you to ease into life here at the Ranch and meet people. What kind of work do you like to do?”
“Nothing real physical,” Dora said quietly. “Maybe eventually but not now. So, like… nothing outside. Office work would be good. I got high marks at work for being really organized, not that they really appreciated it.”
“Let me see what I can do,” Dr. Weston said. “In the meantime, there are apparently still some processing things you need to do on your first day.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t even get into my own room just now,” Dora said. “I have to get my fingerprints done.”
“Well, I’m glad that wasn’t done yet. I might not have found you. I’m glad I did.”
Dora stood, feeling a little better. “I’m glad you did, too.”
Chapter 4
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Cord said as he walked through the door of Alastair Robinson’s tidy house. “One of the Littles needed some extra help.” He looked around. “You know, every time I come over, I feel like I’m in a library. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a house with so many bookshelves.”
“Thanks,” Alastair said with a laugh. “Master Derek still picks on me about how the Ranch had to rent an entire separate U-Haul for my collection. Want some wine?”
“Sure.”
Alastair disappeared into the kitchen and selected a Pinot Noir he’d been holding onto. Cord Weston had become his best friend at Rawhide Ranch, but today he was nervous about their visit. When he returned to the living room, Cord was already sitting on the sofa, his long legs crossed. Alastair uncorked the wine and poured two glasses before settling in the chair on the other side of the coffee table. He didn’t immediately drink but swirled the dark red liquid around the glass.
“Something’s bothering you.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a psychiatrist. That’s one part science one part intuition, not that it takes much. Creased brow, tense posture…” Cord leaned over and put his wine glass on the table. “What’s wrong, buddy?”
Buddy. A term used among men. Alastair pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled.
