Kristin Ashe: A Safe Place To Sleep Part 8

"If she loved me so much, why did she let me go?"

"I don't think she had much choice. She was a widow who had lost both her husband and her son in less than a year. Plus, she didn't know she'd never see you again. It wasn't until after they took you away that the Sisters told her she should never contact you. That it was in your best interest a""

"In my best interest!" she practically shouted. "What did anyone know about my best interest?"

"Not much, it seems." This time, I reached across the table to take her hand.

"She could have fought for me," the little one protested, pulling her hand away.

"No, she couldn't, Destiny, or she would have. She loved you, she wanted you, but she didn't know what else to do except bundle you up and give you to the Sisters."

"When you saw her...." she hesitated before finis.h.i.+ng the question.

"Yes...." I gently prodded her.

"When you saw her... did she ask about me?"

In that one question, I saw all the vulnerability of the young child in her.

"No, she didn't," I answered, wincing at the hurt look she gave me. "I think she wanted to, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. But if you'd like to meet her, I could try to set something up."

"No," she said softly. "Let's get out of here."

With that, we left, having barely touched our food.

All the way home from Nadine's, I thought about parenting.

Despite my memory loss, I knew my mother had been a terrible parent. I could remember her locking us out of the house for hours on end. In the winter, we'd sit by the dryer vent for warmth. I could remember her kidding with people about what a rotten child I was and how she wanted to be rid of me. Except she wasn't kidding.

It took becoming an adult for me to realize that I hated my mom most of all for not loving me.

I tried to sort out my feelings about my father, but they were more confusing. He hadn't been a perfect father, but he had loved me. This much, I knew. I vividly remembered all the times he rubbed my back or had me scratch his head. I knew he'd been loving, but that's as far as I could bear to look into the past with him.

What if he, too, had hurt me? What then?

When I got home, I went straight to bed, but I didn't sleep well.

Driving in the car with Mom and Dad. I'm asking Dad why my brother David and my sister Jill work for him. I'm asking him why he is paying them a sales bonus if my older sisters Ann and Gail and I are the salespeople.

In his familiar way, he ignores me, saying he doesn't see any connection. It's none of my business. It is my business, though, I argue, because I own the company. I want fairness. I want things to be explainable.

My dad becomes so riled by my questions that he turns around and spits this huge amount of liquid into the air. I'm in the back seat. He's driving. The liquid rains down over me. My mom is shocked but doesn't really say or do anything. I'm stunned and completely humiliated. I immediately hop out of the car and start walking back.

It's a long walk down some dirt road in the mountains. I'm sobbing and sobbing. I'm happy that I'm wearing a hooded jacket. The grotesque liquid doesn't touch me much. Just on the outside. I'm careful how I move so it won't touch my flesh.

Chapter 8.

When I came into work the next morning, there was a message waiting for me that Destiny had called. Before I started working, I rang her back.

"Kris, you'll never believe this a" I had the most incredible dream last night. I dreamed about my grandma. I saw her for the first time. I saw how beautiful she is. We were together, laughing and playing in this big, old house. It's like I was a little girl, except I was my age now. I had to leave her to go to this convention I'm going to next month. It was really cold outside. I didn't want to go, but I knew leaving was the best thing for me. She was crying and I was crying. Can you believe that? I was actually crying, even if it was only in a dream."

Before I could answer, she continued.

"My grandma told me not to cry. She told me my new family wouldn't want to see me cry, which made no sense in my dream, because I was only going to a silly convention. But then, she hugged me tight and I felt so safe. I knew I'd be all right. It was a wonderful dream. It felt good to cry. What do you think of it?"

"Oh, my G.o.d," was all I could say.

"What, Kris, what is it?"

'That's it!"

"That's what?"

"That's why you can't cry."

"What's why I can't cry?"

"Your grandma told you not to cry."

"I know, Kris, but it was only a dream."

"No, no, not in the dream. In real life. I didn't tell you this last night, because I didn't think you were ready for it, but obviously you are. You've started to process it."

"Process what?"

"She told you not to cry. That's why you stopped crying. The day the nuns came to get you was the coldest day of winter, according to your grandma. When you started to cry, your grandma told you that your new family wouldn't want to see you cry. You took that literally and never cried in front of the Greaves. Your dad said you used to cry at night but as soon as someone came into the room, you stopped. That's it! I never made the connection before, but that's it!"

"Oh, no!" were the only words I heard for a long time, repeated over and over again.

"You obeyed her too well."

No response.

"Destiny, are you there?"

Still no response.

"Destiny!" I was starting to get alarmed.

"I think I'm crying, Kris. Not a lot, but a little," she said faintly.

"That's great!" I shouted. "You're crying! That's wonderful!"

"I had a memory. Thanks to you, I had a memory. I can't believe I had a memory, even if it was in my dreams," she sounded excited. "Now I'm laughing and crying at the same time. What the h.e.l.l's the matter with me?"

"Nothing is. Not one thing. You're going to be fine."

"You think a memory counts if it's in a dream?"

"Of course it does. A memory is a memory, no matter what form it comes in," I said, and instantly felt sick to my stomach with the realization of what I'd just said.

"Isn't it funny that part of what I dreamed was about my life today, and the other part was about the past?"

I wasn't listening anymore. I could hardly breathe. As fast as I could, I said good-bye, got off the phone and ran to the bathroom. I closed the door and threw up.

As I was coming out of the bathroom, I ran into Ann. She looked at me with concern.

"Are you okay, Kris?"

"I just threw up."

"Are you sick?"

"I wouldn't have thrown up if I wasn't sick."

"No, I meant do you have the flu or something."

"I don't think so."

"Maybe it was something you ate."

"Maybe," I said vaguely and excused myself, trying to get back to the solace of my private office.

As I was walking down the hall, her voice stopped me.

"Hey, Kris...."

"Yes, Ann?" I waited with exaggerated patience.

"You're starting to look a little run down lately. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied.

"Is it that case you're working on? Is it Destiny?"

"I wish it were that simple," I said, the fatigue evident in the slowness of my words. "Really, Ann, I'm fine. When I can, I'll tell you all about it."

She knew enough not to push me any further.

"Remember, you can talk to me if you need to, Kris."

I wanted to believe her, but I couldn't.

She saw the disbelief in my eyes. I turned and continued walking down the long, narrow hallway.

When we were kids, Ann and I had never been close. She and Gail had shared a room and a life. I was no part of either. They were good friends and I was the outsider.

It wasn't until after we'd both moved out of the house we grew up in, that slowly but surely, Ann and I had managed to forge a friends.h.i.+p, based mostly on working together. Still, I never completely trusted her. After all, she, too, had come from the same abusive environment.

I spent the afternoon in my office with the door and the blinds closed. Ostensibly, I was working on a marketing piece. In fact, I wasn't doing much of anything. I was doodling on a legal pad and sipping soda to settle my stomach when Mich.e.l.le called to remind me that we were meeting that night for dinner. It was a good thing she called a" I'd completely forgotten that we had plans.

I wasn't in the mood to go out to dinner with her, particularly since I knew I'd have to listen to her psychic's predictions, but I'd promised, so off I went at the appointed hour.

"You look tired," Mich.e.l.le greeted me as I ambled into Gay-lords Grille, our favorite restaurant.

"You look radiant!" I said and she did.

I tried to think what was different about her, but I couldn't pinpoint it. Her outfit was the same as always: loose-fitting rust colored mock-sweats, forest green turtleneck, and a large-print, floral pattern light jacket. Several years back, she'd had her colors done and since then had refused to wear any color other than fall colors: rust, green, gold, brown. She'd even convinced me that I should wear brighter colors and most of the time, I followed her advice. That night, I was wearing a purple long-sleeved sports s.h.i.+rt, a fluorescent pink and teal pull-over coat, and my usual faded blue jeans and Topsiders.

Maybe it was her hair; it looked good that night, which wasn't always the case. In her driver's license picture, the truth was recorded: Mich.e.l.le Spivack had bone-straight hair. But because Mich.e.l.le hated straight hair ("It makes my nose look even bigger than it is"), she was constantly trying new variations of perms. Her current one was tight and curly and she was wearing her dark brown hair at shoulder length. Behind the curls, I could see the diamond posts she always wore. I noticed she was wearing her contacts, not her usual wire-rimmed, round frame eyegla.s.ses. Whenever Mich.e.l.le fell in love, her worst vanity showed through.

"Love, or l.u.s.t, must be agreeing with you," I added.

A shadow crossed Mich.e.l.le's face but she smiled brightly.

"It is! Destiny's wonderful," she said as the waitress showed us to our table.

Once seated, it took us about two seconds to decide what to eat. We both ordered our usual: black bean dip and tortilla chips to start, Monte Cristo and ice tea for Mich.e.l.le, Caesar salad and Virgin Mary for me. It was nice to have routines.

"I can't wait for the three of us to get together," Mich.e.l.le said after the waitress was out of earshot.

"Not until the case is over," I warned.

"Not until then," Mich.e.l.le agreed. "But hopefully, that should be soon."

"Oh?" News to me and I was supposed to be in charge.

"I went to the psychic, remember?"

"I remember," I said impatiently.

"She had a lot of good feedback."

"Oh, sure!"

"Do you want to hear this or not, Kris?" Mich.e.l.le looked pained.

"I'm sorry." I gave her my most charming smile. "What did Joanne have to say?"