Out of the Shadow (9 page)

Angela’s cheeks glowed with uncharacteristic elation. "You have a minute? It’s important."

Sensing her need, Becca melted. Angela was worth the temporary deferment of her own desire. "Two for you. Come with me to the nurses' station."

They found facing seats in the back of the station.

"I have a big favor to ask of you," Angela said. "I hope you don’t mind."

"You want me to empty Bergman’s bedpan. Right?"

Angela made a face. "That’s beyond big; that’s criminal! No, it’s more of a personal favor."

Becca narrowed her eyes. "Doesn’t have anything to do with handsome and smart, does it?"

Angela blushed. It was the first time Becca had ever seen her react that way. Angela looked as shy as a new student in the school cafeteria, and it amused her.

"I’m in love."

"Nah, I never would have guessed."

"It’s written all over me, isn’t it? I’ve never been good at camouflaging my feelings. That’s why I’ve avoided getting involved with anyone before this." Angela giggled. "Too late now. It’s the most amazing thing. I can’t believe it’s happening to me."

Becca studied her friend. "I can see your problem, since you’re five hundred pounds overweight and have killer body odor. Other than that, you’re quite a catch."

Angela laughed. "I know. I know. You always said I underestimate myself."

"Underestimate yourself? Weren’t you coroneted the Duchess of Self-Doubt? I’m glad a guy has finally come along who can break through your roadblocks. Maybe he’ll help you to see yourself for who you truly are."
 

"Sure...sure," Angela continued, obviously embarrassed. "I need someone to cover my Saturday shift. Handsome is taking me to Atlantic City; we’ll stay at the Trump Casino overnight. Not bad, eh?"

Wonderful for Angela, Becca thought, as her heart suddenly began to hurt. When was the last time a man escorted her out of town on a romantic holiday? She couldn’t remember. "If I were a gambling woman, I’d say it sounds like a winner. That is, as long as you don’t bet your week’s pay."

"Don’t worry about it. I doubt we’ll spend a great deal of time in the casino, if you know what I mean." Angela winked at her. "What are you doing this weekend?"

The hurt deepened. "Nothing exciting. Evan mentioned he’s going to a herbology conference in the Poconos. I guess I’m doing what I often do—mental masturbation and mindless television watching. And don’t forget marathon binge eating. Ben and Jerry’s here I come."

Angela patted her hand and tried to look concerned, but unsuppressed joy lit up her eyes. "It’s not all that bad. At least you have Julie and me."

"Shoot me! Just kidding, but don’t ruin my fun. I get off on self-pity."

"Can you do it?” Angela asked.

"I don’t know. Covering for you might take my mind off my misery for too long. How can I be a martyr if I’m not miserable?" Becca smiled. "Sure. At least it’ll get me out of the house for a few hours."

Angela threw her arms around Becca’s neck, nearly knocking her out of her chair.

"Whoa there, lover girl; curb your enthusiasm. I don’t know if I can stand that much affection. It’s the most I’ve had in months."

Angela imitated a small violin being played with her fingers. "You’re a serious nut—but I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you, dear friend."

Becca had the same thought. Who would be there for better or worse if not Angela? She couldn’t for a second consider going through this tough time without her dearest friend.

Chapter Seven

Little Becca clenched her pillow to her chest, certain a man waited just outside her bedroom door, ready to force his way in. Alone and afraid, she ducked her head under the covers much as her pet turtle did with his shell, and curled up as small as she could. Perhaps this time he wouldn’t detect her. But she knew better.

After a moment, she peered out from under the covers and noticed his shoes were casting shadows in the crack beneath the door. She could hide in the closet behind her dresses, but he’d know where to find her because he’d found her there before. Under the bed? Behind the chair? There was nowhere to hide where
 he wouldn’t discover her. All she wanted was to disappear. Like on Star Trek, into thin air. The door creaked open and she screamed—but as hard as she tried, the only sound that escaped her lips was a loud ringing...

She awoke with a start to the jingle of the phone, and shook her head to clear away the disturbing scene before lifting the receiver. "Hello..."

"Becca?" Julie asked with hesitation.

"Yes, Mom?"

"You okay? You don’t sound like yourself."

She glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. She had set her clock for eight. "I’m not awake yet."

"I didn’t mean to disturb you this early, but I thought you’d be getting ready for work."

"I covered for Angela yesterday and arranged to go in a little late today. What’s up, Mom?"

"Good news!" Her mother’s enthusiasm might have been contagious—later in the day. "Uncle Paul dropped off a little something for you last night. Since tomorrow’s your day off, and your birthday, I’d love you to stop by for coffee. Please don’t say no. I’d like to see you on your birthday."

Hearing how much it meant to Julie softened her initial reaction. "Of course, Mom. I’ll be there after ten."

"Mom? Dad? Anyone home?" Becca called from the foyer of her parents' home.

A moment later she heard Julie holler, "Pour yourself a cup of coffee! I’ll be down in a minute."

Becca made her way into the recently renovated high-tech kitchen, replete with gleaming stainless steel appliances and every possible gadget one could imagine, only stopping once to drape her coat over the arm of a black leather
chair. She retrieved a red enamel mug and poured herself a cup of steaming, ebony coffee from the coffee maker, bolstering herself up onto a stool, while careful not to burn herself with the hot liquid. To be safe, she blew on it first before taking a sip.

Ever since the call from Julie the day before, mild anxiety had plagued her. Not enough to ruin her day, but enough to distract her from her work, as well as her nagging preoccupation with Evan. And the worst part: she couldn’t, in a million years, figure out what unsettled her so much. She was sure it had been the provocation behind another one of her hellish nightmares that night.

"Hello, darlin’," Julie said, sweeping into the kitchen in a cloud of fuchsia silk robe. "I’m glad you could come by." She held out a sealed envelope. "I didn’t want to misplace this before I had a chance to give it to you. It was sweet of your Uncle Paulie to remember your birthday."

Becca hesitated before taking the envelope from Julie’s soft-skinned, perfectly manicured hand. She turned the envelope over, studying the large block letters of her name.

Julie watched her with the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning. "What are you waiting for? Open it and see what it says."

She pried open the card and read it out loud.

"To my favorite niece. You’re as beautiful as always. I hope you have a wonderful birthday and we can celebrate together soon. Love, Uncle Paul."

Her throat constricted at the thought, and she quickly put the card back in its envelope.

"Wasn’t it sweet of Paulie to remember your birthday? Now I have a little something for you." Julie pulled a black velvet jewelry box out of an oversized pocket and handed it to her. "Open it." Her eyes danced in anticipation.

Distracted by her reaction to Paulie’s card, Becca absent-mindedly flipped open the box. Inside, cushioned in more black velvet, was a pair of shiny fourteen karat gold hoop earrings from Italy—the same earrings she had coveted for months in the window of
Zales
on Market Street. She reached over, giving Julie a big hug. "Mom, they’re beautiful!"

Julie’s thoughtfulness surprised her, and caused her to question her typical attitude toward her mom. Her sensitivity to everything Julie said and did protected her from the shackles of their smothering bond, but it also kept her from appreciating her mother’s kindness and affection. At the moment, she regretted the loss.

"How did you know I wanted them?"

"David told me. He would have given them to you himself if he’d been here."

Without warning, love and tenderness nudged aside her reservations. She drew Julie closer. “I'm touched.”

Julie patted her on the back. "After all you said to me about David, you did care for him, didn’t you?"

"And I care for you, too, Mom. You and Dad."

"I don’t know if I can take all this affection coming from you!" Julie remarked, laughing nervously. "Now if you’ll only join us on occasion, my joy would be complete."

Not surprised Julie would suggest more family reunions in exchange for her consideration, but feeling as fragile as she did now, Becca knew she’d have to find a way to postpone them.

Julie broke the embrace with a small, playful shove, allowing Becca to retake her seat and another sip of coffee. Of course she still had a place in her heart for David—and the earrings only served to remind her of this, and of how much she had lost.

The silence of the lecture hall permitted my voice to carry easily to the back row. "Talk therapy can be as mundane as active listening and advice-giving, or it can rise to the level of the mystical. At those rare moments when it does, the therapist becomes one with the patient, and both experience a profound transformation of mind, body, and spirit.

"You can liken this to the experience philosopher Martin Buber describes in his book,
I and Thou.
Buber believes all relationships are potentially spiritual in nature. It is only through our affiliation with other human beings that we can connect with the sublime. When we experience these fleeting but miraculous moments of kinship, our consciousness is elevated to the level of the sacred. In that instance, we touch the face of God.

"This coalescing of the therapeutic and the spiritual remains one of the deepest, darkest mysteries of psychotherapy, and the ultimate goal of every conscientious psychotherapist. No one can teach you how to create this phenomenon. Distrust anyone who tells you they can. But every once in awhile you will strike the right chord in your practice, and the music will flow. I wish you all many of these transcendent moments."

I continued my lecture with what had transpired in early November.

Becca had called my office the day before her scheduled appointment and, since I had only minutes before ended a session, and was going over my notes, I answered the phone.

"Sarah, I need to see you today," she said in a plaintive tone.

Fortunately I had a cancellation later in the afternoon, and was able to fit her in. I could hear her barely restrained gratitude. As the saying goes, ‘When the student is ready, the teacher appears’, and Becca sounded eager to enroll in my class.

She arrived at my office wearing tailored black slacks and a red and black checkered sweater, a change from her usual short skirt and heels, and an obvious concession to the colder weather. She found a seat and immediately plunged into a description of her reaction at receiving the birthday card from her Uncle Paulie.

I advised her to lie back on the sofa, close her eyes, and take a couple of deep breaths. Then I urged her to go back to the moment of opening the card, and to re-experience her reaction to it. She lay silent for a couple of minutes and I gave her the space she needed before I asked, "How are you feeling?"

She shook her head. "Nervous. Confused. I don’t know what’s the matter with me."

"There’s nothing wrong with you," I reassured her. "But stay with your feelings and allow them to lead you back to an earlier time when you felt the same way. When you arrive there, describe to me what you see."

For another minute, she lay perfectly still, then her features took on a strained appearance. "I can’t tell you... I can’t tell anyone."

"Don’t be afraid," I said to her in encouragement. "I’ll never judge you."
 

She hesitated for what seemed an awfully long time. I was about to offer my help, when she sighed.

"Okay...all right..." Another silence followed. "I...I see myself in my parents’ bedroom."

"How old are you?"

"I don’t know. Seven or eight."

"And what are you doing?"

"I’m looking at a book my parents have hidden away from me. There are nude pictures in the book and I’m not supposed to be looking at them, but I do."

She stopped again. "This is so awkward. Do I have to go on?"

"Try. It’s important."

She wrapped her arms around herself, and a tear trickled down her cheek. "I hear the doorknob turn and someone enters the room. I quickly try to hide the book under the bed, but he catches me. He takes the book from my hands, looks at it and scolds me for being sneaky. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘I’ll put the book back where I found it. Please don’t tell my mom I looked at it.’"