Faith

by Anj

Introduction: At the age of 21, Marion Faith Neilson's life has been turned upside down and inside out. A plane crash has left her partially paralyzed, slightly disfigured and alone in a world of strangers. A rich uncle steps in to take care of her, providing for her needs in lavish fashion. But, can she trust him? A full-time nurse/therapist, Sara -hired by Faith's uncle- is the closest thing she has to a friend. And Faith soon finds herself emotionally attached and physically attracted to this woman. Yet, with the mystery that surrounds Sara's past, can Faith truly trust her? Can Sara help Faith battle the demons of self-pity and learn to walk again? Can Faith help Sara unravel the mystery of her past?

This is an original story.

Voices drifted into my consciousness.

"Marion... Marion?" called a man's voice.

Someone is calling my mother, I thought. But who? Why? I tried to open my eyes, but nothing happened.

"Marion?" the voice called again, a bit more insistently.

"I thought she was going to wake up," a scratchy, yet distinctively feminine voice said. "But… I guess I was mistaken."

I'm awake, I wanted to say, but nothing would come out my mouth and my eyes felt like they weighed a ton. Could this be a dream? I wondered. Was it one of those crazy dreams where you believe you're trying to wake up, trying to open your eyes and speak, but nothing comes out? Surely this is the case, I reasoned and stopped struggling. I had always found fighting a dream futile, at best. The dream would give you up when it was good and ready, and not before.

"Well, at least she moved," the same female voice said, invading my thoughts again.

"That's a good sign."

"Perhaps," said the man, "but I have seen lots of these cases. And movement does not mean they're out of the coma. It could have been an involuntary response. I'll reserve my judgment until she truly wakes up."

Coma? I thought, Oh lord, this is a nightmare. My mother is in a coma? I have to wake up!

I heard footsteps receding away from me, as I strained to open my eyes. They fluttered open briefly and bright light filtered through momentarily. Where am I? I wondered, as my eyes involuntarily closed.

"Wait!" the female voice called out. "Her eyes... she opened them."

I tried once again to force my eyes open. The bright light blinded me as I struggled to focus.

"Marion... Marion?" the man called again, as footsteps neared me.

I tried to move my hand in order to clear my vision and block some of the bright light so I could focus better, but my arm felt like it weighed two tons and it pained me to even try to lift it.

"Lu...l... light," I finally managed to say.

"Cut that light out!" the man demanded.

The bright light left with the flick of a switch. The room swan into view very slowly, along with the face that was hovering over me: round, nearly cherubic, a large nose upon which were perched a pair of half glasses -black in color- gray eyes peering out from behind bifocal lenses.

"Marion, can you hear me?" the man asked.

I knew the face belonged to this man, because I had seen his lips move in time to the words. But why is he looking down at me and calling my mother? I wondered. Another face came into view near his shoulder. All I saw were blue eyes and blonde hair. My first thought was my mother.

"Mu... mother?" I murmured, as my vision blurred and my heavy eyelids closed again.

"I... I'm sorry, Marion," the feminine voice said, while soft hands touched my right arm, "I'm not your mother."

She called me Marion, I thought. She wasn't talking about my mother. She was talking about me, and to me. Now why would...? Of course, my first name and my mother's middle name… they're both the same. This woman thought I was called Marion .

But, who is she and where am I? Surely this had to be a dream! There was no other explanation.

I resigned myself to play my part and let the dream play it self out. Perhaps I'd wake up soon. "Fai... Faith," I struggled to say, in a hoarse voice I barely recognized as belonging to me. Might as well set this dream straight, I reasoned.

I managed to get my eyes open again and saw the blonde when she mouthed the words, "Faith?" and turned her head in a quizzical manner.

"Faith is her middle name," said a deep male voice that sounded very similar to my father's.

"Fa… father...?"

"No, Faith, I'm your uncle, Brandon," replied the man who appeared on the other side of me, looking like an older version of my father, minus the moustache. The thinning dark hair on top of his head and the gray streaks around his temples made it quite plain: he indeed was not my father. I'd been told I had an uncle named Brandon, but had never met him. "Can you see me, Faith?" he inquired.

"Y-yes," I replied. "But... wh… where am… I and…?" I paused and swallowed. God in heaven how that hurt! For a dream, the pain was real enough! "…where's my… father and mother?" I finished, breathing the last word, rather than speaking it.

He looked up at the other man and then glanced over at the woman, who were both standing beside me, still peering down at me. I heard whispers and saw lips moving, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.

"You don't know where you are, do you, Faith?" my uncle asked.

"No. Where's... mother?" I asked, a bit more demandingly, even though it hurt to do so. I was getting tired of this dream!

"She's... she's not here, right now," he answered.

My eyes slowly scanned the faces in front of me and came to rest on the blonde, who wore a pained look on her rather attractive visage. "Where... is she?" I demanded of her.

The woman lowered her eyes. One light brown eyebrow arched slightly, while the other followed the sad expression that was quickly contorting her features, as if she were about to deliver bad news.

"She... she's here… in the hospital," Uncle Brandon replied.

At this, the woman looked over at him and her expression changed dramatically to one of sheer surprise. Then she turned towards the older man beside her. And for the first time, I realized that these two were dressed in white. A doctor and a nurse. I'm in a hospital! This dream is getting worse by the minute!

My eyes flitted back over to my uncle, who was wearing a gray three-piece suit.

Memories of a businessman I had seen in an airport flashed through my mind. When was that? I wondered. What am I doing in a hospital? What's that sighing noise near my right ear? I cut my eyes in that direction and caught a glimpse of a tall machine with tubes running from it. I followed their course with my eyes and found them traveling in my direction. Suddenly, I had the sinking feeling this was no dream! I allowed my eyes to close again. If this is reality, I want no part of it! No, it can't be reality! It's just a dream.

Just a dream! You'll wake up any minute now!

"Faith... Faith..." the doctor said. "Are you experiencing any pain?"

Yes! I'm in lots of pain! I wanted to scream. This is a nightmare and I wanna wake up! "Faith... can you hear me?" he asked, as he raised one of my eyelids. "No…

pain," I replied, realizing this dream was not going to let me go until it was finished. I yearned for the comfort, safety and security of my family. "Father... where is he?"

"You shouldn't talk too much now," the doctor said, then cleared his throat.

"Faith, Dr. Rosemund here is going to take real good care of you," Uncle Brandon's voice added.

I opened my eyes and looked in his direction. "Where... are they?" I asked again.

He merely smiled warmly and gently reached down and placed his hand on mine, as if to soothe me. But his dark eyes betrayed him, when they strayed from mine towards the doctor. If he's looking to him for answers, I thought, I will too. I fixed the doctor with my gaze and he immediately looked away, the dim overhead light gleaming orange off his shiny, balding pate and the unnatural brown colored sides taking on a red hue.

"You had us worried there for quite a while," Dr. Rosemund began. "You've been…

unconscious for nearly two weeks."

"Two... weeks!" I screeched. Oh, sweet Jesus that hurt! “Wh… What happen-ed?”

The doctor glanced over at my uncle before answering. “You were in a very bad accident.”

“Ac-cident?” I mouthed the words slowly, my eyes involuntarily closing. And as they did, I felt as if I were sinking into the bed. Propelled backwards through a gray, hazy, spinning vortex. Memories began playing out before my mind's eye: not in flashes, but in full, real-time, vivid detail. I was reliving the past, complete with thoughts, emotions and sensations.

Two w

eeks befo

f re

r :

"Faith... Faith... get up sweetheart," said the same sweet voice, that had awakened me countless mornings over the years. It's slight lilting British accent, making her words sound like much to my ears. She brushed back my hair from my face. "Faith... remember we have a holiday (which she pronounced 'oliday) planned with your father. And we really need to be underway."

I could lay here forever, I thought. My mind drifted back in time to when I was a little girl and she used to read me bedtime stories or sing me to sleep when I had a scary dream. How wonderful I'd always thought her voice sounded. I suppose if both my parents had the same accent, then I would have found it commonplace. Yet, my father had a pronounced Southern accent to his deep, gentle voice. The same accent that I myself possessed, for I was surrounded by it in my hometown of Jackson Falls, Tennessee.

"I know very well you are listening, sweetheart," she was saying, as I drifted back. She then caressed my cheek one last time before she rose to leave. "Alright... I suppose I'll be forced to walk about Hollywood by myself. We'll take lots of pictures for you to look at when we return."

Hollywood! I had completely forgotten that this was not just another one of my father's short trips to Memphis, in order to autograph his latest book. This time, instead of just promoting his new novel, he was flying to Hollywood to seal a movie deal. They were actually going to make a movie from my father's newest novel!

"Hollywood!" I said excitedly, opening my eyes and hopping out of bed. "Swimming pools... movie stars!" I went on, reciting the theme from an old sit-com.

My mother laughed, as I pretended to dance a little jig like one of the characters. "I thought that would lift your spirits," she said, with a giggle. "I just wasn't aware how high it would lift them."

"Isn't it exciting?" I reached out taking both her hands in mine and began imitating a square dance I had seen on TV. "I wonder if movie stars are any different from the rest of us? Surely they are," I continued, letting go of her and spinning around by myself. "Should I be more dressed up than this?" I asked, motioning to the off-white polyester blouse and beige gabardine slacks I'd already laid out to wear.

"I'm quite sure that whatever you choose, you will look lovely in," she remarked, with a broad smile.

"Oh, Mother... you're no help," I mumbled, as I sat down on the stool to the simple brass vanity table that she had given me on my fifteenth birthday. Unlike most girls, I seldom used it for more than a mirror, so that I could blow-dry my hair and brush into compliance. Of course, I did enjoy being able to spin around on the stool at a moments notice.

"As you've told me before, you're quite old enough to make your own decisions," she said, coming up behind me, her voice dropping an octave in the process, taking on a more serious tone.

I had always loved the way it did that. It was as if her voice followed her emotions. And it betrayed her at certain times, when she'd rather hide those feelings.

"You have turned into a beautiful young woman," she continued, her voice becoming low and raspy. She gently placed her hands on my shoulders. "I just wish..."

I looked up at her reflection in the mirror and found her blue eyes quickly taking on a misty appearance. "Well... just hurry along now," she continued, patting my shoulder. "Breakfast will be ready shortly." With that, she slowly turned and walked towards the door.

I watched her seemingly glide across the room, her feet

appearing to barely touch the floor, so soft and short were her footsteps. What a beautiful mother I have, I thought, watching her shiny blonde hair, swaying gently as she moved. Some people were merely beautiful on the outside, living up to the old saying "Beauty is only skin deep". Then there were others whose beauty was internal, as well as external: those rare people who made a complete mockery of that old saying. And my mother was one of the latter. Kind in thought and deed, with a heart of pure gold.

Needless to say, I had not inherited this from her; nor was it the only thing I had not been so blessed with. I didn't have her external beauty; nor her grace and style. The one thing I did inherit, however, was her eyes. There was no mistaking that feature, for they were much the same as the deep set, sea blue eyes I had always associated with warmth, love and security. Although my hair was the texture of hers, very thin and soft, that's where the similarities ended, in my opinion. For where her hair was blonde, mine was dark brown with only a few light highlights -more evident in the summer months. The rest of my features came from my father or a mixture of the two. I didn't have mother's dainty, slightly upturned nose; mine was larger and more pronounced, even a bit rounded on the end, like my father's. I also had my father's full lips, rather than her thin ones.

And I'd inherited my larger bone structure from him, as well. Making me, at twenty-one, two sizes larger than my mother. Sharing clothes, to her dismay -since she always liked for me to share her taste in clothing- had ended at age sixteen.

The former had not been so hard for me, however, because as with most everything else, I hadn't inherited her sense of style, either. I was strictly a jeans and T-shirt kind of gal and truthfully, always had been. Yet, for years I'd humored her, rather than see that sad look that came over her face when she knew I didn't want to wear the outfit she'd picked out for me. After entering college and being on my own, she hadn't forced the issue of clothes, since.

As I stared into the mirror, debating my facial similarities, I couldn't help but recall her misty eyes, only moments before. I had known at the time, exactly what she'd been referring to when she said,

"I only wish..." She'd been thinking of my brother, Jonathan David Neilson Jr. who had died at the very tender age of six. I remembered it clearly, as if it happened only yesterday, but in reality it had been over twelve years since that terribly sad day.

It had all come about because of one of my father's business trips, on which we sometimes accompanied him. This particular trip was to New York City, the "Big Apple" as they called it. My father had gone there to sign with another publisher, who wanted to publish his newest adventure novel. Why he had changed publishers I didn't know -I was only nine at the time. I just remember my mother saying that his former publisher had not promoted his books adequately. She never failed to have "faith" in my father and his talent, although; from time to time, her belief in herself wavered a bit.

And that particular day in New York, her confidence wavered considerably. She blamed herself for my brother David's death. Many's the time I'd heard her say, "If only I had held on tighter to his hand." And my gentle, loving father would soothe her with, "It wasn't your fault, darling. It was no one's fault. We can only assume that Fate intervened that day and it was meant to happen. Remember the saying, 'Only the good die young'."

His words were meant to relieve her guilt, but they never

seemed to penetrate deep enough. I could understand that, for I had my own share of guilt. David lived in my memory as a very special, innocent child, who was always happy, loving and bursting with a tremendous amount of enthusiasm for life. And maybe the latter of the three was what caused his death. For, as we walked across a very busy street in New York City, David bolted away from my mother's grasp and ran over to see the "horsy" , as he called them. The taxi driver coming down the busy street couldn't stop in time; David darted out in front of him so fast there was just no time to react. It was all over in a matter of moments. Mere moments that, in my memories, seemed more like hours; for, they played out before my eyes in slow motion.

A tear fell onto my cheek, as I wondered what would have

happened had we never went to New York City. Would David still be alive to enjoy this trip to California? Or would Fate have played out a different scenario in order to take him? Was it destiny? Or was it merely an accident? What if we had never crossed that particular street at that particular time? What if mother had held onto his hand a little tighter? If only the horse had not been there, he would not have bolted away from her.

I wiped the tear that was careening down my cheek and tried to clear my head by thinking of other things. This wondering "what if" and

"if only" could go on forever, and as my father always pointed out, when mother brought this up, "It doesn't change the reality of the here and now". And my reality was, I needed a shower.

What a wise man my father is, I thought, as I dried my hair. It seemed there was no problem too big or small that he couldn't handle, except of course, when it came to his writing talent. From time to time, he doubted his ability to produce that next novel. Many nights had I went to bed, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of his typewriter, only to awaken to the same rhythm the next morning. And somehow, after spending those long hours grueling over it, he always came up with that next novel.

Yet, no matter how engrossed or involved he was in his writing, he always had time for even the slightest of problems I might have. Of course, when I was younger, my mother ran interference for him, quite often. She'd hear my problem first and if she couldn't offer a satisfactory solution, then she'd permit me to interrupt him. As I grew older, I weighed the problems myself.

“The solutions to all your problems are within you,” he'd once told me.

Wise advice, I thought, as I dressed in the outfit I had chosen to wear.

When I reached the dining room, my mother and father were

already there.

"Good morning," Father said, with a serious look on his face.

"Are you all ready for the trip to... Memphis?"

For a moment, he almost had me believing that my mother and I had been mistaken. Yet, as I sat down at the table and watched him out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that all too familiar silly grin on his handsome face. The one that always gave him away, because he looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. I saw his thick dark brown eyebrows twitch involuntarily, as did the very tip of his equally dark moustache.

"Well..." I said, reaching over to pick up the bowl of scrambled eggs in front of me. "I don't know about the two of you, but..." I paused, as I dumped a spoonful in my plate. "I'm packed and going to California. Swimming pools... movie stars," I added, stressing the latter four words, by drawling them out in a very pronounced and exaggerated Southern accent.

Both my parents looked at each other and then started laughing.

I could tell they were as excited as I was.

The breakfast chatter consisted of what all we planned to see while there. Of course, a tour of the star's homes was near the top of the list, battling it out with Gramman's Chinese Theatre. Everything else would be taken care of as we came to it, and if Father's schedule allowed. I could tell from the animated expressions, which flitted over his face, he was just beaming over with pride at the thought of having a movie made about one of his books.

"I told you, you are talented," my mother said, as she reached over and squeezed his hand.

"Yes, you always said to just have faith and my dreams would come true," he remarked, as he smiled broadly and winked at her.

"Well, I can't take all the credit," I said, without cracking a smile.

Both of them looked over at me and burst out laughing.

I could tell the two of them were still very much in love. And I wondered if I'd ever meet a man like my father, whom I could love as much as my mother obviously loved him. So far, there had been only a few boys who'd even piqued my interest. I had learned quite early in high school that most of the handsome boys had only one thing on their mind. And that one thing was something I wasn't in the least interested in.

I'd seen too many young girls who had "lost their virtue", as my mother would say, at a young age and been forced to drop out of school to become unwed mothers. I had plans for a career in psychology.

And that meant many more years of college ahead. Of course, there were birth control measures, but no pill could keep you from falling in love. My mother was living testimony to that affect. She had been preparing herself for the same profession, but after only two years in college, she met my father and her career was history, as they say.

I'd heard the story a thousand times, but I always enjoyed

listening to her tell it again and again. So, as I helped her clear the table, I asked her to do so.

"What brought this on?" she asked, her soft tone revealing the way she felt about what I assumed were sweet memories.

"Oh, I just noticed the two of you at the table. I can tell you're still very much in love."

"Does it show?" she asked, her voice revealing her surprise and a note of embarrassment.

"Yes, to me, at least," I answered, as I separated the silverware in order to put them into the dishwasher. "How... how'd you know that he was the one? I mean..."

"You'll know," she replied, very softly. "Some say you will hear bells, but... I say, your heart will tell you."

"But... how did you... how do you keep it...?" I stammered, searching for the right words. "I mean, so many of my friend's parents are divorced," I finally managed, voicing my doubts about the state of marriage in general.

Not only did I fear falling in love and dropping out of

college, but I feared my husband might then divorce me and there I'd be with nothing.

"To that I say: let no one fool you. Marriage is not a bed of roses," she replied, her voice dropping an octave to a more serious tone. "There will be hard times in the best of marriages. You have to work through them together."

"Did you and father have hard times before.... well, in the beginning?"

"Yes," she confessed with a sigh, a note of sadness creeping into her voice.

"Tell me the story again, Mother, please," I pleaded, as I started loading the dishwasher. Although I'd brought up the subject of hard times, I really wasn't in the mood to hear anything sad. I wanted to hear the romantic story of when they first met.

"If you insist," she relented with a sigh. "Well... as you know I was attending college in London at the time. And one day I was walking across the campus lawn trying to study for an exam by reading as I walked.”

"What were you reading?" I asked, interrupting her; for, I didn't want her to leave out my favorite part, which made it all seem so romantic.

"Romeo and Juliet," she said softly. "And, well... I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking and... I ran right into your father, who was doing the same thing I was, believe it or not. He literally knocked my down," she added, sounding and looking like a schoolgirl as she giggled and her eyes took on that familiar far away look, which seemed as though she were reliving it all in her mind. "I remember I hit the ground, quite hard as I recall and your father... he was very apologetic. He helped me to my feet. I was so embarrassed I could hardly even bring myself to look at him. But, he was so sincere with his apologies that he piqued my curiosity. So... I looked over at him. And... I fell in love with his dark brown eyes right there on the spot.

Well... he felt so very awful about knocking me down that he offered to walk me to my next class and carry my books. I thanked him, but declined his offer saying I needed to study. It turns out that he had taken that particular class the semester before and as he walked me to class we discussed Romeo and Juliet. But, before he returned my books, he asked me to promise that I would consider going out on a date with him, so that he could properly make amends for knocking me down.

And... from there... well, you know the rest."

"Tell me again about Shady Grove," I prodded.

"Oh my... look at the time," she said, excitedly. "We have to get moving. Where are your bags?"

"In my room."

"Well, hurry along and bring them down, sweetheart. We should leave for the airport soon. I wonder if John remembered to pack the..."

Her voice trailed off, as she left the room, heading for their bedroom upstairs.

I knew we had plenty of time, because my mother always made allowances for the unexpected. Matter of fact, we were always early, no matter where we went. I knew she had just used this, to avoid discussing a part of her past that, for some reason, had not been pleasant.

She had revealed to me before, how after she and my father were married they went to visit his home, which had once been a large plantation, on the outskirts of Atlanta, Georgia. The way she described Shady Grove it sounded like “Tara” in “Gone With The Wind”. I had wondered many times why she had left, if she and father had their own wing to themselves? Of course, she explained that father found it hard to work there, since he hadn't spent very much time there as a child.

He and his brother, Brandon had spent most of their time in boarding schools, because their parents had "passed on", as they say, when my father was only a year old and Brandon seven.

"Passed on", in this case being more of an assumption rather than a known fact, because the couple had actually disappeared from their yacht, somewhere off the coast of Florida. The story itself had always intrigued my ever curious mind; for, I'd known for quite some time that their yacht had been found adrift on the ocean and intact.

When I was a child I used to wonder if they would turn up one day, after having been kidnapped by pirates. For, this was one of many theories expressed by their father's cousin, Raymond Graham, who was subsequently left in charge of the company and their guardianship via their father's will. Later, my more mature, analytical mind dismissed the pirate theory, as well as, either of them ever showing up again.

But, the unresolved question of what had actually happened to them was a mystery I would try to solve late at night, when I needed a diversion in order to fall asleep.

We left ahead of schedule, as I knew we would, for Nashville, which was a two-hour drive from our home. As we wound our way up the main two-lane leading out of Jackson Falls, I glanced back at my sleepy little hometown, nestled in the shadow of two mountains. Jackson Falls would be waking up soon; the sun was about to peak its head over the eastern mountain range. The pale morning light gave the landscape an almost surreal appearance. I wondered if it would seem different to me when we returned from California.

I had seen it through different eyes when returning from

college the first year. I seemed to have a more mature vantage point, after living in Nashville most of that year. And what had once seemed so very large, had suddenly diminished in proportion, as my horizons broadened.

I took one last look at the surrounding mountains that were just beginning to bud out after the winter. March was usually windy and cold, but it hadn't been so this year, at least not by the middle of the month. Yet, there was that old saying, "If March comes in like a lamb, she will go out like a lion" , and vice versa. And over the past few days, it had been rather warm for this time of the season. Nestled within that rising warmth, was the promise of the heat and humidity that summer would bring; humidity that could dampen your clothes with perspiration on a hot July day, just by simply walking out the door.

But we would be back long before then, and I would be able to enjoy the pleasantness of spring, for a while.

Once we were off the winding two-lane and on a major

thoroughfare, I wondered what lay ahead. Would I like California? Could it be I might be visiting my future home? I had always known that I would leave Jackson Falls once I graduated and started my career.

Because, there just weren't any jobs in that field around the area. Not that there weren't people in need of such services. I am sure there were, but most of the people had a hard enough time holding body and soul together, there was no money to pay someone to "probe around in their heads", or so I was told by old Doc Brown, when I inquired about trying to start my practice there.

But, it seemed they needed plenty in California, all those

stars with their many diverse hang-ups and with money to afford to pay someone to "probe around in their heads". Could it be that this trip was just another twist in the course of my destiny?

We arrived at the airport early and had at least twenty minutes to kill before our flight took off. I first went to the bathroom, to get that out of the way. Then merely sat by my mother, in one of those hard plastic chairs, watching the people pass by, while I pondered who they were and where they were going.

I could pick out the businessmen easy enough in their three-piece suits and briefcases. And the tourists, already decked out for the weather they hoped to find in Florida, I assumed. Then there were the soldiers, unmistakable with their haircuts and the way they walked with their backs so straight and their heads held high.

These didn't intrigue me very much. It was the ordinary people, like us, that aroused my curiosity most. Like the woman with two small children, who was dressed in a blouse and a pair of slacks, her hair neatly pulled back in a bun behind her head. Where was she going? To visit her parents, perhaps? To meet her husband somewhere? Or was she recently divorced and leaving him because he had been unfaithful?

And how about the elderly couple, who both seemed as nervous as two cats on a hot tin roof? The man was constantly checking the tickets, while she fidgeted with the carry on luggage. What were they so nervous about? Was it their first flight? Or was there a more ominous reason for their nervous activity? Was someone in the family sick or dying perhaps?

And what about the dark skinned man in the black suit with the moustache and the black bag, who kept looking up at the clock on the wall and then checking his watch, while his right leg pumped up and down to some unheard rhythm?

Just as I was about to start speculating on him, our flight to Atlanta was called over the loudspeaker. Atlanta, Georgia, my father's birthplace and ancestral home, I thought, as I rose from my seat and massaged my right hip, which had almost gone numb. While my father checked us in, I tried yet again to get my mother to tell me about Shady Grove, but he returned too quickly. I knew it was a dead subject now; for, she never spoke of this matter in his presence.

Although I never truly understood why, I had the feeling it had something to do with my uncle, Brandon, who ran Neilson Enterprises.

His name was rarely mentioned in our house, except on Christmas and birthdays, when we'd receive a card from his family. And even then my father, who seemed not to want any contact his family, quickly dismissed the subject. My mother only grew sad and would often look at me oddly. Once, I even saw tears in her eyes. And whenever I inquired as to why we did not visit, so that I might meet my only two cousins, my father would reply "Perhaps one day".

So far that day had not come. And I was even more curious about my cousins now than ever before. I often wondered if Jason was anything like David. But, I was especially curious about Ashley, who was six years older than myself. Were we at all alike? I wondered. And then of course, there was Shady Grove, which in itself, was enough to tantalize my insatiably curious mind. Will I ever see this place that sounded so much like Tara? I wondered, as we got in line to board the plane.

Our plane departed on schedule and once we were in the air, I settled back and amused myself by staring at the miniature world, passing below our plane. Soon though, boiling bubbling clouds that quickly turned ominously dark covered it all. The air grew more turbulent beneath our small plane, which was shuttling us to Atlanta for departure to Los Angeles. Lightning flashed around us and the captain came over the intercom.

"This is Captain Murphy. We are experiencing a bit of

turbulence, but do not be alarmed. Please remain seated and fasten your seatbelts. Because of the weather we will be diverting our course slightly, but we should arrive in Atlanta in plenty of time for those making connecting flights."

My mother fidgeted in her seat, checking the time and the

departure schedule for our connecting flight. Father patted her hand reassuringly, then looked over at me and smiled.

"Don't worry, Marion, I've seen this happen before. It'll be fine."

We seemed to fly out of the worst of the storm, for a while at least, until we neared Atlanta. Lightning flashed once again and the lights inside the plane flickered. People murmured among themselves.

Then screams rang out, as a tremendous jolt shook the plane. My mother's hand grabbed my left arm, her fingers wrapping around it in a death grip, fingernails digging into my flesh. I heard a loud crack overhead and then… darkness.

The same spinning vortex that had pulled me back into my past suddenly returned me from whence I came. Delivering me onto the shores of reality as carelessly as a battered and broken seashell upon the sand. My eyes flew open. The same concerned faces surrounded me: Uncle Brandon, Dr. Rosemund and the blonde with vivid blue eyes.

"Mo-ther!" I screamed and bolted upright. The realization that our plane had crashed, hit me like the jolt which shook the plane right before everything went black. A sharp pain careened through my head and everything swam away in darkness once again.

TWO

When my eyes opened the next time, they focused better. Yet, my thoughts were still fuzzy. The blonde nurse was leaning over the hospital bed, pulling the cover up on me. She didn't notice I was awake; she was busy at her task. The aroma of her perfume drifted up to me, as she moved about. A strand of blonde hair, which had crept out of the smooth, tightly wrapped hairstyle, supposed to contain it, dangled loosely by her cheek.

She reminded me of my mother from this vantage point. A lump formed in my throat.

"Well… hello again," she said, with a smile, upon noticing I was awake. "We thought you might… sleep the day away."

"Where's... my mother?" I asked, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Excuse me?" she said, as her face drew closer to mine.

I cleared my throat, which was a painful experience, then tried again. "Where's... my mother?" I repeated.

She backed away and looked at me rather sadly.

"Good!" boomed another voice from the foot of the bed, causing me to flinch.

"You're awake. Nurse, would you please get the doctor," Uncle Brandon continued, as he moved up on my left side and gently touched my arm. "We've been worried about you."

I started to raise up again; for, it seemed no one wanted to answer my question.

"Now, now... you need to lie still," Uncle Brandon admonished, placing one strong hand on my shoulder. "Remember what happened last time you did that? You've been through quite a rough time. Just try and rest, all right?" he soothed, his Southern accent not nearly as pronounced as my father's. "You remember, don't you, I'm your uncle, Brandon? And I'll see to it that you get the best care money can buy."

I started to ask again about my mother and father, but was interrupted.

"How's our patient today?" asked Dr. Rosemund, as he and the nurse strolled into the room.

Not very patient, at the moment, I wanted to say. "Trying to get up again," answered Uncle Brandon.

"Oh now, you mustn't do that," the doctor said, nearing the bed. "No, you must understand that you've had a very bad trauma to your head and back. It's best if you don't try to sit up just now. If you need anything I'm sure your nurse, Miss Bennington will be happy to get it for you."

I fidgeted a little, feeling uncomfortable surrounded by only strangers. If someone would just answer my question about my mother and father I wouldn't need to get up, I wanted to say. I felt like a kid again and wanted to kick out at something in my frustration.

"My legs!" I exclaimed, suddenly realizing I couldn't even feel them, much less move them.

"Just lie still," admonished Dr. Rosemund calmly, as he placed one hand on my shoulder. "You... you were in a very bad accident and you suffered a trauma to your lower back and your head. I was afraid there might be some… complications with the spinal trauma.” He glanced over at my uncle as if speaking to both of us. “Now, it's quite possible your paralysis is temporary. Although with any bruising of the spinal column it's…” He paused and looked down at me. “Well, we'll be able to tell more once we can perform some tests. And we shouldn't do that until you're stronger. So, for now, we need you to just rest."

Paralysis? I closed my eyes. Dear God let this be a dream, I prayed. Let me wake up! When I open my eyes again, I'll be back home! Yes, back home, safe and sound. Back in my own bed with…

“Faith?” said Dr. Rosemund. You're not real! I wanted to scream. Go away! Leave me alone!

“Faith?” the nurse, Miss Bennington's, voice now.

It was obvious they weren't going to leave me alone. "My mother... and father?" I asked, in as loud a voice as I could muster, without too much pain. "Were they... hurt? Are they here?"

There was a long silence, as the doctor glanced over at Uncle Brandon.

"Now, now... don't try to talk just now,” Uncle Brandon intervened. “Everything is all right. Your mother and father are... in good hands. For now, you should rest like the doctor says. Perhaps tomorrow we'll discuss this further."

"I... I want to know... now!" I demanded, irritation apparent in my voice. "How bad?"

I glanced around at each of them. Miss Bennington offered up a fake smile, which quickly dissipated and returned to the sad expression she'd worn each time I'd inquired about this. I knew in my heart they were hiding something from me. I closed my eyes again. I felt trapped! I couldn't even get out of bed to go and find out about my parents.

Good God, let me wake up! Take his dream away! It's not real. It can't be real!

And yet I could hear the doctor and Uncle Brandon move towards the end of the bed and begin whispering. I opened my eyes slowly and focused on Miss Bennington. She appeared to be my best hope of getting to the truth. "Are my parents... badly hurt?" I struggled to say.

"Sh-h," she said quietly, putting her finger to her lips and glancing towards the two men, who were moving towards the door, still talking in hushed tones. "Doctor's orders.

Try not to strain your voice. For a while you'll need to remain quiet. You've been through quite an ordeal. You've been unconscious for almost two weeks now and you'll be weak for a good while yet," she continued, as she let down the guardrail and sat down on the side of the bed. "I know you have a thousand different questions running through that pretty little head of yours, but just know... you will get your answers. I promise," she added with a nod.

As I searched her face and eyes for any tell tale sign that she might be lying, I realized she wasn't as old as I'd first assumed. Matter of fact, she didn't appear to be over thirty at most. And even though she was a complete stranger to me, somehow I felt that I could trust her. There was just something about the warmth in her vibrantly blue eyes, which made me feel she wouldn't be just a nurse, but a friend.

"Are you thirsty?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes," I strained to say.

She immediately put her fingers to her lips again. "Until your throat heals, let's make a deal, okay? When you want something, you either point or..." She paused and reached over taking my right hand in hers. Her hand was very warm and trembled slightly. "Or you can squeeze my hand; once for 'yes' and twice for 'no'. Deal?" she inquired, with a smile.

I watched dimples form around the corners of her mouth and tiny lines spread outward from the corners of her eyes, as she continued to smile. One neatly arched eyebrow twitched slightly, as her vibrant blue eyes darted back and forth seemingly searching mine for the answer to her question and the nostrils of her slightly upturned nose, flared, as she inhaled. I finally squeezed her hand once.

"Good, now let me get you something for those dry lips, hmm?" She reached over beside the bed and retrieved a plastic pitcher.

I noticed right away that the machine I had seen earlier was now gone and I saw no tubes running towards me.

"It's not going to be easy to swallow for a while, but of course you know that already, don't you?" She glanced up at me, as she removed a piece of ice from the pitcher.

"So, we'll start off slow with an ice cube and just wet your lips, hmm."

She gently placed the melting ice cube to my lips and moved it over them very slowly. The ice felt good against these hot, dry membranes. When I swallowed, it did indeed hurt like a bitch. I wondered why my throat should be sore if I had only suffered a trauma to my head and back. I motioned to my throat.

"Pain?" she asked.

I started to speak, then thought better of it and squeezed her hand twice. She turned her head quizzically. I raised my eyebrows as if I were asking a question, then motioned again to my throat. Her vivid blue eyes darted back and forth, as if searching mine for the content of my inquiry.

Suddenly she flinched. "Oh… you wanna know why your throat hurts?" she asked. I squeezed once. "Yes, well the doctor said you suffered a slight trauma to your neck, too. I suppose he forgot to mention it, since it wasn't as serious as the others." She placed the ice cube back to my lips. "It should pass in time," she assured me, with a smile.

I felt comfortable allowing her to take care of me as if I were a child and she were my mother, nursing me through one of many childhood illnesses. I remembered my mother telling me that after I was born, I spent a month in the hospital because I was an underweight baby. Yet, this had not affected me at all growing up, I was as healthy as a horse. I was always into some sort of sports activity, because I just loved to compete. I loved a challenge of any kind, usually. But the one I was faced with now would be the biggest challenge I'd ever undertaken. And one tinged with anger, because I'd had no say so in the matter.

"You just rest now," Miss Bennington said, interrupting my thoughts. "You should feel stronger tomorrow. I'll be right over there, if you need anything." She nodded towards the right side of the room, where a large high-back, vinyl covered hospital chair sat near the window.

After she moved away, my mind wandered back to my parents and what condition they were in. I assumed it wasn't good, because no one wanted to answer my questions.

Least of all, Miss Bennington, whose facial expressions were enough to warn me away from inquiring about it for the moment.

Uncle Brandon said they were in good hands, I reasoned with myself. They're probably hurt like me or… maybe worse… No… no, don't think like that! Just focus on the fact that they're being taken care of like you are. “In good hands,” he'd said. Focus on that.

As I lay there, my eyes growing exceedingly heavy, I latched onto the thought “ They're in good hands.” I'll cling to that hope, I assured myself, even as my thoughts grew exceedingly fuzzy and the need for rest soon claimed my body.

"Is she asleep?" a whispery female voice asked, as I tried to open my eyes to see who was there. "Oh well, I'll come back tomorrow."

I tried harder to get my eyes to open, wondering if this could be my mother. Yet, my lids were so very heavy, that they fluttered open only briefly and I caught a mere glimpse of a woman in black retreating through the doorway.

"Mo... Mother...?" I croaked.

"No, Faith," Miss Bennington's voice answered. "That was Mrs. Landry. She was on the plane with you. Do you remember her?"

I frowned in concentration. I hadn't known any of the passengers' names, nor did I care to remember the plane ride again.

"She merely wanted to peek in on you and see how you were doing," Miss Bennington explained.

At least I now knew that people had come away from the crash with few if any injuries. Perhaps my mother and father were not so bad off, after all. They just didn't want to tell me about their injuries, for fear I'd want to get up and go to them. I sighed heavily. But, I can't go to them. I can't even get up outta this bed! But, I didn't want to think about this. T hey'll tell me when I'm stronger, I thought, as I drifted back to the bliss of La-La land.

Sometime during the middle of the night, I awoke. It took me awhile to realize I wasn't at home, in my own bed. Once the full weight of past events came back, however, a flood of emotions, which had heretofore somehow been kept in check, coursed through me. Tears flowed from my eyes and careened down my cheeks. I reached up to wipe them away and felt something strange above my eyebrows. My hand traced its path up and over my head. I gasped, when I realized it was a bandage. It covered my entire head!

I had seen movies about people with head injuries and couldn't help but wonder if I had any hair beneath it.

I felt around the sides, tracing its full path. It covered my forehead completely, went around the side of my head and over my right ear, where I felt the fine stubble of hair, which had obviously started to grow back. I knew then that the chances of me having any hair left underneath were slim to none, at best. I traced the bandage on around my head and back to the left ear, which was completely covered!

Tears flowed like water from a faucet again, after that brief reprieve of discovery.

How bad are my injuries? What do I look like?

I reached up with both hands this time to wipe the tears away. My left hand was reluctant to respond and a sharp pain shot up my arm, as it neared my face. I stopped the progress of both hands before they ever reached their destination. I blinked in disbelieve, as I took in their condition. My right hand was slightly bruised, scratched and my fingers were swollen. There were also a few bruises and scratches up my arm, along with what appeared to be needle marks. My left hand, however, was swollen all out of proportion.

The diamond pinky ring my mother had given me for my birthday last July was missing.

There was a bandage around my forearm and one that ran from my shoulder to my elbow.

No wonder it had hurt to raise it, I thought.

While surveying all the damage, I remembered that my mother had been sitting on my left side on the plane, my father sitting beside her. If my arm and head were in such bad shape, what might have happened to them?

"Oh good god in heaven this can't be happening." I muttered unintelligibly, breaking down again.

Miss Bennington must have heard me, because I heard the squeak of springs and then the soft patter of bare feet on the tile floor, as they neared the bed. I heard the guardrail being lowered and felt the bed give, when she sat down on the right side. Then I felt her warm hand as she touched my face.

"They're.... not dead, are they?" I blubbered. “Tell me… they're not dead!”

She offered no response, she merely placed her other hand on my right arm and caressed the side of my face. I wanted desperately to be held at that moment, by someone... anyone. I didn't care who! I merely needed the comfort of arms around me.

Despite the pain, I attempted to raise up, reaching out for her. A dull throbbing started in my head, sharp pains shot up my left arm and the blackness overtook me once again.

The next time I drifted back to reality it was morning. Miss Bennington was busy removing the cot she must have slept on the night before.

"Good morning," she said warmly, when she glanced my way and realized I was awake. "Think you might be up to eating something this morning?"

I started to tell her I was famished, but thought better of that idea and merely raised my right hand and made a fist once.

"Good," she said, with a broad smile. "But first... let's see if we can raise the head of this bed just a little. That'll make it easier for you to drink from the straw and swallow."

She then pressed one of the buttons on the remote control attached to the guardrail. "Let me know if you feel any discomfort, okay?"

The top of the bed slowly began to rise and my head started to feel heavy, my stomach quite weak. I motioned for her to stop. She then reached over and took my hand in hers.

"Pain?" she queried. My reply was negative. "Dizzy?" she further inquired. I answered affirmatively. "Okay, let's just leave you here for a moment and we'll see if it doesn't go away, hmm?" I closed my eyes and tried to will the dizziness away. I hoped that when I opened them again, it would be gone. "Better?" she inquired, when I reopened my eyes. I answered affirmatively. "Think we can go just a bit further?" I signaled: “yes” and this time I didn't suffer from the dizziness or the queasiness.

"Alright... everything okay?" I squeezed once. "Good, then I'll go see about getting you something to eat."

She came back a little while later with some type of off-white colored liquid that tasted awful. She snickered as I made a face, following the first sip. Then she wiped my chin, where it had dribbled out the side of my mouth.

"I don't blame you a bit," she said, smiling. "I hated this stuff myself."

My eyes grew wide at the thought of her being in my predicament.

"Oh yes," she continued, understanding my expression. "I was right where you are.

Matter of fact, I was worse. Except for your paralysis, of course." She twirled the straw around in the liquid, looked over at me and then continued. "I laid in a hospital bed for several months." She paused, watching my expression.

"You want to know what happened, hmm? Well... I was in a car accident and... I wasn't wearing a seat belt. My head went through the windshield and I broke my left arm and leg. So, I know something about what you're going through." She turned her attention to the straw in the drink. "It's one reason I chose to become a private nurse and a therapist, so I can help other accident victims. Here, take another sip," she said offering it to me. "I know it tastes god awful, but you wanna get outta here, don'chu? Well, humor me." Her eyes twinkled as she smiled.

I accepted the proffered drink, if only for her sake, since she was being so kind.

"I can tell you're gonna be an excellent patient. Why you'll be… well in no time."

I could only hope she was right. But, my thoughts were no longer on myself at the moment; they were already straying to my parents. I opened my mouth to inquire about this once again, but was interrupted like before.

"Good morning," boomed a deep, masculine voice from the doorway. Again I flinched. "Remember me?" Uncle Brandon asked.

I squeezed Miss Bennington's hand once. "She remembers you, Mr. Neilson," she told him.

He eyed her rather strangely for a second, as if wondering why she was answering for me. Then his eyebrows shot up. "Oh yes… I forgot. We're not supposed to talk, are we? I see you're looking better this morning," he continued, flashing a broad smile, as he approached the left side of the bed.

I tried to return the gesture, but it never reached my lips, because the liquid left me with a pasty, bitter taste in my mouth.

"Why the frown?" he asked, the tone of his voice revealing his concern. He started to take my hand then seemed to have second thoughts, as his eyes traveled over it and up my arm to my head.

"It's the liquid, I'm afraid," Miss Bennington offered. "It doesn't have a very pleasant taste."

I made a face, as if to say: That's an understatement. She merely grinned, then lowered her eyes.

"Oh well, I'm sure you'll be eating real food soon," Uncle Brandon offered, as he patted my leg, even though I did not feel the gesture of comfort. He cleared his throat, as if realizing his mistake. "So, has the doctor been in yet?" he asked.

"No, it's... it's a bit early for that," Miss Bennington answered, getting up from the bed. "We were just having breakfast."

"Oh, I won't stay long then. I just wanted to see how my girl was doing," he offered, while flashing me a warm smile.

My girl? I thought. Where'd he get the idea I'm his girl? I stared into his eyes. Was he trying to be affectionate to his brother's daughter or was there some other reason for his comment? I could not say why, but for some reason when I looked into his dark brown eyes, which were not so unlike my father's, I had the distinct feeling I couldn't trust him. There was something missing from their depths. Or perhaps I was just prejudging him too soon on account of his previous comment. Because I was still my father's girl, unless....

"I can't get over how much you look like your mother," he said softly, as his eyes seemed to turn misty. "Yes, well..." He paused, cleared his throat and glanced down at my left hand. "I... I must get to the office now. But, I'll be back this afternoon to check on you." He gently lifted my hand to his lips and placed a kiss on my misshapen fingers.

"You have a good day now." He slowly placed my hand back on the bed and winked at me. "Miss Bennington, may I see you outside for a moment?" he said, his voice changing from the soft tone he had used with me to a stern, no nonsense one.

"Of course," she replied.

I wanted to inquire about my parents again, but knew it would be a waste of breath; for, they were both headed for the door. They're waiting until you're strong enough to hear about it, I reasoned. The stronger and calmer you appear, the sooner they'll tell you.

He closed the door behind them and I was unable to hear what was said, but whatever it was, she wasn't happy about it. I could tell by the way she acted and the fake smile that was plastered on her face for several moments after her return, that his words to her had not been cheerful. I couldn't imagine what she'd done wrong.

Soon, her mood seemed to lift and she informed me that she was going to give me a light wipe off, since I couldn't get up to bathe. I was a little embarrassed to have anyone other than my mother do this, but after all, things had to be done. I merely closed my eyes and tried not to think about it, as she moved over my body with the warm washcloth. I did look, however, when she removed the sheet from my legs. I could tell from the way she pulled it down, that she had her back to me, so I didn't feel quite so embarrassed about it.

I was surprised to find my legs had hardly suffered any damage. There were a few scratches and a bruise or two, but nothing like the rest of me. It appeared the parts that suffered the most were from my waist up. And the worst injuries, I had already seen. Or felt. Hadn't I? What was beneath the bandages? If they were keeping the condition of my parents from me, what else might they be hiding?

I closed my eyes, when I noticed her moving towards my most private part.

Although I could feel nothing, I still felt strange about it. I also felt rather peculiar about the tubes that were running from this part of my anatomy to the side of the bed. I knew immediately what it was. I sighed heavily. At least I won't have to worry about making a mess, I thought.

After my bath, I dozed off again. The doctor came in later, saying he was pleased to see I was able to withstand my head being raised. He said I'd probably be strong enough for the tests tomorrow. And perhaps could eat real food tomorrow afternoon, if my throat was not too sore. After he left, my eyes grew heavy and I was gone again.

When I awoke, it was late afternoon and Miss Bennington was in the high back chair by the window, reading a book by my favorite author, D.J. Fleming. It was the new one, whose arrival in paperback I'd been eagerly awaiting. Oh how I wanted my mother to be there in that chair, safe and sound, reading to me, as she had when I was a child.

"Hungry?" Miss Bennington asked, stuffing a bookmark in the novel.

I made a fist once for “yes”, then made a face about the taste.

"Perhaps tomorrow we'll get some real food in you," she said, as she stood up, placing the book on the long heating/cooling unit located beneath the window.

I stared at the book, as she stretched and yawned. I wanted to be able to walk over there, pick it up and read the jacket cover.

"You like to read?" she asked, obviously noticing my gaze.

I made a fist once for “yes”. She reached down and retrieved the book, then placed it in my right hand on her way out the door. "I'll be back soon," she called.

I was only able to read for a minute or two, before my eyes began to feel very tired and sore. When she returned, she must have noticed the way I was rubbing them.

"Too soon, huh? Perhaps I'll read to you after supper. That is, if you want me to,"

she offered, as she reached over to retrieve the book. I squeezed her hand rather hard for emphasis, as she took it from me. "Oh, you like that idea, aye? You're pretty strong too,"

she remarked, looking down at my hand on hers. I glanced over at my left one and grimaced. "It'll get better," she offered. "You'll see."

After I downed as much as I could stomach of the awful liquid, she pulled her chair up beside the bed and began to read. Yet, no sooner had she started than the door opened and Uncle Brandon walked in. He gave no warning whatsoever of his arrival, which took us both by surprise. He gave Miss Bennington a sharp glance, as her voice trailed off.

"How's my girl?" he asked, with a broad smile. This time the gesture did make it to my lips, because he looked and sounded so much like my father at that moment, I could hardly resist. "Feeling better, I should think. Yes, I see that beautiful smile. This is indeed good," he said, walking up to the right side of the bed this time and taking my hand in his.

"I was so worried about you there for awhile. But, now I'm sure with all this great care you're receiving…" He paused and glanced down at Miss Bennington who was still occupying the chair beside the bed. She seemed to take the hint and vacated it. "…why you'll be out of here in no time at all." He paused again, as he sat down in the chair, still holding onto my hand. "I knew you had that Neilson spirit. I could tell the moment I saw you that..." He cleared his throat, as if he had almost said something he shouldn't. "Well, I could just tell you were a fighter. Especially when you kept insisting on knowing..." He bit his lip, as he turned away.

I knew he was once again attempting to sidestep the issue of my parents, even though he was the one that had raised it. I wanted to scream out, Where are they? Are they close by? Are they hurt badly? Just tell me, please and stop this anguish! But, I held my tongue. I knew my mother and father would want me to obey the doctor's orders and get better as fast as I could, so I could come visit them. At least this is what I told myself in order to remain calm and appear strong enough to handle hearing whatever condition they might be in. They're in good hands, I told myself. Just keep telling yourself that.

They're in good hands.

"Your cousin Jason sends his regards," he said, changing the subject. "Oh that's right, you haven't met Jason, have you? Oh, you'd like him. He's a fine young man; top of his class at school this year. Yes, he makes me very proud. A true Neilson through and through. Never gives up, no matter what." He patted my hand. "He'll come see you when you're stronger. He's probably out riding his favorite horse right now. Oh, that's right you've never even seen Shady Grove, have you? Oh, you'll love it. Jason does. You can go horseback riding, swimming, play tennis... do you play?" he asked, as if there were nothing wrong with me that a few days rest would not cure.

I squeezed his hand to say I knew how to play tennis.

He merely looked at me quizzically. "Is there something wrong?" he asked, becoming concerned. I squeezed his hand twice. "Nurse, there's… there's something's wrong, she's squeezing my hand!" he said, rather excitedly.

"She's answering your question," Miss Bennington replied, as she glanced over at him from her seated position on the heating/cooling unit. He merely stared at her. "She squeezes once for 'yes' and twice for 'no'. It's... just our way of communicating until her throat gets better."

He gave her a long look, his expression one of envy. Then he turned back to me, with a quaint smile plastered on his face. "Like I said, you'll love it. Your mother did. We had some rousing good tennis matches in our day. She almost beat me several times." He laughed heartily, his eyes taking on a softer appearance, as if reliving a memory. "Yes, your mother was one special lady."

WAS! Had he just slipped up and revealed something I should know or was he merely speaking of her in the past tense, because his memories were of the past? I glanced over at Miss Bennington and found her watching him, intently. The moment our eyes met, she glanced away.

"Oh yes, I brought you something,” he said, “I… I left it in the hall. I'll be right back."

He came back in with an oversized brown teddy bear, holding a big red heart against his chest that read, I Need A Hug, in big gold letters. It was a beautiful bear, but I was no longer a child who could be placated by a stuffed animal.

He brought it over to the bed, grinning from ear to ear. His smile was contagious, I couldn't bring myself to hurt his feelings, especially when it was the thought that counted.

I gave him a smile and reached out with my right arm for the large bear. I held onto as tight as I could; for, it was the first thing I had been able to put my arm around. I thought not of Uncle Brandon's feelings at the moment, but of my own. I needed a hug. And I needed my parents. Or at least I needed to know how badly they were hurt.

"Get well soon, Princess," he said, as he leaned over and lightly kissed my cheek.

Then he quickly turned and left.

Princess? I thought. What is this with the pet names? First it was my girl and now Princess. Was it just his way of showing concern and affection for his niece? I could only assume so. I wondered if he had been to see my mother and father, as well. If so, why weren't they asking about me? Why didn't he say anything about them? Could they both be in a coma like I had been? Were they even worse off than I was? On the verge of death? A lump formed in my throat. Tears threatened once again. Stop this! I admonished myself. They're in good hands!

After he left, Miss Bennington read to me, until I fell asleep.

The next morning I felt stronger. I was even able to move my head a small amount without feeling any pain or dizziness. Miss Bennington said that this was definitely a good sign. One of my legs even twitched, although I didn't feel it. She said this was especially promising.

Uncle Brandon arrived before the doctor and stayed until the tests were completed.

I'd never had so many tests. They poked, prodded, examined and x-rayed me from head to toe, or so it seemed. When they finally wheeled me back to my room on the gurney, I was exhausted, even though I'd done nothing but lay there while they did their thing. I went right to sleep, once I was back in my own bed.

When I awoke later, no one was in the room with me, but I could hear voices outside the door. I heard my uncle's voice and Miss Bennington's.

"Yes," said Uncle Brandon's baritone. "It has all been arranged. Yes, most assuredly."

"What about...?" Miss Bennington's voice lowered and I couldn't make out all her words. "Well, I don't agree," I heard her say, quite loudly.

Then he said something I didn't understand and they resumed their normal tone, which was too low for me to make out clearly. All I heard were faint mumbling sounds.

"But the longer you wait, the harder it'll be," she said, a few moments later. Her tone was no longer angry but pleading.

"In the end it's my job," he said. "So I'll make the decisions. I think I know what's best for her. She's my niece."

Although I hadn't understood all of the conversation, I had a good idea what it was about: my parents. They're in good hands, I reminded myself .

A few moments later Miss Bennington walked into the room; her face a sad, tortured visage. "Oh Faith… you're up," she said, surprise resounding in her voice.

Dr. Rosemund and Brandon then came through the door with smiles plastered on their faces.

"Hello Faith," Dr. Rosemund said, in greeting. "I believe I have some good news for you. We found nothing to indicate my first prognosis was incorrect. We found no signs of any permanent damage to your spinal column. But…” He paused and glanced over at my uncle. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what he was about to say. “…but, with any sort of trauma to the spinal column, there's always a chance…” He paused again and looked down at me. “… the damage will be permanent. But,” he added quickly.

“…there's an equally good chance you can regain part if not all of your mobility.”

In other words, you don't know, do you? I wanted to say. I glanced over at Miss Bennington. I wanted to see what her face revealed. Her lips turned up at the corners, not in a large smile, but at least she wasn't frowning.

"Now listen to me very carefully," Dr. Rosemund went on, "I've seen patients with even more severe trauma walk again. But this required a lot of physical therapy. Miss Bennington here comes highly recommended as a therapist," he added, glancing over at her. "And since your uncle has hired her full time and is setting up your accommodations with the necessary equipment for your recovery…” He glanced over at Uncle Brandon again. “…I feel confident that if you follow her advice, I see no reason why you can't go home in..." He paused dramatically. "How does a week sound to you?"

Getting outta here, sounds great, I thought, but what about my parents? I couldn't leave without them.

“You'll need to take it slow and easy now,” he cautioned. “Many patients try and rush their recovery and end up hindering their progress. We don't want that happening to you, now do we? So, slow and easy. And perhaps…you could possibly… be back on your feet in... a few months," he added, though somewhat reluctantly.

Months, I thought, as I released a heavy sigh. It was looking as if I had a very long road to haul ahead of me. "My parents?" I asked in a deep, raspy voice I didn't even recognize. I reached up to my throat. "My voice...?"

"That's to be expected, your throat was bruised. From what I understand there was some sort of cable wrapped around yours and your mother's...." He stopped suddenly and glanced over at Uncle Brandon.

"What? What about my mother?" I demanded, my throat hurting with each word.

"How bad... is she?"

"Faith, you really shouldn't talk," reminded Uncle Brandon, as he reached for my left hand. "Should she Doctor?"

I looked over at Miss Bennington and pleaded with my eyes for her to answer me.

"I... I'm afraid she insists on knowing," she said for me.

The doctor merely lowered his eyes and glanced over at Uncle Brandon. I swung my gaze in his direction rather quickly. I found him glaring at Miss Bennington, as if he wanted to do her harm. Then his expression quickly softened, when he noticed I was watching him.

"Leave us," he said matter-of-factly, as if dismissing two servants, his gaze never straying from mine.

Once they had left, he came around to the right side of the bed, where the guardrail was already down. He eased down on the edge of the bed, then reached over and took my right hand in his much larger ones. He gently lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. I knew from the way he was acting something was desperately wrong with one or maybe even both my parents. It must be terrible, I thought, as I watched him slowly reestablish eye contact.

"Faith... as your uncle, this duty falls to me and... I'm not good at these things.” His eyes clouded over as tears welled up around the lower lids. "Your father... my brother...

he... he did not survive the crash."

I felt instantly numb from head to toe. A whirlwind of emotions started swirling around inside my brain, paralyzing the parts of my body that hadn't previously been affected.

"Your mother…" He paused, as tears flowed from his eyes. It seemed this was the hardest part for him. "She... she past away... day before yesterday." He quickly got up and removed a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed at his eyes. Then he moved towards the window.

My heart began to pound a cadence like the drumbeat of a death march. Something inside my head soon joined it, keeping perfect time to the rhythm. Tears welled up in my eyes, a large lump formed in my throat. I thought my heart was going to burst wide open!

Instead, however, my anger boiled over, as I realized he had misled me to believe they were still alive and… “in good hands” !

"Why… didn't you tell me?!" I screamed, as loud as I possibly could. My throat burned.

Uncle Brandon spun around on his heels and his eyes grew large. "Faith, I..."

"You coulda told me!" I continued, though my throat felt like it was on fire now.

"You lied to me! You let me think... they were only injured!"

Miss Bennington burst into the room at that moment and saw me raising my head up. "Faith no, you shouldn't...!"

"Get out!" I exclaimed, though it came out as more a growl.

"Miss Bennington I think you should leave, this is between..."

"Not her, you!" I growled, gesturing towards the door. "Get out! Get outta here now!" I screeched, shaking my fist at him.

"Faith, please!" Miss Bennington admonished, as she slowly approached the bed.

"Ju... just get him ou-u-ut!" I screamed, as my hand fell back onto the bed and broke into uncontrollable sobs.

Miss Bennington quickly placed her hand behind my head, catching it before it hit the pillow. "I… I think you should leave, Mr. Neilson," she said, softly, as she slowly lowered my head onto the pillow.

"But, will she...?"

"She'll be fine," she assured him.

" Ge-et... ou-ut!" I growled through my sobs. " Li-ar!"

"Faith, I only..."

"Mr. Neilson," said Dr. Rosemund's calm voice. "Please come out into the hall, if you would. Give her a little time? She's had quite a shock."

"Poor baby," Miss Bennington said, as she caressed the side of my face.

Without thinking, I reached out and pulled her to me. I was dying to be held by someone, but, not my uncle.

"Faith, I'm so sorry," she breathed into my ear.

"Oh God, why didn't I die, too?" I wailed. "I wanna die, too!"

"I can't let that happen, sweetheart," she said, softly. "You're here for a reason."

I knew Miss Bennington had uttered these words, but what I heard was my mother's sweet voice. I wailed in agony at the pain that was seemingly wrenching my heart into a million tiny pieces. The pain was so great I prayed for death to claim me right then and there. Then to my utter relief, blissful darkness came and saved me from the relentless torture of my broken heart.

THREE

I drifted back into the land of the living again to find a very bright light in my eyes. I lifted my right hand to shield them.

"Thank god," breathed Miss Bennington.

"Faith... Faith… can you hear me?" Dr. Rosemund asked.

"Ye.. yes," I managed to say, although my throat felt like I'd just set it on fire again.

The bright light went away abruptly and I opened my eyes a little wider. They were quite heavy, almost like the first day all over again.

"You gave us quite a scare, young lady," he said, as he peered down at me. "How do you feel?"

I looked up at him. Movement behind him caught my attention, as Uncle Brandon's face appeared over his shoulder. "My head... is throbbing," I replied, as I glared at my deceitful uncle. His face abruptly disappeared from view, as if it had been an illusion.

"Well, we can fix that," Dr. Rosemund said. "Prepare that mild pain killer," he added, barely above a whisper.

I glanced over in the direction he was looking and saw Miss Bennington smiling at me. I couldn't help but offer something in return for her kindness. So, even though I felt my head would burst at any minute, I conjured up a mirthless smile.

"Let's have no more outbursts of this kind, shall we?" Dr. Rosemund admonished, his voice loud again.

"I... can hear… just fine," I croaked, as I watched Miss Bennington preparing the shot she would soon give me. She seemed to have noticed my gaze; for, she looked down at me, smiled again and then glanced over at the doctor.

"Yes, well…” Dr. Rosemund paused and cleared his throat. “I'll check on you in the morning then. Let's try to stay calm, shall we? I know you had quite a shock today, but please, try to avoid any further outbursts?"

I shifted my gaze from him to Uncle Brandon, the latter of whom had reappeared at the foot of the bed. I glared at him; the anger I felt over him misleading me, bubbling up inside and threatening to burst forth.

"Don't take all this out on your uncle," said Dr. Rosemund. "I told him it would be best not to upset you so soon. I was afraid you'd become overwrought and perhaps lapse back into a coma. He only did as I instructed. So, if you must blame or be angry at someone, let it be me."

My angry stare shifted to him.

"And me," Miss Bennington said, as she moved towards me with the needle in her hand.

The conversation I'd overheard between her and my uncle did not fit with her statement. I knew she'd been against him not telling me. So, why was she taking up for him now? I'd thought she was someone I could trust; I was beginning to wonder if I'd been wrong.

"I'll see you in the morning," said Dr. Rosemund, as he strolled towards the door.

Uncle Brandon then fell in step behind him, glancing back over his shoulder, his face a sad visage, as he closed the door behind them.

I felt the cold, wet cotton swab dabbing at my arm as Miss Bennington prepared it for the shot. I turned away; for, I didn't care to watch my skin being pricked again. I flinched slightly, as she inserted the needle. To my surprise she was far gentler than any of the other nurses I'd encountered that day.

"Don't be too angry with him," she said, as she withdrew the needle and raised my forearm, leaving the cotton swab in the bend. "He was trying to protect you. We all were.

We all knew it was wrong to let you believe... Well... it just seemed the right thing to do at the time. We were all so happy to see that you'd finally come around and... I guess we were afraid of losing you to that blissful darkness again."

So she really did know something about this, I thought, as she patted the back of my forearm with her gloved hand, then got up and put the syringe and gloves in a container on the wall marked, "Danger: Hazardous Waste". I had never seen one of these before. I could only assume it was something new, put into effect after AIDS came into being.

"Seems that may have been made a costly mistake; however," she continued, "We may very well have lost your trust." She turned around and looked over at me, as if waiting for some response.

I offered nothing and merely turned away. The things that other people did for you, thinking they were doing it for your own good, sometimes seemed worse than what they were protecting you from, because seldom did those things seem in your best interest. Not to you, at least.

"He's hurting, too, you know." She walked over to the window. "He lost a brother, as well."

At the mention of my father, tears welled up in my eyes.

"Do you know he... he spent everyday at your mother's side?” she went on. “He did.

When he wasn't checking on you, that is. He... he seemed to take it very hard when... she passed on. Or so I was told. And... that happened not long before you came to. I think...

when he told you she was here… he truly wanted to believe that himself."

"I saw… the way you... looked at him,” I admitted, sounding like “Froggy” from the old “Our Gang” kid's show. “I... should have known."

She sighed heavily. "I never was much good at keeping secrets."

"You aren't... very good at... lying, either."

"And you shouldn't be talking," she admonished, as she started towards me. "I only wanted you to consider his reasons for what he did. He does seem to care for you, quite a lot. And... from what I understand... he's your only family now."

I bit my lip and turned away, wishing none of this had ever happened; we'd never boarded that plane; my father had never even received that offer to make a movie out of his book. The tears flowed like water, streaming over my cheeks. I felt the bed give when she sat down. Then she touched my arm. "Why?" I murmured.

"What, sweetheart?" she asked.

"Why?" I repeated, as I turned to face her. "Why did they have to die?"

"Oh sweetie," she said, as she reached over and touched my cheek, wiping the tears away with her thumb.

I grabbed her hand, holding onto it for dear life, as sobs racked my body. "Please...

hold me?" I pleaded.

"Oh, of course," she replied, and gently eased her arms around me, slowly raising me up, supporting my head with her hand on the back of my neck.

It hurt like holy hell, but I managed to get my left arm around her neck and I held onto her, for all I was worth.

"Just let it all out," she whispered softly.

I did indeed release all the pent up emotions. And it was such sweet relief to let them go!!

When the residual spasms from all my crying claimed control of my body, I laid my head down on her shoulder. I was completely exhausted. But, I felt better, in a sense. I felt calm and peaceful inside. I could almost let myself imagine that she was my mother and that none of this had happened. That we were back in our little house in Tennessee and my mother was holding me while I cried over some petty little thing that had happened to me at school. I closed my eyes and tried to will myself back in time.

That's when I heard a noise over by the door. And I felt Uncle Brandon's presence in the room. I raised up in time to see the door slowly closing behind him. A small part of me wanted to call him back and apologize, but I was just too exhausted to go through another scene. Instead, I laid my head back down on her shoulder, enjoying the comfort of her arms around me. It was the last thing I remembered until the next morning.

"How is she?" a voice whispered.

"Fine, I believe," Miss Bennington answered.

"I... I just wanted to… check on her," the voice continued, a bit louder now. I now recognized it as Uncle Brandon's. "I'll come by later, perhaps. I... I suppose it was wrong of me to lie, but..."

"Give her time," said Miss Bennington softly. "All of this is quite overwhelming for her right now. I... I know a little about what she's going through and... Just give her time."

I wondered if she had also lost a member of her family in the car accident and was anxious to ask. Yet, I was not anxious to face Uncle Brandon at the moment. I still harbored ill feelings towards him. He could have told me the truth. I knew I should be mad at Dr. Rosemund and Miss Bennington, but I wasn't. Neither one had actually lied to me. They had merely sidestepped my questions. And after all, I'd overheard Uncle Brandon saying it was his decision to make. Perhaps they'd agreed to go along with him, but he'd made the decision of what not to tell me.

I heard the door slowly close and Miss Bennington's rubber soled shoes squeak on the floor, as she walked towards the window. "He truly cares for you, Faith," she said, aloud. "He's probably doing the best he knows how."

I opened my eyes and looked in her direction, wondering how she knew I was awake. I found her standing by the window with her arms crossed, staring at me.

"How'd you know...?”

"I've watched over you for almost two weeks now," she answered. "I could tell by the change in your breathing."

I turned away and stared at the door. "He... lied," I said, simply, sounding much worse than “Froggy” today.

She sighed heavily. "Sometimes people lie for a good reason. Or at least… what they think is a good reason."

"L-like y-you...." I paused and cleared my throat. I sounded awful, like a speaker with a loose connection. "I... I heard you... ar-arguing w-with him, out there."

"You need to rest your throat," she admonished, as she turned back towards the window.

I watched her for several moments, as she stared out the window. I had assumed she'd make excuses for her own lie about saying she had thought it was best not to tell me the truth, but she made no effort to do so, as if there was no valid excuse. I respected her for her silence. It was much easier to deal with than a lot of excuses.

Besides, I was having a hard enough time just dealing with myself. Why hadn't I forced the issue? I could've demanded to know. Why didn't I? Could it be that somewhere deep inside I knew and didn't press the issue because… I didn't really wanna hear it said aloud? To hear it from someone else would make it real, wouldn't it? And I didn't want it to be real! Didn't want it to be true. It's not true… it can't be! I don't wanna even think about it anymore!

"I… I'm hun-gry," I announced.

She quickly turned around and looked over at me. Her eyes darted back and forth, as if she were searching mine for the answer to some question she had yet to pose.

The corners of my lips quivered. I wanted to say all was forgiven, but couldn't bring myself to broach the subject again. She must have understood, for she smiled and started for the door, saying, "Well, I'll just see if I can't do something about that."

"The fortuneteller stared into her eyes. 'You will soon take a journey,” Miss Bennington read aloud, using an exaggerated German accent for the fortuneteller. “'And you will find love, along the way. But… you will also find danger, as well.' Marianne pulled her hand away quickly. She did not like the ominous tone of the woman's voice.

And she did not care for all this hocus-pocus nonsense. 'Wait,' the fortuneteller called, as she started for the door. 'There is more I must tell you.' 'I think I've heard enough,'

Marianne replied, as she opened the door. 'You should beware of the handsome one, who will lead you astray' called the fortuneteller. Marianne bolted out the door, leaving it ajar. She did not care to hear anymore of..." Miss Bennington glanced up and paused, as the door to the room slowly opened.

We both waited in silence for someone to appear, but the door slowly closed again.

She looked over at me. I sighed heavily. I had a feeling it was Uncle Brandon.

"Tell him... I'll see him," I said.

Miss Bennington got up abruptly and headed off to find him.

A few minutes later, the door opened again and he slowly walked into the room, his shoulders slumped over and his face a sad visage. He turned and gently closed the door behind him, as he ran his fingers through his thinning hair, just like my father used to do.

"I'm... sorry," I finally managed to say, pushing the lump out of my throat.

"So am I, Faith. Oh, so am I," he said, as he rushed over to the side of the bed and took my small hand in his larger one. "I only meant to... to do what's best for you. That's all I ever want to do… is what's best for you." He brought my hand up to meet his lips and placed a kiss on the back of it.

Softly, he continued, "I'll take care of you, Princess... always. All you need to do is ask and... if it's within my power, I'll move heaven and earth if need be to get it for you."

He sounded so much like my father that I couldn't resist reaching up and touching his cheek. He caught my hand in his, as if desperate for my touch to linger. He pressed my hand to his cheek then kissed the palm. "I'm so sorry, Princess," he said, as he stared down at me, his eyes clouding over.

How could I not feel for this man, who did indeed seem to care for me deeply, even though he didn't know me? Perhaps if my father had been in a similar circumstance he might have done the same thing. Perhaps I had been too quick to judge. Too quick to lash out at someone on whom I could vent my frustration and anger over a situation that I had no control of. It wasn't his fault the duty of wielding the pin that burst the bubble of my illusion fell to him. He was merely the closest one within range, when the fallout came raining down. Of course, that didn't negate his lie. But, as Miss Bennington had pointed out, he was doing the best he could. I could not say for sure what I would have done in similar circumstances.

"So, am I," I finally replied, as tears welled up in my eyes.

"Oh Princess, I'll take care of you, I promise," he said, as he reached up and wiped a tear from my cheek. Then he slowly leaned over and placed a lingering kiss where the tear had been moments before. "It will be alright... you'll see. I'd give you the world if I could."

I grabbed hold of him, as the tears began to flow. The one thing I wanted most in all the world was something his money couldn't buy. For I knew money could not persuade the angels to give back the two souls who were now in their midst.

He kissed me on the cheek again and nuzzled against my neck. I felt the scratchiness of the soft stubble on his face and was surrounded by his male scent and expensive cologne, which permeated his clothes. I could not say why, but it was a most disturbing combination that made me want to pull away from him. And I did just that.

He then placed a kiss on the bridge of my nose. "I'm so glad you forgive me," he said. "I was so afraid you would hate me for the rest of my life."

"I don't hate you," I said, although I still distrusted him for some reason. And I desperately wanted him to back off. Somewhere deep inside I felt a niggling sense fear, as if the arms on either side of me were some sort of trap.

He must have sensed my discomfort, because he backed away. "I… I guess I should let you rest now," he said, as he caressed the side of my cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I nodded ever so slightly and offered a smile, but my heart wasn't in it.

"Everything will be fine, I promise," he said, as he patted my arm. "I'll make sure of it." And with that, he turned and left.

Afterwards, I lay there and cried in silence. I cried for all the happy times my parents and I had shared. Times there would be no more of. This reminded me of a line from a very short song my mother had loved: “Preserve your memories… they're all that's left you.”

This turned the tear faucet on high again. And when Miss Bennington returned, there was no hiding it. I assumed she might admonish me for getting myself all worked up, but instead she merely walked over and put her book down on the stand by the bed.

"I... I realize this is easier said than done, but... you will get through this," she said, softly, as she gazed down at me. "That is… if I have anything to do with it, you will."

She then reached over and touched my cheek. "I won't lie to you and tell you I know how you feel, because I can't fathom a hurt so grave. I can only offer to comfort you."

"Please," I whispered.

With that she sat down on the side of the bed, then gently reached around me, as she had the night before. This time there was no need to pull me to her; for, the bed had already been raised. She rested her head beside mine, as Uncle Brandon had, but this was different and so much better. I didn't feel the least bit fearful. The tears continued to flow; however, as she started humming a tune, which my mother had often sang to comfort me.

I knew it was silly, but I felt as if my mother and father were close by, watching and perhaps even participating by using this stranger's body. I pulled her to me, as if she were indeed my mother and father all rolled into one. I sensed in that moment, that my parents would never be very far away.

We were soon aroused by a knock at the door and she gently removed her arms from around me. "I believe that's dinner," she said, as she looked down at me. "Feel up to it?"

I made a face and rolled my eyes skyward.

She giggled. "You mean you don't want your first real meal?"

My eyebrows shot up. I now remembered the doctor saying I could have real food for dinner. "Yes, I... want it," I replied, my voice still very deep and raspy.

"Come in," she called, putting her finger to my lips, as she raised up. "Rest that throat, hmm? Remember our deal?"

I made a fist once then eyed the short, elderly African American woman, who placed the tray on the serving table. "I didn't know you was here, Miss Sara," the woman said, as she flashed a broad smile. "If I'd known that I'd already been in to sees you."

"How've you been Delilah?" Miss Bennington asked, as the woman wheeled the table over to the bed.

"Oh, can't complain," she replied, as she flashed me a broad grin. "How's 'bout you?"

"Pretty good."

Delilah then removed the top from the tray. "First meal, huh?" she asked, watching me look things over. The meal consisted of red jello, mashed potatoes and something hidden by another aluminum cover. "Hospital food can be pret-ty good, when you ain't e't in a while," Delilah added.

Miss Bennington snickered and Delilah chuckled, as her eyes surveyed all my bandages. "Well, this he'ya hospital's food may not be the bes' in town, but… you's sho'got 'bout the bes' nurse I knows of," Delilah continued. "Yes'um, you's in good hands wit' Miss Sara here."

I merely grinned and looked over at Miss Bennington, wanting to hear more.

"Um-hmm... this he'ya woman got Mrs. Simmons back on her feet after she done gone and broke her hip, last year. Mrs. Simmons, she's old... must be over eighty and orn-ne-ry as the day is long. Mean old woman," she explained, as she removed the aluminum cover, revealing a bowl of chicken soup. "That old woman, she wouldn't let nobodys touch her, nor do nothing for her, either. But her son, he hired Miss Sara he'ya and... in two weeks she had that ol' lady scootin' 'round 'cher on that there walker. Um-hmm, you got yo'self a fine nurse. You just do what she says now and... you'll get better. I guarantees that. Um-hmm."

I looked over at Miss Bennington and found her blushing.

"Well, you's enjoys yo meal and I'll be back to get da tray da'rectly," Delilah added, as she headed for the door. "Good to sees you again, Miss Sara."

"Good to see you, Delilah."

With Miss Bennington's help, I nearly cleared the tray. It felt good to have solid food again. And even though it hurt to swallow, I ate everything except the biscuit, which could have broken a window it was so hard.

After she cleared away the table and the tray, she sat down in her chair again and picked up where she left off on the book. I lay there listening to her comforting voice, my eyes growing heavier and heavier with each moment that passed. I fought to hold off the inevitable, until the need for sleep finally overtook me.

Bright and early the next morning, Miss Bennington woke me for breakfast. This time, she raised me up even straighter in the bed and I suffered no ill effects. I fed myself this time, while listening to her and Delilah converse for a few moments about a patient she had once cared for.

Uncle Brandon walked in, just as she removed the table and for the first time, I took a good look at him. He reminded me of my father and yet, he seemed much more sure of himself. His appearance was proof of that. His three-piece navy blue suit fit him perfectly, as if tailored for his body. The collar of his white shirt was stiff and smooth, as if he had just taken it out of the bag. His navy, gray and white striped tie was knotted just so and held in place by a gold tie clip with a dark blue "N" on it, for Neilson. His hair was combed back from his face, his dark sideburns neatly trimmed and his face smoothly shaved. He reeked of that expensive smelling cologne that they sold in the finer stores.

Cologne my father could never have afforded.

The overall effect said that he was rich and important. And I assumed few who met him would have disputed that claim. He had an air of distinction about him, which did the talking for him. I could see why my father didn't want to run the company. Like me, he would have gone stark raving mad in all those fancy duds. He was a sweatshirt and jeans man, when he was around the house and most other times, as well. Like me, he preferred comfort to style.

"Good morning," Uncle Brandon said, in a very cheerful voice. "Ah… so we're eating this morning, are we? Feeling better I assume?" he queried, as he neared the right side of the bed. He didn't wait for a reply before continuing. "Who knows you might be out of here before that week is up, hmm?" I smiled and he reached over and took my hand in his. "You've got your mother's eyes for certain. But, you've definitely inherited your father's tenacity." He patted my hand and winked. "Oh yes, I wanted to discuss something with you. Your future."

Future? I thought. What did he mean?

"After you leave the hospital, you'll come to live at Shady Grove, of course. I'm having a bed like this once placed in your room, so you can be comfortable. But, at your rate of recovery, I'm sure you won't need it long, if at all. And I've had a chair... a lift chair installed for the staircase."

A lift chair? I hadn't given any thought to the fact that I'd be in a wheelchair for a while. Matter of fact, I hadn't given much thought to anything besides my parents and my immediate circumstances.

"And we'll get you anything else you might need for a full and speedy recovery," he added.

I flashed a quick smile, so as not to hurt his feelings, since he seemed so happy about all the plans he'd made for me. Yet, I felt like crying. Up until then, I had mainly been concerned about my parents. I had wanted to get better in order to see them. But that illusion was now gone. What if walking again was another illusion they were humoring me with? Why should I need an expensive lift chair if I'd be walking in a few months?

Were they lying to me again? Dangling a carrot in front of my face? To what end?

I stared straight ahead as I envisioned myself in a wheelchair, finally receiving the news that I'd never walk again. For the first time, I felt the full weight of my situation.

Reality came crashing in around me like a tidal wave. My emotions seemed to be tossed to and fro. I tried to hold back the tears, but it was no use. Emotionally, I was like an old rotten hosepipe; it didn't take much stress for me to spring a leak.

"Oh, Princess… what did I say?" he asked, concern and guilt mingled in his tone. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry, Princess, I'm so... so sorry." He brought my hand up to his face and placed a kiss on my fingers.

"It's... it's not your fault," I finally managed to say.

"No, then... what...?"

"Mr. Neilson," Miss Bennington spoke up, in a soft calm voice, from her place by the window. "After a shock like... like the one Faith's had… many times a patient is highly emotional. Their emotions are like a raw nerve. Even the slightest thing... or perhaps even nothing at all, will cause an emotional response. Sometimes it's anger...

sometimes it's tears."

"I'm… truly sorry, Princess. I'd rather walk through fire, than hurt you again, in anyway." The tears welling up in his eyes convinced me that he was sincere. He kissed my hand again and then placed it against his cheek.

There was a long silence, as a tear trickled down his cheek and onto my hand. “Perhaps we should leave this for another day," he said, as he placed my hand back on the bed.

"I'll... let you get some rest now." He then walked over towards the door; his shoulders slumped as if he were in pain himself. "I'll be back this afternoon," he added, as he opened the door. He glanced back at me then closed the door behind him.

I felt guilty for crying and making him feel bad, but there was nothing I could do about it. The tears continued to flow even after he left. One after another they traced a path down my cheeks.

Miss Bennington finally came over and sat down in her chair beside the bed. "Did you ever notice that crying and laughing are similar emotions?"

I made a fist twice.

"Think about it," she continued, as she retrieved the book, "When you laugh real hard, you usually get tears in your eyes, don'chu?" I made a fist once. "They both make your stomach hurt, too, don't they? They're very similar in the way your body reacts and yet they're at opposing ends of the emotional spectrum. But each has its own cleansing affect on the body and the mind. Strange, isn't it?"

"Um… yes," I replied, as my analytical mind latched onto the stimulus she was providing. "Fear and... anger are… alike, too," I offered, after thinking about it for a moment.

“Fear and anger?” she questioned, one eyebrow arched skyward.

“Fight or… flight,” I answered simply.

“Uh, yeah… I suppose so," she agreed, with a sly smile, looking quite satisfied, like someone who'd succeeded in what they'd set out to do.

I quickly realized the tear faucet had somehow been turned off. I wiped at the remaining wetness on my face. "Thank you," I said, letting her know I understood what she'd done and that I appreciated it.

"Remember this moment," she said, as she winked at me, then opened the book. "I think it might come in handy. Especially for the next few weeks."

FOUR

She was right. My emotions were like raw nerves, swaying in the breeze and the slightest thing would set them off. So, until their protective shell was repaired, I tried to bear in mind the advice she had given me. It didn't, however. For, over the course of the next several days, every time I turned around I was crying. Not sobbing, per say, but merely weeping constantly like one of those new fangled “soaker hoses”. And what time I wasn't lamenting, I was sleeping. Even the simplest things wore me out. Like changing gowns or being repositioned to prevent “bed sores”. But the most tiring of all, since my tests, was two days later when Miss Bennington got me up so they could change my sheets. This was my introduction to the wheelchair.

When she first wheeled it in, I cringed at the thought of getting in it. Knowing all the while, that as a kid, I would've thought it exciting to do so, because back then I could easily get up and walk away when it no longer intrigued me. But now, to get in it was to acknowledge the fact that I was crippled.

Miss Bennington must have sensed my reluctance. "Think of her as a friend, hmm?

Because ole Nellie here,” she said patting the back of the chair, "she's gonna take you outta here."

Since she put it that way, how could I refuse? I didn't like feeling so helpless and dependent on everyone and I knew the chair could offer some semblance of independence.

I had assumed Miss Bennington, or Sara -as she insisted I call her now- would have to get an orderly to help put me in the chair, but she didn't.

"This is the way you'll eventually move yourself, once we've built up your upper body muscles, she explained, while lowering the bed to chair height, letting down the guardrail and placing a smooth, slick board in the space between myself and the wheelchair. “But, until you're strong enough, I'll do it for you." She then proceeded to show me how to properly position myself on the board and moved me into the wheelchair.

I was quite surprised by her strength. Although, a rather small built woman, hardly over five- foot- six 130 lbs, she handled me as if I were light as a feather.

"They teach you how to do this, so neither of us gets hurt," she said in response to the questions in my eyes. She then wheeled me over to the window.

My first glimpse of the city of Atlanta was not tremendously exciting. It was raining

–a wind-driven rain from the looks of it- a gray haze hanging over the tops of the tall buildings, which was about all I could see from my vantage point. March appeared to be building up to “going out like a lion”.

My next great adventure came two days after this, when Sara got me up for a bath.

"I think you'll enjoy this," she said, as she wheeled me out the door and down the hall.

"This is no ordinary bath you'll be taking today. This'll be part of your therapy." I liked the way she always explained anything new to me. It was as if she eased me into it, just like she eased me into the chair.

When we reached two large silver doors, she pushed me onto a large black mat (an automatic door opener) and both doors swung wide. The room reeked of disinfectant. I grimaced at the smell, as I glanced around. A rather large silver tub, which looked more like some type of vat from a horror movie, loomed over in the left corner. There was a seated contraption hanging from what appeared to be some type of arm that was extended out over the tub. I realized after a quick survey, that it was for lifting patients like me, in and out of the tub. I grimaced at the thought of being in it and stark naked at that, while the machine lowered me into the water.

"We'll be using this one over here," she said, as she pushed me to the right side of the room. "Your uncle's had one of these installed in your bathroom, so we'll get used to this. Eventually, you'll be able to do this by yourself. I think you'll enjoy the jets." She stopped beside a white tub, which looked ordinary enough at first glance, except for the four small silver holes running down the length of its sides and the grip bars on the sides and the wall.

She walked over and turned on the water. Jets of water shot out the openings and began to fill the tub. She tested it with her fingers and turned up the hot water just a tad.

Then she began to roll up the long sleeves of her white uniform. I soon found out why she always wore long sleeves. There were several long scars up the inside of her left arm, the one she had injured in the car accident.

She noticed my gaze and smiled. Then she came over and removed my gown. I felt quite embarrassed. Of course, I'd been naked in front of her before, that was nothing new, but not like this. I felt so very exposed here. I was even more surprised, when she very gently and easily lowered me into the hot water. I grimaced and squealed a little at the temperature of the water on my stomach.

"I'm sorry, but it does need to be rather warm. It's for your back and legs; to get the blood flowing and aid in your recovery. But if it's too awfully hot I'll cool it down for you."

"No," I replied, my voice still deep and raspy, yet sounding much stronger and not so much like a broken speaker. "It's fine."

She eased me back in the tub and the water felt quite good to my upper back. Once it stopped stinging, that is.

"Comfortable?" she asked, gazing down at me.

"Um-hmm," I replied.

"Your voice is getting better, hmm?"

"Yeah, but it isn't the same. It's deeper than it used to be and... scratchy sounding."

"It'll more than likely return to normal," she reassured me, as her eyes drifted over my exposed body. "We'll need to keep those muscles in shape with therapy. You'll find it grueling work, but it'll pay off in the end. For now though, we'll just keep those muscles massaged, so they'll stay as... shapely as they are," she added, as her eyes traveled up my body to meet my gaze. She smiled, her eyes flowing back over me. "You've got good muscle tone."

I felt a fluttering in my stomach, as she reached out and touched my leg. I felt nothing on my skin, but in my mind… I felt the way I thought I should if a man had touched me. Even though, every time any man or boy had touched me in the past, I felt dirty and repulsed. I assumed it was because I knew what they wanted from me. She, on the other hand, wanted nothing from me and surely had not meant this as a sensual touch.

And this left me even more bewildered at my own reaction.

"You just relax and I'll be back in a second, there's something I need to get," she said, as she arose and turned the water off.

After she left, I felt the true helplessness of my situation. If someone comes in, I'll just die! Seeing as how my gown was out of reach on the back of the wheelchair. When the door did open, a few minutes later, I cringed at the thought of some orderly walking in on me. My hands automatically went to my breasts. But that left another area exposed.

I breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing her face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, noticing I had my arms around my chest. "You look...

frightened."

"I was afraid… someone else would walk in on me," I replied, as I watched her approach me, holding something down by her side.

"I flipped the sign outside to read 'occupied'. No need to worry, no one will come in," she said, with a smile. She then opened her hand, revealing a pink bar of soap. "So far, we've bathed you with hospital soap. But, I thought you might prefer something more... well, something that smells a little better. Think you can manage on your own, if I helped you sit up?"

"Yeah, I believe so."

She helped me to a sitting position and then handed me a washcloth and the soap. I began bathing myself, as she occupied herself with looking around the room. I thought the soap was a very thoughtful gesture. It did smell much better, because it was one of the perfumed brands, enriched with bath oil. As I rubbed it over my legs, I wondered how long it would be before I could feel this? When I finished, I felt much better. And I didn't smell like a hospital, either.

"Through?" she asked, as I laid the washcloth down. I nodded. "Okay, then I'll just wash your back and we'll get you back to your room."

She was very gentle and spent much more time on my back than she usually did when giving me pan baths. I assumed she was trying to make sure that I had a good first bath.

"Alright, we're through. Just lemme get your towel." She retrieved the towel, which she had laid on the back of the wheel chair and draped it around her neck. Then she leaned over and raised me up, sitting me on the side of the tub. She dried off my back, swung my legs over the side and turned me around, then started on the front.

I wanted to say that I could do it, just as I had given myself a bath, but she was so much faster, I let it go.

"I bet you have more boyfriends than you can count on both hands," she commented, as she rubbed the towel lightly over my breasts.

"Uh, no… not really," I replied, hesitantly, wondering why she would broach this subject now.

"Modest are we?" she asked, with a sly grin, then continued over the rest of my body at a rapid pace, never lingering anywhere else for very long. "Alright, now let's get your clean gown on." She put it on me and then tied it in back. "Now back in the chair."

She wheeled me down the hall in silence. A silence that made me feel a bit uneasy, for some reason.

She put me back into my bed and lowered it. "I'll let you rest now. The doctor should be here... in about two hours," she said, looking down at her watch, as she pulled the cover up on me. "I imagine you're pretty tired, but don't worry, soon you'll have your strength back. At any rate, I need to run an errand. Remember if you need anything, just press this button," she said, raising the guardrail and pointing out the red button hanging from it. "I should be back before the doctor gets here." With that said, she patted my hand and left.

This must be why she'd been so quiet before, I reasoned. She had something on her mind she had to do. With my own mind more at ease and my body quite relaxed, I was asleep in no time.

I awoke to voices in the room. Dr. Rosemund was talking to Sara. They had their backs to me, huddled around some type of tray.

"I'll need you to assist me," I heard him say. "If the wounds on her arms have healed sufficiently, we'll apply a smaller bandage. If not, we'll..." I strained to hear what he was saying, since his voice dropped so low. "The condition of her head wound will determine whether she leaves Friday or maybe even before. As you know Mr. Neilson is pushing to have her discharged sooner than I'd like, but since you'll be there... You will be starting physical therapy this afternoon, won't you?"

"Yes, I'm sure she'll be strong enough for a light session. She had her first bath today, you know. Held up very well. She definitely has good muscle tone."

"That's always good. Okay, let's wake her up and...." He paused, as he turned around and saw I was watching them. "Oops, well, no need to wake her... So, how's my favorite patient?" he asked, coming towards me with a broad smile on his face.

"Fine."

"Good... good. Miss Bennington told me you had your first real bath today. Any pain, discomfort, dizziness?"

"No."

"Great. Now then, the next order of business is to change your bandages. I've asked Miss Bennington to assist me," he explained, as she rolled the cart, which held an assortment of scissors, gauze and tape, up to the bed. "Let's raise you up and we'll start to work, okay?"

I merely nodded. I was thinking about the wounds, especially the one on my head, wondering what it looked like. I had asked, but Sara said that she didn't know, since she'd been hired after I was taken out of ICU. She said she'd been told I had several lacerations, but didn't know the extent of them.

As the doctor went to work removing the bandage on my forearm, I watched intently. A few seconds later, a thin scar running up the front of my arm was revealed.

"Looks real good," he said, with a smile.

Then he went to work on the other one on my upper arm. When this was removed it revealed a larger, curving scar, snaking its way up my arm, tapering off at both ends -

elbow and shoulder. I could tell that these two should not be so hard to cover up. But, I was reminded of Sara's and wondered if there was something different about the skin on your arm, which made it more difficult for plastic surgery.

"This is doing very well, I think we can use a smaller bandage here." He went to work doing just that.

By the time he got around to my head, I was a bundle of nerves, wondering what would be revealed. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as the bandage implied. Perhaps there was only a thin scar like the others and they'd simply gone wild with gauze and tape.

When he finally started snipping the bandage, I wondered if I'd have any hair beneath it. I had a short stubbly growth on the right side where the bandage didn't cover it, but I wasn't even sure whether hair would grow beneath a bandage or not. Could this retard its growth? I wondered. I also pondered how big the wounds were and exactly how many there were and if they'd leave an awful scar like the ones on Sara's arm.

The doctor unwrapped the bandage slowly. Sara watched him very closely and I, in turn, watched her, to see what type of reaction she gave to my unveiling. I would use this to judge how bad it was. She must have felt my eyes on her, because she glanced down at me and smiled. Must not be that bad, I thought.

"You're healing nicely. Very nice, indeed," he commented, as he moved closer to examine something up there.

"Can I see?" I inquired.

They both looked at each other. I could tell the doctor didn't like the idea.

"If you don't, I'm sure she'll try to remove the bandage herself," said Sara, as she rubbed the back of her neck. Her overall reaction suggested she was uncertain as to whether it would be good for me to see it or not.

"Alright," he relented. "Get a mirror for her. But..." He paused, as he fixed me with his gray eyes. "…you have to promise not to get too upset. What you'll see now is not... I repeat, is not permanent. There are wonderful plastic surgeons around, who can perform utter miracles these days."

Plastic surgeons, I thought. Utter miracles? Would I need a miracle? If so, then it had to be absolutely awful. Suddenly, as Sara handed me a small compact, I wasn't so sure I wanted to see it anymore. I wasn't sure whether this was for my own good or not. I stared at the closed compact, then at Sara, watching her face for any hint of what she thought of my injuries. I could read nothing in her eyes or facial expressions.

Finally, I slowly opened the compact. The first thing I saw was a long jagged scar that started on the right side of my forehead, just above my eyebrow, and ran horizontally across my forehead, curving upwards at a slight angle, as it inched its way towards what should have been my hair line, but was only a very fine light brown stubble. From this point, near the left side of my head, it took an abrupt 90-degree turn and continued across the top, where it tapered off about midway.

"Oh my God!" I said, aloud.

"Remember it's only temporary," Sara said, trying to reassure me, as I surveyed the damage.

I shifted the mirror to the left side, where my ear had been covered and found to my utter dismay, yet another scar. This one was even more pronounced than the one across my forehead. It started near my temple, missing my ear by centimeters and continued to grow progressively larger, slicing a straight path to the back of my head, where it tapered off.

I stared into the mirror, feeling my heart sink. I could not take my eyes off, what to me, was a grotesque sight.

"Faith... Faith, look at me... look at me, Faith," Sara said, in a stern voice, as she reached over and turned my face towards her. She had already sat down on the left side of the bed by now. "Mine was far worse than yours. Believe me. Now, tell me, can you see it?"

I looked at her, quickly searching her face for any hint of a scar, then turned back to the mirror. She's lying to me, I thought, as I stared at the hideous scars.

Dr. Rosemund reached over to take the mirror from me, but I wouldn't let go. "Faith, we need to put another bandage on," he said, calmly.

"Do it then!" I growled.

He hesitated a moment, glancing up at Sara and then went to work, while I watched, seemingly in shock. I felt numb all over. Soon my head was covered with another somewhat smaller bandage. Still I stared into the mirror. I was so angry at the injustice of it all, that I couldn't say a word, much less movea muscle. First, I'd found been told I'd lost the use of my legs, although perhaps not permanently or so they hoped. Then I learned I had lost my parents! And now... now I had been stripped of my dignity. All of my silky brown hair was gone; my face and head marred for life! Of course, I'd already pondered these possibilities in my mind before, yet just thinking about it was worlds apart from actually seeing it up close!

"You're healing very nicely," said Dr. Rosemund. "At this rate I see no reason why you can't be out of here by Thursday of this week."

"Did you hear that, Faith?" Sara asked. "Thursday. Isn't that good news?"

Tears welled up in my eyes. Sure, I'd be out of here, but in another strange place to face what? Yet another set of new obstacles? That long road of recovery, which I'd previously envisioned stretched out before me, has suddenly grown much longer. I felt like someone had removed a pair of binoculars from my eyes. What had once seemed possibly within my reach, now seemed miles away! Long, rough, slow, agonizing miles for someone in a wheelchair. For someone... Crippled! The word resounded in my head.

My mind began to taunt me with a childlike chant. "Faith is a cripple… Got a scar and not a dimple."

How long will I be this way? I wondered. How long before my hair grows back? Or before I could have plastic surgery? Who would look at me now, the way I was? Or more to the point how would they look at me? With pity? Revulsion? Or would they merely turn away?

"I'll check on you later, Faith," said Dr. Rosemund, as he exited the room.

I stared into the mirror at my reflection: eyes that had once been a soft blue, with green highlights, now seemed to be a piercing, cold steel gray. They were filled with anger. The scar across my forehead only completed the picture of a very ugly young woman. I didn't like what I saw at all. I never wanted to look at myself again. I felt like I had been slapped hard across the face by the unseen, uncaring and immensely cold hand of Fate. And I wanted revenge! I wanted to lash out at something, anything. I felt the rage boiling up within me and knew trying to stop it was useless. I grasped the compact in my right hand.

"Faith, no," Sara said, reaching for it.

It was too late. I threw the compact across the room. It hit the wall and broke in half.

The mirror shattered into half dozen tinkling pieces. Shattered like my whole world, I thought, as I watched the other half -containing the makeup- skid across the floor.

"Faith, sweetheart..." Sara began, as she touched my arm.

"Go away!" I said in a deep, determined voice I hardly recognized as my own. I gnashed my teeth together, knowing my voice would probably never be the same, either.

Nothing would! "Just… leave… me… alone," I growled, accentuating each word, sounding like a dog that had been cornered, warning away a pursuer.

She didn't take her hand away, however. "Don't do this to yourself," she said, tightening her grip. "I know what you're feeling, I..."

"You know nothing!!" I spat, trying to wrench my left arm from her grasp. I didn't want to be held or patronized anymore. "Nothing at all about how I feel! Now get away from me!" I pushed against her with my right arm and she grabbed hold of it. I was able to get my left one free, however, and before even thinking about what I was doing, took an openhanded swing at her.

She blocked it and grabbed hold of that one, too. "Stop, damn it!" she exclaimed.

I wiggled to free my arms, but she was too strong. She overpowered me and pinned my arms to the bed, over my head. She was only inches from my face, her eyes wide and wild looking.

"Enough, goddammit!" she exclaimed. "You can't get rid of me that easily. And yes, I do know what you're going through. Look at me.... Damn it, I said look at me!" She continued, as she followed my face. "You see this face, well sweetheart five years ago you wouldn't have recognized it. I sure as hell didn't! My face was a goddamn disaster area. Just one huge mass of cuts and gashes."

I was surprised at her ferociousness and the fact that her face had ever been as bad as mine.

"Oh yeah," she continued, "I wore a bandage all over, not just part of my head like you. No, mine was all over my face. I had two holes for my eyes, two for my broken nose and one for my mouth, which was wired shut by the way! And you think you got it bad!

Huh? You don't know what bad is."

I turned my face away; her anger was too much to bear. I stared at her arm - the button on her cuff having slipped free, her sleeve open, revealing her scars- which she obviously noticed.

"Oh, you think I'm lying about my face, do you? Why, because I have these on my arms? Well, let me tell you something, sweetheart... these weren't caused by the accident.

No, I did this! Yeah, that's right, me,” she growled, answering the unvoiced question in my eyes. “I didn't wanna live anymore! Now look at me and tell me again how much I don't know!" She let go of one of my wrists and then gathered them both up in one hand.

"Look at me, damn it and tell me I don't understand," she grumbled, as she grabbed my face with her left hand, forcing me to look at her. “I know a lot more than you think I do!”

The sight of her rage had calmed me down considerably. I had never had anyone talk to me quite this way, nor get this mad at me, that I could remember. She had sure taken the wind right out of my sails. And as I stared into her eyes, I realized she had left me with something else. There was a very strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Before this, I had thought of her like my mother, but now... now she had shown me quite another side of her personality. She reminded me more of myself. The mother image I had held of her flew right out the window, the moment she pinned me to the bed. For, my mother would never have done that. She would have left me alone. She would never have fought with me. I had a new found respect for Sara now. Even Uncle Brandon had been beaten by my rage, but not Sara, no, not Sara.

I studied the face that had once been so scarred, searching for any telltale signs. At this distance I could see faint lines here and there, but they were so light they were barely noticeable. There weren't even hints of the disaster area she had described. Matter of fact, her face was beautiful. Her vibrant blue, slightly slanted eyes, finely arched eyebrows, slightly upturned nose and even the faint light brown moustache across her shapely upper lip were a very appealing combination. I found myself unable to take my eyes off those rather shapely lips. Butterflies began to flutter around in my stomach and I felt rather light-headed.

Slowly, she let go of my face and then my wrists. When she started to back away, I could not resist reaching up and touching her face. I knew there were scars, but they just weren't visible on the surface.

When my hand touched her skin, the butterflies fluttered wildly. I didn't understand why I was feeling this way. All I knew was I liked the feeling.

My eyes traveled upwards to meet her gaze. "Think we should ask your uncle to bring along two pairs of boxing gloves, the next time he comes?" she asked, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

I found myself moving my hand slightly and running my thumb over her unadorned lower lip, tracing its succulent red path from one corner of her mouth to the other. She cleared her throat, I flinched, and she backed away from me, just as the door to my room opened. Uncle Brandon walked into the room, looking quite dapper in his dark brown suit, tan vest and neatly pressed white shirt.

"How's my Princess, today?" he asked, sounding more cheerful than ever.

I looked over at Sara, who was getting up from the bed.

"Uh… better… now," I replied, as Sara's shoe crunched a shard of the mirror on the floor.

"What happened over there?" he asked, looking at the pieces of the mirror lying all over the floor, next to the table.

"I... I dropped my compact," Sara responded. "I'll just… go get something to clean it up."

"How come you weren't already cleaning up?" he asked curiously.

"Because… because I... I asked her to adjust my pillow before she left," I spoke up.

"Hmph. Well, I met Dr. Rosemund downstairs in the hallway. He said you'd be able to go home Thursday. I assume you were delighted to hear that?"

"Um… Yes, yes of course," I replied, as I watched Sara disappear around the door.

"I... uh… I can't wait to see Shady Grove," I added, trying to sound cheerful; for, I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I also didn't want him asking questions I didn't want to answer at the moment. I was having a hard enough time concentrating on what he was saying anyway; my mind was on previous events. Why in this world has I reached up and touched her lip? I wondered.

"You'll love it. I know you will. Your mother did, but... I suppose she told you about it."

"Uh… No," I replied. I saw his smile fade instantly. "I mean… No, I… I'd rather you tell me about it."

His expression changed abruptly and his brown eyes seemed to light up, as he began telling me all about Shady Grove. I could tell he loved horses and horseback riding; for, he went on and on about the thoroughbreds he raised and the large expanse of land on which he rode them. I wondered if I would ever be able to ride one of them.

I listened intently as he described Shady Grove in great detail. He made it sound even more like Tara than mother had. I found myself profusely wishing that they were here and we could all go there together. But, alas, that was not to be. Nothing could change what was. And I knew they wouldn't want me to dwell on the past, so I allowed myself to be carried along by his excitement and enthusiasm. It seemed inevitable that this would be my future, for a while at least.

I listened to him expound further on the advantages of living at Shady Grove, while I watched Sara clean up the broken shards from the mirror. I hadn't even stopped to consider that it was her compact. Perhaps if I had known this I wouldn't have broken it, I thought. Then again, none of the previous events would have taken place and... I quickly realized this was one of those times when if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing.

Before Brandon left, he placed a kiss on my cheek, as always, promising to see me tomorrow. Just two more days and I'll be outta here. The thought did excite me and yet the future was frightening! How long would my recovery take? I looked over at Sara, who had been very quiet since cleaning up my mess. She was still sitting on the heating unit, staring out at the city beyond.

"Sara... how long will it take before... I can walk again?" I asked.

"That depends on a lot of different factors," she replied, her eyes never leaving the window. "Foremost is your body's ability to heal itself. Some heal faster than others... and that depends a great deal on your state of mind."

"What do you mean?"

"Whether you want to get better or not and how hard you're willing to work for it,"

she replied, still staring out the window.

I could tell there was something weighing heavily on her mind by the way she crossed and uncrossed her arms, then rubbed her hands up and down them, as if she were cold.

"I'm... sorry about your compact," I offered.

"Don't worry about it," she said, with a shrug. "I never used it anyway."

My mind replayed the scene before Brandon came in. I remembered how she had backed away from me and how I had felt at that moment. Why did I reach up and touch her lip? I didn't know. But I did want to be close to her again. I wanted to feel her arms around me, the warmth of her embrace. I wish you would turn around and look at me, I thought.

"Sara..."I paused, hoping she'd turn around.

"Hmm?" she answered, but never moved.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No… just thinking about getting some fresh air, is all. Dinner'll be served soon, so I won't be long," she replied, as she got up and walked over to the door. She paused for a moment. "We… we'll start your therapy after dinner. So, get some rest," she added, without even a glance my way.

Now I knew there was definitely something wrong. I wondered if it might be because she had stirred up some painful memories, when she told me about her face. I assumed she probably just needed to be alone for a while. And who wouldn't in her position, since she was on duty, twenty-four hours a day? I had never really given this much thought before. I'd merely taken for granted that she would be here, whenever I needed her. I realized I'd been acting very selfish, thinking only of myself, when around me there were other people with their own problems.

I must have dozed off; for, when I opened my eyes again, a young Hispanic man was bringing a food tray into the room. "Sorry to wake you," he apologized, as he sat the tray down on the table. "But, your nurse, she did not answer when I knocked."

"That's alright. She woulda woke me up anyway," I replied.

He pulled the table over to the bed and positioned it in front of me. I noticed he kept looking at my head out of the corner of his eyes.

"Where's Delilah today?" I asked.

"This is her day off," he answered, as he uncovered the tray.

He gave me one last quick glance. "Everyt'ing alright?"

"Yes, thank you."

After he left, I raised the head of the bed to a more comfortable position. I was removing the cover from the plate, when Sara walked in.

She looked over at me, seemingly quite surprised by what she saw. "Well, looks as if you can get along just fine without me," she observed, as she walked back over to the window.

I could tell by her demeanor that her time away had not helped. So, I tried to think of something witty to say, but all I came up with was: "It's because of you that I can do without you, for a little while, at least."

She smiled, as she walked over to her chair by the bed. Funny, I thought, how I consider this "her" chair. "Have you eaten?" I asked.

"Yes... that's why I was late getting back."

I wanted to say something to try and cheer her up, but I couldn't think of a thing, so I ate in silence. And to my surprise, I found that I truly missed her being involved in everything I did. I wanted to be independent, yet adored the attention she lavished on me.

Perhaps that's it, I thought. Maybe she realized I was depending on her too much. And this was just her way of loosening the apron strings, so to speak.

After my meal, I pushed the table as far away from me as I could possibly get it, so that she would see I was trying to be more independent. She didn't seem to notice, however, she merely sat there reading her book. I eased the head of the bed back down and lay back. I listened to the sounds of the hospital, all the while aching for her to say something… anything. But she merely kept right on reading. I then began to wonder what this therapy would be like.

Finally, the young man came back for the tray. She still made no attempt to get up or even acknowledge his presence with more than a glance over her book. I thanked him.

About thirty minutes later, she got up, went into the bathroom and emerged with something in a squeeze type bottle. "Think you're up to your therapy now?" she asked, without even looking over at me.

"I guess so," I replied, not really sure what to expect, since she hadn't explained anything about it. Yet, in a way I was eager for anything, as long as she would talk to me.

She placed the bottle on the table and then changed the sign on the door to read "Do Not Disturb". She closed the door very slowly, as if she were contemplating something.

She definitely had that "lost in space look" as my mother always called it, when I was so deeply involved in my own thoughts I blocked out everything else.

Upon pushing the table over to the right side of the bed she finally looked over at me. "We'll start with your legs," she said, decisively. "I'll rub them legs with the oil to stimulate the circulation of blood. Then..." Pausing as she lowered the bed. "Then I'll turn you over and do the same to your back."

She pulled the cover back exposing my seemingly lifeless legs and then she sat down on the bed. Retrieving the oil, she placed a small amount in the palms of her hands and rubbed them together. A bit hesitantly, she started rubbing my legs. I could feel nothing, yet I closed my eyes, trying to imagine it, since it looked like it should feel pretty good. It was to no avail though, so I settled for watching.

"Was this part of your training?" I asked, desiring to break the silence between us.

"Um-hmm," she answered, as she got up and went over to the other side of the bed.

She massaged my left leg and then picked it up, bending it at the knee, pushing it towards me then pulling it out straight. She continued doing this, back and forth, back and forth, for at least two minutes, without ever looking up. I started to feel like I was just another job to her. When finished, she moved over and did the same to the other leg.

"Okay," she said finally. "Let's turn you over."

She crossed one of my legs over the other then came up to turn my body. I kept staring at her, but she wouldn't meet my gaze. Slowly, one part at a time, she turned me over. Clearing her throat, she started rubbing oil on my back. Every once in a while, I could feel what she was doing, when her hands came above the paralyzed zone, then they would disappear into the abyss again.

"Alright, let's get you...."

"Um... would you... do the rest of my back?" I interrupted. "I'd like to know what it feels like."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I mean, I watched you do my legs and I couldn't feel anything. I'd just like to know what it feels like."

"Very well," she said with a sigh.

She rubbed gently at first, her hands gliding over my upper back. Now I knew what my legs had been privy to. Increasing the pressure, she moved up to my shoulders. I was unaware of how sore they actually were. It felt as if she were kneading my flesh. It didn't hurt though. On the contrary, it felt good and I told her so.

"Your shoulder muscles are tight,” she said, in response. “You're storing tension here. Are you worried about something?"

Finally she was talking to me.

"You," I answered.

She abruptly stopped for a moment, then without a word resumed. When finished, she repeated the process of rolling me back over.

"I realize it's none of my business," I acknowledged, as she came up to roll me over the last leg of the way. "But what's with all this silence? It's about to drive me up the wall."

She looked down at me, her eyes a dark watery blue. Several seconds passed. Then she sighed heavily and sat down on the bed. "I suppose we should discuss this. Of course, most of the time this doesn't come up until later on. But, since I've seen it before, I suppose I recognize the first signs." She sighed again, as if reluctant to continue.

"Sometimes... especially when a patient feels alone... they become... too dependent on their therapist, nurse or… whoever is with them most of the time. Do you understand?"

"Well, I suppose. But, there are only so many things I can do for myself. And… I try to do them, don't I?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm not referring to a physical dependency. I'm talking about an emotional one."

I considered this for a moment. The only way I could see that I was emotionally dependent upon her was when she held me, while I cried. And I had only asked for that once. "You mean, I shouldn't expect you to hold me when I cry?"

"That, too. I mean... Yes, that was my mistake. I caused you to become dependent that way. And now I need to remedy it."

"Well, why didn't you just say so? Why all the silence?"

She stared at me for a long time, as if she were trying to say something with her eyes that she couldn't bring herself to say with her mouth. "It goes deeper than that, Faith. I think we both know that," she finally answered, staring deeply into my eyes.

"Oh, you mean thinking of you like my mother. Well… I don't anymore. Not after this afternoon."

Her eyes opened wider, as if I'd hit the proverbial nail on the head. I searched through my memories of that afternoon, trying to remember what I could have done to upset her. Of course, it came back clearly: running my thumb over her bottom lip. I wanted to offer an excuse and say, I only wanted to see if you were wearing lipstick. But, that wasn't the truth and besides, I didn't think it would fly. At least, it didn't with me, because I hadn't given any thought to whether she was wearing lipstick or not, until after my finger touched her lip. What were you thinking? I questioned myself. Hell if I know, I silently answered. It… it just… happened is all! It was an impulse! Just… just a stupid mistake! I… I felt grateful to her and… I was just showing that… wasn't I?

Instead of excuses, however, I ended up taking offense. "Oh, you mean it's alright for you to show affection towards me, but I shouldn't do that to you? Is that what you're saying? The patient-therapist relationship only works one way, hmm?” The words were tumbling out. “I shouldn't feel gratitude towards you? Shouldn't feel… anything, even though you're about the only person in this world right now I feel I can trust?" My bottom lip trembled, betraying my emotions.

"Faith, I…” She paused and looked away, shaking her head. Her eyes rolled skyward before coming back to rest upon mine. “You're… very emotional right now,"

she said the corners of her mouth turning up as if she wanted to smile. "I'm not the only person you can trust, ya know."

"I'm sorry I've grown so dependent on you,” I offered, my lip still trembling slightly.

“But I think you can tell, I don't really know my uncle that well. Matter of fact, I'd never met him until what… seven... eight days ago? I mean, he seems nice, but... in the back of my mind, I know there's a reason my mother and father didn't like to talk about him. And this… well it makes me wanna keep my distance. Plus, whether he was protecting me or not, he still lied. I could tell you would've told me the first day. You wanted to, didn't you?"

"Hmph, well... I guess I can't fool you."

"That's part of it, too. My mother was like that. I could read her emotions in her eyes, too. You're very open with your feelings. I can tell that my uncle would put up a facade and probably does quite often. His cheerful ways had me fooled into thinking my parents were... Well… I don't mean to judge him, but something tells me… there's a lot hidden beneath those cheerful, sparkling eyes."

Sara frowned, nodded and looked away. "I wasn't aware you'd never met him before.

Perhaps… it's a bit too early for this talk, hmm?” She looked down at me. “And I guess there's very little I can hide from you."

"Nor me from you," I added.

She smiled. "This is one time I'll probably regret it when my patient takes her first step."

"Why?"

"Because…" She paused, glancing down at her hands. "…you won't need me much longer after that. My job will be finished, for the most part."

"Hmm… Well, can't we still be friends?"

"I… I suppose. That is if you still want to be friends at that time," she answered, as she fidgeted with her hands. "By then though, you may hate me.”

“Hate you? Why would I hate you?”

“'Cause you'll get tired of me pushing you so hard. That is, unless you're one of those unique people I haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet."

"My mother once told me that between love and hate, there's a very thin line," I stated. "She said in order to hate someone with a passion, you must have once loved them. Because hate is love turned inside out. Sorta like laughing and crying, hmm? Even though they're opposites, they are related. And if love can turn to hate, then hate can turn back to love."

"You sound wise," she said, as she reached over and touched my cheek. "I hope you're right. I truly do."

"Read to me?"

"Alright," she replied, as she reached over and retrieved the book from the nightstand. She opened it to the first bookmark.

"Think we'll finish it before I walk again?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said, softly, as she looked over at me and smiled.

I knew things were back to normal, I could only hope that they would stay that way.

Soon my eyelids began to grow heavy. I tried hard to fight the sleep that seemed to be invading my body. The last thing I remember was feeling her close to me, the aroma of her perfume wafting around me, as she whispered, "I'd read to you forever, if I could."

Then she kissed me lightly on the cheek.

Sometime during the night, I awoke with a start and sat up. I had felt that my mother and father were right there in the room with me. I glanced around in the darkness as their voices replayed in my head. "Beware... have no illusions," they had said.

I broke down in tears; it had felt so real. Sara must have heard me, for I heard the patter of bare feet on the floor and then the night light above the bed came on.

"What's wrong?" she asked, with a look of grave concern on her face.

"My parents... they were here... I..."

"Oh sweetheart, it was just a dream," she said, soothingly.

"No, this was no dream, they were here. I could feel them... I could hear them..." I blubbered, remembering their voices.

"Cum'mere," she said, letting down the guardrail and then leaning over putting her arms around me. "It was just a dream."

"No, I heard them. They... they said... beware... have no illusions."

She held me away from her and stared deeply into my eyes. I thought I saw tears in her green eyes. Green Eyes? But her eyes are blue, aren't they? Yes, of course they are; a very warm deep blue. Could it be the light?

"Your eyes they're... they're green," I said in astonishment.

"Um... yeah, they are. I wear colored contacts," she explained.

Was this what my mother and father meant by illusions? Were they referring to Sara, who presented the illusion of blue eyes? Blue eyes like my mother's. Could she have known about my mother? Were they warning me about Sara for some reason?

"Whatsamatta?" she asked, with a puzzled look on her face.

"Nothing... I mean, you're probably right. I musta been dreaming," I said, wiping my eyes. "It... it just seemed so real, that's all." I laid back on the bed and looked away. Was it just a dream?

"Well... you get some rest now. Tomorrow will be another big day for you. Dr.

Rosemund said we should get you out for some fresh air," she said, as she pulled the covers up on me. "I think you'll like that."

I merely lay there staring into the darkness wondering what new set of obstacles I would be faced with now. The only person I truly felt I could trust might very well be the one my parents had been warning me about. After all, hadn't she said that I shouldn't be emotionally dependent on her? And yet she had just put her arms around me once again.

She had contradicted her own self!

I suddenly felt very lost and alone. Could I, or more to the point should I, still trust her? Was there not a soul in this world I could rely upon? I yearned for the warmth, comfort and security of my parents! Silently, I cried myself to sleep.

FIVE

She was right the next day was busy. After breakfast came my bath: I was stronger, more relaxed and actually enjoyed it. I didn't feel nearly as tired when she pushed me back to the room, either.

Closing the door, she flipped the sign to read, "Do Not Disturb". I wondered what was going on. I was under the impression massage therapy was relegated to nights.

Leaving me by the bed, she went over to the closet. What's she up to? I wondered, watching her pull out two gift-wrapped boxes: one rather large and the other quite small.

“I… uh…. I got you something yesterday while I was out," she explained, as she walked over to me. "I knew you needed 'em. Men sometimes don't think of things like this. I hope you like'em."

She handed me the boxes. I didn't know what to say. Yesterday I'd have been thrilled to know she thought enough of me to buy me something. But now, I was having bad thoughts: questioning her motives.

"Thank you," I managed to say, as I hesitantly opened the small box first. Inside was a bottle of perfume. "Wind Song" the cologne my mother used. "How did you know my mother wore this?" I accused.

"I... I didn't," she replied, her eyebrows darting up, as if she had no idea what I was talking about. "I… I just went to the counter and... and smelled the different ones and … I liked this one. But, I don't know why. And I'm sorry if… if I offended or… hurt you in anyway. That was not my intention, believe me," she apologized, her bogus blue eyes turning cloudy. "I'll take it back. I'll get whatever kind you like. I'm sorry, I should've asked. Here, I'll take it back and get the kind you like." She reached over and took the perfume from me. "But, please, open the other one. I think you will like it. Or at least… I hope so." The corners of her mouth turned up in a rueful smile.

I relented. Inside were an off-white nightgown and matching robe.

"I thought you'd need those. I know how uncomfortable those backless negligees are," she explained, her smile uncertain now.

I had to admit, it was a beautiful nightgown. I hardly ever wore one, however, because I preferred cotton nightshirts or just a T-shirt, which I found much more comfortable. Yet, she had been quite kind to take into consideration my discomfort.

Thinking back to the day before, I knew how thrilled I would have been to receive this and now I was just sitting, staring at it. Why? All because of something that could've been just a dream; could've been nothing more than an overactive imagination run amuck!

"Is it the wrong color... or size? I can always exchange it if…" She paused, as I looked. Disappointment over my lack of enthusiasm was written all over her face.

"It's beautiful," I said, softly.

"Well, what's...?"

"You told Uncle Brandon my emotions were like a raw nerve, remember?” I interrupted. “I really do like it. Please... help me put it on."

Her spirits seemed to lift, as she helped me out of the hospital garb and into the nightgown.

"Lovely," she uttered, as she backed away. "You're… very pretty, Faith."

I blushed, not knowing what to say. For, I knew this wasn't the truth. I hadn't been pretty even before the accident, much less now.

"Oh... I almost forgot," she murmured, as she reached into the box again. "I saw this and I thought... well, I thought we might fancy up your... headdress." She pulled out an off-white silk scarf, displaying it across one arm. "Whaddaya think?" she asked, uncertainly.

"You mean put that over my bandage?"

"Uh, yeah... I've seen it done before. It'll look like a turban, sorta.” She paused. “Tell ya what, I'll fix it and if you don't like it... fine... we'll take it off, okay?"

I sighed heavily at the thought of the bandage and the scars. Could she really make it look better? I wondered. It's worth a shot, right?

I agreed and she wheeled me over to the full-length mirror on the inside of the closet door. "Take one quick look," she said excitedly. "Then, close your eyes and keep 'em closed 'til I tell ya to open 'em."

I looked at myself once again. I didn't see the angry girl of yesterday, but I still looked ugly. I closed my eyes, as she instructed, and felt her moving about me, wrapping the scarf around my head. She fussed over adjusting it here and there, then finally told me to open my eyes. I looked up slowly and found my once ugly bandage completely covered by the lovely silk scarf. On the right hand side she had also attached a small broach: a butterfly with two very tiny light blue stones for its eyes. I felt like crying. She had taken something ugly and turned it into a more dignified and appealing sight.

I looked older now. Gone was the naive child of yesteryear, her innocent eyes revealing how very little she knew about pain and loss; the floppy nightshirts with cute sayings across the first, her last hold upon childhood. Before me now was the reflection of a more mature young woman, whose eyes confirmed the severity of the pain and loss she had suffered. And whose breasts, I had to admit, filled out the cups of the shapely, low cut nightgown rather nicely.

"You look lovely," she said, placing her hands upon my shoulders.

I looked up at her reflection, tears welling up in my eyes. "Thank you," I said, putting my right hand on hers.

"You're very welcome," she uttered softly. "Now… you're all ready for your excursion outside. When would you like to go?"

I knew she was changing the subject so I wouldn't dwell on the tears.

"How about right now?" asked Uncle Brandon's loud and cheerful voice.

I quickly glanced up at his reflection. He had slipped in and neither one of us had noticed. And my how handsome he looked. Just like Father, I thought. Except for his clothes that screamed, I'm rich. And his demeanor, straight and proud, which pronounced in no uncertain terms: I'm in control, here. There's nothing I can't handle.

"Princess, how beautiful you look," he said, as Sara moved off to one side. "I just can't take my eyes off you. So much like your mother... so beautiful." He approached the back of my chair, never taking his eyes off my reflection. "Did you do this for her, Miss Bennington?" he asked, his eyes seemingly glued to my image.

"Yes," she responded, backing away.

"Wonderful... I'll have to reimburse you. Princess, I'm so sorry I didn't think to buy you something like this. I guess with everything that has happened, I've just been so busy, I.... But, I'll make it up to you, I promise. You know men they appreciate beauty, but seldom know how to perfect it. You are... beautiful," he repeated, his eyes lighting up like he had just been given the grandest gift in the world. "You do feel up to taking a short stroll, don't you, Princess? I'd just love to show off my lovely... niece. It is alright, isn't it Miss B.?"

Sara had backed away, as she always did when Uncle Brandon came around. I watched her reflection as she turned away. "That's up to Faith," she replied, as she walked over to her chair beside the bed.

I detected a note of disappointment in her voice. I knew she had planned this for my first outing. Now he had walked in and taken over, as he always did. What was I to do? I needed to get to know my uncle better; for, I would be living in his home. And I already knew Sara, or at least, I thought I did. I reasoned there would be time for other outings.

Perhaps even today, although I knew it wouldn't be the same.

Sara helped me into my robe and flashed a rueful smile before we left. Uncle Brandon then wheeled me out into the hall and began to chatter like a 'Chatty Cathy' doll.

"I can't get over how beautiful you are," he said, as he leaned over me, while pushing me down the hall. "And how much you look like your mother."

Since he kept broaching the subject of my mother, I thought I'd take the opportunity to inquire about the time she spent at Shady Grove. "Thank you," I replied. "I always thought my mother was very pretty, but I'm sure my opinion was biased."

"She was beautiful," he said wistfully.

"What was she like when she was my age? When she lived at Shady Grove?"

"She was like a breath of fresh air," he answered on a sigh. His pace slowed somewhat and I glanced over my shoulder. He was smiling and staring off into space, with a glassy look in his eyes, as if he were reliving a memory in his mind.

I wondered why the mention of my mother should invoke such memories? Was it a very happy time back then? My mother didn't seem to think so. "I assume you were close to my mother and father when they lived at Shady Grove?" I prodded, wanting to pry more information from him.

"We... yes," he replied, clearing his throat. "Yes, the four of us were... close. We lived in the same house, you know. The house is big, but not that big."

Four of us? I thought. Oh yes, Ashley and Jason's mother, Vivian.

"I suppose my mother and Aunt Vivian were close?"

"Umm, actually, no. They were never close friends, in that sense. They were worlds apart. Your mother was charming, graceful, sophisticated and beautiful. Vivian was too envious of her, to be good friends," he said, rather coldly. "But, enough of that, let's talk about you. What were you studying in college?"

"Psychology."

"I assume that was your mother's idea?"

"No, it was mine," I replied, as he pushed me up to the electronic doors, leading outside.

The doors slowly opened and we proceeded out onto the terrace of the third floor. A white wrought iron railing surrounded the wide patio, where neatly arranged white tables and chairs awaited patients and their visitors. We had it all to ourselves, however, and he pushed me over to one of the closest tables then took a seat in the chair beside me. A rather lengthy silence ensued, as I looked around.

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun shone brightly on a tall glass building across the street. Traffic noises from the streets below wafted up on the warm breeze that tinkled the wind chimes hanging from the ledge above. Life was moving at a rapid pace in the bustling city of Atlanta. Secluded behind the walls of the hospital, I hadn't given much thought to the outside world. Perhaps I hadn't been ready. After all, life was still going on out there, when it seemed mine had stopped, March 3, 1993, the day of the plane crash.

The roar of a jet engine filled the air. I suddenly felt panicky inside. I struggled to fight the rising fear.

"I take it this is your first visit to Atlanta?" he asked, his voice sounding distant to my ears, for a moment or two.

"Yes, except for the airport to make a... connecting flight," I answered, remembering how my mother had been concerned whether we'd make our flight to L.A.

"Can't tell much about it from up there, can you?"

"No... it's like... being in a secluded world."

"Well, as soon as you're strong enough, I'll take you on a tour... show you the sights around here. We can even visit my office. Would you like that?"

"I guess," I replied, watching the plane that had taken off disappear into the clouds.

"You know you have a stake in Neilson, don't you?"

I turned to face him. What kind of stake was he talking about? Father never had anything to do with the business to my knowledge.

"You have inherited half the business. Your father never bothered with his inheritance, but then he never forfeited it, either. He merely ignored it," he said, matter-of-factly. "And now, it's yours."

This prospect had never dawned on me. I'd always thought Uncle Brandon inherited everything and this was the reason why my father didn't stay at Shady Grove or have any part in the business.

Uncle Brandon must have read my thoughts, for he went on, "He could have used his inheritance at any time. I mean, sharing the profits. He could not sell it away of course, not unless both of us agreed to the sale. I suppose that was my father's way of making sure the business stayed in the family. But, your father was heir to half of everything. When he came home with your mother, I arranged to have the whole east wing redecorated for them. But Jonathan never seemed to want to have anything to do with the business. And now... all that should have been his, belongs to you."

I was quite overwhelmed by all this. I knew he was telling me I was a wealthy young woman. Yet, I would gladly have given it all up, to have my parents alive and well again. Or even just a few minutes with them in order to say goodbye.

"I'll teach you about the business, if you'd like. Then you can assist me. There are always business parties to arrange and a hostess as beautiful as you, why you'd be the center of attention."

Oh yeah, I'd be the center of attention, alright, I thought. But, it wouldn't be the kind of attention you're talking about. Everyone would be staring at my scars, and thinking how ugly, not how beautiful. I'd never even thought of myself as beautiful before the accident. Did he think I was blind? Or just a bubble brain who'd hang on his every word, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

"Every man needs a beautiful woman to help him," he continued, "We could be quite a team, especially with Jason there, when he's through with college. He's preparing himself to fill my shoes one day."

"What about Ashley?" I asked, trying to change the subject. Finding out I had inherited a fortune was one thing, but he was making plans for my future. And I wasn't up to a confrontation of any kind right now.

"Your mother didn't tell you?" he asked, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice. I shook my head. "We... we lost Ashley five years ago. She was... killed in an automobile accident. Crashed through the guardrail of a bridge... he car went into the river. They searched for days, dragging the river, but..." He raised his hand to his forehead and shielded his eyes, to avoid exposing me to his tears, I assumed.

I felt so sorry for him. Mother had told me how he'd lost his wife, Vivian: she'd committed suicide in front of Ashley, when my cousin was thirteen. After that, Ashley spent time in a psychiatric hospital. Now, he had lost his daughter, as well. I now understood why he had not mentioned her and why he sang Jason's praises. His son was all he had left. Except for me, now. This made it a little easier to understand why he doted on me so. I knew, however, that I could never replace his daughter if that's what he wanted. I could never be anyone's daughter, but my father's. Yet, I would try for my poor uncle's sake to understand him better and perhaps one day, I'd even grow to love him.

"I'm sorry Uncle Brandon, I didn't know."

"It's alright," he responded, waving his hand, as if shooing away the thought. "You needed to know. I would have told you eventually." He looked down at his watch.

"Hmph... look at the time. I should get you back. I wouldn't want to wear you out on your first outing. And I need to get back to my office."

No words passed between us on the way back to my room. The only sounds that broke the silence were the clicking noises made by Uncle Brandon's shoes and the squeak of the chair's wheels on the tile floor, as he pushed me down the long hallway.

When we entered the room, Sara was in evidence. Uncle Brandon was furious that she had left the room. "I pay her good money to be here. And now that you need her, where is she? Probably off flirting with some orderly or doctor, I suspect," he said, his voice growing hard and cold.

"I'm sure she'll be back soon."

He stormed over to the bed and was about to call for a nurse, when Sara walked in.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"I went out for a walk myself, while the two of you were out," she explained calmly.

"You are paid to be here, when I... when Faith needs you."

"Please, Uncle Brandon…" I started to intervene.

"I'm paid to be a full time nurse and therapist, not a..." Sara paused, stopping short of losing her temper.

"Uncle Brandon, I'm sure Sara needs to stretch her legs from time to time. And, I imagine she needs time away from the hospital and from me. I'm not the angel you believe me to be, ya know. Besides, I need to be independent, sometimes," I temperately stated, trying my best to ease the tension.

"I pay her to be here, twenty four hours a day," he declared.

"She is. She's here whenever I need her. I mean… she's here now. If you had left, I woulda been fine. I knew she'd be back soon. And if it was an emergency I could call another nurse, very easily. I do know how to do that, ya know. I'm not a child," I said, thinly disguised irritation in my voice. I was determined to stop his irrational attack on Sara.

"Of course you're not, Princess. I can see that," he said, his tone becoming more tranquil, as he looked me up and down. "But, please, Princess, just call me Brandon.

Uncle sounds so... formal."

"Alright… Brandon. Thank you for taking me on our little outing. I enjoyed it."

"I'm glad, Princess, I enjoyed it, too," he said, as he leaned over and kissed my cheek. "How would you like it if I brought Jason to see you?"

"Yes, I'd like to meet him."

"Alright, that's what I'll do. Dinner is at six, isn't it? Then we'll be here around seven. If that doesn't interfere with your schedule, Miss Bennington?"

"That'll be fine," Sara responded.

"Take care now, Princess and get some rest. We want you strong enough for the trip Thursday. I'll see you this evening."

After he left, Sara helped me remove my robe and put me back into bed. I was totally exhausted, although I didn't want to let on.

"How was your first trip outside?" she finally asked, pulling the sheet up on me.

"Nice... I mean, I needed to get to know Uncle… I mean Brandon and... I found out a few things I didn't know. I don't understand why my mother never told me about my cousin Ashley."

Sara quickly glanced over at me, at the mention of Ashley's name. "Perhaps she had her reasons," she offered, as she sat down in her chair.

"Do you know about Ashley?" I inquired.

"Only what I read in the papers," she said, solemnly.

"And what was that?"

"Something about a car accident… they dragged the river."

"Did you know her?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard. She quickly glanced over at me, then down at the floor, her eyes darting back and forth, as if she were searching for the right answer. "I... I don't know really. Things that happened before the accident are... quite fuzzy."

"Do you remember the accident?” I asked, intrigued.

"No, my father told me..." She paused and glanced over at me. "You need your rest,”

she asserted, changing the subject. “You've had a very busy morning and I can see in your eyes that you're tired."

"No fooling you, is there?" I uttered, watching her reach over and retrieve her book.

She shook her head and smiled, as she opened the book to the second bookmark.

"Sara, thank you for the presents. I'm… I'm sorry about the perfume."

"I should've asked first," she responded. "By the way, what kind do you wear? I'll swap it."

"The last one I wore… the only one I really like is Estee, but… you don't have to swap it. Brandon can have someone pick some up for me."

She cut her eyes over at me. "I'll get it for you. I'm only sorry I didn't ask you first."

"It was a good choice and... if it didn't remind me of my mother.... Well, it's the thought that counts, right?"

She gave no response, but merely started reading. I dozed off shortly and spent the remainder of the afternoon, except for a brief time during lunch and dinner, napping.

Obviously, I hadn't realized just how exhausted I was.

Brandon and Jason came at seven, just as he'd said they would. Jason was a carbon copy of his father, except his hair was a darker brown, almost black, compared to his father's medium brown. He greeted me in a rather cool manner at first. He wouldn't look at me and seemed very nervous about the whole situation. I wondered if I was that repulsive to him.

Then the conversation turned to my recovering at Shady Grove and Sara spoke up. "Yes, Faith'll need help from all of us," she said, agreeing with Brandon's comment about all the staff being at my beck and call. "And there'll be times when I'll need someone pretty strong to help me with certain things."

"As I said, Miss Bennington, I have a staff of servants," Brandon reminded, sternly.

"Well, I might need someone else with... a little more time. Someone with lots of energy."

"Then I'll hire someone. What is it you foresee them doing?"

"It wouldn't be a full time job. Just helping out here and there, most probably with her therapy in the pool and getting her out and about when I'm..."

"I could help," Jason offered, glancing over at his father, obviously for his approval.

"Why, yes. Yes, I believe you'd be perfect for the job," Sara said, as she looked over at him. "We should be ready for pool therapy during the time you're on summer vacation.

How old are you?"

"Fifteen," he said, proudly.

"Only fifteen? Why I thought surely you were at least seventeen," she said matter-of-factly. He straightened up in his seat. "Think you could take Faith outside for me, sometimes?"

"Yes," he replied. Then he turned to me. "I'll show you the stables and my horse, Shane."

"I'd like that," I acknowledged, with a smile.

From then on, he seemed more comfortable and even smiled at me a couple of times, as if the idea of spending time with me was not so repulsive. I knew what Sara had accomplished, but Brandon seemed unaware of her manipulation and quite put off by the whole situation. But how could he object when I knew he had wanted his son to make friends with me. And I also knew now it was not my looks that repulsed Jason; it was because I was a stranger. A stranger he saw as not normal. One who would be invading his home; something he'd had no say so about, until Sara opened the door for him. She'd offered him the choice of whether to participate and interact with us. I didn't doubt for one minute that he had been warned not to pester me in anyway, which most assuredly had put him on the defensive.

Sara's very good at what she does, I thought, glancing over at her. I wondered how long she had been working at this job. And that, in turn, made me realize that I didn't even know her age. I had just assumed she was in her late twenties. I decided I would ask the first chance I got.

Before they left, Brandon asked to speak to Sara outside. I was afraid he was going to chew her out about Jason, but when she came back in, her mood hadn't changed. She immediately began preparing everything for my therapy.

Pulling up the nightgown, she started on my legs. "How long have you been doing this?"

I asked, casually.

"Oh… 'bout two years."

"How old are you?" I bluntly probed.

She looked up and smiled. "How old do you think I am?"

"Twenty... six," I replied, underestimating a bit, so I wouldn't embarrass both of us, if she were younger than I assumed.

"I wish. Thirty-two," she replied, as she pushed my leg forward and then pulled it back. "Let's see.... you're eighteen, right?"

"Twenty-two in another four months," I corrected. She gave me a rather odd look.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just thought... Well, I've thought of you as a child, I'll have to reevaluate my thinking, hmm?" she said, as she moved around to the other side of the bed. "Twenty-two and no steady boyfriends, hmm?"

"No... it seems they all want only one thing."

"Yeah, I know what'cha mean."

"Is that why you're still Miss Bennington?"

"Suppose so," she responded, rubbing my left leg with oil, working her hands back and forth over and over again.

When finished, she turned me over, then stopped abruptly and looked at my nightgown. "What's the matter?" I inquired.

"Well, either I'll have to roll your gown up to your neck, to keep from getting oil on it or..."

"Or take it off completely," I finished for her.

"Yes, I'd hate to ruin it. Will you feel too exposed?"

"Why should I, after the baths and that backless negligee I've been wearing?"

She smirked then raised me up and helped me remove the nightgown. She placed it over the back of her chair, being careful to hold it by the straps only. Gently she turned me over and began working on my back. This time, massaging all of it, without me asking. It was very relaxing. For a woman she seemed to have strong hands. Then again I'd never had a man massage my shoulders, except maybe for my father, so I had nothing to compare it to. When she leaned over me to get to my right shoulder, I felt the pressure of her body against mine and a chill ascend out of the abyss of paralysis and race up my spine.

"Cold?" she queried.

I assumed she had noticed the chill bumps on my back. "Uh, no, not really."

A little while later, she started turning me back over and on the last leg of the turn, which put me flat on my back, her gaze fell to my breasts. Curious as to what was so interesting, I glanced down at myself. I was embarrassed to find my nipples erect.

"Guess we better get you dressed, before you catch cold," she suggested, quickly turning to retrieve my nightgown.

While she was putting the gown back on me, I felt myself falling backwards.

Without my legs to use as ballast, I reached out for the first available purchase: her neck.

Her arms went around me posthaste and stopped my descent before I hit the pillow. Her face was only inches from mine when she laid me back. We stared into each other's eyes.

My stomach began to churn; feeling her warm breath against my face. I knew I should let go of her neck, but I couldn't think straight. Too many things were going on inside me.

Things I didn't understand, at all. Yet, they were so new and exciting, I couldn't just ignore them, either.

"I'm sorry. I shoulda supported your back," she apologized, softly, starting to back away, the expression on her face one of sheer guilt.

All I could think about was how I had hurt her feelings today and all because of a silly dream. I remembered how she brought Jason around, so that neither of us had to be uncomfortable in each other's presence. If she was my mother or even a sister, I thought, I'd give her a kiss on the cheek. And even though she was neither of these things, I still felt the urge to do so.

"Thank you," I said, as I touched her face with my right hand.

"For what?" she asked, perplexed.

"Oh for everything. The nightgown... fixing the scarf... Jason...." Her eyebrows arched skyward. "Yeah, I know what you did and I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, but it wasn't anything."

"It meant a lot to me."

"Well... I..."

Without warning, I interrupted her by attempting to plant a kiss her on the cheek. She turned her head at the last moment, however, and I ended up kissing her full on the lips.

Strange sensations shot down my body, disappearing into that abyss of paralysis below. I had never felt anything like this before! Neither of us seemed to know what to do. She turned quite red with embarrassment, as I'm sure I did. At least my face and ears were blazing hot for some reason.

"I didn't mean... your cheek... you turned and..." The words sputtered out of my mouth and once again, I sounded like a stereo speaker with a loose connection.

"You… should get some rest," she asserted, reaching up and removing my left hand from around her neck. "You have another big day ahead of you tomorrow and... an even bigger one the day after."

I watched her as she put away the oil and set up her cot. I couldn't help thinking about what had happened and how I had felt when our lips touched. I wondered if it was just the shock of it all, or whether there was more to it? Unable to go to sleep, I watched her prepare for bed. After she dimmed the lights, leaving only the night light above the bed on, and went into the bathroom I heard the water running. I wondered how long it would be before I could bathe, alone. Perhaps when I get to Shady Grove? What would it be like living in a mansion? Was it as lovely as Brandon described? What about being waited on by servants? What would they be like?

My own home then crossed my mind. What had been done about that? Surely everything was still as we left it. I'd need my clothes and my stereo. That's something I'd ask Brandon about tomorrow. I was sure he'd find a way to get them for me.

A few moments later the bathroom door opened and Sara stole into the room; the aroma of her perfume preceding her. I inhaled deeply, unaware of why exactly, other than I liked the sweet smell. I watched as she eased around the bed and over to the cot. I kept my eyes cracked just a smidgen, to avoid detection, knowing she'd think something was wrong if she found out I was awake. I tried to mimic myself sleeping, though I had no idea what I sounded like. A few seconds later, she neared the bed and I figured she'd expose my ruse. Instead, however, she gently rearranged the cover, reached up over my head. Curious as to what she was doing, I opened my eyes wider to investigate. Her body was very close to my face; the thin material of her nightgown revealing her breasts to full view.

All of a sudden I felt very strange inside. My heart seemed to skip a beat. I heard a click, the room was plunged into darkness and she withdrew. The image, however, remained. She had firm, nicely shaped breasts. What? Firm, nicely shaped breasts? I blushed from embarrassment. What in the world was I thinking about her breasts for?

Well, t hey were right in front of your face after all! A little voice inside my head answered. How could you not notice them? That was true enough. I closed my eyes, hoping to rid myself of this image, but it lingered, as if it were imprinted upon the backs of my eyelids. What in the world is going on here? You're looking at another woman's breasts and… touching her lip… What the hell is wrong with you? You've been in an

accident, remember? That little voice spoke up again. Your head was injured. You were

in a coma. You're not yourself, yet. Your back was injured and now you're paralyzed

from the waist down, so what kinda damage might've been done to your brain from the

accident?

Now there was a comforting thought! What damage had been done inside my head that perhaps they couldn't see on an X-ray or through blood tests? I lay there thinking about all the odd feelings I'd been subjected to and bombarded with over the last few days. I remembered Sara telling me about patients who became too emotionally attached to their nurse, therapist or whoever. I latched onto this thought like a drowning person who'd been thrown a life preserver. I reasoned these strange feelings must be what she was referring to - had to be what she was referring to- because what other explanation was there?

You just want to be comforted by someone you feel you can trust, that little voice inside added. That's all it is.

The next day I was presented with the task of lifting my behind off the bed every hour or so and rolling my own self over on my sides every 2 to 3 hrs, in order to prevent bedsores -bruises caused by lying in one position too long. Although this didn't sound like it should be taxing, I soon found out it most certainly was. I now knew what she meant by “building up my upper body muscles”, because I was actually shocked at just how weak I was. My arms were so tired by the end of the day, Sara had to do it for me.

SIX

The big day finally arrived and Dr. Rosemund was in my room before breakfast. He said I was free to go, but he'd be checking on me from time to time and change my bandage in a week. A few minutes after he left, breakfast arrived with Brandon carrying the tray. On it was a red rose in a small vase.

"Good morning, Princess," he boomed in his baritone voice, looking quite debonair in his light blue suit and off-white sweater vest.

I was expecting more casual apparel, since he'd informed me he was taking the whole day off, just so he could be with me. It was evident now that Brandon would always dress according to his station, no matter what the occasion.

He sat the tray down on the table then pulled it over to me. "Are you excited, Princess? I know I am. I can't wait to get you home, where I can visit more often. Oh, I have a surprise for you. Miss Bennington, please retrieve my package, I left it outside the door." He never even glanced Sara's way. "I wanted to surprise you with the rose and your present," he continued, "but I saw the woman with your tray and... Well, I thought I'd bring it in with the rose, because I wanted to serve my princess on this very special day." He smiled broadly and raised my hand to his lips. "Ah yes," he said, taking the package from Sara. "This is for you, Princess. For your trip home." I started unwrapping the package, as he added, "This is just a sample of what the future holds for you, now."

I opened the box to reveal a pretty blue dress trimmed in white lace. I removed it from the box, thinking it looked like something my mother would have picked out for me, when I was younger. It was definitely out of style: puffy short sleeves, low cut bodice. But, I knew from the feel of the silky material it was expensive. I glanced over at him, not knowing what to say. I'd never owned a dress so posh. Matter of fact, I had very few dresses. My wardrobe consisted of jeans, sweatshirts and T-shirts. And of course a few blouses and polyester pants for formal occasions.

"Blue to match those beautiful blue eyes," he said softly.

"Thank you, Brandon," I reached out to hug him. He kissed me on the cheek, lingering longer than he usually did.

When he stepped back, his eyes drifted from my bandaged head to the dress. "Well, I should go and let you eat now. I have an errand to run anyway. But, I'll be back in time to wheel you out those front doors and whisk you home, don't you worry." He winked and left.

Sara took the dress and put it on a hanger in the closet. When she turned around, I detected the worried look on her face.

"Whatsamatta?"

"Oh... nothing... nothing. We've got a busy day ahead. I was just thinking about what needed to be done," she replied, as she headed for the bathroom. I knew she was preparing for my bath.

Back in my room again, she helped me into the blue dress. I felt the least I could do for him was wear it, even though I longed for a pair of pants and a blouse. She pushed me over to the mirror, so I could see myself. The dress fit me rather well, surprisingly and I wondered how he knew my size. The blue in the dress complimented my eyes as well as the stone of the butterfly pin Sara had given me. Something I had forgotten all about, until now.

"Sara?"

"Princess!" Brandon boomed from the doorway, all smiles. "My, how beautiful you look! I knew you'd bring that dress to life! And I have something else for you," he beamed, crossing the room swiftly and handing me two packages.

"Thank you Brandon, but..."

"Ah-ah-ah, none of that. Just open them."

I opened the first one to reveal a pair of low-heeled blue pumps. He quickly took these and handed them off to Sara. The other one, to my surprise, contained a very shiny, silky blue scarf, which matched the dress perfectly.

"I bought you two of every color they had," he stated proudly. "Now you can accessorize your wardrobe with a scarf to match. Miss Bennington, help her get dressed."

Sara put the shoes on my feet and then removed the pin from my turban. I held out my hand for it and she gently laid it in my palm, as she looked at my reflection in the mirror. I smiled and then turned my attention to the pin. The two blue eyes of the butterfly sparkled in the sunlight pouring through the window. Real topaz? I wondered.

Surely not. Sara couldn't afford something this expensive, could she? I rubbed my finger over the small eyes: very smooth. As I turned it to one side the light refracted off the body, creating a tiny rainbow of colors within. The body wasn't glass as I'd assumed, but some type of crystal. I looked up at Sara, just as Dr. Rosemund entered the room. He motioned for Brandon to come outside.

Sara was still preoccupied with the turban. "I love the butterfly," I said, softly. She looked up at my reflection, her expression unreadable.

"Butterflies are free," she whispered, finishing with the turban. "Always remember that."

I handed her the pendant, wondering exactly what she'd meant by that. Was this her way of suggesting I would walk again?

Brandon walked back in and strolled over to me. "My, you do look wonderful, but…

what's this?" he asked, as if he hadn't noticed the butterfly before.

"Sara gave it to me," I explained, proudly.

He immediately looked over at Sara and his eyes grew small and cold. "Everything ready, Miss Bennington?" he asked, using that tone of voice he seemingly reserved for her alone.

"Yes," she responded, placing her hands on the grips of my chair.

"I will guide my princess in her chariot," he said, matter-of-factly and smiled down at me. "I just can't wait to get you home. Just wait until you see Shady Grove. I know you'll fall in love with it."

He wheeled me out to the elevator, Sara following close behind with our bags. He was acting as if she didn't even exist; when he did speak to her, it was only to give an order. Wheeling me through the lobby, he talked incessantly like an excited child.

Outside, a long black limousine was parked at the entrance. A tall, thin, gray haired man with dark piercing eyes, in black suit and tie, opened the back door.

"Faith, this is Charles, our chauffeur," Brandon made the introductions.

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Neilson," Charles said, in a no nonsense voice, bowing slightly. He abruptly straightened up and stared straight ahead, as if he wasn't supposed to make eye contact with me.

"Nice to meet you, too," I responded, taking in his rather stiff demeanor.

Before I knew what was happening, Brandon had scooped me up out of the chair.

From appearance alone, he didn't look strong, but most certainly was, because he handled me as if I were light as a feather. Of course, I knew I had lost weight, most likely more than ten pounds according to hospital scales, but still I felt he had to be in fairly good shape to lift me so easily.

Gently placing me in the back seat, his clean-shaven face rubbed against mine -his cologne and aftershave filling my nostrils. He exuded richness from every pore; it was nearly overwhelming, though not especially pleasant.

He crawled in beside me and shut the door behind him. Sara was forced to go around. When she was finally in the car, I surveyed my surroundings. My, oh my, look at all the gadgets, I thought. A small television, VCR, stereo system complete with CD

player and a small bar, which I noticed was rather well stocked, were all built into the wood trimmed console in front of us. Soft classical music issued from the speakers concealed around the large back seat. The distinct aroma of leather upholstery, mixed with Brandon's rich scent, permeated the air once the doors were closed.

"Home, Charles." Brandon's authoritative tone, reminding me of rich people in movies, except their driver was usually named 'James'.

I glanced over at Sara to see if she was as impressed by all this as I was, but she was staring out the window, looking rather uncomfortable. I wondered what was wrong, but didn't inquire. I'd save that for later, when we were alone and settled in at Shady Grove.

Finally, I'll get to see this awesome place I've heard so much about, I thought. Then looked over at Brandon, wondering what his home looked like, if his car was this nice?

A phone rang. Brandon quickly reached over and picked it up, with an annoyed look on his face. "Yes," he answered, brusquely. "Did I not leave explicit instructions that I was not to be disturbed, unless it was an emergency? Then handle it. That's your job." He cradled the phone very slowly, seemingly reining in his anger with deliberation. "It's so hard to find competent help these days,” he grumbled. “I haven't had a decent assistant since Raymond died. Now there was a real businessman.” His tone was rapidly returning to normal. “He ran the business you know, until I graduated college. Excellent man...

knew how to handle himself amidst the competition. Taught me everything I know.

Groomed me to take over the company, just as I'm doing with Jason."

He glanced over at me and smiled, but this expression sobered rather quickly. "Oh, I'll teach you about the business. Wouldn't want you worrying your pretty little head about how your interests are faring. That is… if you even care anything about that."

"I don't know a thing about the business world, but I suppose I could learn," I responded, thinking I find out why father disliked it so.

"Don't worry, you'll only need to learn enough to keep track of your interests and carry on a conversation at dinner parties. And speaking of parties..." he said, excitedly, his eyes widening with anticipation of what he was about to reveal. "…I can't wait to introduce you to all my friends and associates at the party I'm giving tonight, in your honor."

"A party... for me?" I was taken aback at the thought of even being at a party, much less one given for me, especially when I looked so horrible.

"Mr. Neilson. I'm afraid a party might be too tiring," Sara interjected.

"I've discussed this with your doctor, Princess, and he assures me it would be fine, as long as you don't tire yourself out.” he said, directing his comments to me alone, as if Sara were not even in the car, much less voiced any objection. “We thought it might be just the ticket to add some gaiety to your first night home." He patted my knee. I glanced down at his hand and he promptly removed it, as if he suddenly remembered I couldn't feel this.

I glanced over at Sara to see what her reaction to this was. She was merely staring out the window, thinly disguised anger apparent in the set of her jaw.

"Yes, I imagine everyone will be eager to meet you, Princess," he continued, "Some of them knew your mother and father when they lived here. So I imagine they'll be asking questions about them. But, I'll be right by your side to stop any... unpleasantness. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time. Your mother always did.

"Now there... there was a lovely hostess," he rambled on, "I've never seen a woman who could handle adverse situations like your mother. She reminded me of a swan. Harsh words, insults... they'd just glide right off her, like water off a swan's back, never penetrating. Yes, a beautiful swan, that was Marion.” He snickered, seemingly at some as yet to be voiced thought. “Or as one of my more flamboyant and eccentric directors once put it, she had such style that if she landed in horse shi… manure, she'd still come up smelling like a rose." He laughed softly, seemingly at the memory replaying in his mind.

I glanced over at Sara, to see if she was hearing the same thing I was. This time, she was staring at his hands, her expression troubled, a little anger still mixed in; blue eyes cold and narrowed. Did she hear what I heard? I wondered. Could she feel the same vibrations I was receiving? Brandon had been in love with my mother! There was just no other explanation for these constantly flattering references and the look in his eyes when he spoke of her, as if he were talking about a saint. I wondered if my mother and father had been aware of this.

"You inherited your mother's fine features, Princess. I should hope you inherited her grace and style, as well. Because I'm sure it would prove to be an asset in the future."

I wanted so badly to ask him if he had been in love with my mother, but held my tongue, because it could possibly backfire on me. Suspecting is one thing, but bringing it out in the open to be judged, is quite another. I wanted to know and yet, I didn't. Not right now, at least. I attempted to put it out of my mind.

Being in the middle, I alternated views from one side of the car to the other, as we sped through Atlanta via a six-lane expressway. Charles expertly maneuvered the car in and around traffic. I had always envied people who could weave in and out like this, making it look so very easy, when I would have been on pins and needles.

We spent the next twenty minutes or so in heavy traffic, then the exits began to get further and further apart. More undeveloped land appeared. Pine forests sprang up here and there, sharing their domain with oak, popular, sweet gum and pecans, which had already started putting on their spring wardrobe.

It was apparent I had missed the first three weeks before the official start of spring, when the first trees were just budding out: Redbuds decked in lavish purple, Bradford pears clothed in stark white. Missed the early spring flowers: yellow daffodils, purple and white crocuses, and an array of varied colored irises and hyacinths which grew in the flower garden my mother had so carefully tended. The gladiolus would probably be just breaking the surface now, in their journey to their full height over the next several months. The white Easter lilies would already be up and getting ready for an April showing. The azaleas would also be preparing for their spectacular display in the same month.

Could it be April already? I wondered. "What's the date?" I asked aloud, of no one in particular.

"March 29," they responded, in unison. They both glanced over at each other, then quickly turned away.

I could tell that these two were going to be a barrel of laughs whenever they were together.

A few minutes later, we exited Interstate 75. Several minutes after that, Sara squirmed in her seat and lightly touched my arm, which she'd been doing all along the trip, when she wanted me to see something of interest. I followed her line of vision and there in front of us -a little ways off to the left- was a large pair of wrought iron gates, attached to two large white stone pillars, each bearing upon their tops a statue of a sitting lion. Ivy partially covered two massive white concrete walls that extended for several hundred feet in either direction, giving way to a very tall chain link fence. The latter had been taken over by the clinging greenery, though not allowed to run amuck. I could feel Brandon watching me as I formed my first impressions of what would be my new home.

The car slowed and the large gates swung open slowly. I caught a brief glimpse of a man in uniform, inside a small cubicle, as we passed. I began to wonder if I were entering a home or a fortress, as we slowly crept underneath an arch of black wrought iron scrollwork, which spelled out the name: SHADY

D G

ROVE.

E Once beyond the gates, I knew

why it had been so named; for, pecan tress lined the driveway and beyond, as far as the eye could see. It was rather dark, riding between the trees, whose branches spanned out over the blacktop driveway.

As the thin ribbon of asphalt wound its way up a small hill, pecan trees gave way to high, well-manicured hedges on either side. I'd never seen hedges this tall, except in movies.

The driveway then snaked around the small hill, the row of hedges leading the eye right up to a massive white mansion, loomed up ahead. It was beautiful; motion picture beautiful. I felt as if I'd been driven onto the set of “Gone With the Wind”. Or at least a restored version of that house, what with the large Corinthian columns lined up along the front entrance like stone sentinels.

The driveway curved around a small courtyard, where a fountain spewed torrents of water into the air, forming a lovely cascading effect. Beautiful flowers: large irises, late blooming daffodils, pansies, snapdragons and many others, were carefully arranged in complimentary colors, outlining the courtyard and circling around the fountain.

"Well, what do you think?" Brandon finally asked.

I took one more look at the huge house, with its separate wings on either side. "I didn't expect it to be so... massive," I replied, totally in awe of the majestic beauty that surrounded me. “But it's… it's beautiful… like something right out of a movie.”

"I knew you'd like it," he said, proudly. "I have a suite all prepared for you. It's in the east wing, there." He pointed up to the last window of the wing closest to us, as we turned towards the front of the mansion. "The largest suite on the east wing. It was your mother and father's when they lived here."

Suite? Didn't that mean more than one room?

Before the car came to a complete stop, a young African American man came bustling out of the massive doors that opened into the house. He quickly covered the distance to the car and was waiting to open the door for Brandon.

"Get the wheelchair from the trunk, Sammy," Brandon ordered, as he got out. Then he reached in and gently picked me up, lifting me out of the car. "Welcome home, Princess," he beamed, as he held me in his arms and kissed my cheek. "Let's get you inside, shall we? Sammy, bring that chair."

He carried me up the wide stone steps and across the threshold, like a groom would his bride. I could only wonder if this would be the only time I'd be carried across one; for, my chances of finding Mr. Right, seemed to have been hindered considerably.

In front of me now, across a vast foyer, loomed a substantial staircase. It reminded me of the one Scarlet so gracefully floated down in Gone With The Wind. Shiny walnut banisters led the eye upwards to the second floor, where they branched off to either side and curved around connecting the opposing wings. The tinkle of glass brought my attention back to the massive chandelier hanging above us.

"Would you like to see the first floor now or would you rather rest?" Brandon asked.

"I'd like to see the rest of it," I replied, excitedly, glancing over his shoulder to find Sara standing in the doorway. "I feel like I'm in a dream world and I don't wanna wake up just yet."

He laughed heartily. "Put the chair over there, Sammy." Slowly he sat me down.

"First, I'll show you the library. I assume you'll be spending a lot of time in there. You do like to read, don't you? Oh, Miss Bennington make sure Faith's bed is made ready, I'm sure she'll be tired when we're finished," he added, as he pushed me into a long, dimly lit hallway off to the left of the foyer, where he stopped again at a set of large double doors.

He swung both doors wide and I couldn't wait for him to push me inside, so I attempted to do it myself. "Ah-ah-ah, not in my presence," he admonished. "I'll handle that. You are my Princess, remember?"

He pushed me into the room slowly, allowing me time to look around. Bookshelves lined each wall, except for the right one -containing a large fireplace- and the front wall, where two long double windows, reached nearly from floor to ceiling. Indeed it was a library: a very dark, but reasonably cozy one, with wine colored chairs and sofas strategically placed throughout, each with its own table and lamp. The heavy wine colored draperies and lace curtains gave the room a formal, secluded appearance.

I could certainly get lost in a book in here, I thought. If I could, that is: the massive staircase presenting a major obstacle in my mind's eye.

A little while later, when he showed me the kitchen, he walked over to what appeared to be a wide closet door and opened it. To my surprise it wasn't a closet at all, but a stairway. And at the bottom: a lift chair. "I'll teach you how to use that another day," he said, closing the door and walking back over to me.

One by one, he showed me every room, in each wing, except for one. Each one had the same dark wood paneling, half way up the 10 ft. high walls, just like the front foyer and the halls. When we passed by the one room I hadn't seen, located at the far end of the west wind, he explained that it was his office. He allowed no one inside, except for one particular maid who cleaned it once a week. He said that if I needed him, to buzz him on the intercom system, which linked all the phones in the house and would provide me my own private line. And he reiterated that I should never go into his office; for, he was a stickler for his privacy. I didn't find that so very odd, since Mother never liked for me to bother Father, when he was working. I figured I could handle that. My uncle still wasn't exactly my favorite person to be around yet anyway.

He pushed me back to the front foyer and up to the staircase. "As I said, I will teach you about the lift chair another day. Because today you are my princess and you deserve to be carried up the stairs." Which is exactly what he did. On the second floor landing another wheelchair awaited me and he eased me into it. "This one is electric. Just press this lever forward..." The chair jerked forward. "Back… left… right. Go ahead try it."

I pressed the lever forward and off I went down the long dimly lit hallway. At the far end was a large window, partially covered by heavy draperies. Into the light stepped the shapely figure of a woman. At first, I thought I was imagining things; she seemed to have a surreal appearance, caused by the sun filtering through the lace panels. I could make out blonde hair, a dark blouse and pants. Then she turned slightly and the sunlight highlighted the side of her face. It was Sara. I hadn't recognized her without her stark white uniform. As we drew closer, she turned around and smiled, but Brandon did not even acknowledge her presence.

"Here is your suite, Princess," he announced, proceeding through a doorway off to the right and into the room ahead of me.

I slowly maneuvered the chair through the doorway, the controls reminding me of a joystick on a computer game. When I looked up, I couldn't believe my eyes. The whole room was decorated in blues and purples, my favorite colors. How did he know? I wondered. The wallpaper was off-white with tiny purple and blue flowers intermingled all over; the curtains dark blue with white lace sheers underneath; the thick carpet, light blue with dark blue mingled throughout, giving it a dappled appearance.

There were two chairs and a sofa, whose upholstery matched the wallpaper, making one of the chairs -positioned against the left wall near a window- seem to be a part of the wall, itself. The remaining sofa and chair were sitting out in the center of the room in an

“L” shape, a light oak end table and lamp between them. In front of the sofa sat a matching oak coffee table, on which lay a collection of classic books, by several different authors. Strategically placed in the corner of the wall containing the door, were a roll top desk and a floor lamp. The right wall was bare, except for a few pictures of horses and landscapes and a small closet door near the far end.

As Sara walked into the room behind me, I realized something was missing: the bed.

"Where's the bed?" I asked, quietly.

She smiled and nodded towards the double doors behind Brandon. He opened them slowly and dramatically. Light flooded in through the doorway. I pressed the lever on the chair arm and moved across the room at a leisurely pace, then continued passed Brandon, who remained in the doorway.

The room was filled with light from two long windows, one on the left wall and one straight across from me. The curtains and the wallpaper were the same as in the previous room, except this one had wainscoting, painted antique white, running halfway up the 10

ft. high walls. Next to the window located directly in front of me, was a tall white chest of drawers. On the other side of this window, a rather low to the floor, white canopy bed, whose bedspread matched the wallpaper, and whose white sheets had been turned back, beckoned to me from across the room. Next to it, on the left side, was a white nightstand, complete with a new swing arm lamp, positioned perfectly for reading in bed. On the same wall was a large white vanity table, which held a sectional mirror that angled out onto the table from opposing sides, providing the occupant of the chair in front of it, three different views. And further down, a massive armoire loomed over in the left corner like a sentinel standing guard.

“All the furniture was your mother and father's,” Brandon explained. “Of course I had to have the bed lowered for wheelchair accessibility.”

I merely nodded, taking in the left wall, by the other window, where two matching chairs sat facing each other, a round white table (about the size of a game table) in between them. The front wall on this side of the double doors was ominously bare, except for an adjustable table like the ones in the hospital and a painting of a white horse standing on a hill, against the backdrop of a cloudy sky.

On the far right hand wall were two massive white folding doors, which appeared to belong to a huge closet. This was obviously an addition to the existing structure, because the smaller door at this end of the wall, was set back much further than the closet. Does this door lead to an adjoining room? I wondered. As I meandered my way into the room, heading for the closet, and trying to get the hang of steering the wheelchair, my eyes were drawn towards the wall on the other side of the sitting room doors. Here a white dresser with matching hutch mirror, complete with little figurines of children on the knickknack shelves, briefly caught my attention. I admired the little girls and boys in their different poses and colorful outfits on my way by.

By the time I reached the folding doors, Brandon was already opening them for me.

It was indeed a long closet, spanning the entire wall, as I'd suspected. Yet, I assumed it would be empty, ready for me to fill with my own things, or possibly already containing them, since I'd made this request of Brandon. But it wasn't. Not by a long shot. I gawked at the long row of clothes, some hanging from expensive sachet scented hangers. There were dresses of every color: most of the same basic, out of style design as the one I was wearing; an array of skirts and silk blouses; and below them, matching low heel pumps, lined up a long two-tier shoe rack.

I looked up at Brandon, who was grinning from ear to ear, seemingly very pleased with his self. I turned back around. Although I appreciated the sentiment -buying me these expensive clothes- I didn't like the implications. It was as if he were dictating my wardrobe. And as I surveyed his taste in clothes, I grimaced at the thought of having to cater to his feelings. I wanted my own clothes, but how was I to tell him this without hurting his feelings?

As my eyes strayed down the long row of dresses and shoes, I noticed something dark and decidedly longer at the back of the closet. I moved down the length of the closet, until I found what I was looking for. There were several pairs of jeans suspended from a pants rack, behind the dresses, along with several polo shirts, a few sweatshirts, several pairs of cotton twill pants and matching blouses. And beneath these were two pairs of Reebok tennis shoes: one white, one black. My face lit up instantly; for, my first impression was that he'd honored my request after all. But, it soon became apparent these clothes and shoes were new. My joyous expression faded somewhat. Yet, I was at least glad he'd provided some things I liked.

"What do you think, Princess?" he finally asked, as he walked over to me.

"I appreciate you doing this," I replied, reaching out and touching a pair of the jeans in order to see what brand they were.

"Where did these come from?" he asked, sounding a bit perplexed. "Miss Bennington," he snarled, spinning around towards her. "Did I not ask you to pick out a few pants and blouses for casual wear?"

"I did," she responded evenly, crossing her arms.

"Dungarees, men's golf shirts and... and these handyman's pullovers… this is what you call casual?" he grumbled.

"Of course," she affirmed serenely, "that's the style these days."

He sighed heavily. "Skirts and blouses… perhaps even pants are casual wear. But, these are dung-a-rees,” he maintained. “Only poor white trash and niggers wear these."

"I wear them," I declared. "And I don't consider myself either of the two." He glanced down at me and I stared back, boldly.

I resented his reference to "niggers". It was a derogatory term I felt should not be used to refer to any ethnic group. In accordance with Mr. Webster's definition of the word, I had met "niggers" in the Caucasian race.

"You should try a pair of jeans sometime,” I added. “See how comfortable they are."

His expression changed instantly, as if I'd hit him below the belt. I flashed him a quick smile and turned away, reading the tag on the jeans. Perfect, I thought, the jeans that fit.

I glanced back at Sara, whose face bore a concerned expression. I smiled warmly.

"Thank you, Sara. Now I know why we played twenty questions yesterday," I said, referring to her inquiries about my choice of clothes and brand name preference, as well as her disappearance right after lunch, while I was resting.

She returned the gesture, as I steered around Brandon and over towards the small door, set back against the wall. "What's in here?" I asked. "Another room?"

"It's your private bath," Brandon answered, his voice returning to the cheerful tone he'd been using before. "Let me show you."

He swiftly came around me and opened the door. Directly across from this door was another one, leading into what I assumed was a bedroom like mine. Perhaps even the one Sara would occupy. I carefully maneuvered into the room to find the usual bathroom accouterments, with the addition of grab bars and the like, for the disabled. The tub, however, appeared to be newer compared to the other facilities. Light filtered into the room from a window on the far end, draped in long cottage style curtains.

"I even had a bathtub like the one you used in the hospital installed, just for you," he said, proudly.

I smiled, although I noticed the bathtub was not equipped for a shower, which was something I had enjoyed at home. I reasoned it would be a while before I could stand up by myself and take a shower anyway, so it really didn't matter right now.

I turned away and fiddled with the steering lever, trying to turn around. "Please, Princess, allow me," he said, gallantly, putting his hand over mine.

"Thanks, but... I need to learn to do this myself."

"Oh, of course," he conceded, withdrawing his hand. His cheerful demeanor fell away as he walked by me.

When I finally got turned around, he was standing at the door, running his fingers through his hair, disappointment written all over his face. I had a feeling my homecoming was not turning out exactly the way he'd planned.

"Is this Sara's room?" I asked, motioning to the other door leading out of the bathroom, as I passed it.

"No, she'll be staying across the hall," he answered decisively.

"Oh, I just assumed because it was so close that..."

"She will be close enough across the hall, I should think," he interrupted. "I've had a nice room prepared for her." He glanced down at me as I passed by him and flashed me a smile that seemed as phony as a three-dollar bill. "That room is in need of repair,” he went on to explain. “It's not easy keeping up twenty rooms, you know. Especially these up here, with the plaster walls."

"Oh, I can understand that," I acknowledged, remembering the faint aroma of fresh paint when we first entered the bedroom. “This bedroom is larger than the sitting room, isn't it?” I queried, changing the subject somewhat.

“Yes,” he affirmed, “Yes, it is. There were originally three suites on this end of the wing. I had them renovated for your mother and father when they came home to live,” he explained, seemingly warming to this subject. “We took out one bedroom here to make the bathroom and closet. And of course add more space to this bedroom.”

That explains the window in the bathroom, I thought.

“The others rooms were left intact, for the most part, adding only doors to join them together. I tried not to destroy too much of the integrity of the house and still give your mother and father their own private living quarters. The sitting room on the far end was used as a living room, for receiving guests; the other was a study for your father. The room next door was used as a “den” I believe they called it. And this, of course was…

their bedroom.” A touch of sadness entered his voice “Your sitting room was designated

… a nursery.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps when you're up on your feet again, I'll have the other rooms redecorated for you.” The change in subject seemed to brighten his spirits somewhat. "Well… I should go now and let you get some sleep. You'll need to be well rested for your coming out party tonight." His tone was almost cheerful again, as if just thinking about this delighted him. "Let's get you into bed and get you some food first, though."

Coming out party? I wondered, meandering over to the bed. What was he talking about? Wasn't that for young girls who were just starting to date? I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, Uncle, I thought, but I've already come out. And done a few other things you wouldn't care to know and…more than likely disapprove of.

"This isn't a hospital bed, is it?" I inquired, as he picked me up and laid me down on the double bed.

"It's adjustable," he replied, as he pointed to the remote control, contained in a holder, mounted on the right bedpost. "The hospital beds looked too small and cramped.

And… wouldn't fit the bed frame, I'm afraid. I thought this would be far more comfortable for you. And not be a constant reminder of… your condition."

"Oh, I appreciate that," I expressed, in total agreement with his choice.

"I'm sure Miss Bennington can show you how to adjust it to suit you, later, when you need to sit up. For now, get some rest, Princess. Lunch will be served soon, but right afterwards, you get some sleep. I'd hate to find my guest of honor was too tired to attend her own party." He kissed me on the cheek and turned to leave. Glancing in Sara's direction, he paused. "Nurses dress casual these days, as well, do they?" he inquired, looking her up and down.

I knew he was referring to her black blouse, jeans and tennis shoes. The change in her attire had taken me by surprise, as well. But, it was a nice surprise.

"I thought Faith would feel more at home, if she wasn't constantly faced with a nurse's uniform. Sorta like the bed," she answered, unemotionally.

He sighed heavily and started towards the door.

"Brandon," I called and he quickly turned around. "Thank you for... everything.

Especially this room. I know you went to a lot of trouble and great expense to have all this done for me. And… I want you to know I do appreciate it."

"Your welcome, Princess," he responded, with a winning smile. "If there's anything else I can do for you, just let me know."

"I hope you're using my inheritance to do all this," I vocalized, thinking of the expense.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Princess. I'll take care of all that."

After he left, I requested that Sara help me change into something more comfortable.

She nodded and walked over to the chest of drawers on the other side of the bed and produced a pair of neatly folded, long sleeve, purple pajamas. "I know it's not a nightshirt, but I didn't think that would be appropriate with... him popping in and you getting in and out of bed. But anyway…” She paused and unfolded the pajamas. “Now madam, these are 50 percent cotton, 50 polyester and..." She held up the top and bottom separately. "…as you can see they are plain. No frilly decorations to scratch you." I knew she was referring to a previous conversation concerning our choice of nighttime apparel.

"Alright!" I said joyfully. "I don't have to ask who chose those."

She cleared her throat. "He picked out some frilly nightgowns and robes. They're over there in the armoire."

"Guess I'll need to wear them so I won't hurt his feelings, hmm?" I wrinkled up my mouth in a grimace.

She shrugged. "Which would you rather have today?"

I glanced down at the dress I was wearing: binding underneath my arms; the new bra: making me itch. "I wore his dress. So now I want my pajamas," I avowed.

She grinned and proceeded over to the bed, where she helped me changed into my soft new pj's.

"Thanks for the jeans, shirts and the Reeboks," I said, as she pulled the cover up over my legs. "And oh yeah, the other pants and sweatshirts and pajamas and... Well, just thanks for everything."

"You're welcome." She chuckled softly and turned to leave.

"And Sara...” I said, causing her to pause and turn around. “I do like you better in jeans. The nurse's uniform would've been a constant reminder. This way... you look more like… just a friend."

"I want to be your friend," she said, softly, easing down on the side of the bed. "And as your friend and your nurse, I must ask you, please don't overdue it tonight. Let me know when you start to feel the least bit tired, okay? I mean, I know you feel strong and I know your uncle said the doctor thinks it'll be all right, but you haven't fully recovered all your strength, yet. And in a situation like a party, when you're excited and having fun meeting different people, you tend to overlook your body's warning signals. So, please...

try and take it easy, hmm?

"This won't always be the case, I promise,” she continued, as if reading my mind. “I won't always be hanging over your shoulder, so to speak, and nagging you. But, for tonight, I think I should. Bran... your uncle means well, I'm sure, but I don't think he realizes your limitations at the moment. Every time he's ever seen you, you were full of energy, after resting a considerable length of time. So please, let me know if you get tired. I'd much rather have you or him a bit disappointed over leaving a party, rather than retard your progress unknowingly. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, no dancing on the tables for me tonight," I quipped.

"Exactly," she said, with a broad smile.

"I'm glad Brandon chose you for my nurse," I stated, touching her hand.

"So am I," she affirmed. "Now, get some rest and if you need me, I'll be in your sitting room. I'll leave the door ajar." She got up and started towards the door.

I watched her walk across the room, her snug fitting jeans hugging the contours of her shapely hips and making a very light swishing noise, as her inner thighs rubbed together. "Sara..."

"Hmm?" She stopped at the double doors and turned around once again.

I wanted to ask: Do you really believe I'll walk again? But, instead I stared at the nearly bare wall by the doors, which I immediately grasped would be a perfect place for my stereo system and television. "Umm… Do you think Brandon could have my stereo and television brought here?"

"I don't see why not."

"And some of my old clothes? I mean… I like the ones you picked out, they're great, but..."

"You have the others all broken in, right?" she acknowledged, hugging the right door against her body. "And let me guess, you've got a favorite pair of jeans you're thinking about and… they're frayed here and there, but fit you like a glove, right?"

"You got a pair of those, too?"

She chuckled and nodded. "Got a hole right here in the knee. Most comfortable pair of jeans I own." I laughed along with her. "I'll ask about it," she offered.

"Uh… on second thought, you better not," I vocalized, remembering they were not on such great terms with one another. "Maybe I should do it myself."

"You're probably right. He doesn't seem to like me very much, does he? Oh well, that doesn't matter. I'm not here for him; I'm here for you. And if you like me... that's all that counts. Now get some rest. And that's an order," she declared, her tone of voice very deep on the latter sentence, as she started pulling the doors closed behind her.

I couldn't help but laugh, because I knew she'd been mimicking him and the way he gave orders. "I do like you, Sara, a lot," I called after her.

There was no response, except the slight squeaking of the old hinges as she pulled the doors together.

After she left, my thoughts turned to my parents. It wasn't that I hadn't thought about them before, I just hadn't let myself dwell on it. Now, however, the tears started to flow.

Alone in a comfortable bed, in comfortable clothes -for the first time since the accident- I once again cried myself to sleep. I missed them terribly!

SEVEN

The afternoon passed quickly, because I slept most of the time. After dinner, Sara and I picked out a long sleeved black dress -one of the few that were rather plain- which would hide the bandages on my left arm, as well as the scratches and bruises on my right.

It also covered my legs, which I knew people would be staring at, wondering about my paralysis.

Sara spent considerable time arranging the black silk scarf for my turban, trying to make sure the bandage was completely covered. She suggested we use makeup on my hands to disguise the bruises. It didn't cover them all on my left hand, but did a fair job of camouflage. She also used a little on my face, around my eyes to conceal the lingering bruised circles from my head injury. When she let me see the result of her labors in the vanity mirror, I could hardly believe my eyes. I truly did favor my mother, much more so now than ever before. Was it only the dark brown hair that had made me believe otherwise?

"Now the finishing touch," she said, as she handed me a bottle of perfume.

"Chanel No. 5?" I asked, looking up at her.

"It was here on the vanity," she explained, with a shrug.

I smelled of it. It wasn't bad. I wouldn't want to wear it all the time, but since this was supposed to be a special occasion, I decided I'd try something new.

"Did you buy this?" I asked, dabbing it on my neck.

"No, like I said, it was here on the vanity, along with all this makeup."

Surely Brandon hadn't done this, had he? She'd informed me he'd picked out a few frilly nightgowns, but what would he know about makeup? What did he know about clothes, for that matter? And yet he'd certainly supplied me with a wardrobe filled with what he liked, hadn't he?

"You're very pretty, Faith," Sara said, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

"Thank you," I responded, a bit embarrassed by her comment. "Why aren't you getting dressed?" I inquired, noticing her nurse's uniform. "Aren't you coming to the party?"

"Brandon wants me to wear my uniform and... 'act like a nurse'” Two fingers of each hand formed quotation marks in the air. “So, you're on your own for a while. Remember what I said now…"

"Don't get too tired," we both said, simultaneously.

"You're incorrigible," she muttered, squeezing the muscles of my shoulders.

"Brandon will be here soon, so... I'll..." She made walking motions with her fingers in the direction of the door. "Have a wonderful time."

When Brandon knocked and entered my sitting room, I was waiting for him. He stopped in his tracks, his mouth dropped open. "You are... absolutely beautiful," he said, his eyes lighting up. "Your mother would be so-o proud." He finally moved over towards me, holding out his right hand. "Might I have the honor of escorting you to the ball, my beautiful princess?" he inquired, gallantly, as he took my hand and placed a kiss on the back.

"Why thank you kind sir," I responded, playing along. He extended his arm and I put my left hand on it, while moving the chair's control with my right.

"Your guests await you," he said, as we neared the door.

All of a sudden it hit me that I wouldn't know anyone there, except him, Jason and Sara. This frightened me. I didn't feel ready to face all those strange people, alone. I wanted Sara beside me. She had been my emotional rock for over a week now. Funny how short a time it takes to become very attached someone, especially when you're in desperate need for something to cling to. I now became aware of just how dependent upon her I was. She had been there for me. I trusted her. I glanced over at her door, then down at my hands, which were now lying still in my lap.

Brandon had preceded me through the door, but now turned around. "What's the matter, Princess?"

"I... I'm a little nervous. All those new people and... look at me, I'm..."

"You're beautiful," he said, kneeling down in front of me. "Simply beautiful. And you wouldn't want to disappoint all those people who came to see you, now would you?"

I sighed heavily and glanced back at Sara's door one last time. "No, I wouldn't want to do that," I halfheartedly agreed.

"I'll be right here beside you the whole time, Princess," he reassured, as he got to his feet.

Would he? I wondered, as we started down the long hall. I was about to find out, despite my fears.

Brandon carried me down the stairs and placed me in the manual wheelchair. As he wheeled me into the enormous living room on the east wing, every head turned our way and conversations abruptly came to a halt. I felt like someone had turned a spotlight in our direction; there had to be at least forty pairs of eyes trained on us.

"May I have your attention, please," Brandon requested, though no one had to be silenced or prodded. "I'd like you to meet my niece, Miss Marion Faith Neilson." Heads began bowing around the crowd of assembled guests, as they turned their attention to me.

A waiter then walked up beside Brandon with a glass of champagne. "She will be living at Shady Grove now and I'd appreciate it very much if you'd make her feel welcome.

Faith," he paused, turning towards me and holding up his glass, "from all of us… a hardy welcome and sincerest wishes for a speedy recovery." Everyone clapped.

I felt like a bee trapped inside a jar, with curious and strange eyes staring at me from the outside.

Jason was the first to come over to me. "Welcome to Shady Grove, Faith," he said, with a smile. "I... I hope we'll soon be friends." He then glanced up at his father, who nodded. This made me wonder if Jason was being truthful or just playing a part like an actor in a movie.

Needless to say, that was my last contact with a familiar face -besides Brandon's- for quite a while. He wheeled me into the crowd of people and started introducing me to everyone. I heard so many names, I couldn't recall any of them clearly, a second after he uttered them. Each one who had known my mother commented on the remarkable resemblance. And I began to wonder if I should have shaved my head and dawned a turban years ago.

Not a one had anything negative or unpleasant to say. Yet, after Brandon finished with the introductions and became involved in a business discussion, not one soul seemed interested in me any longer. I listened to my uncle as they discussed mutual funds, CD's, and of course the stock market. Needless to say, this bored the heck out of me, so I started looking around for Sara.

I hadn't caught even a glimpse of her all evening and was beginning to wonder if she had even come down, when I overheard two women behind me talking about my turban.

They evidently thought I was deaf, as well as paralyzed. One said she “wouldn't be caught dead wearing something that hideous” on her head. I found out then and there that I was no swan like my mother, nor was I even close to being a duck; for, these remarks did not glide off my back; they penetrated and stung. I wheeled myself away, as fast I could -to get out of ear shot- all the while feeling the scars on my left arm stating clearly that this was not to their liking. And, finally I thought I'd found a safe place, only to hear:

"Pitiful, isn't she?" - "Yes, poor thing." - "I don't know, but I heard she was paralyzed for life." - "No, Bill said Brandon told him it was temporary." - "You know how Brandon is... don't you remember how long it took him to accept that Ashley was dead. He had them drag the river three different times." - "And you think he's just being

optimistic?" - "Let's just say, Brandon didn't get where he is by being ruthlessly honest."

This was followed by a giggle from both voices.

That did it! That was the last straw. I was getting out of there if it killed me! Headed towards the door to the foyer… my arms screaming in agony… then my chair suddenly came to a halt. "Going somewhere?" asked a familiar voice from behind me.

"Yes! Outta here," I whimpered, instantly recognizing Sara's voice.

"Whoa," she said, as she placed one hand on my shoulder and leaned down. "Hold those tears. These kinda people can be very cruel, but let's not give'em the satisfaction of seeing you cry, hmm? Think now, what would your mother do?"

"I don't care," I grumbled, struggling to hold back the tears. "Wait a minute… how did you know what happened?"

"I've been… close by... I've heard things. And I know how they can be. You're not the first one to face a crowd in a condition like this, either. My clients are people who can afford to have a private duty nurse/therapist, remember? I've seen it happen before. These people will never change."

"Then what do I care what they think?"

"Because this is your world now. Brandon has tossed you out here in this pool of sharks… against my better judgment, I might add… and now… you have to swim or be eaten. So… which will it be?"

"Damn," I cursed, softly, and wiped my eyes.

"Believe me if I thought I could get away with it, I'd slug the old bitty,” she offered, squeezing my shoulder. “But... I can't. Now, let's turn you around and stroll over there."

She motioned to a table set up in the corner where an elderly lady was serving drinks.

"Tears go down easier with a little coke."

Leave it to Sara, I thought, to pull me out of a bad situation and make me laugh. I glanced up at her. "Slug the old bitty?" I asked, with a snicker.

"Yep, right between her beady little eyes."

I laughed heartily. I wanted to show them their cruel remarks hadn't touched me. At least, not as long as Sara's around, I thought.

She pushed me over to the refreshment table, where champagne and wine was being served. "Hello, Miss Faith," said a short gray haired lady with a decidedly unrefined British accent. I noticed right away she dropped a lot of her consonants as if swallowing them. "I'm Celia, your maid."

"Celia, nice to meet you," I responded, hoping this would indeed prove true.

"Nice to meet you, too, 'mum. What can I get for ya?"

"A coke will be fine, thank you. Well, make that two," I said, glancing over at Sara.

"Yes, 'mum, right away. Good to see sum'one who doesn't take ta the drink, these days," she said, as she rambled under the table. "Sorry I wuz to hear about your accident,

'mum. All of us here would like ta wish you the speediest of recoveries."

"Thank you, Celia."

"Yes, 'mum." She handed me the two cokes.

"Have you met my nurse, Miss Benn..." I paused, as Sara looked down at me, giving me the eye. "Sara?" I finished.

"Yes, 'mum, we already met this afternoon. Enjoy your stroll 'round the estate,

'mum?" she inquired of Sara.

"Yes, thank you, I did,” Sara replied. “Now we'll just have to get Faith here well enough to do the same."

"Yes, 'mum. That would be very good. Very good indeed."

Sara wheeled me away from the table and away from everyone else as best she could. Several people glanced at us and I just knew they were talking about me. Some were faces I remembered vaguely as being nice to me only a few moments before.

"You'll get used to it, sweetheart," she said, as I handed her the glass of coke.

"I feel like a gunfighter in this movie I saw once."

"Hmm? How's that?"

"He said he always sat with his chair against the wall to avoid being shot in the back."

She laughed and squeezed my shoulder. "That's a pretty good analogy. Not bad advice either, in this sorta crowd."

"Faith... Faith?" Brandon again. "I've been looking all over for you. You shouldn't be way over here. You should be the center of attention."

I wanted so badly to say, Oh but I am…I'm the center bull's-eye on the target board and your classy friends are very good shots! But, instead, I merely complained of being tired, so he wouldn't push me out there again.

"Alright, Princess, I'll carry you upstairs then."

"No… no please, stay with your friends. Sara can manage, can't you?"

"Of course," she responded, but her eyes said she wanted desperately to make another comment. What it could have been, I didn't know.

"Stay with your guests and have a good time,” I added. “Make my apologies for me, I'm sure they'll understand." And then they can talk about me all they want, I felt like adding, but held my tongue.

He agreed and as soon as we finished our drinks, Sara and I were on our way to the kitchen and the lift chair. "I know this isn't the best time to learn to use this thing,” she admitted, “but I'm not strong enough to carry you up those stairs. Believe me, if I could, I would.” She paused, looking things over. “Okay, now listen to me and this'll be a cinch."

"Uh-huh," I said, as if I didn't believe her.

"Oh you," she teased, bending down to free my lifeless feet. When she did, I couldn't help but notice the dark roots, where her hair had parted. I wondered why I'd never noticed this before. "Come on now," she said, coaxing me to help her get me into the chair.

Together, we tackled the lift chair and within twenty minutes I was safely in my room, lying on the bed, while Sara massaged my back and legs. I had bitten my lip several times, holding back the tears that threatened to surge forth and explode from my eyes, but when Sara was putting on my pajamas and mentioned walking again, I busted.

She held me in her arms. "You're just not ready to face that kind of world, yet. But one day you will be."

When she started to leave my room, I knew it was silly, but I felt so very alone, like a child without its usual nightlight. Before she had been only a few feet away, but now she'd be across the hall. Not so far for someone who could walk; not so far for someone who could crawl even. But to me, who could do neither, it seemed like miles.

"Sara, please don't go," I expressed. "Please… stay here… tonight?"

"I can't, Faith. There's no cot in here."

"This bed is large enough for two. Please... at least until I fall asleep. Just this once..." I pleaded, sounding more like a whiney child than I had in many years.

"Alright... just until you fall asleep. First though, let me change my clothes. Besides I'm sure your uncle will be up to tuck you in and give his princess a kiss, hmm? And how would it look if you and I.... Well, I'll be back... after he leaves."

Sara was right, Brandon did come up a little while later to kiss me goodnight. I had a feeling this was going to turn into a nightly ritual. I noticed he lingered longer than usual on my cheek and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He mentioned my perfume and his eyes grew glassy. He appeared lost in some memory, but I wasn't sure of whom. I just didn't like the way he was looking down at me.

"Where did you get these?" he asked, his forefinger motioning to the pajama top.

"Sara." He groaned. "I asked for them," I lied.

He glanced from me to the pajama top. "Your mother let you wear these?"

"Uncle Brandon, I'm twenty-one years old, I'm not a child anymore. My mother had no say so over what I wore anymore and she wouldn't have objected anyway. She'd want me to be comfortable, so I can rest."

"Well, yes… of course," he said, clearing his throat and backing away slowly. "I… I have… guests to entertain. I'll see you in the morning, Princess."

After he left, Sara came in, closing the sitting room door and the two double doors behind her. Then she hesitantly lay down on the bed beside me.

"I... I feel so alone, Sara. If it wasn't for you..."

"Sh-h… it'll be alright. Time heals, sweetheart. And soon you'll be running circles around me."

"I... I heard one woman saying I was paralyzed for life, is that true?" I asked, finally voicing the question I had been avoiding for quite awhile.

"I'm hurt, Faith," she said, as she raised up, propping her head on her hand. "Really hurt. Do you truly believe I'd lie to you about that?" She stared at me and I noticed she had removed her contact lenses.

"No... I just... Well it scared me is all."

"I'm not lying to you, Faith and neither is Brandon. Not about this, at any rate. I heard the doctor say he felt the paralysis would be temporary. Why would he lie to me?

Why would I lie to you, as a matter of fact? What purpose would it serve?" I shrugged.

"That wouldn't be in your best interest," she asserted, still staring into my eyes.

"Why do you wear blue contact lenses?" I asked, curious as to the answer and yet desiring to change the subject; for, I wanted to accept her word on the issue.

"You don't miss a thing, do you?"

"I try not to."

She sighed heavily and lay back on the bed. "Blue eyes look better with blonde hair, or so I'm told."

"But you're not a natural blonde," I stated.

"You're terrible, just terrible. So what else have you observed about me, hmm?"

"Oh, that you have pretty eyes. And they're far more interesting than the fake blue ones you pretend to have. I think you're sad inside for some reason. And... you and Brandon have a mutual dislike for one another."

"My, my," she said, as she rolled over on her side to face me. "I'll have to watch you or you'll find out all my secrets."

"I intend to," I replied, teasingly, though I was being truthful.

We both smiled and gazed into each other's eyes. I felt those strange feelings again, along with the desire to be close to her. I wanted to be as close as we had when I accidentally kissed her on the lips. Just the memory of that brief moment made my heart beat faster. My eyes fell to her lips and I found myself wanting to kiss her again.

Reacting on impulse, I reached over and touched her face.

"You're becoming too dependent on me," she said, as she reached up and removed my hand. "I can't... You... you need your rest. Please don't..." she objected, as I touched her arm, when she started getting up. "I know it's my fault and... I know..."

"What I feel... is this dependency?" I asked, curious at to why I felt so strongly about her.

"Yes," she replied, as she rolled away. "If you had someone else closer... someone you could trust and... felt close to... you might not feel this way. Just remember it will pass in time."

Will it, Sara? I wanted to ask. Will it go away like my paralysis? Leave with it, perhaps? When I take my first step will I walk away from you? Or will you walk away from me? Are you even now considering walking away from me?

The days passed and I grew stronger. My feelings for her, however, did not pass; they seemed to become even more pronounced, building in strength like the muscles in my arms and upper body. Sara had me lifting weights with my arms –two- pound dumbbells to start- and doing every conceivable exercise she could think of, or so it seemed. And every day she backed away a little further, making me do more for myself. I missed her catering to me. I missed her touching me, as she moved me about, because after two weeks time I was doing that all by myself.

I began to move from the bed to the chair and from the chair into the tub and back again, all under my own power. She was always there of course, watching every move, but she would not intervene unless I truly needed help. I did feel more independent and yet I longed for her to be by my side even more. Needless to say, it seemed the more she backed away, the stronger my feelings became, instead of the other way around as I assumed they were supposed to. But, I didn't dare let her know this, because I feared she'd back away altogether and leave me with no emotional crutch whatsoever.

I took solace in the physical therapy and especially massage therapy, because this soon became the only time she touched me. Of course, I wasn't starved for that type of affection, because Brandon touched me a lot. And he did indeed spend more time with me than he had before. He was pleasant company, for the most part. While he was there, however, Sara would always leave, which I didn't find very pleasant. Sometimes I'd catch a glimpse of her out the window, walking around the grounds, looking quite unhappy as well. Or so it seemed. Then again, maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.

They all tried to get me outside for short trips, but I didn't want to leave the security of my rooms very often. Here, I was Faith the brave, in control of her small environment, where she could move about as she pleased. Out there, I was Faith, the cripple, no longer in control of this outside world that presented so many varied obstacles. I seldom even went downstairs, even though I had mastered the lift chair and could get around fairly easily. It was always so tiring and for what? To get a book Celia could very easily bring up with my meal? It just wasn't worth it to me.

Dr. Rosemund came out to remove the stitches in my arm, a week after I got to Shady Grove. Two weeks later he removed the ones on my face, applied a new bandage and checked on my progress. After gauging my strength and lack of feeling, he didn't seem pleased with the results. He spoke to Sara outside the door in hushed tones.

Whatever he said seemed to worry her. And she was lost in thought for the rest of the afternoon.

After dinner that evening, Brandon relieved her, saying he had a surprise for me.

But, before I received it, I'd have to agree to a short trip outside. I knew I needed to get out, so I finally relented. He took me out by the pool and to the tennis courts. I assumed this was a way of making me want to walk. But to me, walking meant facing the outside world again and losing Sara. Neither was an appealing thought.

When we returned to my room, I was shocked to find a massive white entertainment center on the wall in front of my bed. A very expensive stereo system lined one side, a 27-inch television and expensive VCR covered the other one. Brandon promised I would have cable before the end of the week. But, he never mentioned my clothes from home, nor my own stereo system which I'd asked for twice now.

Jason was off on spring break now. And it was he who handed me the remote control. "This controls everything," he explained. "It's a universal remote."

I was at a loss for words. I hugged his neck and then hugged and kissed Brandon for getting me something I desperately wanted, even if it wasn't my own.

Jason taught me all about the remote and how everything worked. Brandon made a selection from the classical music he had purchased for me and a Bach concerto filled the room. This brought Sara to the sitting room door. It was obvious she hadn't been in on this. She did, however, smile and wink at me, before disappearing again.

When I inquired about her later, as Brandon and Jason were leaving, he informed me he'd given her the night off. And went on to purport that this would soon become a routine thing, since I no longer needed her around twenty four hours a day. Then he said he'd be back to tuck me in. What about my therapy? I wondered. But, didn't ask. I assumed she must have felt I needed a night off, as well.

After I changed my clothes, I maneuvered myself into the bed. I looked over to the chair by the window, where she usually sat reading or just staring outside. A very lonely, forlorn feeling flowed over me. One day, she wouldn't be here, at all. I wouldn't need her anymore and she would leave to help some other patient like myself. The thought depressed me, terribly.

Brandon finally came up and tucked me in, yet he made me a bit uncomfortable, the way he kept looking at my breasts. I wondered if he could see through the nightgown I had on, which he had picked out. He asked why I no longer wore the perfume he liked so well, meaning the Channel No. 5. And I remarked that I didn't feel pretty right now.

"Perhaps if you put it on, you will feel prettier," he offered, as he walked over to the vanity, retrieving the bottle. He then brought it to me. "Please, it's such a lovely fragrance."

I dabbed some on and he sat it on the nightstand, as he inhaled deeply. "Your mother used to wear this you know," he remarked, as his eyes took on that glassy appearance.

"You were in love with my mother, weren't you?" I accused, the words falling from my lips before I had the chance to stop them.

He merely stood there for a long time, with his eyes lowered. I assumed he was thinking his answer over very carefully. "Living here, in the same house, we... became close. Your father... was away a good deal, trying to promote his first novel. So... your mother and I did spend a good deal of time together. I had a... a deep abiding respect for her. She was a strong woman... despite her overt compassion for the hardships of others. I came to admire that about her. I suppose you could say... I loved her, in my own way, yes."

"Did you have an affair with her?" I asked, pointedly, noticing the cloudy look in his eyes, when he spoke of loving her.

"What?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard me.

"I said, did you have an affair with her?"

He turned away abruptly, as if I'd slapped him in the face. "No!" he answered vehemently. "Your mother was far too loyal to your father to ever... No, we did not have an affair." He rapidly moved towards the window, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, rattling the change in his right one. "It's getting late. You need your rest. I'll check on you tomorrow." He walked over to the door and turned to me, as he opened it.

"Your mother was a wonderful woman, Faith. She never.... betrayed your father. One day, you might understand about lonely people... sometimes they live in the past, when the future holds little solace for them." He walked out then, leaving the door slightly ajar.

I couldn't help but wonder what it was like for him to love my mother, knowing she would never return that love? Is that why mother and father left? I wondered. Did mother know and tell father, so he would move her away from here, in order to avoid torturing Brandon? Is that what it had all been about?

I laid my head back and sighed heavily. The perfume on the nightstand caught my attention. Why was it here on the vanity? Had Brandon put it there for me to find? If so, why? Seems he would only be opening up old wounds time and time again. Then again, perhaps as he'd said, he lived in the past, because he felt the future held nothing for him.

Now, that, I could relate to. My future seemed a constant uphill road, a slow climb for me. And once over the top, I would eventually lose someone who had become my best friend. The thought saddened me immensely. Hadn't I lost enough people in my life?

I did know something about loneliness, because I had felt it creeping up on me little by little, each day that Sara backed further away. And as I lay there, I started to wonder what she was doing now. Was she visiting her family? She rarely spoke about them.

She'd only answer questions, never offering any details, and to be honest I hadn't asked that many questions. I knew she had a father and a little brother and that she lived near Atlanta. Where her mother was, or what had happened to her, I didn't know. I never pressed the matter too far, because she would get very uneasy and sad when I asked too many questions. I hated to see her that way. She'd retreat inside herself and close off all the doors behind her. Of course, then she would usually leave, only to come back later her old, cheerful self. But losing her for that brief time was not worth the acquired knowledge to me.

As soon as I turned off the lamp by my bed, I heard a noise out in the hallway: footsteps. It sounded as if someone were dragging their feet and moving awkwardly. The footsteps stopped outside my sitting room door. Muffled by the carpet, they continued to my bedroom door, where they paused. The door slowly squeaked open and my heart started beating very fast. Who could this be? Brandon? Why's he here again? Why's he dragging his feet?

The footsteps continued over to Sara's chair by the window. The light from outside struck the side of her face as she sat down in the chair rather hard. I could make out her silky white blouse, as it moved up and down to the rhythm of her heavy breathing.

What's she doing here in the dark? I wondered. Why's she walking so funny and breathing so heavily? The faint smell of alcohol drifted over to me. Could she be drunk?

Sara, drunk? Why?

Her breathing returned to normal after several moments and she raised up. The light hit her face, as she looked over at me. "Did you have fun?" I inquired.

She flinched at the sound of my voice. "Je-sus H. Christ!... I... I didn't know you were still awake."

"Obviously."

"I just wanted to... to check on you before I turned in."

"Turned into what?" I quipped, reaching over and switched on the lamp.

"Good God!" she exclaimed, shielding her eyes. "Cut that damn thing off."

I was quite surprised at her appearance. Her hair was not in its usual coif, but long and flowing, falling around her shoulders. She looked quite nice, yet a bit worse for wear.

Her white silky blouse was wrinkled, with smudges around the collar and shoulder; her jeans bore a few creases high up on the legs, which I knew could only have been made by them being off her body for some length of time; one leg of her jeans wasn't even tucked into the black leather calf high boots she was wearing. All together, except for her hair, her appearance was rather masculine. And the strangest part was, I liked it.

The silence in the room was deafening, as she finally removed her hands from her eyes and looked over at me. Her expression was one of guilt, pure and simple.

"Did you have fun on your night off?" I asked again.

"Uh… not really," she responded, looking away.

"It would appear you did," I remarked, staring at her blouse. "Was he good looking?"

"Who?" she asked, sounding perplexed.

"Whoever wrinkled your clothes. Or should I say… whoever removed them?"

"Oh... you… Damn! You don't miss a thing do you?" she muttered, as she stood up.

"I try not to," I replied, watching as she stumbled forward several steps. I thought she had regained her balance, but then she struck my wheelchair with the toe of her boot, stumbled forwards, then sideways, and fell headlong onto the bed and across my lap.

"Drunk too, I see," I added, as she slowly rose up and looked over at me.

"You don't have to be so... so damn high and mighty," she said, starting to get up. As she did, she must have pressed against my leg somehow and I yelped in pain. "I'm sorry, I didn't...."

"I felt that!" My voice betrayed my utter shock. "I thought I felt it when you fell on me, but I wasn't sure... I mean... I definitely felt that, though!"

"Really... you felt pain?" she questioned, straightening up.

"Yes, I did." Tears leapt into my eyes.

"Let's see," she said, fumbling with the covers and finally pulling them back. She pressed against my right leg. Nothing. Then she pressed against my left leg.

"Yes! I feel that!"

"Close your eyes."

"I didn't imagine..."

"Close your eyes, damn it," she demanded.

I did as ordered. I felt nothing for a while then… slight pressure on my left leg. "I can feel that on my left thigh... pressure, yes, I can feel it!" I said, excitedly, as I opened my eyes.

"Yes... I believe you did," she agreed, sitting down on the bed beside me. "Dr.

Rosemund said you should have regained some feeling by now. I thought... I was failing you when he told me you should be making more progress." Tears welled up in her eyes, as she looked down at me.

"But, you haven't. I did feel that. I did!" I grabbed her around the neck, throwing caution to the wind.

She held me tight, as tears of joy ran down both our cheeks. I hadn't realized that such a small thing could feel so wonderful. I would get better.... I would walk again... I would.... lose Sara!

I pressed her closer to me. I didn't want to lose her. I needed her. I had no family, except for Brandon and Jason. And I had no friends. I needed her desperately. I pressed my lips to her neck, expressing the affection I felt for her inside. Her perfume tantalized my senses, making me aware of how very close our bodies were. I could feel the softness of her silky blouse above the low cut bodice of the nightgown. I could feel her body against my own.

"Please don't leave me, Sara," I pleaded, my voice breaking up like a loose connection.

"I'll have to one day," she responded. "Remember… butterflies are free? And you're the most beautiful butterfly I've ever seen. One... I cannot keep." She tugged at my arm, urging me to let go of her neck.

As she pulled away slowly, her face came so close to mine I felt an irresistible urge to kiss her, despite her alcohol breath. Which is exactly what I did, scaring even myself.

My heart skipped a beat as my lips touched hers. Then it fluttered wildly as if it had wings. For a few fleeting moments, she allowed the contact, almost as if she enjoyed it. I felt her lips part slightly and her tongue flick across my own. Oh god, that felt good, I mused.

Abruptly she pulled away, got up and left the room, without a word, seemingly a more sober person than when she'd entered. I merely sat there and watched her leave, feeling quite numb all over. I had deliberately kissed another woman. And... I had enjoyed it. Oh God what is wrong with me? I asked aloud. Why do I feel this way? Before I had blamed these feelings on dependency, just as she had said, but could I blame this on dependency?

Could I blame it on the excitement and/or sadness of the moment? Or would I have to accept the blame? Had I become attracted to another woman?

But that was preposterous! Wasn't it? Yet, I did kiss her. I wanted to be close to her.

So close, in fact, that I could feel her body next to mine. Didn't I watch her when she walked across a room, taking note of her shapely hips as they swayed back and forth?

Didn't I purposefully look when she bent over in a low cut blouse and admire her cleavage? Yes, I had to admit it: I had done all of these things and more! And thinking back, hadn't I always felt fond of female teachers, especially the coaches? I had. But, it only felt natural to do so. I'd never thought of it in these terms before. The concept of having unnatural tendencies scared me!

I lay awake for a long time, turning things over in my mind. There had to be another reason, because I was not ready to confront the possibility that I might be... homosexual.

Even the word itself sounded... horrible! They were immoral, evil people, weren't they?

At least that's what they taught in the Baptist church we attended. God had destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah because of this type of immoral behavior. Lot's wife had been turned into a pillar of salt just for looking back. The few entries in psychological texts –I hadn't gotten far enough in my schooling to learn much on the subject- still weren't sure whether homosexuality was a choice or a product of some biological component. Either way, however, most religions deemed it an unnatural behavior. And I had been told there were still laws against such deviant relations.

What must Sara think of me? I wondered. Oh God, I'd die if she thought of me as evil!

And what if she turned her back on me? I made up my mind then and there that no matter what I felt, and no matter how hard it might be to resist, I would never, ever let those feelings show again!

EIGHT

The next morning, to my amazement, she was back to her ole chipper self and seemed to have suffered no ill affects from the previous night, except for a headache. She did change my schedule though. We had our therapy session after lunch instead of before bed. I could still feel pressure on my left leg, which she said was a good sign. The only thing truly different was my attitude. I tried hard to fight the feelings I had once enjoyed.

For instance, when she put her hands on me, I tried to tell myself, It does not feel good, it feels awful. But, in reality, I enjoyed it immensely. My body seemed bound and determined not to agree with my mind.

That afternoon I overheard a heated discussion between Sara and Brandon concerning my electric wheelchair. It wasn't the first time she'd broached this subject, yet she now had Dr. Rosemund's clout to back her up. My electric wheelchair was moved downstairs and the manual one installed in its place in my room. I wasn't exactly thrilled with this new arrangement, because it meant more work for me, yet that was the general idea. I needed more strength in my arms and moving around in the chair would help with that, or at least that's what I overheard Sara tell Brandon.

Days dragged by, turning into weeks, as I fought my feelings for her. I tried to direct more of my affection towards Brandon, which he seemed to relish, so I assumed I was doing the right thing. He threw several dinner parties, which I grudging attended. I only stayed long enough for the meal, then retired to my room –business conversations were just not my cup of tea.

I grew stronger and stronger, during this time, moving in and out and around in my chair with great ease, even venturing outside on the patio with Sara usually following close behind. When we'd pass the indoor pool, she'd bring up the subject of starting therapy in the pool, since it would be good for my legs and back. She was just waiting for Dr.

Rosemund to give his okay on the head wound.

She had already started working with me, trying to get my legs to move, but I didn't seem to have any controlled movement, yet. My left leg flinched occasionally and my right one regained feeling, but I couldn't move either one. I could tell this was disappointing to her, but there was nothing I could do about it. Most everything above my legs had regained feeling, slowly but surely, and was in working order, which I was very grateful for. The junk bag, as I called it, had not exactly been my best friend and I was glad to be rid of it.

Despite the fact that my recovery was moving along, albeit at a much slower pace than anyone expected, I became depressed over my inability to "cure" my attraction for Sara. From early May to June I took a decided downhill glide into the abyss of my own dark, tortured soul. Needless to say, I wasn't happy with what I found there. Depression is like quicksand, the more you try to fight it the lower you sink. And the more I fought my attraction for Sara, the more depressed I became. There seemed no way out of this endless cycle or this bottomless pit of despair.

A month ago, I had been happy just being able to get out of bed on my own, now this was a normal occurrence. I mechanically got out of bed, bathed, dressed and when we weren't engaged in some type of therapy, I watched TV or listened to music for the better part of every day. I had no desire to do anything else. Not even talk to Sara. She tried hard to get me outside, but I just didn't have the energy to do anything beyond my daily routine. She worked with me, trying to help me stand up by myself, but my legs would buckle, she'd inevitably catch me and those bad feelings would surface again.

That's when I'd plunge even deeper into the abyss of my despair.

Brandon called Dr. Rosemund, but there was nothing he could do. He, in turn, referred me to a psychiatrist who came out and asked me questions upon questions, to which I offered short curt replies. I overheard this man say that he'd concluded I was giving up on walking. He wasn't far off base, either, because I had given up on walking and on life. I felt I was the worst sort of human being there was: a homosexual. The thought left a nasty taste in my mouth. One I refused to make worse by verbally sharing my “unnatural” feelings. I wanted no one to know about this! Especially not my uncle!

Of course, I had no idea how he might react. But, images of being committed to an insane asylum tormented my waking and sleeping thoughts, which in turn helped keep my big mouth shut on the issue.

The psychiatrist prescribed an anti-depressant. It only gave me severe headaches and after only three pills –three days spent in bed, my head throbbing and my stomach nauseous- I refused to take anymore and no one forced the issue.

Dr. Rosemund finally approved pool therapy, suggesting it would be good for my back and legs and seemed hopeful it might help with the depression. Brandon was so optimistic he purchased six bathing suits for me. And Jason -now home on summer vacation- volunteered to help Sara haul me in and out of the pool.

The first day, I dressed myself, not wanting Sara touching me anymore than she had to. She came into my room wearing a short robe and I immediately noticed her legs, which made me feel awful dirty. I wished the chlorinated water in the pool would cleanse away my impure thoughts, but I knew better than that.

At the pool, Sara disrobed and I tried hard not to look, but she was soon in front of me: black bathing suit cut low in the front, backless to her rump and arched high over her shapely thighs. She and Jason picked me up and carried me into the water. I wanted him to stay, but he left me in her arms and went back inside. She carried me over to the side of the pool and I eagerly grabbed hold of the drainage trough.

"Relax Faith," she said calmly. "You told me you could swim and weren't afraid of the water, so what's wrong?" I gave no reply. "Don't you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Well, just relax. We'll start off massaging your legs." She turned me around to face her and took hold of both legs, stretching them out in front of me. "Perhaps we'll get some reaction today. Wouldn't that be great to make some progress?"

"Yeah."

"You sound so-o enthusiastic," she remarked, as she began rubbing my legs, while I held onto the side, gripping the trough with both hands.

I struggled to think of something... anything, other than what she was doing. It didn't work. All I could think about was her. Unlike a few weeks back when I couldn't feel her touching me, I felt nearly every nuance now. And needless to say, it was far better than any fantasy I had ever conjured up about it.

When she finished she held onto my left foot and tried to get me to move it by concentrating. Time after time I tried, but nothing happened.

"Faith... I just don't understand it," she said, anger tingeing her voice. "You should be taking your first steps by now. All the feeling has returned and... I… I just don't understand it."

I gazed up at the clear glass ceiling of the indoor pool, watching a small white cloud pass overhead. What do you want from me, blood? I felt like asking. I can only do as much as I can do. Instead I said, "Maybe I'm paralyzed for life." I watched a bird land on the ceiling. Wonder what it would feel like to fly?

A few moments later she walked over to the steps of the pool and got out. I thought she was going to get Jason and end the session, but instead I heard the door leading to the pool area as it was slammed shut and locked. Then I saw her walk over and lock the outside door. From there she went over to the chair where her robe lay and let her hair down. I watched as the silky bleached blonde mass fell loosely around her shoulders.

Then she did something else I couldn't see, because her back was to me. I chastised myself once again for even watching her. And especially for wondering how the fine downy hair running up her backbone might feel against my fingertips.

"Now, let's try this again," she said, sternly, as she approached me.

I could tell she'd taken her contact lenses out, because her green eyes bore into mine.

I looked away, wondering why she had made such a change in her appearance and why she'd felt it necessary to lock the doors. What possible good would this do? But, I didn't ask.

"Faith, concentrate," she said, as she held my left leg in her hand again. Nothing happened. "You're not concentrating, you're not even trying," she admonished, her tone revealing her frustration. "I don't know why I waste my time, because you… you obviously aren't even interested in trying."

I merely stared at the ceiling.

"Faith, look at me." I felt her coming closer, moving up the side of my leg. "I said look at me," she reiterated, touching the side of my face. I turned away. "Oh, I see... the little princess wants to remain in her castle today, does she? Poor Faith," she chided.

"Poor, poor crippled Faith. Shall I feel sorry for her?" Her tone was mocking.

I pulled myself down the side of the pool, trying to avoid a confrontation. She was starting to make me mad.

"Going somewhere?" she queried, as she stepped in front of me and grabbed hold of the trough with her left hand, blocking my passage with her arm. I turned back towards the other side and she did the same with the other arm. I was trapped. "Trying to avoid me, aren't you? Well, I won't let you. You can't get rid of me, because I won't give up on you. Even though you obviously have. So it seems like we're stuck with each other, hmm?"

I offered no response. I merely pushed against her arm, trying to get away.

"Oh no, you aren't going anywhere. You're gonna explain to me, why you've given up." I still offered no reply. "What is it, you too comfortable, hmm?" I pushed against her other arm. "That's it, isn't it? The pretty little princess in her ivory tower; everyone waiting on her hand and foot, catering to her every whim… You're spoiled, ya know that?"

"Stop it," I grumbled, my tone quite low, holding back my anger.

"Oh-oh, she said more than two words to me.” Her tone was high-pitched and mocking. “Oh my, I've been blessed. The fair princess, she speaks. And when she speaks, everyone obeys, right?” Her tone had changed revealing her irritation. “Well, I'm sorry, but I don't cater to poor little rich girls."

"Shut up!" I growled.

"Why? Does the truth hurt? And the real truth is Faith doesn't wanna walk, does she? Well, does she?"

I offered no reply.

"Of course not, she's too damn comfortable in her ivory tower, isn't she? Isn't that the reason? Oh yes, she has everything she needs, a television, stereo system and cable…

with every premium movie channel they have, so she can watch those monthly showings over and over and over. Do you realize that's all you do?” she continued, “Watch TV and play that incessant classical music of Brandon's, while you waste away up there, feeling sorry for yourself? But, what I really wanna know is why, Faith? I don't understand.

Explain it to me! Why would a beautiful twenty-one year old woman, with her future ahead of her, want to lock herself away in her room? I need to know why." She paused, allowing me time to answer, which I didn't. "You want everyone to feel sorry for you, is that it? Don't upset her, you know she's a fragile child," she said, mimicking words I'd heard Brandon use many times in the past few weeks.

"I'm not a child!" I exclaimed, prying at the fingers of her right hand, so she would lose her grip.

"Oh no, well ya coulda' fooled me! You're acting like a child, right now. A spoiled...

rotten... child!" she declared, drawing out the last three words, making them sound vulgar.

Before I realized what I was doing, I turned halfway round, drew back and slapped her across the face. She responded by grabbing both my arms near the elbows, so I couldn't strike another blow.

"I told you before you wouldn't get rid of me this way! Now we're gonna get to the bottom of this thing if it takes all day. And now that I have your complete and undivided attention, tell my why you're not even trying to walk."

I struggled to break free of her hold, but she pressed me back against the side of the pool. "Goddammit, Faith, answer me! Why don't you wanna walk?"

"Y-you!" I screeched.

She looked stared at me quizzically, as if this wasn't what she expected me to say.

"What the hell do I have to do with it?"

"You'll leave me!"

She loosened her grip somewhat, but continued to stare at me. "Are you trying to tell me you don't wanna even attempt to walk, because if you do, I'll leave?"

"Yeah," I admitted, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Faith, sweetheart, we've got a long road ahead of us. I'm not going anywhere just yet."

"You will, you said so," I reminded.

"I'll be leaving sooner than you think, if you don't at least start trying to make some progress. Oh yes," she continued, reading my horrified expression, "your uncle's already talking about letting me go. He seems quite content with your progress so far. He's giving up, just like you. I have another week, after that..."

The thought of losing her sooner than I had expected turned on the old tear faucet. I felt as if my heart were about to burst.

"Oh god, what've I done?" she muttered, as she threw her arms around me. "I've made you so dependent on me. I'm sorry, Faith. I... I thought I was doing the right thing, trying to be a friend and not just a nurse, I thought..."

"It's not you, it's me!" I blubbered. "It's all my fault. You... couldn't make me... love you."

I felt her flinch. "Yes, yes I did. I… I wanted you to," she said, as she eased back to face me. "I… I wanted you to love me, because I'm... I'm just so selfish."

"No, Sara... it's not you. It's me," I attempted to explain. "I'm… I'm a terrible person… a horrible, evil person!" I exclaimed and hung my head in shame.

She pulled me close, my head landing on her shoulder. "How can you say that?" she half-whispered.

"Because… I want you... all to myself!" I confessed.

"I think… we're both guilty of the same thing," she admitted softly.

There was a long silence. Then she eased back again to face me. She was so close I felt an overwhelming desire to kiss her once again. I stared deeply into her beautiful green eyes wondering what she would do if I did. Would she pull away forever? Afraid of taking the risk, I hesitantly reached up and touched her face instead.

"I tried to... to make you see," she said, her eyes darting slowly back and forth, as if searching mine for understanding. "Perhaps I shouldn'a backed away, but… things were...." Her voice trailed off, as her eyes darted from my mouth to my eyes and back again.

And then it happened. The impulse was overpowering. My control vanished! I didn't even stop to think about it, until my lips touched hers, ever so briefly. I drew back, astonished by my own actions and extreme fearful of what her reaction would be. My heart fluttered inside my chest, racing wildly as she gazed deeply into my eyes. I watched her expression change from anguish to something quite softer… more alluring. And then she leaned over and kissed me. Not lightly, as I had her, but a full-blown kiss, with all the trimmings!

I'd never felt such sensations before. Never knew I even could. They flowed over me like waves of delicious warmth. No boy or man had ever caused me to feel this way. I pulled her closer, feeling the dampness of her skin against my own. Sweet sensations crept down my spine; my heart was beating like a drum in my ears, drowning out everything, except the soft sounds of our sighs, as the kiss grew more passionate. A veritable Fourth of July fireworks display was going off in the pit of stomach, sending out sparks that filtered down to my lower abdomen. Longings I have never experienced before, swept through my body like a roaring fire intent on consuming me.

Without warning, she broke away from our passionate embrace and took a step back. Her eyes fell to my breasts and then beyond. Tingling sensations raced up my spine.

Her previous expression changed rather quickly and a smile began forming at the corners of her mouth. "Don't look now, sweetheart," she said slowly, her eyes traveling back up my body until they locked with mine, "but you're standing up on your own two feet."

My eyes widened in disbelief, as I became conscious that she was no longer holding onto me. My gaze slowly drifted down to my legs. Indeed, I was standing on my own two feet with no support whatsoever. I could even feel the concrete bottom against my toes. I quickly glanced back up at her, wondering how this had happened.

"Wonderful!" she beamed, taking a step forward to the place she'd occupied only moments before. "It's one small step in the right direction, sweetheart!"

I squealed with delight. At that moment, I couldn't remember ever being so happy. I felt like two enormous weights had been lifted off my shoulders, simultaneously. Which I was happier about, standing on my own or being kissed in return, I didn't stop to contemplate. I reached out and pulled her close. “Oh Sara…”

"What's all this about?" boomed Brandon's voice, laced with undeniable suspicion.

I turned in his direction, while still holding onto her shoulder with one arm. I wondered how long he'd been standing there and how much he'd seen. "I… I can stand by myself!" I exclaimed, with sheer delight, in case he hadn't been privy to previous events.

He gazed down at me, his expression rather cool. "That's… very good, Princess. Is that what all the commotion was about? The servants came and told me you two were screaming at each other." He eyed Sara skeptically. "What was all that about? And why was the door locked?"

"I felt it best if we weren't disturbed,” Sara responded. “I… I was trying out something a bit different."

"Different?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes, she wasn't responding to anything… especially kindness. So, I… I thought if I got her mad enough, maybe I'd at least get some reaction."

"And it worked," I said, cheerfully, still hanging onto her.

"What did you say to create such a commotion is what I want to know?" he declared, the agitation in his tone increasing.

"She called me a spoiled rotten child," I replied, looking over at her. "And... I slapped her. Which… I'm truly sorry for."

"At least it worked… in the end," she added, gazing into my eyes.

For a moment, I was lost in those green depths. I forgot about Brandon standing there. There was just the two of us.

"I'm not sure I approve of your methods," he said, breaking the spell between us.

"But... I suppose the end justifies the means, in this instance."

We both looked up at him. He was still eyeing us rather suspiciously. I wondered just how much he did see or overhear. Surely, if he had seen everything, he'd say something about it.

"Sampson…" he called towards the house, "…tell Jason to come down here. He's probably in his room."

In his room? I thought. I had completely forgotten that his room overlooked the pool. Did he see us? I wondered. I looked up to ascertain whether I could see his window.

Indeed I could. But, I didn't see him.

"Can you stand for me, Princess?" Brandon asked, his voice calmer and sweeter in tone. "Or do I need to make you angry, too?"

"No... I… I think..." I paused, removing my arm from around her shoulder. "I think I can do it again." She took my hands to steady me, then slowly let go and backed away a few steps. "See," I said, turning my upper body towards him.

The momentum of the turn must have been too much for my legs, for I lost my balance and began falling back towards the side of the pool. Sara grabbed both my arms and pulled me up and into her body. My head came to rest on her chest. I could hear her heart beating rapidly and feel the dampness of her skin against my cheek. Those strange feelings returned again, but instead of fighting them, I now allowed myself to enjoy them.

Sara had proven, with that one kiss, that I was not alone in how I felt. That, in it self was quite a relief!

"I'm afraid you're not quite ready for spins and turns yet," she said, teasingly, then reached down and swept both my legs up into her left arm. "But, we'll keep working on it, everyday, hmm?"

"Everyday," I responded, wrapping my left arm around her neck and pulling myself up into a more comfortable position.

"Must the doors remain locked, each time?" Brandon inquired, in a rather cold voice. "What if something should happen, the servants couldn't even..."

"That was only for today, Mr. Neilson," Sara replied, cutting him off. "I thought it best that no one come running to her defense. There'll be times when she'll get pretty angry with me, she'll probably rant and rave and…" She paused, looking down at me, as she carried me through the water to the steps. "…those are the times I'd prefer no interference."

"Interference?" he questioned. "I don't understand why you feel you must be so hard on her that any of us would feel the need to interfere. You know she's a fragile child."

We both looked at each other and fought back the laughter I knew was just under the surface. I remembered how she had mocked these very words of his only a short while ago.

"Your technique may have worked today, but, you may also have done more harm than good," he added.

"I believe she's stronger than you give her credit for. She's pretty headstrong and quite… stubborn," she maintained, though in a teasing tone.

"Alright. You can both stop talking about me as if I'm not even here," I asserted.

"I'm not a fragile child, Brandon. To you, I am, because... I'm your niece. And I'm sure my father would treat me the same way. But, Sara's right, I'm headstrong and… I am stubborn," I added with a smile.

"Hey, what happened to you?" Jason asked me, as he walked up beside his father.

My how they did look alike, except Jason wore a smile, instead of the hard cold stare of his father. "When I left here awhile ago, you'd hardly say a word. Now you're smiling.

What gives?"

"Seems Miss Bennington is a… miracle worker," Brandon replied, a hint of envy in his voice.

"Looks that way," Jason agreed, as he came down the steps to help Sara carry me to my chair. "It's good to see you smiling again."

"It feels good," I said, cheerfully, relieved that he obviously hadn't seen anything.

"Perhaps, this afternoon we could finish that puzzle we were working on?"

"Really?" he asked, excitedly, as he helped Sara position me in my chair. "I've wanted to come see you more often, but you were...."

"Always so tired and... rude?" I finished for him.

He nodded his head ever so slightly. "Would you tell me the story about the old hermit?" he asked, his voice soft and low. I assumed he didn't want his father to overhear.

"Yes," I replied, remembering the first time I had told him about the hermit and the legend surrounding Windell's Point: how he had seemingly hung on every word I uttered.

"If you'll tell me a few things, as well."

He cut his eyes over at me then looked away. I knew he didn't like to talk about his family, but I did. The history of our family went back a long ways and I wanted to learn more about it. I also wanted to know more about Ashley. Her body not being found was a juicy mystery I'd been dying to sink my speculating teeth into. Yet, whenever I asked about this, he'd always say, "I was away at school all the time."

"Miss Bennington, why don't you let Jason escort Faith to her room. I'd like to talk to you," Brandon said, sternly.

My heart sank. Why did he want to talk with her? Had we not explained everything to his satisfaction? Evidently not. How much did he see? I wondered. Is he going to fire her? If so, what could I do to prevent it? Sweet Jesus, but I felt helpless!

"I'll see you, later," she said softly. "Try to get some rest before lunch." She must have noticed the worried look on my face, because she added, "I'll be up soon, I promise."

Jason walked beside me, as I steered my chair back inside. He asked me what had happened to change my attitude and I told him the same selective truth that Sara told Brandon. Unlike his father, Jason merely nodded and accepted it. When we reached my room, he left, so that I could change, saying he'd see me after lunch.

I went into the bathroom and struggled to remove the wet bathing suit. It had been simple to get into, but it was hell removing it; it was sticking to my body like peanut butter on loaf bread. I'm sure it didn't help any that my mind was elsewhere.

Finally I was able to get out of it and dry myself off. Needless to say, I had to dry the chair too, because the seat was wet from my soaked bathing suit. I slipped into one of the nightgowns Brandon had picked out, just in case he came up anytime soon, hoping it might lighten his mood to see me wearing one of his choices. Then I wheeled back into the bedroom and maneuvered into bed, all the while thinking about Sara and what Brandon was saying to her.

I watched the digital clock on the VCR count off the minutes. Ten went by. Fifteen...

twenty... I was getting worried now. Twenty-one... was that footsteps? Twenty-four...

twenty-five... What could they be talking about so long? Twenty-nine... Thirty! He saw us and he fired her, I know it. Thirty two... God in heaven what will I do now? I can't lose Sara, I just can't. I'd die... I'd just... Footsteps? Yes, thank god, here she comes.

"What happened?" I asked, as she strolled into the room, all smiles, wearing her jeans and a black tank top.

She put her finger to her lips and shut the door behind her. Then she came over and sat down on the side of the bed. "He was angry about me making you mad, but he couldn't argue with the results," she said, softly. "He... um… he's uncomfortable with...

the way you 'hang all over me', as he put it, though."

"Did he see…?”

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Surely he woulda fired me for that, hmm?

Results be damned. No, I… I think he's a bit envious, to be honest. He was probably ready to get rid of me and this kinda screwed up his plans."

"Thank God, for that," I said, with relief, as I wrapped my arms around her neck.

"I'm sure glad you did what you did."

"So am I.”

“Oh Sara, you don't know how long I've wanted to be close to you like this.” Tears were threatening, clouding my eyes.

“Me, too,” she agreed. “But you've got to be careful about your… displays of affection,"

she said, as she pulled back to face me.

"You mean I shouldn't do this?" I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Especially that," she replied, reaching up and touching my face. "I don't know if...

if this is right for you. Perhaps I'm being too selfish and you're... just so emotionally dependent that..."

I interrupted her with another kiss. I didn't want to talk about anything negative. I only wanted to be with her, feel her close to me: especially her soft, full lips. I wanted to experience those wonderful sensations again and again and again.

After a moment or two, she pulled away. "Sweetheart, listen... we have to be careful.

Anyone could walk in, at any time. And I'd hate to see the fireworks if it was Brandon."

"But, I wanna be close to you. I wanna..."

She put her finger to my lips. "I know. So do I. But… there's a time and place for everything. And right now is not the time for this. Lunch'll be served soon and I have a feeling Brandon'll be here shortly." She gazed into my eyes and started to reach out, then seemed to think better of it. "God, if I ever did anything to hurt you, I'd..." She shook her head back and forth. "I'm not sure about this, ya know? But… I know I... I care for you deeply and... I have for some time now. But, that still doesn't give me the right to.... take advantage of you. I shouldn't..."

"I'm not a child, Sara," I reminded her, ignoring for the moment her comment about taking advantage of me. "I know what I feel. I just had no idea you felt the same way. I was afraid you'd find me disgusting for having such thoughts, especially after you...

backed away before."

"I did that because..." She paused, looking down at our hands, which were clasped together, "…what happened in the pool today, would've happened much sooner if I hadn't. And..." She paused again, as she looked up at me. "Are you sure it's not just... a flight of fancy? I mean... you shouldn't get too involved if..."

"I've felt this way for quite awhile. I've been fighting these feelings for well over two months now. Maybe even more. It's not going to go away. I already found that out, myself… the hard way." I sighed heavily, rubbing my thumb over hers and squeezing her fingers. "I thought I was pure evil for having these thoughts about you. But… they felt so good, ya know. They were just... always there, whenever you were around. And... even when you weren't. When you kissed me today it… God, Sara, it just felt so-o right! ” I paused, gazing into her eyes and loving what I saw there. “I've had quite a few boyfriends... men... whatever…” I glanced down at our hands, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“They kissed me and... other things... Well, only one went... past the demarcation line, so to speak. We didn't...." I glanced up at her and she nodded in understanding.

"But, anyway I… I felt kinda… I don't know… numb about the whole thing, you know?” I continued. “I didn't feel anything when they kissed me and... I mean, I didn't feel what I thought I should or maybe more to the point, what I wanted to. So, how could I let them do more? But, when you kissed me... Whew! I felt things I'd never felt in my entire life. Things I thought I should've felt with them. And… Oh God, Sara, don't tell me this is wrong. Please don't…” Tears were welling up in my eyes once again.

“Sh-h,” she admonished, reaching up and stroking the side of my face. “I don't think it's wrong, Faith, I just… I don't wanna take advantage of you. You're so young and…”

“How can you take advantage of me when I kissed you first?" I interjected.

"Well, I'm older and... and I've been with... other women."

"Oh," I responded. I hadn't given this much thought since I'd been the aggressor. At least until today, that is.

"Then there's your situation," she continued, "you're so vulnerable right now and so..."

"Don't you dare say fragile," I admonished, glanced up at her. "To quote you: 'She's stronger than you give her credit for'."

"You're incorrigible," she said with a warm smile.

There was a noise from my sitting room and we both glanced over at the closed double doors. Sara quickly got up, just as Brandon opened the doors without a word of warning or even a knock. This hadn't really bothered me before, but it did now. And it was something I could put a stop to. Hard part was, how to do it without making him suspicious and/or hurting his feelings?

"Hello, Princess." He smiled broadly, then gave Sara a quick once over, as she headed for her chair. "Since you made such marvelous progress this morning, Miss Bennington, perhaps you'd like the rest of the day off? That is, if you're through with your... therapy? I'll take over now. I'd like to spend some time with my niece." His gaze swung over to me. "You'd like that wouldn't you, Princess?"

"Um... yeah, sure," I replied, halfheartedly. I didn't want Sara to leave. I wanted to spend the day with her.

I glanced over at her, as he turned around at the door, waiting for Celia to bring the tray in. Good old Celia was spry for her age, but after climbing all those stairs, with a tray of food in her hands, she moved rather slow by the time she got to my room, bless her heart. Sometimes, she even rested in my sitting room before going down again. And this was one time I was thankful for her slowness.

Sara smiled and winked. I knew she was telling me this was just the first of many times when our secret relationship would have to wait. "I think I'll go into the city. Is there anything you need, Faith?" she asked, obviously using this as a cover for our attention to one another, in case he turned around and took notice of it.

I glanced over at Brandon to be sure he wasn't looking. He still had his back to me, his hand on his hip, watching Celia. "You," I mouthed, silently. She smirked and arched her eyebrows playfully. "I… I think perhaps some perfume,” I finally responded, trying to prolong her stay. “Would you check for me, it's on the vanity."

She strolled over there and saw that the bottle of Chanel No. 5 was only half empty and the big bottle of Estee, she had purchased several months prior, still contained a little less than that. I used it sparingly, what could I say? She turned and gave me a questioning look.

"On second thought, I'd like to try something different this time. Something..." I glanced over at Brandon, who was taking the tray from Celia to place on the table. "Oh, pick something out for me, would you?"

"There was a lady in this store who sprayed some Liz Claiborne on me the other day, as a promotional gimmick," she offered. "Have you ever tried that?"

"No. But, if you think it's nice, perhaps I should."

"What's wrong with the perfume on your vanity?" Brandon asked, with a hurt look on his face, as he pushed the table towards me. "Your mother wore that you know. She loved it. It has a wonderful aroma," he said, his eyes shifting to that glassy look. He glanced down at me and must have noticed my expression. I was getting very tired of him wanting me to do, say and wear things like my mother. It was as if he were trying to make me over to be her, or something. "Oh well, I guess it's as they say, a woman's prerogative to change her mind. Or in this case... her perfume." He offered up a fake smile. "I'll reimburse you, Miss Bennington, unless you need the money beforehand."

"No, I think I can handle it," she responded, as she started for the door.

I wanted so badly to say, Don't go! Instead I called, "See you later." She responded with a wave over her shoulder.

"I… heard about... the… breakthrough, 'mum," Celia said, a tad breathlessly, as Sara passed by her.

Sara smiled. "She did all the work. I just did all the yelling."

Celia chuckled. "Yes, 'mum, ya did do... sum' of that, ya did. And Miss Faith... she did her share, too," she added with a sly smile.

I returned the gesture, yet I couldn't help wondering what she had overheard. Or just how many of the servants had been within hearing distance?

"Yes, I... believe I did," I responded, as Brandon moved the table over in front of me.

"Ya know, 'mum… sum'time a person needs... a good shout now an' again. 'Tis 'bout as good as… a first-rate bawlin', it is." She glanced up at Brandon and then lowered her eyes. "Will ya be needing anything else, 'mum?"

I looked around at the tray and thought about how slow she had moved into the room and how she still sounded a bit out of breath. "I'm not sure. Perhaps you should stick around, I might want some more of these mashed potatoes or these biscuits."

Brandon quickly turned and looked down at me. "Have a healthy appetite today, do we?" he inquired. "You usually don't eat enough to keep a bird alive."

"Yelling takes a lot outta ya," I said, teasingly.

Celia chuckled. "Ya sound so-o much better, 'mum. Why you're even smiling. That's a sight for sore eyes, that is, 'mum. A sight for sore eyes, indeed," she repeated, as she glanced over at Brandon. "I know you must be very happy 'bout that, sir."

"Yes, I am," he responded. "Thank you, Celia. If she needs anything more, I'll let you know."

"Very good, sir," she said, as she turned to go into the sitting room. "Oh, shall I tell the cook ta make sum'thin' special for your dinner, 'mum?"

This was a question she'd asked me everyday since I arrived and I had never made a request. "Yes... spaghetti," I replied, remembering the chef was Italian. He was one of several servants I had only a brief acquaintance with, unlike Sammy and Celia, the latter of whom I saw on a daily basis.

"Spaghetti, yes, 'mum. Sight for sore eyes, that's just what it is," she said, as she disappeared into the sitting room.

Brandon was staring at me, when I looked up from removing the silverware rolled up in my napkin. His gaze softened when I smiled.

"She's right, you know. This is a sight for sore eyes. But... tell me the truth, Princess, wasn't Miss Bennington..." He paused and my heart skipped a beat. He saw us! "…a bit rough on you today?"

I breathed a sigh of relief, which I made out was a deep breath before an explanation. "No, not really. I... I guess that's what I needed." I placed my napkin across my lap. "But, I don't wanna dwell on whether she should've or could've done things differently. It worked and that's all that matters. I mean, I have been... excuse my language... a real pain in the ass. Even to myself. And as a neighbor of ours once said and I quote: 'Sometimes you have to hit a jackass with a two-by-four just to get his attention'… I guess whatever works, hmm?"

He merely stared down at me, as I shoveled peas into my mouth. I was very hungry, which surprised even me.

"Your father allowed a neighbor to talk to you in such a manner?" he questioned.

"Oh no, he wasn't talking to me. He was talking to Father about his son-in-law. I wasn't supposed to be listening. Or at least, they didn't know I was."

There was a brief silence, then he asked, "Your father was happy without... all this?"

I could only assume he meant Shady Grove, the business, the money and all that it entailed. "He seemed to be."

"Would you...?" He paused and walked over to the window. He took a quick look at the chair Sara always occupied, then moved around the table and sat down in it. He rested his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingers under his chin. "Would you tell me about your life, Faith? I've... I've never asked before, I know, but..."

"What do you wanna know?"

He spent most of the afternoon with me, except for a couple of hours when he stepped out, allowing Jason to visit, as I had promised him. Brandon mainly wanted to know about my mother, which I'd assumed was his reason for asking in the first place. He rarely wanted to talk about my father. I knew there had been a serious deficit in their relationship or a serious rift somewhere down the line, because they both seemed to have wanted to forget the other had ever existed. I began to see why the Christmas cards and birthday cards were quick subjects in our house. My father must have known about Brandon's feelings for my mother. Was this what had caused him to leave everything behind, to cut his brother out of his life?

Jason was a breath of fresh air compared to Brandon. We went into the sitting room, where the puzzle we had worked on over spring break, was still lying on the coffee table, waiting for its severed pieces to be put back together again. Jason immediately asked about the hermit and the legend of Windell's Point. As I related the story, which had been told to me by the neighbor with a jackass for a son-in-law, Jason listened with wide-eyed interest.

The legend went like this: Back during the Civil War, actually near the final days, there were a group of soldiers transporting a gold shipment, which had been commandeered from the union troops. As the story went: these soldiers had decided that if the South would ever rise again, they would need more than big dreams this time to get it off the ground. So, these soldiers carried the gold deep into the mountains of Tennessee, where it was rumored, they buried it on or near Windell's Point. All of them were subsequently killed, so no one came back to claim it. At least, as rumor would have it, no one did.

It was said an old hermit, who lived up in the mountains found the gold back in the early 20's. Of course, gold is no good to anybody, unless you spend it. So, the old hermit took some into town, where the shopkeeper became suspicious about him coming into so much money. Didn't take long before a group of men followed the old hermit home one day, to see just where he was getting all this money. Well, the men never found the stashed loot, but the old hermit turned up dead and missing one eye. And the legend went on to say that the old hermit's ghost roamed the point at night looking for his missing eye.

Jason seemed intrigued by the story and speculated about where they'd hidden the gold. Or at least, where he'd hide it if he had been them. Then he switched tracks to the old hermit and suggested that the old man had moved the gold, because that's what he'd do. And he'd hide it good too.

I allowed him to rattle on and on, then finally asked for my end of the bargain. I wanted to hear about Ashley. His mother's suicide in front of Ashley and her subsequent stay in a psychiatric hospital especially intrigued me. This time, he told me what he knew.

"Father said she committed suicide while Ashley watched, but... I heard the servants saying that Ashley... had blood on her hands," he said, whispering the last few words, as if someone might be listening. Ah, I thought, he doesn't want Brandon to hear him telling me this. "And they said my father was saying she had killed her," he added, still whispering.

I gasped inwardly at the thought of a teenage girl killing her own mother. That just couldn't be. "Oh, they were probably just saying that. Someone probably made it up," I offered.

He shook his head. "I don't think so," he disagreed, quietly. "Celia was the one telling it. And I've never known her to lie. I heard her say that father only told everyone mother committed suicide to protect Ashley. He didn't want her to go to jail. So he made them all promise not to reveal the truth to the police."

"Oh that can't be true," I said, dismissing it. "Someone would have told. That many people can't keep a secret like that."

"Would you have wanted to send Ashley to prison?" he asked, as he glanced around towards the door.

He had me there. What would I have done?

"Celia also said Ashley tried to kill Father and... that's why she was put in a hospital.

She said Ashley was like a crazed animal. Blood dripping from her hands and... clawing at my father." He shuddered.

"You're making this up, Jason. Just to have a story to tell me, right?" I asked, teasing him.

He slowly shook his head. "Ask Celia yourself, if you don't believe me."

"How old were you at the time?"

"I was just a baby. I don't remember any of that stuff."

"Was Ashley crazy when she came home from the hospital?"

He thought for a minute. "I don't think so. I was little then. But, she did always act funny, especially around Father. I remember when she used to come in my room and play with me, she was lots of fun. Somehow she always talked me into doing things, that I didn't really wanna do." He paused, as he looked up from the puzzle. "Oh, not bad things.

Usually it was just something I was afraid of, like... like the time I fell off my horse. I never wanted to see another horse again, after breaking my arm, but... Ashley talked me into getting back on him, while she held him." He paused again and smiled. "I love horses now. I can see why she did it. She knew I was just afraid. She was the one who talked Father into letting me have Shane as my own. He was going to sell him, 'cause he was a bit wild. But, Ashley broke him of his bad habits and now... he's mine."

"How did she act funny around your father?"

"She always left when Father came around, except...." He stared off into space for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. "Except when I was in trouble. She'd back away from Father, but she'd never leave me alone with him, when he was mad. She'd stand up for me, sometimes. Like with Shane. And... she proved Father wrong."

"You spent a lot of time with her," I said, though it was more of a question.

"In the summer. During the school year I only came home at Christmas. Father thinks it's best I stay at school on other holidays," he said, ruefully. "Except this year, he let me come home on spring break and for the funer... to meet you, I mean."

I ignored his reference to the funeral of my parents. "It must be very lonely for you.

Don't the other boys go home?"

"Most of them. Ashley used to come up on holidays, before..." He didn't finish.

I knew he was referring to the accident. "Where did she go to school?" I asked, trying to change the subject, since I saw the overt sadness in his eyes.

"She stayed here. Father hired tutors for her, since she had missed so much school, being in the hospital for three years."

Three years? If she were in her right mind, that must have seemed like an eternity. I started to wonder if the version of the story he'd overheard was indeed true. Three years was a long time to recover from just seeing something horrible, wasn't it?

"She did go to school at some point, didn't she?" I asked, wondering what she did after graduating, so to speak.

"Yeah, she went to college here. I mean, in Athens. She wanted to be a doctor."

"A doctor? What kind?"

"A psychiatrist like you. Father told her they'd never let her be one though, because of her history. Whatever that means." I could tell he was relating things he had overheard.

"But, Ashley wanted to prove him wrong," he added, a hint of sadness entering his voice again. "I wish she'd never went to college."

"Why?"

"Because... Father said... it killed her," he mumbled, staring down at the puzzle, which now seemed far more interesting. He scratched his forehead and wrinkled up his nose. I knew I had pried long enough.

After Jason left, I crawled into bed, feeling very tired. I slept until dinner. Celia brought my requested spaghetti, which was delicious and I started asking her about Ashley, in general. But somehow I ended up far a field, because Celia seemed uncomfortable with the subject.

"Did you know my mother, when she lived here?" I asked at one point, thinking to get back to Ashley in a round about way.

"Yes, 'mum, very nice lady. Pretty too, just like you, 'mum. Wuz very sorry ta see your parents leave, I wuz. Never got to say goodbye."

"Why not?" I asked, onto the scent of other game now.

"Left rather sudden, 'mum. Miss Marion even left 'er toiletries, right there on the vanity."

"You mean the perfume and makeup over there was my mother's?"

"Yes, 'mum," she replied, in a tone of voice suggesting she was trying to convince me of something I didn't believe. "Ya see, Mr. Neilson, he wouldn't allow anyone in here, least not 'til you come. Then he redecorated. But still ... he wouldn't let anyone touch them things there. Now, I think he wants you ta have 'em, 'mum."

I nodded. The conversation was turning my way and I didn't like that. I was no mystery. "Did you know Mrs. Neilson? Vivian, I mean?"

"A'course, 'mum. She wuz a nice lady, she wuz. Not like your muther. But nice. God rest her soul."

"Perhaps one day, we'll sit down and have a talk about my mother and... and some of the relatives I'll never get to know."

"Yes, 'mum,” she agreed, albeit a bit hesitantly.

After dinner Brandon came up and spent the remainder of the evening with me. He reminisced about his days at boarding school and college and the pranks he and his cohorts had pulled on their teachers. I gained a new perspective of him that evening.

From the things he told me and the manner in which he related them, I assumed he could be very vindictive and devious. I knew he was jealous of Sara, I had seen it in his eyes on more than one occasion. But there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't bring myself to be any closer to him than I already was. There was just something about the way he kissed my cheek, which left me feeling cold and uneasy. What should have been a quick peck had gradually become a long lingering kiss. I was quite relieved when he finally left.

Afterwards, all I could think about was Sara. Not to suggest I hadn't thought about her all day. I had. But I knew there was no sense dwelling on the fact that I wanted to be with her, because couldn't. Now, however, I felt I could. I glanced over at the clock of the VCR. It read ten-o-five. I was usually asleep by now and she knew it. I started to wonder if she was having second thoughts about what had happened between us.

A few moments after that, I heard a noise outside the door. Slowly the door opened and Brandon walked in with a glass of white liquid in his hand.

"Princess, I noticed that your light was still on. I thought you might like a glass of milk before retiring," he said, as he closed the door behind him.

I noticed that his attire was not the usual. He was wearing a robe over a pair of pajamas. So, he doesn't sleep in those three-piece suits, I thought. Wait… how'd he see the light in my bedroom from the other end of the hall?

"You had a very exciting day," he continued, as he neared the bed. "I thought you might need a little something to help you sleep. I know I do when I've had an unusually active day."

"Thank you," I said, as he handed me the glass.

"Well, goodnight, Princess." He leaned over and placed a lingering kiss on my cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams."

After he left this time, I couldn't help but wonder why he was being so unusually attentive. Perhaps he was just happy that I'd come out of my depression and made a breakthrough in my therapy. Or maybe he was envious of my attention to Sara and the fact that he knew she would get to see and be apart of all my 'firsts', so to speak.

Whatever the reason, I thought, the milk was a nice gesture.

I downed half the glass while watching the minutes tick away on the clock. Where could she be? Had she gone out again? Who had she been with that night she came in with her clothes all wrinkled? What other woman had been...

I shook my head. I didn't even want to think about her being with anyone else in a social way, much less "that" way. Yet, the thought did cross my mind that she would be much more experienced in these matters. This sent a tingle up my spine.

Would our relationship progress that far? I wondered. I hadn't really given it much thought. I'd been concentrating only on what I wanted at the moment: just kissing and holding. I realized I was like a teenager again, only thinking of the simple and perfunctory steps, not the whole picture. Probably because the whole picture is too uncertain, I thought, I'd be totally lost. I wouldn't know what to do. Then again, I assumed I wouldn't be the first person to want something and not know what to do with it when they got it. According to Sara there were others like myself, she being one and then there were “the other women”. I knew Sara wasn't a bad person. So I wasn't either, right?

It wasn't as if I'd chosen to be attracted to her, I just was.

I must have dozed off; for, when I opened my eyes she was sitting on the side of the bed, gazing down at me. I started to raise up, but my head felt heavy, as if I'd been awakened from a deep sleep. I struggled to keep my eyes open. "Wh-where..." I paused and cleared my throat, rubbing sleep out of my right eye. "Where have you been?"

"I've been here since before dinner," she replied, as she took my hand in hers.

"Wh… why didn't you come see me?"

"I did. I came in here right after I returned, but you were asleep and I didn't wanna disturb you, I knew you needed to rest."

"But... after dinner you...?"

"Brandon was here, sweetheart. And I thought perhaps it was best that... we take some time to think things over. Especially you. You had an emotionally draining day, today. You need to think this over… before you rush into anything."

"I don't need... to think," I said, batting my eyes, fighting back the need for sleep which was threatening to overpower me.

"Well, you need to rest. I can tell you're very tired."

"Sara, please… don't go," I said, gripping her hand as best I could. "Stay... with me."

"Maybe some other time. Besides, you're in no shape for company at the moment."

"Please... don't go. I... I don't know why… I'm so sleepy... I guess it was the milk."

"What milk?" she asked, rather abruptly.

"Brandon was… nice enough to… bring me some."

She abruptly got up and I tried to follow her with my eyes, but they were just too heavy. The last thing I heard was the sound of tinkling glass. It reminded me of the day I broke her mirror.

NINE

The next morning I felt groggy until Sara brought me a cup of coffee after breakfast.

I usually drank only orange juice, but since she'd gone to all the trouble, I figured the least I could do was drink it. Needless to say, it helped. I assume the caffeine jolted my tired system back to life again. The next thing I wanted was her. Of course, she sweetly reminded me that there was a time and a place for everything and this wasn't the time for the lip-lock I wanted to put on her.

After breakfast, I got dressed for our morning therapy in the pool. I felt tired, but was determined to make some small progress. Jason again helped carry me into the pool then left us alone. Sara massaged my legs and for the first time in quite awhile, I allowed myself to enjoy it to the fullest. I didn't close my eyes to do so, either, because I could hardly take them off her. I observed the way her arm muscles contracted and the way her breasts jiggled slightly, as she massaged me. I also found myself wondering what she looked like underneath her bathing suit. I had seen female bodies in the buff before, but never really felt anything, other than slightly embarrassed to look directly at them. But now things were different. Or was it just Sara?

I could tell she was shapely. All the smooth curves were in all the right places. I especially liked the arc of her shapely behind which protruded beneath the backless bathing suit and swayed from side to side when she walked. I wondered what it would be like to have her next to me, my hands wandering over this area?

This reminded me of my last boyfriend in college, Howard Banks. And how badly he wanted to have sex with me. I can't say he wanted to make love, because Howard was

“all hands”. It was as if there was only one thing on his mind: SEX. I remembered we were at a party, this particular night, and I'd had a bit too much beer. Howard had been after me for a long time to at least let him "feel me up", as he called it. Of course, I was curious about sex anyway, so I allowed him to coax me into an unoccupied bedroom, where he laid me down on the bed, toot-sweet. In only a few moments, Howard had my blouse unbuttoned, my bra stretched across my upper chest and my pants unzipped.

I was allowing all of this, even though I didn't feel anything more than curiosity. I'd listened to the other girls talking about how it felt when their boyfriends kissed and fondled them, remarking about the deep, overwhelming urges that prompted them to go even further. Some even went into great detail about the sexual act itself, which was interesting, to say the least. Yet, when I was lying there with Howard atop me, my right hand on his behind and his mouth on my left breast, while the fingers of his right hand fumbled around between my legs, I knew this wasn't right. I didn't want his hand there, much less anything else. So, I made him stop for a moment and then seized this opportunity to get up and leave. I knew I didn't want my first time to be that way, even if I remained the "last virgin on campus", or so my friends called me.

As Sara worked her way up my left leg and I felt her warm thigh against my skin, my thoughts wandered to just how it would feel to be with her, the way I'd been with Howard. Would it feel different? Better, perhaps? It definitely seemed like it might, since just the thought of having her on top of me made me tingle all over and sent delicious, tantalizing sensations down to my lower abdomen. Are these the urges the other girls had talked about? I wondered.

"Are you cold?" Sara asked, snapping me out of my daydream.

"Uh... no… why?" I responded, looking up at her.

Her eyes fell to my chest. A rather sly smile formed on her lips, while one eyebrow arched skyward. I followed her gaze. My nipples were erect, pressing against the material of the white bathing suit. I was quite embarrassed. And then I realized that for her to notice this, she must have been looking at my body, while I was daydreaming about hers.

Unlike when guys looked at me, which made me uncomfortable, this gave me a warm feeling inside. Seems I'm not alone with my steamy thoughts. Did she find me as attractive as I found her? I tingled all over again, at the thought of being with her. I wondered if I should tell her what I was thinking. Would it be too bold? Was it too soon?

Would she tell me this wasn't the time for such thoughts?

Damn the torpedoes, I thought, I have to say something or I'll bust a gut. "You have a… beautiful body," I said, hesitantly.

She looked up at me and smiled. "Thank you. So do you," she added, as she ran her hand slowly up the inside of my thigh.

I hadn't expected this and it caught me completely off guard. Strange, delicious sensations flowed down to one particular area of my body, setting my toes to tingling.

She glanced away, then slowly moved over between my legs and started working on the opposite one, as if unaware of what she had instigated. As she made her way slowly up the inside of my leg, she watched me intently, the slight smile on her face making me rethink my previous assumption. She knew exactly what she was doing. And she does it well, I thought, as those same sensations crept down my body and came to rest in that certain area once again.

She looked around the pool area carefully and even glanced up at the windows overlooking it, before her eyes came to rest on mine. She never broke eye contact with me, as she moved her left hand up my leg, keeping it on top and in plain sight, massaging as usual, while her right hand eased around underneath. She moved the latter hand slowly up my inner thigh. I nearly lost my grip on the pool, when her fingers came so close to that oh so special and now very sensitive region! Things were definitely coming alive down there, like never before! Did the temporary paralysis do this or was it just Sara? At any rate, there was hardly any doubt in my mind now that anything involving her would feel different. Enormously different, in a very pleasing way!

She eased her hand back when she saw my wide-eyed reaction and then continued to massage my leg in the usual way, all the while staring deeply into my eyes. "You... um...

you have a stimulating touch," I finally managed to say.

"Thank you. You're quite stimulating yourself," she replied, as she arched one eyebrow. "Just watching you... Umph! Well, enough of this. We have work to do." She patted my leg and moved down to my foot, where she started my exercises.

I sighed heavily. My body was all worked up, seemingly expecting something that hadn't happened. My stomach felt tight with anticipation. Never had I felt this way before. And I didn't want it to end.

"See if you can press your foot against my hand," she said, moving on with her task.

How can she just turn it off like that? I wondered. Then again, she was the one doing the touching, not the one being touched.

"Concentrate, sweetheart... you can do it." I tried to set my mind on moving my foot, but nothing happened. "Let's pretend that... my hand is something you really want, okay?" she said, as she moved her hand an inch or so away. "The only way you can get it is to move your foot."

I tried, but I couldn't visualize anything I wanted which would involve using my foot to get it. "I guess I'm not good at pretending. I'm sorry."

She stood there for a moment and I was afraid she'd try making me angry again. But, instead, she positioned her body in front of me. "Touch me," she said, softly, a smile forming near the corners of her mouth.

I was a little confused as to what she meant, until I noticed that her right breast was directly in front of my left foot.

"Don't you wanna touch me?" she asked, arching one light brown eyebrow. I wanted to say, Of course I do, but I hadn't planned on touching you there with my foot! Instead, I merely concentrated on doing what she asked. "Well, if you don't want..."

"I'm trying, okay?" I was desperate for my foot to move, but it just lay there like a knot on a log.

"Close your eyes," she suggested. "Relax. Think back to a few moments ago. I had my hand on your leg... just like now..." She ran her hand over the calf of my left leg.

"Only difference is now you can touch me, if you'd just move your foot." There was a long pause as I envisioned the previous scene again, putting her within reach. "Think of it as your hand... This is your hand," she added, slowly inching her finger down the side of my foot. "Now reach out and… touch me. You're so close, so very... That's it... That's my girl… Little bit more... Yes!" she exclaimed, as I felt the warmth of her body against the bottom of my foot.

Oh how I wish this was my hand, I thought, opening my eyes to see that my foot was indeed against her breast. She quickly let go of my leg and maneuvered her way between them. She hugged me to her tightly. "You did it, sweetheart. I knew you could!"

Exhilaration flowed through me, listening to the happiness in her voice. She was more excited than I was!

She pulled back slowly and I noticed a single tear careening down her cheek. "Can you still stand?" she asked.

"I... I don't know."

She quickly swept up my legs in her arms and carried me out into the middle of the pool. I assumed this was to prevent me from hurting myself if I lost my balance again.

She gently stood me up. Slowly, still holding my hands, she backed away. Then she finally let go altogether. I could still stand on my own!

She smiled and reached out, taking my hands in hers. "Walk to me, Faith," she urged.

My eyebrows shot up. I was barely standing and only just moving my foot, now she wanted me to perform a miracle and walk?

"You can do it, I know it. Just move each one, slowly," she urged. Nothing moved. I was a statue. "Come to me, sweetheart. Don't think about it, just look at me. Keep your eyes on mine. I want you here… with me, Faith... I... I want you in my arms," she added softly.

Oh, how I wanted to be able to walk into her arms at that moment, give her what she was asking for. But it seemed impossible.

"Please... I need you, sweetheart," she prodded. My left leg flinched and jerked, then slowly moved forward. "No-no, don't look down," she admonished. "Look at me… That's right... I need you, Faith... I missed you so much yesterday... I wanted to hold you in my arms last night and..." She paused and bit her lower lip. "Come to me now."

My left leg jerked and my foot moved swiftly. It scraped across the bottom of the pool, peeling the hide off my big toe, which in turn caused me to lose my fragile balance.

I plunged headlong into her waiting arms.

"I didn't mean you had to do it quite so quick," she said, with a chuckle. "But, I'll take it anyway I can get it," she added, hugging me tightly. "You did it, you really did it!

You've taken your first step!"

Tears trickled from my eyes. I wasn't sure whether I was laughing or crying. I only knew that this meant one day I would walk again. I could only hope when that day came, I would still be able to walk into her waiting arms.

I wanted so badly to kiss her and revel in the joy of the moment, but suddenly the sound of clapping rang out. We both looked up to find Brandon staring down at us, clapping enthusiastically. I could feel Sara tense up, as she loosened her hold on me. How long has he been there and how much did he overhear? I wondered. And what might he do about it? My big toe started to throb and sting, as if my body were suggesting there was more pain on the way.

"Wonderful, Princess... just wonderful! Soon you'll be walking the grounds with me," he said happily, as he sat down and began removing his shoes. What's he doing?

"We'll have to celebrate this momentous occasion," he continued, rising up out of the chair in his stocking feet. He quickly removed his jacket and tossed it over the back of his chair, then proceeded down the steps into the water, fully clothed. "I know! We'll have a party! Yes! We haven't had a big party since your arrival. Splendid idea, don't you think?" He waded through the water towards us, his white shirt gradually darkening as it absorbed water.

"I... I don't know. I... Why would those people care, if I took my first step?" I asked, remembering the last party and those few dinner parties I'd hated.

"They'd rejoice at my happiness, of course," he replied, his tone suggesting I had asked a silly question. "I'll have to call Lynn (his secretary) and tell her to get on this right away."

"But..." I paused, as he reached out and swept my legs up, removing me from Sara's embrace. "But, it's such short notice," I protested, feeling as if he had just stripped me of my happiness.

"Yes, it is Sunday. You may have a point there," he agreed, as he turned and started carrying me away from her.

I felt so helpless all I could do was glance over his shoulder. Sara was glaring at his back, frowning profusely, her hands clinched by her sides.

"Perhaps next weekend then. Yes, that will give everyone plenty of time to prepare,"

he said, carrying me up the steps. "You're so much like your mother, Princess… so level-headed. I guess I got a little carried away.” He glanced towards the patio doors then seemed to think better of that idea. “Friday… Yes. That would be much better." He turned and eased me down into one of the patio chairs. Then he quickly retrieved my towel for me.

"I... I won't feel comfortable around all those people, Brandon. I still have to wear this turban and..."

"Oh that's no problem," he said, handing me the towel. "I already have a solution for that. It was going to be a surprise, but..." His gaze fell to my breasts, as I began toweling off. "Well, it still can be. Just don't worry your pretty little head about anything, Princess.

I'll take care of everything. You'll have anything and everything you need to be the bell of the ball." He bowed enthusiastically then quickly turned and left, water streaming behind him from his soaked clothing.

I turned towards Sara, who was just coming out of the pool. I could see the disappointment written all over her face. "I'm sorry he..."

She held up her hand and shook her head. "One of those times," she said, walking over to get her own towel off the back of my chair.

"Sara... I..." I wanted to say something about the events in the pool, how I didn't like him taking me away and how I wanted to thank her, but I knew the mood was broken.

And there'd be no retrieving it. This made me angry. “Wonder what the hell that was all about,” I questioned aloud.

"Jealousy, I suspect.” Sara answered. “He's envious of… You're bleeding!" she announced, rushing over to me and squatting down by my foot. "How did this happen?

Did Brandon...?"

"No." I shook my head, as she glanced up at me. "I did it trying to get to you."

Her eyes darted back and forth searching mine, as her expression changed from worry and anger to the soft one I had come to know and love. She started leaning towards me, then seemed to have second thoughts, as she glanced towards the house. I knew she was thinking he might appear again at any moment. "We... um... I'll need to take care of that. We can't have you bleeding all over everything." She took the end of her towel and wrapped it around my toe. "Damn," she hissed softly.

I wanted to reach out and at least touch her in some small way, tell her that I was disappointed too. But, I didn't want to tempt Fate. "I don't want this party," I said instead, changing the subject.

"You're the only one who can stop it," she affirmed, glancing up at me. "And I don't envy you that task, 'cause he's all puffed up with pride right now, as if he made it happen." She sighed heavily. "To tell him you don't want this party, would be like sticking a pin in a balloon."

She was speaking of him, as if she knew him well, which puzzled me. Perhaps she's just a good judge of character, though, I reasoned. Either way, this was not my main concern at the moment. Finagling my way out of this party was. I sighed at the thought of having to endure another party. And at the loss of the moment he had ruined, which I'd wanted to savor. How many more times would he do this? Was there more to his coming into the pool after me, other than just his enthusiasm over me walking? Sara suggested jealousy. Why should he be jealous of Sara?

Back in my room once again, I was struggling to remove the wet bathing suit, when I realized I hadn't brought my clothes into the bathroom with me, in order to change.

Rather than have to pull the straps up and back down again, I left them hanging off my arms and buzzed over to the chest of drawers to get a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

I just loved the new shorts and T-shirts Sara had picked up for me on one of her many outings. One hundred percent cotton and comfortable as anything I'd ever worn.

She said that a friend had recommended them to her and once she tried them, she fell in love with the way they fit. And she just knew I would. And true enough once Sara put them on me, I didn't want to wear anything else.

I pulled out a neatly ironed and folded purple striped T-shirt and plain purple shorts, laying them on top of the chest, then moved aside and was reaching into a lower drawer for a pair of clean underwear, when I heard the door open.

"Oh great," I said, not even looking up. "Would you help me? This damn thing is sticking to me like glu..." My voice caught in my throat, when I finally glanced up to find Brandon staring at my chest. My hand latched onto several pair of underwear and quickly pressed them to my exposed breasts.

"You are beautiful.... just like your mother," he said in a dreamy voice, as his eyes lifted to meet mine.

"Wha…? Don't you ever knock?" I exclaimed, anger apparent in my tone.

"I... I'm sorry, Princess... I..." He paused as I raised one eyebrow and cut my eyes towards the door. I didn't want to have to tell him to get out; for, I was afraid I'd really lose my cool. "Yes, well..." he said, as he slowly turned around and left.

I breathed a shuddering sigh of relief and just sat in my chair with my underwear pressed tightly against my chest. I couldn't bring myself to move. I felt exposed, helpless and numb from embarrassment.

Sara showed up a few moments later, rapping lightly on the door, as she peeked around it. She glanced around, looking for me. Her smile dropped instantly when her eyes met mine. "What's wrong?" she asked, her expression signifying her confusion. "Are you doing this… because of me?"

I shook my head and bit my lower lip.

She quickly closed the door behind her. "Then what's wrong? Why are you holding yourself like that, with your underwear...? Why was the door open?" She asked the questions so fast I didn't have a chance to answer. "Wasn't Brandon just...? What did...?

What the hell happened in here?" she finished, as she rushed over to me.

"He... he walked in on me. I thought it was you and..."

"Is that all?" she inquired, her face an angry visage.

"He... he said..."

"What? What did he say?" she prompted.

"He said, I was beautiful... "

"Yes, and..." She was prodding for more.

"He said… you're beautiful... like your..."

"Mother," she finished for me, as she placed her hand on my arm.

"He was her lover... wasn't he?" I asked, thinking over the implications. "My mother was… unfaithful to my father... with his own brother!"

"You don't know that, sweetheart. Listen, he could have walked in on her, just like he did you. You know he never knocks, he just barges in wherever he pleases," she said, as she tried removing the underwear from my tightly clinched hands. "Sweetheart, come on now, we need to get you outta this wet bathing suit," she added, placing her hands over mine and lightly rubbing them. "And I don't think you'll need but one pair of these, hmm?"

"How could she do that to my father?" I asked aloud, still thinking about how this tainted my mother's image.

"Faith, listen to me." She turned my face towards her. "You can't blame your mother for something that might or might not have happened. Don't destroy her memory just because of something Brandon said. If… and I do mean if he ever saw her naked, she might have been as innocent as you are now. Sweetheart, don't do this to yourself. Your mother left here, right? She left with your father, didn't she? Now why would she do that, if she were having an affair with Brandon?"

"He had a wife."

"Alright, let's stop this right now. There's no sense looking for old skeletons in the closets when there more than likely aren't any. I'm pretty sure Brandon loved your mother, but... I doubt she loved him. Don't you think she'd have to be a fool not to see through him? And your mother was no fool, was she?"

"No, she wasn't. She... loved my father or... seemed to."

"Stop second guessing what you know to be the truth. Your mother was still in love with your father, you told me so remember? And you know it's true, right?" I nodded.

"Well, then let's forget about it, okay? I don't like seeing you so upset, it just tears me up inside."

I hadn't really thought about how my state of mind might affect her. More than likely, she was right. Perhaps he had barged in on her while she lived here and she'd mistaken him for father, as I'd mistaken him for Sara.

Out of the blue netherworld of my thoughts the question of what my mother would think of my relationship with Sara jumped up and slapped me in the face. Would she think it vile and disgusting? I pondered the question, as Sara helped me get out of my bathing suit. I had no idea what my mother would think. I could only hope she would be accepting of my feelings for Sara. Once we had a long chat, that is. I had no idea how my father might feel. And I truly wasn't in the mood to ponder either question for very long.

After I got dressed, Sara helped me into bed. "Feeling better?" she asked, as she took my hand.

"Yes," I replied. "I shouldn'a questioned my mother's integrity."

"Nor yours," she added.

How could she have known what I was thinking? I wondered.

"Your eyes give you away," she explained, as if replying to a question I had asked.

"You do need to take your time, though. Be absolutely sure... I won't pressure you in anyway. Be sure that it's me you want and not just... someone close… in bodily form.

Otherwise, we both could get hurt, badly. Believe me, I know. Don't make the mistake of letting sex play the most important role in your thinking. It's only one part of the big whole. And if sex is all you want... it's all you'll get. But, not from me."

I stared at her, not really sure what message she was trying to convey.

"Don't get me wrong now, I'm not saying sex is bad, “ she went on. “Far from it, because I think it's the ultimate way of sharing yourself with someone else, when you love them. But, without true love, it's just... empty. Passion is fleeting and lust... well, it can be used in cruel ways. Love... real love, that's what lasts."

"Have you been with... many women?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Yes," she replied honestly. "There for awhile, I was pretty wild. That's why I'm telling you this. I don't want to see you walk the same road I did. People can be very cruel, even those who say they love you," she added, ruefully.

I reached up and touched her face, wondering how anyone could be cruel to someone so kind and loving. "I won't be cruel, Sara," I said, softly.

"No, I don't believe you would. And I don't want to see anyone hurt you, either."

She turned away and looked towards the door. "I'd rather die first."

We both fell silent. I didn't know what to say and she seemed to be retreating inside herself again. I wondered if she was trying to tell me something with her last comment.

Was I in some danger of being hurt? If so, from where? From whom?

I suddenly remembered the dream I'd had months ago. "Beware of illusions," my parents had said. That was the same night I had noticed Sara's blue contact lenses. I looked into her eyes now, wondering again if she was the illusion. Would she have second thoughts about us and leave me here alone and brokenhearted? Who was the other woman she had been with that night? Was there someone else she wasn't telling me about? Suddenly, I noticed that her eyes were neither green, nor blue.

"Your eyes they're… they're brown," I said, without thinking. Why was she wearing brown contact lenses?

"Are they? Yeah, well they change like that, sometimes. That's part of the reason I wear contacts, some people find it rather… spooky, how they change like a chameleon."

Was she the illusion my dream warned me about, the one with the chameleon eyes?

After all, she was a very secretive person, revealing very little about herself. Whenever I asked, she'd always say, "the past is fuzzy. I don't remember a lot before the accident".

Yet, she seemed to carry around a lot of deep-seated sadness and anger. Then again perhaps the latter sprang from the fact there were things she didn't remember. I knew I would be lost without my past, like a ship without a sail, cut adrift on a stormy sea.

I glanced back up at her, feeling sorry for doubting her. She had been nothing but kind to me: always there, always helpful and always loving. How could I even question her? As she gazed into my eyes, I watched them slowly turn back to green again. It was fascinating to watch the change in her expression correlate with the change in her eyes.

Those warm green eyes that were so inviting, tempting and filled with mystery, tugged at my heartstrings.

"Is this the right time?" I asked, so softly I barely heard the words myself.

She smiled and leaned forward, her face hovering very close to mine. "Sometimes I think you read my mind," she whispered. Her gaze shifted to my lips. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were teasing me, just to see if I can resist you."

"Can you?"

Her gazed shifted back to my eyes again. "My body says no, I can't, but... my mind must say yes. Otherwise, I'll... Don't look at me like that,” she murmured, referring to my dissatisfied expression. “I told you to take your time. I know… I lost my head today in the pool. But, you're so enchanting... there's so much innocence in those baby blue eyes of yours... such impatience too... asking for things you know nothing about."

"I haven't asked you..."

"You don't have to. It's all right there in your eyes. I know what you want... and when the time is right... you won't have to ask." She quickly kissed me on the cheek. "Get some rest, I'll be back soon." She hesitated a moment before she got up, looking down at my right arm, where I was reaching out to her. "Did I do this?" she asked, quickly turning my arm slightly.

I peered down to see what she was talking about. "You mean that?" I asked, pointing to the light brown oval shaped mark on the underside of my right arm.

She nodded, guilt written all over her face. I shook my head and explained that it was a birthmark. She commented on how it looked just like a light bruise made by someone's finger. I then told her, as well as showed her, how it always remained about the size of my own index finger.

"How come you never noticed it before?" I inquired.

She shrugged. “Maybe the same reason you never noticed my eyes changing color?” She had me there. I reached out for her. "Ah-ah-ah," she said, as she moved away quickly.

"Like I said, get some rest."

After lunch she came back with a small bag in one hand and a questioning look on her face. She pressed her behind against the doors, shutting them slowly. "I've got something I want you to listen to. I don't know whether you like rock songs, but..."

"I do," I said, readily. "As long as its not hard rock."

"Well, this isn't, believe me. Ya know..." She paused, as she removed a compact disc case from the bag. "I've been waiting for you to ask me for some more… up to date music. But, you never did, so I assumed you didn't like it."

"I do. I just... didn't wanna bother you… back then."

"Oh," she remarked, as she put the disc in the CD player and turned the stereo on.

"Well, I've got a lot of tapes and CD's at home. I could get them sometime, if you'd like.

Or I could buy you some. I mean, whatever kind of music you like, I'd gladly…"

"Love songs," I interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"Love songs... that's my kinda music." She turned around and smiled. "Well, good.

Listen to this song, track number..." She looked down at the case. "…number nine. I'll be back later and you can tell me what you think." She smiled again then walked out.

"Good, Miss Bennington, glad I caught you," Brandon said from the sitting room.

"You can have the rest of the day off today. I'd like to spend more time with my niece."

I couldn't hear Sara's reply, if she even gave one. But my heart sank at the thought that Brandon had once again ruined something else for me. Doesn't he ever have work to do at home on the weekends? I wondered.

He politely knocked on the door and waited for me to bid him entrance. I turned the stereo off via the remote and then asked him in. He walked through the door as cheerful as ever, acting as if nothing had happened. Through the open door behind him, I saw Sara in the hall watching. I felt better knowing she wasn't eager to run off.

"Well, Princess, how would you like to go on a tour of the stables? Jason is very eager for you to meet Shane," he said, as he walked over to me.

I had never been to the stables because it was too far from the house and down a very rocky, gravel road. Wheelchairs were not made for such obstacles, so I had always shied away from going. "I suppose. I'd like to see Shane, but... you might end up having to carry me if the chair won't go over the gravel."

Brandon smiled broadly. "That would be fine by me. I'd gladly carry you anywhere, Princess, you know that." He placed his hand on the back of my chair.

"Jason said Shane was once pretty wild, but Ashley broke him. Did she really do that?" I asked, changing the subject as I maneuvered myself over to the side of the bed.

He gave me a hard look. "Um… well, yes... um… You get yourself together or…

whatever it is you females do and Jason and I will meet you downstairs."

Not even an escort down the stairs? Boy, Ashley's name sure got rid of him fast. I'll have to remember that.

Right after he left, Sara returned. "What's up?" she asked.

"Going to the stables to see Jason's horse."

"Oh, he's a beaut… you'll like him."

"You know him?"

"Well, I take walks around the place sometimes when you're asleep. And when Brandon takes over. At night though, I'm never far away," she added, as if this were something I should know. "Need some help with those jeans?"

"Yeah, all I can get."

She came over and helped me to my feet. Then she held onto me from behind, as I pulled the jeans up. "Is Brandon coming up to get you?" she asked.

I could feel her warm breathe on my neck and it made me feel all tingly inside. "No, he said he'd meet me downstairs. Why?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "Got'em on yet?" she asked, near my ear. Those delicious sensations flowed over me and through me. "This is the first time you've been on your feet, outside the pool, how does it feel?" she further queried.

"Very good," I replied, enjoying this immensely. "Who's teasing who now?"

"Payback's hell, itn't it?" she asked, slipping her arms around my waist. "You got those jeans on yet?"

"You're not helping any."

"I know. I wasn't trying to be helpful," she admitted, as she lightly kissed me on the neck.

Basic instinct must have taken over, because my response to this stimulus was moving my head to one side and offering her my neck for more stimulation. She lightly kissed my neck several more times, while her hands roamed over my T-shirt clad stomach, then started moving towards my breasts.

"Damn," she swore softly, stilling her hands and pressing her lips to my neck. She sighed heavily and withdrew, holding me out away from her body. "I always lose control, don't I?"

"One day, Sara, it won't be so easy for you to get away from me," I said, teasingly, as I glanced around at her.

"Ah... now that'll be the day."

"And you won't have to walk alone, either."

"I look forward to that," she said, easing me down in my chair.

"I love you, Sara." The words tumbled out of my mouth with ease.

"I love you, too," she replied without hesitation, placing a kiss on top of my turban.

We both heard Brandon's voice in the hallway, so she quickly bent down and helped me put my feet in the footrests. I touched her hair, which was soft, but dry from the hair color she used, I assumed. "What color was your hair?" I queried.

"Dark brown, why?"

"I just wondered what you looked like… you know... natural. How come your eyebrows aren't dark then?"

"I had them done, too. Dark brown eyebrows looked rather peculiar with blonde hair. Gave away my secret too easily," she replied with a sly grin.

"Princess, there you are. I was afraid you had fallen or... something. What's taking you so long?" he asked, as he glanced down at Sara, as if he knew what the problem was.

"I didn't know you needed help with that. I thought you did those things yourself, now."

"I had to get Sara to help me into these jeans, after I struggled for so long with them," I lied. "She was just nice enough to do the rest while she was here, so I wouldn't keep you waiting."

He grunted. "Are you ready now?" His tone was bordering on impatience. I nodded and eased the chair forward.

"Have a good time," Sara said.

"She will," Brandon answered before I even had a chance to. "And we'll take real good care of her. You really shouldn't worry about her so much, Miss Bennington. Soon, she'll be walking and… she'll no longer be your responsibility."

I didn't like the way he stressed "your". I could tell Sara didn't either. It made me sound like a piece of merchandise to be handed over to someone else at some point in the future. And I knew he was reminding her that her services would no longer be needed at that time. That was something I didn't even want to think about.

Brandon had a surprise for me before we reached the stables. It was a blacktopped path, which ran parallel to the gravel drive. Sometimes, he could definitely amaze me.

I enjoyed the stables with all the beautiful horses. I knew why Jason had picked Shane, the moment I saw him. He was dark brown with a beige mane, where the others had manes of their same coloring or black. I couldn't help but be reminded of Sara and her bleached blonde hair against the dark brown roots.

Jason fed him and asked if I'd like to do the same. So, I did. Shane bent down to receive the morsels in my hand, his light brown eyes with their dark brown specks perusing me carefully. I found it hard to believe he had once been wild; for, he had kind eyes and such a gentle manner.

Love, I thought. Love can do this. Jason's love for the horse and Ashley's love for Jason had turned this wild animal into a gentle and loving friend.

"One day, maybe you'll be able to ride him with me," said Jason. "He's not wild anymore."

"I wouldn't bet money on that," Brandon remarked. "He's still got that wild streak like his mother. She never lost it."

"His mother?" I queried.

"Oh yes, wildest horse I've ever seen. One of my hands Tom Randall, he acquired that horse for me. Bad choice. Never could ride her."

"Ashley could," Jason interjected.

"Had to fire that man after working for us many years,” Brandon continued, ignoring Jason's comment. “He turned out to be no better than his choice in horses. People are a lot like horses you know. Some are proud, dignified and respect discipline. Others are wild from the day they are born and you can't teach them a thing."

I knew he was most assuredly making reference to some person. And I had a feeling it was Ashley.

"Well, let's finish this part of the tour, shall we, Jason? I'd like to show Mari...

Princess here, some other places she hasn't seen yet."

He'd made a slip and almost called me my mother's name. Why did she still hold such a special place in his heart? I wondered. After twenty-two years and being such a handsome and wealthy man, couldn't he find someone else to give his heart to? I assumed from what I had seen at the first party -women flitting around him like moths to a flame-that he could have just about anyone of them. But perhaps that was the problem, in itself.

For, that which we desire most, is often that which we can not have.

After the stables, Jason left us and Brandon pushed me back towards the house at a leisurely pace. He talked constantly about the businesses he and I owned. The holdings of Neilson Enterprises were so diversified, it was too hard for me to keep track. Plus, my mind was preoccupied at the moment with something far more interesting: Sara.

We finally made it back to the house. The flowers that lined the pathway leading behind the mansion were beautiful. Brandon noticed the attention I paid them and picked some for me. I thought this a very noble gesture. He pushed me beyond the hedges, around the indoor pool and out towards the beautiful white gazebo. Pink, blue and lavender flowers had been planted in a perfect circle around it. I did so love these colors and remarked about, as he steered me up the ramp he'd had installed when I first began venturing out. The same one I hadn't used very much.

"Your mother loved this place," he said, as he sat down on one of the benches in front of me. "She called it her thinking place."

"Why didn't you ever marry again?" I asked, changing the subject. We'd already had this conversation about my mother the first time he brought me here.

"Oh..." He sighed heavily. "Vivian's death was hard on me. Taking her life like that.

Then, there was Ashley to deal with. I couldn't very well ask a woman to come in and take over a house when... I had a daughter with such erratic behavior."

"You mean she wasn't alright after thr... being in the hospital?" I corrected myself, because I knew he hadn't revealed how long she'd stayed in the hospital, Jason told me that part.

He glanced up briefly, then back down at his hands, which were intertwined in front of him. "I'm afraid not. Oh, she was fine with animals. Horses, dogs, cats... but not with people. I suppose, she felt she couldn't trust anyone... not after what her mother did."

"What about now? I mean... you're alone, except for Jason."

"Oh, I don't know. I've grown too old, I suppose. Too set in my ways, perhaps." He sighed. "And of course, you're here now, so I don't..."

"But, I won't be staying indefinitely."

"Why not?" he asked quickly, his expression changing from sadness to concern.

"I have a home. When I can walk again, and I'm sure that'll be soon, I intend to go back and..." I paused, realizing I hadn't given this much thought, lately. Now that Sara was in the picture, what was I going to do?

"And?" he prodded.

"I suppose I haven't given much thought to what I would do after I got there. I've been so busy just taking one day at a time."

"Stay here, Princess. There's no need for you to go back. I'll give you anything and everything you need," he said, a pleading tone to his voice, as he stared at me.

"I need to go back. Even if only to settle things and... say goodbye to..." I paused, a lump jumping up in my throat.

Until now I hadn't wanted to think about my parents' gravesites. When I had first inquired about this, back in the hospital, Brandon told me everything had been taken care of and not to worry, “concentrate only on getting better” . I didn't even know anything about the funeral or where they were actually buried. Had they purchased a cemetery plot? I didn't know and until now, hadn't wanted to think about it. It was easier for me to think of them the way they had been -the way they were in my memories- rather than where their bodies might lie. I suppose I felt that as long as I didn't see a headstone, I could keep them alive. Now, it seemed it was time to think about the inevitable: saying goodbye.

A tear formed in the corner of my left eye. "I have to go back and say goodbye," I finished.

"No, you don't, Princess," he said, softly. "They're... not in Jackson Falls."

"Not…? Where then?" I asked, quite shocked.

"They're here."

"In Atlanta?"

"No, Princess..." he answered a bit hesitantly. "They're here... at Shady Grove."

My mouth fell open. "You mean to tell me that my parents are buried somewhere on this estate and you haven't told me?!"

"This is the first time you've asked. I... I didn't think you wanted to know. You never asked before."

"Yes, I did. I asked about the funeral and everything. You said it had all been taken care of."

"It was," he said calmly, turning away from my wrath. "If you had asked where, I would have told you. You didn't."

I sighed heavily. "I'm... I'm sorry. You're… you're right. I should've asked. I... I suppose I really didn't wanna know. Somehow seeing a head... Well, it would seem so final. Maybe it's better that I didn't know. But, I do want to…" I paused. "I'll want to…

go there soon."

"Yes, of course, but... not today, hmm?" he asked, as he touched my hand, seemingly pleading with me.

"No... not today. Maybe… tomorrow. Where is... this place?"

"Out there," he said, pointing towards an open field. "Close to those pecan trees you can barely see from here. All the Neilson's are buried there." I merely nodded in understanding. "So you see, Princess, you have no reason to go back," he said, trying to sound cheerful again.

"Yes, I do. There's the house and..."

"I can take care of that for you, I know of a real estate agency..."

"No." I shook my head. "It's more than just selling the house. Sooner or later I'll have to take care of my own affairs. And I'll take care of this one, when I can walk again."

To hear myself say the last few words felt strange. Everyone around me had uttered these, at one time or another, but not me. I was too scared I never would walk again and all those big dreams would come back to haunt me. Now, however, I was reaching for the future… in order to say goodbye to the past. How ironic! .

I hadn't realized how much I had changed over the past few weeks spent in my melancholy state. There were only a few tears now, when before I would've cried buckets at the drop of a hat. At the moment, I felt numb. Little did I know this was the calm before the storm.

TEN

I had a light dinner that night. I didn't feel very hungry. Brandon stayed with me most of the evening. He was quiet and subdued, which was unusual, because he normally talked incessantly about the business. I was relieved at the change. Matter of fact, he was pleasant company. Considering I was stuck with him. Unlike the previous night, when I saw his mischievous side, tonight, I was treated to quite the opposite. He was quite kind, gentle and loving in his tone and manner. He did nothing to make me uncomfortable.

His about face, made me wonder about us all. I, too, had different sides to my personality. I surmised, after being around him. I wasn't exactly the same to every person I met. It seemed everyone reacts to the stimulus around them, more often than not. And he must have been reacting to our trip to the gazebo. I knew it had reminded him of my mother; for, he brought her up several times on the way back. I also knew that I had inadvertently reminded him of how alone he was with my questions.

I felt sorry for him, as I watched him staring out at the darkness many times over the course of his stay. What was he looking for? I wondered. Or was he even looking out there? Perhaps he was looking inside himself. The private thoughts of a lonely man, who had everything, accept the woman he wanted most. To love someone for so long, without ever having them, must be pure torture, I thought.

After he left, my thoughts turned to my own private world. I flipped on the stereo and started the CD player. The intro to track nine was beautiful: the sound of tinkling chimes and an organ. Then the young woman began to sing. Her song was about a love that was new. She was telling her lover she wanted to take things slow, asking that her lover wait awhile, before they went to far. She promised she'd be worth the wait.

As I sat there listening, I could see why Sara had chosen it. At times, during the song, I almost felt like she was in the room with me, saying these things to me. I understood now, what she was trying to say this afternoon. What she could not get across easily in her own words, the song could.

Thinking back over the past few months: how I'd started out feeling towards her like a mother, sort of; that mind-set changing to recognition of what these feelings actually were; fighting those same inner demons for all I was worth; then just yesterday… Bang!

Releasing them all, setting them free to be expressed! I assumed, I'd more than likely been letting those once pent up and suppressed emotions rule my better judgment, the past few days. Now, I understood why so many young girls became pregnant too soon.

Sexual desire is a driving force, one that takes time to learn to control. This was something I hadn't given much thought to before, since I'd never really had that many overt sexual feelings. Was that perhaps one reason why they were so intense now? Or was it just because the guys had been pushy and Sara was being anything but? Was pulling away from me, causing me to chase her? Isn't that what I needed to control, the instinct to chase that which kept trying to elude my grasp. My, oh my, how things had changed in a few short months.

I had to struggle to get my jeans off, but finally managed. I changed into my pajamas and got into bed, waiting for Sara to say goodnight. I didn't think Brandon would be back, he'd already kissed my cheek, rather chastely and expressed that nightly sentiment.

A few moments later, the door slowly opened and Sara walked in wearing a thin blue nightgown. I wondered why she wasn't wearing her robe, as usual, but didn't inquire.

I liked the view too well to spoil it. She backed up against the doors, shutting them. "Did you like the song?" she asked, moving towards me.

"Yes. And I understand. I'm sorry that I've been so..." She stopped me by putting her finger to her own lips.

"Don't apologize. There's nothing to be sorry for. I only wanted you to understand why it would be better to wait… not to make you feel guilty. So… no more I'm sorrys, hmm? Now how was your day?" she asked, sitting down on the bed.

I amazed me sometimes how fast she could change the subject.

"Fine. I... I'll be visiting my parents... grave, tomorrow."

She looked surprised and quite concerned. "How will you get there? Isn't that a long trip?" she asked, her concern showing in her voice, as well.

I explained about the cemetery beyond the west wing. I still felt numb talking about.

As if I had no feelings.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" she asked, still sounding apprehensive.

"I… I don't know. I don't feel... anything. I'm just numb. I feel as though I should be sad… tears should be flowing, but... I mean, I'll be saying goodbye tomorrow and..."

"Not necessarily," she said softly, as she fiddled with my fingers.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, you have no memories of them here. What I mean is... sometimes it takes a long time for a person to let go of loved ones, especially in your case. You've been taken out of the environment where you would normally confront your memories day after day and therefore come to terms with it gradually. Back there... in Jackson Heights, is it?" I shook my head, but didn't offer to correct her. "Well, you know what I mean. Back there is where you'll most likely say goodbye. Because, in your mind, they're still there, aren't they?"

I nodded. "Yes, that's… that's how I remember them."

"Don't feel guilty about feeling nothing. People handle grief in different ways. And they say there are stages you go through. Being numb is one of them."

Looking into her eyes, I knew she was right. Perhaps this was a stage I was going through. And perhaps inside I knew I would not be saying goodbye tomorrow; for, to me, they weren't here.

"How'd you get to be so smart?" I asked, taking her hands in mine.

"Didn't you know... it comes natural," she teased, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

"I missed you today."

"So did I, but... I brought back some tapes and CD's. You'll be dancing before long and I knew you'd need some music to boogie down to."

"Will you dance with me?" I queried.

She smiled. "Every chance I get. I'll make sure I fill in my name on every line of your dance card."

"What dance card?" I questioned, thinking this sounded like something out of the stone-age.

"Oh, I'm sure as old fashioned as Brandon is, he'll give one of those gala affairs commemorating the old South, somewhere around Labor day and by that time you'll be on your feet and the men'll be lining up to dance with the pretty Southern Bell."

"What put you in such a good mood?" I asked, obviously changing the subject.

"Oh, I don't know. Could be because you took your first step. Or... because Brandon goes back to work tomorrow and I can have you all to myself," she said, her voice dropping an octave or so on the last sentence, while she leaned in closer. Her eyes seemed to glow with happiness.

She looked so beautiful. I wanted to kiss her. Instead, she kissed me, very lightly and then pulled back. Her eyes darted from my lips to my eyes and back again.

"Before I came in here, I told myself I wouldn't do this and yet... I find it very hard to resist you," she admitted, her tone deep and sultry. She kissed me again.

One kiss led to another and another. Each one growing more intense, until I felt my pajama top being lifted and her hand unexpectedly surround my left breast. I gasped. The suddenness of it sent a million sensations rushing downward, where they hit bottom and exploded outward like fireworks.

"Damn!” she cursed softly, “I gotta get outta here.” She pulled away, got up and left me laying there, breathing very heavily and longing for her to come back.

I hadn't meant to scare her off. Not in the least. I wanted her to continue. I would've given her complete control over my body without a moment's hesitation. And that was one thing I'd never done before. I was always in control, at least in this area. There had been no melting beneath a male's touch. But, I had definitely felt as if I were soft butter and she, a warm knife. And wanted to experience that again! I tingled from head to toe, desiring more. Much more! I wanted to get up and follow her. Breeze into her room and crawl into bed with her; give up my long held virginity; experience the wonders of my sexual awakening; touch, kiss, caress, fondle... whatever seemed right at the moment.

I inhaled a shuddering breath and then let it out slowly, resigning myself to merely remembering what had happened tonight. After all, she's the one who wanted to take it slow, so she was the one in control. All I could do was follow her lead. Well, most of the time, that is. It wasn't as if I didn't have a few ideas of my own.

We spent all the next day together. I took another step forward, slower and a tad more confident. She informed me the next stage would be daily trips to the hospital in order to use their therapy equipment. I needed to work on exercising my upper and lower body and learn to walk all over again, using parallel bars for support. The idea of getting out and about with Sara was intriguing. We could truly be alone. And I definitely liked the sound of that! I also liked the idea of what would come after I was able to move better: a walker. This represented freedom from the chair and also meant Sara wouldn't be able to walk away from me as easily.

The incident the night before was never mentioned by either of us. Somehow, I think we both knew that soon enough, perhaps sooner than she expected, we'd be together. We played a few of the tapes and CD's she had brought from her house. During the love songs, we would stare at each other from across the room. If anyone else had been in attendance, it would've been quite obvious how we felt. But no one could know; it had to be our secret.

Dinner came far too quickly and Brandon came up as always. He said he had informed the servants we'd have a small memorial service for my parents this evening. In a way, I appreciated the gesture, but I would've preferred only Sara and myself in attendance. I didn't want a big production. The funeral had been months ago. But, he insisted. And with Brandon, there was no arguing, most of the time. He liked making a production out of the simplest things.

Sara helped me into a plain black dress. No words passed between us, until Brandon arrived. Then all was quiet again as we made our way to the gravesite. We took the limousine of course, taking it slow down the narrow dirt track. It was quite a good ways across the field, much farther that I had assumed. It turned out to be a fitting place for a cemetery. The black wrought iron fence surrounding the site and its matching archway over the entrance, emblazoned with the name NEILSON, blended in well with the pecans and oaks, whose branches overhung the oldest of the headstones. One of these dated back to 1829, when Jackson David Neilson died. I assumed he was the one who started it all.

The wrought iron fence had been freshly painted, or so it seemed and as Brandon opened the gate, it squealed a minor protest. I glanced up at the archway and wondered how many who weren't born Neilson's were buried here? As he wheeled me over to the left side of the graveyard, I perused the headstones as we passed. Some were green and weathered with age, exuding a sense of history.

Brandon stopped abruptly, which brought my attention back to the fore. In front of me, were two new headstones: "Jonathan David Neilson, Beloved Father and Husband, Marion Renee White Neilson, Beloved Mother". There it was… carved in stone. There was no denying the fact now. They weren't still happily going about their lives back in Jackson Falls, as I often wanted to believe. It had just been easier on me to think that one day they might walk through the door and everything would be all right again. But, here it was before me, in big bold letters saying, " They're not coming back! "

I started to tremble and Sara placed her hand on my shoulder to comfort me. I could hear a voice, which sounded like Brandon's, but I didn't understand the words, nor did I care to. I gripped the chair and stared at the headstones, closing out everything except the memories that flooded my mind. Quick pictures of happy times we'd shared, their laughter ringing in my ears… my mother tucking me in at night… my father in his study, pecking away at his typewriter…

Hands were touching my arms on either side, as blurred images moved past.

Whispered words mingled with the hot breeze, sighing in and out around me. I offered no response. I was as still as a statue, completely numb from head to toe, my eyes as dry as any desert.

"Perhaps we should leave now, Princess," I heard Brandon say, as he kissed my cheek.

"No," I finally managed to utter. "I... want to be alone."

He seemed to accept this and started away. "Miss Bennington," he called as if asking her to leave.

"Sara... stay," I requested.

She squeezed my shoulder letting me know she wasn't going anywhere. "I'm sure she'll be alright, Mr. Neilson. Give her some time," she offered. "I'll... push her back to the house when she's ready."

"I'll wait," he countered.

"No, Brandon... I'm sure you have more important things to do," I stated.

The silence that ensued when he left was deafening. "I… I can't cry!" I finally said, growling out the words like a mad dog. I could feel rage building up inside me. I knew this should be sorrow, but what could I do about it? What's wrong with me?!

"Don't punish yourself. Remember what I told you," Sara said, as she bent down beside me.

"Punish myself!" I exclaimed, in disbelief. "They're the ones who've been punished!

And for what? What did they ever do to deserve this?" I screeched.

"Why do you think death is a punishment?" she inquired, serenely.

"Because their life was cut short!"

"I don't know, but I've heard it said: 'only the good die young'."

"Bullshit!" I shouted.

"Then… tell me how you feel, Faith."

"Feel?” I growled, gritting my teeth. “I feel cheated, that's how I feel! I feel angry! I feel so much ang-ger!!! It just doesn't make sense! Why were they taken and not me?

Hmm? Why my little brother and not me? Can anyone answer me that?"

"No… Least of all, not me."

"I just wanna know why? Why them? Why now? Why the hell did we ever get on that plane?!!” I screamed, not caring who heard or how it may sound.

And then the dam burst. The Sahara of my eyes finally gave up the water just beneath the surface and tears poured down my cheeks like torrential rain. My heart felt like it would burst wide open at any moment. "Oh God... why?!!!" I blubbered.

Sara held my hand as I wailed in agony from the pain I felt inside. My stomach literally ached, as some force within pushed to relieve all the emotional pressure that had been building up for the past few months. My body was a pressure cooker; my mouth the steam escape valve, venting all those pent up emotions; my eyes the lid, bubbling over with excess liquid!

It took over half an hour before the tears subsided, but afterwards, I felt especially serene and peaceful. Just like a summer thunderstorm, which brought the rains that cleansed the earth, the storm inside me had been a cleansing experience. As Sara slowly pushed me towards the house, I asked that she take me around to the gazebo. We sat silently side-by-side -Sara on the floor by my chair- until the sun descended behind the trees, its bright red glow highlighting the underbelly of the clouds to the west in an array of ever decreasing shades of pink. The crickets began chirping, the cicadas commenced their eerie trill and the tree frogs soon joined the late evening chorus that would carry on throughout the night. The cooing of a mourning dove, somewhere close by, filled the air with a lonesome sound. A few minutes later, the call of a chuck-will's-widow drifted up to us, from the direction of the stables.

"Shane is a beautiful horse," I commented, finally breaking the silence. "I know why Jason picked him."

"Why?"

"He's different. That lovely beige mane of his and those eyes... it's hard to believe he was ever as wild as they say."

"Don't we all have a wild streak?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"A rebellious side that… wants to do something... even though you know it's probably the wrong thing to do."

"Hmph. Yeah, I know about that side. It's... hard to control sometimes."

"You can say that again," she remarked, holding out a piece of pine straw: the three separate strands had been braided together.

"It's hard to control sometimes," I repeated, admiring her handiwork.

She glanced up at me and we both snickered. It seemed to ease the tension between us considerably. Even though the references had been vague in those previous few lines, we both knew we were discussing our relationship, in an indirect manner.

"Hey, look," she said, pointing to the east. I followed her gaze and saw a bright orange moon barely peaking its head above the tree line. "Isn't that beautiful?"

"Um-hmm, very," I agreed.

In silence we admired one of Mother Nature's most mysterious wonders: the moon.

It seemed to be an enormous fireball in the sky, but I knew it had no light of its own. It was merely a reflection of its counterpart and benefactor, the sun. All the folklore that had grown up around this changeable nocturnal reflection of the sun was amazing to me.

Some people even feared it when it was full. But not me; just like the ocean's tide, I could feel her working her magic on me.

How many lovers had been seduced by this illusion and its magical pull? I wondered. A full moon was considered romantic, but did anyone ever stop to wonder why? Was it because of her gravitational pull on the earth, more so than her light? If she could move an ocean, what force must she exert on us, as individuals, without our awareness of it?

A cool breeze floated up the little rise where we sat. I looked over at Sara, wondering what she was thinking. The breeze tossed short strands of her hair, which had slipped out of her coif, to and fro. They danced around her forehead and flitted around her ear. I wondered again what she had looked like with her natural color. Her olive complexion against the blonde hair, gave the appearance of someone who spent a good deal of time in the sun. And of course, our time in the pool had only darkened her skin to a richer hue. I tried to imagine what she would look like with dark brown hair.

This reminded me of my own hair. Day by day, it was slowly growing out. But, I still had only enough to make me look like a boy with a crew cut. The scars still stood out against the light brown stubble, winding its way across my forehead to my right eyebrow.

Of course, the turban I always wore now -in place of the bandage: removed the last time Dr. Rosemund came out- still covered this up. But I still couldn't image how Sara could think I was beautiful. The phrase, "love is blind" seemed to be whispered in my ear, by the incoming breeze.

"Princess, what are you… two doing out here?" Brandon asked, as he quickly ascended the steps of the gazebo. From his tone of voice and the expression on his face, I knew he'd assumed I was alone, at first; from the path, Sara would have been out of sight sitting on the floor beside me. "Shouldn't she be inside Miss Bennington?"

"Just a little while longer. I want to stay until the moon climbs above the tree tops," I requested, giving him what he seemed to expect from me: my best whiny brat impression.

"Moon?" he muttered, as if not understanding why I would want to see this.

"Yes... over there." I pointed towards it.

He sat down on the bench behind us with a heavy sigh. Sara seemed quite uneasy about his presence and got up a few seconds later, walking over to the rail at the entrance. Why did Brandon make her so uncomfortable? I wondered. Was it just because of their mutual dislike? I had thought Sara stronger in character than that. Or was it that she felt our closeness in his presence might reveal our true relationship?

"I suppose I should have known I would find you out here," Brandon began in a soft voice. "So much like your mother you are."

I gritted my teeth. I wanted to scream, I am not my mother, can't you see that? Yet, again, I held my tongue.

"Oh yes, I nearly forgot," he added, "I've arranged for a hairdresser to come out tomorrow."

"A hairdresser?" I repeated. "Brandon I hardly think I need…"

"Ah-ah-ah, let me finish, Princess. I know it was supposed to be a surprise and I was planning to be here, but... things came up down at the office and I have to take care of it.

I just wanted to let you know he would be bringing several wigs for your approval."

"Wigs?"

"Yes, of course, for the party this weekend. You remember you remarked about your turban? Well, here's your solution."

That damn party again! I hadn't been able to persuade him not to give the party, without coming right out and telling him I despised his friends. So I'd relented. I'd reasoned that he didn't ask a whole lot of me, usually, and just because he'd interrupted my new love life on a few occasions was no reason to deprive him of his happiness; I'd just slip away early. But now, however, he wanted me to do something else for him. I'd never worn a wig before. Matter of fact, I'd never even seen one up close; at least, not that I'd been aware of. The thought of wearing one had never crossed my mind. Now that it had, I couldn't help but wonder what I'd look like? An old lady was my first impression.

"I don't know what your hair was like before," he continued, "but I assume it was as beautiful as your mother's. So I picked out several that reminded me of her... for your approval, of course," he added.

Of course is right, I thought. If I do wear a wig, which I doubt, I sure ain't wearing anything I don't approve of. Matter of fact, this whole idea would take some getting used to. I looked over at Sara, who was merely staring off into the distance, while she twirled a piece of pine straw around her fingers. Perhaps if she liked it, it might be alright.

After I changed for bed, Brandon came up to say goodnight and brought another glass of milk. I wasn't thirsty and knew how it affected me the last time I was tired, but I drank a few sips to let him know I appreciated the gesture. His goodnight kiss lingered longer than usual, as he rubbed his face against mine. "Get well soon, Princess," he whispered.

A few minutes after he left, I took another sip of the milk. It didn't taste like ours at home, but of course no two dairies are the same. As I lay there waiting for Sara, I could feel sleep silently creeping up on me on little cat's feet.

Finally, she appeared in the doorway, wearing her robe. "I think I'd better say goodnight from here," she said, as she held onto the side of the open door and twisted the knob nervously.

"Is that what you really want?"

"No," she replied, twisting the knob back and forth, her eyes scanning the room like a fly searching for a place to land. "But, I think it'd be better if...." She paused, her gaze coming to rest on the nightstand. "Who brought the milk?" she asked, frowning.

"Brandon. Why?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "I… I don't know." She rested her forehead against the door. "There's just something about... a glass of milk. Every time I see it... I wanna get rid of it. But… I can't say why," she added, shaking her head. "There's so much I've lost."

“Whaddaya mean, lost?”

She sighed heavily and glanced up at the ceiling. “I've been meaning to tell you this for a while now, but… I just… Well, it never seemed the right time or…” She paused, looked down at her feet and tapped her forehead against the edge of the door.

“What is it, Sara?” She had me worried.

She sighed again, her forehead merely resting against the door's edge now.

“Remember I told you that I didn't recognize my own face when… I woke up in the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

“Well… that wasn't just because it was such a mess, which it was.” She looked over at me and lifted her head from the door. “It really was. Much worse than yours by a long shot. But, that's not the real reason I didn't recognize it… ya see, Faith… I had amnesia.”

That explained a lot. “Amnesia? You mean you couldn't remem…?”

“Still can't,” she interrupted, fidgeting with the doorknob. “And that's why I kept saying everything before the accident was fuzzy. Truth is… I don't remember.”

“You mean you don't remember anything about your past?" I asked, aghast.

"Not really. There've been a few flashes… a few things that… I don't know… feel familiar or somethin', but… nothing I can clearly say is a memory.”

“What flashes? What things feel familiar?” I was intrigued.

“Oh it's just… little things like… the milk and… this house for instance... I feel like I…

either visited here before or... maybe lived in one similar or somethin'."

"Maybe you knew Ashley," I interjected, trying to make some sense of her familiarity. “Maybe you attended one of Brandon's parties?”

Her eyes took on a faraway look, as if she were trying to remember something. "I doubt it. But, I don't know. And that's the worst part, I just... don't know." She was fiddling with the latch now.

"What about your father, can't he tell you anything?"

"He said I lived with my mother until the accident."

"You mean she was killed too?"

She nodded. "He said she... died instantly. But… I have no memory of her. Unlike you... I couldn't even mourn her properly. She was a stranger to me. I... I don't even know where she's buried."

"It must be hard on you... not knowing, I mean." I wanted to keep her talking.

Although I felt sorry for her, I was still fascinated with the amnesia.

"Sometimes, like now, when I remember little flashes of things..." She paused, as she crossed the room to the vanity. "I often wonder what she looked like. My father said I look like her, except for my... hair and eyes. That's another reason why I changed them. I guess I thought if I looked more like her, it might trigger some memory, but… I suppose my face changed a great deal after the accident."

"Didn't your father have a picture of her?"

"Just a small faded snapshot. You can't tell much about her."

"What about pictures from your home, surely..."

"The house burnt down while I was in the hospital. Vandals broke in and...." She shook her head sadly. "All the memories I might've recalled through familiarity, they all… went up in smoke, I guess you could say." She seemed to be trying to dismiss her sadness with humor.

"Can't he tell you anything about her? I mean surely there are relatives or..."

"They were never married.” She sighed heavily. “She left home because she was pregnant. Didn't keep in touch, though he said he tried to find her." She frowned at her reflection then looked away. "She had no relatives… No husband."

"Where was the accident?"

"Outside of Atlanta."

"You mean you were living around here, close to him and he didn't know?"

"No, he lived in south Georgia. Down near Columbus."

"I thought you said you lived here in Atlanta?"

"I do. I have an apartment in Smyrna. And no, I didn't go live with him," she added, as if anticipating my next question. "I spent a lot of time in the hospital. Then he rented me an apartment so I could be close to the doctors, plastic surgeons and everything. After that I started school here and... You have to remember I… I didn't know him very well."

"How often do you see him and your little brother?" I inquired.

She ran her index finger over the vanity top, as she stared into the mirror. She frowned at her reflection. "I... I don't have a brother, Faith. I... I don't even have a father now. He died... not long before this job came up."

I sighed heavily. She had lied to me!

"I know there's no excuse for lying to you. It... it was just easier somehow than telling the truth. Especially when I'm not sure what the truth is… for me." Her frown deepened.

"Whaddaya mean?" I asked, as I crossed my arms over my stomach. I realized as soon as I did this, it was a defensive posture, designed to ward off any blows to my solar plexus, where she had already, figuratively, hit me only moments before.

"There's... there's just a lot of things he told me that… Well, they don't add up."

"Are you saying you think he lied to you about something?"

She quickly turned away from the vanity, then walked over to her chair and plopped down in it. "Perhaps... I'll let you be the judge of that," she finally responded, glancing over at me. "Sara Bennington, this is your life. Or at least according to my father."

She then related her history as it had been told to her. Her mother had run off to Atlanta, because she didn't want to marry her father. The birth certificate Sara had to produce for her new social security card listed her as being born in Atlanta on December 14, 1960, to Amy Jackson. The father was listed as Leon Bennington. According to her real father, Leon was nowhere to be found at the time of the accident and her father had no idea who he was or if he even existed at all, since her mother had never changed her maiden name.

Her father knew nothing about her previous life, other than the fact that she had lived in a rundown house on the south side of Atlanta. Her mother had no living relatives and no friends that he could find. As she had mentioned before, vandals had broken into the house and somehow set fire to it. Sara had never seen it because by the time she was up and around again, the lot had been cleared and another house erected on the site.

It was obvious Sara was disturbed over the fact that she hadn't known her father at all, even before the accident and then suddenly he walks into her life and takes over. She didn't know him from "Adam's house cat". When she'd asked how he found out about the accident, obviously suspicious, he explained that he'd read an article in the paper about her mother dying in the crash. But, he could produce no proof that he was indeed her father, other than the picture of her mother and a small black and white snapshot of a little girl on horseback, which he said had been sent to him many years ago, with no return address, after he'd snooped around looking for her. He reasoned that Amy had wanted to appease him with this. But the snapshot was so worn Sara had no way of knowing whether it was her or some other little girl.

I sighed heavily when she finished. "Lot of unanswered questions, hmm?"

"A lot," she agreed. “And I know this gave me no right to lie to you, but... I didn't want you feeling sorry for me. And I didn't want that... analytical mind of yours going to work on me and my Swiss cheese of a life history. I wanted you to concentrate on yourself."

"Well, at least you've told me… finally. But would you, if I hadn't pried?"

"Eventually, I suppose. I mean... how do you just come out and tell someone something this... odd? What if what I'm telling you now isn't the truth? I have no way of knowing if I'm lying to you right now or not."

"You're telling me the truth as you know it, right?"

She nodded. "But, do you see why I didn't tell you before?"

I frowned. "Why the little brother, though?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." She was staring out the window. "I guess maybe I've always wanted one. But see… I don't even know if that's true. I have no way of finding out what I was like before the accident or... or even if it was my fault," she added, as she got up out of the chair rather quickly. "I'm sorry, I think this conversation has deteriorated into... something I don't like at all. And I'm sure you'd rather not have a liar for a...

friend." She started for the door.

"Sara…" She stopped at the door, her hand already on the knob, but she didn't offer to turn around. "…you've helped me put my past behind me. Helped me get through... so many things." I paused and nibbled on my bottom lip. "Maybe it's time for me to return the favor. We... we can both put our past behind us and... walk into the future…

together." Tears welled up in my eyes and I tried to will them back. Through my watery vision, I saw her hand slip from the doorknob; her shoulders start to shake. I knew she was crying, too. "Are you coming over here or... are you gonna make me get up outta this bed and come to you?" I asked.

She turned around slowly, looked at me through tear filled eyes, then covered the distance between us in only a few strides.

"What did you do after you got better?" I asked, when we both had stopped crying.

"I enrolled in college," she responded on a sigh, as she leaned her head back against the pillow propped beneath it. "I wanted to be a psychologist like you, but... I couldn't hack it." She reached down and fiddled with the sheet between us. "I mean, I didn't even know who I was, how could I help anyone else find themselves? Anyway, my therapist talked me into trying this. And five years later... here I am. I love the job… don't get me wrong. It's very rewarding to help people. Especially, someone like you," she added, as she cut her eyes over at me.

She was so very close, lying only a few inches away and yet, I knew nothing would happen between us. "Where did all the women come in?" I queried, feeling a smile forming at the corners of my mouth.

"Ah… I wondered when you'd get around to that one. Well..." She paused and turned her fidgeting fingers to the belt of her robe. "I… umm… I had a crush on my therapist to begin with." She cut her eyes over at me. I grinned. "But, she was straight as an arrow. Then I met this girl in college and we had a thing for a couple of months. My first… I suppose. And then let's see... there was a… succession of 'em. Ones I met at bars or through mutual friends."

"You mean none of the relationships lasted?"

"No, not more than a couple of months; some... not that long. I... I just couldn't commit to anyone for very long, or either... they didn't wanna stick around."

This frightened me a bit, because I wondered if I was letting myself in for heartbreak. I hadn't given much thought to the future of the relationship. I'd been too busy reveling in my newfound feelings to think past losing my virginity.

"That's why I want you to think about this carefully, before we go too far," she continued, as she turned over on her side to face me. "I feel more for you... than I have for anyone, but... who knows what will happen later on." Her eyes darted back and forth searching mine.

"What's that saying, I'd rather have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?" I remarked, softly.

"You're incorrigible, you know that?" she asked, as she reached over and touched my hand. "No matter how I try to keep my distance, you still end up luring me in."

"Could be because I want you here," I responded, searching her eyes now.

"Such innocence," she remarked, as she reached up and touched my face. "It scares me to think I might hurt you, unwittingly."

"If I do get hurt… it'll be my own fault, right?" I heard myself say. “I started this, after all.”

"Well, I better go," she asserted, withdrawing her hand. "It's getting late and..."

"Stay with me awhile longer, please." I reached out for her hand, but ended up grabbing one side of the belt to her robe.

"No, that wouldn't be a good ide... Hey, let go of that."

"Stay," I pleaded, tugging on it.

I hadn't meant to untie it. Hadn't even thought about this happening when I tugged on the belt. But her robe suddenly gaped open. Underneath, she wore nothing but a pair of blue underwear. A lump formed in my throat, as I gazed upon her naked torso.

She slowly pulled the end of the belt from my hand. "You didn't expect this, did you?"

she queried.

I slowly shook my head, unable to take my eyes off her breasts. She started to put her robe back together and I reached out again, this time, catching hold of her hand.

"Please, don't..." She gazed down at me, her expression saying that she wasn't sure about allowing this intimate perusal of her body. "You've seen mine," I reminded.

The sides of the robe slipped from her hands and fell back to their previous positions. She then laced her fingers in mine, seeming a bit embarrassed about this. My eyes perused her body, taking in every curve, every line and every freckle of her shapely form; at least, every one of these within my view. And the view was beautiful! Her breasts were firm and round; light brown aureoles just starting to tighten; darker nipples becoming erect beneath my gaze. I tried to get my hand free, but she held on tightly and shook her head rather slowly. I wanted to touch her so badly I felt as if my fingertips were itching with desire. But, I knew she was right. This would have to wait.

My gaze met hers again, searching for something, anything to change the subject or else I felt I would go crazy with desire. "So, did your father have chameleon eyes?" I queried, shattering the moment to hell and back.

"Chameleon eyes?" she repeated with a chuckle, slowly letting go of my hand, in order to put her robe back together. I recaptured one of her fingers, not wanting to lose this enticing and intriguing sight just yet. The back of my hand brushed against her stomach. "Umm...” she moaned and squeezed my finger. “I don't really know actually,”

she continued, answering my question, while at the same time letting go of my finger and pulling her robe back together. “I never noticed. I guess so, since I don't have my mother's eyes, why?"

I cleared my throat. And fought to clear my mind and proceed with the conversation I'd started. "Umm… isn't there anyway to find out more about her? I mean… surely someone knew her?" I was still staring at her robe, knowing now exactly what lay beneath it and just how very beautiful that was.

"My father said he couldn't find anyone."

This got my attention. No one knew this woman? That didn't sound right. "Well, did you see the article about the accident? Maybe that might tell you something."

"No, I never did. That's an idea. Leave it to a clever mind like yours to think of that,"

she replied, as she patted my hand, which was lying by her naked leg. "I suppose, I didn't really wanna know a lot at the time. Like you, I had enough to do just recovering. I guess I always hoped someone would recognize me or..."

"Do you want to find out now? Try to fill in the holes in the Swiss cheese, so to speak?"

"Yes and... no. I guess I'm afraid of what I might find. I mean these flashes... they're not... Well, they make me feel... angry and scared like… like the milk, there," she said, as she looked over at the nearly full glass. "To you, it's just a glass of milk, but to me…there's a… foreboding feeling associated with it. I… I'm afraid my life wasn't a happy one, to be honest. I often wonder if it's best that I don't know. Maybe I can't remember, because I don't want to."

"But won't you always feel empty inside? I know I would. Maybe that's why you can't make a commitment to anyone. You scare yourself away, because you don't truly know who you are, without your past."

Several moments passed as she considered this. "You'll make a fine psychologist one day, sweetheart. Mark my words, a fine one," she said, as she touched my face again.

"You would've, too. The way you manipulate people."

"Manipulate?" she repeated, removing her hand. "Who have I manipulated?"

"Let's see…" I pulled myself up straighter in the bed. "There's Jason for one. Getting him to come around, take part in helping me. Then there's me, of course. You manipulate me all the time."

"When?" she asked, with a sly grin.

"In the pool. And ya know, you're pretty good at it, too." My eyes traveled downward, coming to rest at the top of her robe, which was still slightly open. "You accuse me of teasing you, when you do the same thing to me," I added, referring to the fact that she had been nearly naked underneath her robe. My eyes traveled back up to meet her gaze and gage her reaction.

"You think you have me all figured out, don'chu?"

"Not yet, but I'm working on it." I reached over and ran my fingertip along the collar of her robe.

"You're quite a challenge, you know that? You're truly testing my resistance, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't say testing." My finger proceeded down to where the two sides joined. I knew what lay underneath that robe and I was dying to get my hands on… all of it.

"Oh, right... it's more like you're wearing down my resistance." She removed my hand and intertwined her fingers with mine. Gazing into my eyes, she rubbed her thumb back and forth over my fingers. Then slowly she leaned over and kissed me ever so lightly. “Goodnight Faith." She quickly got up from the bed.

I wanted to reach out and pull her back, but she was too quick. I fell back against the pillows frustrated and exhausted. I started to reach for the milk, then remembered her foreboding feeling about it and decided against it. I turned off the light instead and settled back.

Once again I had let those feelings lead me. And like the night before, I was left frustrated. I couldn't help but wonder what I would do if I ever pushed things too far and she suddenly stopped playing this little cat and mouse game? I was being very aggressive and selfish in this situation and I knew it. But, it was so hard to resist, once those feelings took over. I felt like I was rapidly turning into a Howard: all roamin' hands and rushin'

fingers, with one thing on my mind. And I didn't know the first thing about what I was rushing into.

ELEVEN

After pool therapy, the next day, we were both surprised to find several men in the room next to hers, moving out furniture and assembling the very equipment she'd mentioned previously as being the next stage in my therapy.

Sara walked into the room while I looked in from the door. “Where'd this come from?” she inquired of a burly man tightening the bolts on an exercise machine.

“We're from Blanchard's…” the man started to name his company, but Sara interrupted.

“No, I mean, who ordered this?”

“A Mr. Neilson,” he replied, glancing over at his companion. “Is there a problem?”

Sara hesitated, her gaze falling on the other young man, assembling a pair of parallel bars to a long flat mat of some sort. This reminded me of a large treadmill, although it appeared the mat was stationary. She eventually shook her head. “No, no problem,” she answered, tight lipped.

“Are you the therapist?” the young man inquired.

“Yes.”

“All the paperwork is over there.” He pointed with his screwdriver to a slim stack of papers on the floor by the door. “You'll need to sign the one on top, saying you received this.”

Sara merely nodded, walked over and picked up the papers, along with a pen that had been left on top. She read the first page, frowned, then said, “Let me know when you're finished. I'll need to check things over. I'll be next door.”

“What's wrong?” I queried, as we entered my sitting room.

She hesitated. “He had the equipment brought here,” she responded, still tight-lipped. “I wanted to get you out, even if it was just going to the hospital and back, but… I suppose this will be more convenient.” She paused and sighed heavily. “Well, I guess the important thing is we can start this stage of your therapy right away.” She flashed a lopsided smile.

I could tell she was disappointed and so was I. I'd been looking forward to those outings together. I hadn't, however, been looking forward to being around a lot of other people during this therapy. This turn of events was a mixed bag; and one soon relegated to the back burner, right after lunch, when the hairdresser showed up as Brandon promised.

Pierre was a rather thin, short man, with beautiful dark wavy hair and bright blue eyes.

His French accent was fake, an affection presumably to impress his customers. He hadn't quite perfected it; for, even I could detect the southern drawl tainting his performance. It was quite humorous, actually and I found him rather entertaining. He made a comment in French, as he touched my face and I had no idea what he'd said. Sara looked over at me and translated," He says your very pretty." When I inquired as to how she knew French, she frowned in consideration, then shrugged her shoulders and got that far away look in her eyes. She's found another hole in the Swiss cheese, I thought.

"Mademoiselle, your uncle has selected three choices for your approval," Pierre explained, opening three square silver boxes. "First, we will try 'zis one."

He pulled out a wavy blonde wig, with hair the color of Sara's and placed it over my turban. It was awful. I looked like a blonde version of Betty Boop.

"Too full," he said, promptly removing it. "Let's try 'zis one." He placed a wig with long flowing blonde hair on my head. "No, no, no, 'zis does not fit your face," he said, removing it.

I had to admit I did look rather odd. The hair even looked silver against my skin, rather than blonde.

"Your uncle said 'zis one reminded him of your mother," he said, bringing out the final selection.

I noticed immediately the nearly shoulder length blonde hair had already been arranged and set the way my mother wore it, the ends turned under like Streisand. As he placed it on my head and arranged the sides, I found myself looking at a facsimile of my mother. I looked more like her now than I ever had. Even if the nose was not the same and my lips were a bit fuller, I could still see her features in my face: rosy cheeks, bow shaped lips, small chin, and the pale pigment of my skin. Or did I look so much like her only because I no longer had the beautiful original to compare the reproduction to?

"Oh yes, mademoiselle, 'zis is your color. Yes... I could transform zis into a work of art," he said, fussing with the front sides to arrange it around my face.

"But the turban," I said, pointing to the way the part displayed it.

"No need to worry, Pierre will take care of 'zat." He looked at my reflection in the mirror, then brushed the hair down in front and over to one side, covering most of the turban. "I could sweep it o'ver to the side like 'zis, give you a part here. Or... give you bangz. Yes, I believe bangz would be better. You like?" he asked, repositioning the hair in front.

"I... I don't know," I replied, seeing a face too much like my mother's staring back at me. Then again, I'd always wanted to look like her and now was my chance.

"Can you take 'zis tur-bon off?" he asked.

I shook my head. "The scars are too bad."

"Can we have a look? Pierre can do won-derz with makeup and your scar might be eazier to hide than 'zis tur-bon."

I relented and he unwound the turban to reveal my scarred head and face. I know he didn't mean for me to see it, but I noticed the expression on his face, when he first saw the scars. Then he looked up at my reflection in the mirror and flashed a fake smile. I sighed heavily, as he repositioned the wig on my head. He fussed around with the sides again, pulling them forward for bangs.

"Yez, yez, I think I could make 'zis work, with a little makeup here and... across here." He nodded and smiled at my reflection. "What do you think?"

"Sara? How about it?" I asked, feeling I was not the best judge of this situation, at the moment.

"Please mademoizelle, Sara..." He moved aside and Sara's reflection appeared behind me.

She looked at me oddly for only a brief moment and then the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. She arched her eyebrows and slowly nodded.

"Yes, Pierre, I'll take it, but... you must do something about the underside."

"Un-der-side?" he asked, bewildered.

"This thing is making me itch under here."

"Oh, oh, Pierre can fix that, oh yez. No pro-blem 'zer." He lifted my chin ever so slightly. "You have lovely features, mademoizelle. Thiz will be a pleazure. Shall I inform your un-cle 'zat I will be returning Friday afternoon to perform your tranz-forma-shi-on,"

he said, his tone implying he was teasing me.

"Alright. Friday at..." I glanced up at Sara for help.

"Make it in the late afternoon, Pierre," she offered. "I'm sure she'll be sleeping most of the day."

When Brandon came to my room later that evening, he was thrilled with my choice.

He began chattering away about the party. As Sara walked in with the dinner tray, trying to save poor Celia a few steps, Brandon promptly relieved her for the evening. Then he left to eat his own dinner.

Sara dropped in again on her way out. "Why don't you go to the library and look up that article on your accident?" I asked.

"Alright, to satisfy your curiosity, I will. See ya, later."

Brandon and Jason visited with me until well after nine. I half listened, because my mind was on Sara. I was curious to know what she'd found out. I hoped the article might tell her something that could be useful in tracing her past.

Around ten thirty she came in, still dressed in her jeans and a white men's shirt -

appellants on the shoulders- open to the waist and worn over a black tank top. She flopped down in her chair as if she were worn out.

"Well, what did you find?" I asked, eager to end the suspense.

"A very small article," she replied. "Didn't tell me anything I didn't already know."

"I'm sorry."

She waved the gesture away. "It was worth a shot," she said, as she started removing the pins from her hair.

"I suppose." I was disappointed.

"Hey, don't go feeling bad about it. Oh yeah... I found an article about Ashley. I had a copy made for you. I thought you might be interested in it, since she was your cousin and all."

"What does it say?" My curiosity was on the rebound.

"I don't know. I didn't take time to read it." She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it.

She was so beautiful when she let her hair down that this distracted me for a moment. "Umm… you didn't find anything at all on yourself?" I asked.

She shook her head, as she stood up. "I guess the daughter's recovery is not newsworthy," she replied, reaching into her back pocket and withdrawing a folded sheet of paper. "Here's that copy of Ashley's. And mine is in there, too. I assumed you'd want to read both." She stared at the mimeograph paper, as she walked over to hand them to me.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" I asked, admiring the way her hair fell around her face, framing it with the silky tresses.

"Read," she said, with a smile. "I need to go change."

After she left, I unfolded the warm sheets of paper containing slight indentions where they had been molded against the curve of her behind. The first sheet was the small article on Sara. ONE KILLED IN SEMI MISHAP, the headline read. The article went on to say that early Saturday morning, Dec 28, 1987 a tractor-trailer truck jackknifed on highway 85 south, just north of Fayetteville. According to the driver of the semi, one Dick Broswell, an oncoming vehicle swerved to avoid a collision with him and the driver lost control of the vehicle on the wet payment. The 1982 Sunbird plunged several hundred feet down an embankment and crashed into a tree. Mr. Broswell rushed down to the vehicle, which was catching on fire, the driver lying on the hood. He reportedly carried her to safety only moments before the car exploded. The vehicle was later found to belong to Amy Jackson. Her daughter, Sara Bennington, was listed in critical condition.

I sighed heavily after reading it. Sara had been the driver of the car. I couldn't imagine how she must feel, wondering if she could've done anything differently. I knew this was a guilt she would carry around for the rest of her life.

I put this page aside and took a look at the other copied article. “MILLIONAIRE'S

DAUGHTER MISSING AFTER CAR ACCIDENT”, it read in big bold print. The article went on to say that multimillionaire, Brandon Jason Neilson had requested that the river be dragged, in an attempt to find his missing daughter, Ashley Marie Neilson, 22, after her car, a 1987 Camaro convertible, plunged into the Chattahoochee River on the night of Dec 30, 1987. According to a witness, Ashley swerved to miss a deer and lost control of the vehicle on the slick pavement. Her car tore through the guardrail, landing twenty feet below in the rising waters of the Chattahoochee. The witness was unable to say whether Ashley had escaped; for, he was quoted as saying, "It was just too dark to see anything with the rain and all". But, a police officer, Sgt. Collinsworth, gave the statement: "It would be a miracle, since the torrential rains over this weekend have raised the level of the river several inches and the current is still very swift."

The story continued on about the prospects of finding her alive; the first attempt to drag the river, which had proved futile; and the ongoing search which had been launched the next day and so far come up empty. It went on about her life, where she had went to college and what she was majoring in: psychology. Actually, it sounded more like a eulogy than a news article on a missing girl. It was obvious to me the reporter had already made up his mind she was dead. Brandon was the only one holding out any hope.

I folded the papers back up and laid them both on the side of the bed for Sara. The question of Ashley possibly being alive was a dead issue with me now. Obviously her body had just been washed down the river by the rainstorm. I could see though, why Brandon wouldn't give up so easily. There was always that lingering hope that maybe…

just maybe she'd somehow escaped. But, that was only a tale for the movies or a good book. Things like that didn't happen in real life.

But things like Sara's fate did. They'd happened to her and now she was walking around without a past. I assumed the latter made her afraid to look into the future too far.

A few minutes later Sara walked back in with her robe open, revealing a pair of black silky pajamas underneath. I wondered when she had acquired these. I didn't remember seeing them before. "So, what did you find out, Miss Detective?" she asked, as she closed her robe and tied it.

Is she teasing me? I wondered. "Umm... she drove a convertible Camaro," I replied.

"Musta had good taste."

"Camaro? Hmm... Yeah, pretty good taste."

"That reminds me what kind of ride do you make your escape from this place in?"

"A black Trans Am," she replied, arching her eyebrows. "Her name's Rosa Lee."

"Rosa Lee?" I queried, with a snicker.

She smiled. "Hispanic girl I used to know. She was sleek, dark and moved like greased lightning."

I turned away and crossed my arms over my stomach. She started to snicker now, as she sat down on the side of the bed. "What else did you find out?" she asked.

I didn't even offer a reply.

"Oh come on, sweetheart," she said playfully, as she rubbed my arm. "I was only teasing."

I merely stared at the floor, not even offering to look her way.

"You flatter me," she said, as she took her hand away. "Truthfully, there was no Rosa Lee, okay," she said, with a grin. "I just added that part to see how you'd react."

"Did I perform well for your amusement?"

"Faith... come on, I was only teasing."

"I know... to see my reaction, right?" I faced her. "And I gave you one, didn't I? I'm jealous, okay? Next time we're out in the yard, take one of those yellow flowers (dandelion) and put it under my chin... it'll turn bright yellow, I guarantee it."

"I... kinda like that," she said, softly, as she put her hand on my left leg and moved it up to where the covers ended. She looked up at me, then hooked her finger around the covers and pulled down ever so slowly.

"Uh-uh," I objected, grabbing hold of it. "You can just keep your hands to yourself."

She grinned and took her hand away. "Feisty, aren't we?"

"Um-hmm. So, you gonna take me for a ride in... Rosa Lee, sometime?"

"Sure, whenever you want. Although Brandon might not approve."

"Oh, I'm positive he wouldn't approve of me riding in a car named after one of your... lovers," I said, haughtily, glancing away. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure I want to..."

My voice drifted off, as reached up and turned my face towards her then “laid one on me”. Boy, did she ever. She pressed me back against the pillow; I wrapped my arms around her waist.

"There was... no Rosa... Lee..." she said, through her kisses, her right hand making its way up my left side. "And... I wanna... take you… away with me."

"Do it," I said, breathlessly, hoping she wouldn't stop.

"Oh Jesus, Faith... how I want to." She broke away and stilled her hand, resting her forehead against mine. I could see the anguish on her face, as she uttered, "But I can't.

You know I can't."

I wanted to say, Why can't you? But, I knew what she meant. I had to get better before we could make plans like that. This was just passion talking. And mine was screaming out, Please don't stop this time! But, I knew she'd already regained control of herself. "Then just take me for a ride, hmm?" I asked, instead.

"Brandon..."

"It'll be our secret," I whispered.

"No, it won't, the servants will know."

"Well... it'll go down like this, see...” I said, doing my best Edward G. Robinson impression, which wasn't very good. “…we'll sneak out by the backstairs and if the guards see us, we'll make a run for it, see,"

“What happens if they catch us?" she asked, playing along.

"We'll let 'em have it, rat-ta-tat-tat," I replied, imitating a machine gun.

She backed away and started laughing. I glanced down, feeling a tad embarrassed, wondering if she thought I was an utter idiot. "You're something else, you know that?"

she finally said, as she lifted my chin so that our eyes met.

"Yeah, but you're not sure what yet, right?"

"No... I'm sure you're funny, unpredictable, stub-born…" she replied, dragging out the last word, as she moved in closer. "…kind and… adorable, as hell." She paused, as her eyes darted down to my lips and back again. "You're also very beautiful and...

desirable."

She leaned down and kissed me again. And this time, I was determined that she wouldn't get away so soon. I wrapped my arms around her neck and held on tight. Her kisses grew even more passionate than before, as she slowly devoured my lips. Her lips were soft, warm and wet. I felt like I could never get enough of them. Never get tired of feeling them against my own. I completely forgot about wanting to hold her there and brought my hands around to her face, as she came up for air. I brushed back the hair from her face, letting it slide through my fingers. I followed it downward to the top of her robe, where I traced a path down the middle of her chest to her belt. She kissed me on the cheek then continued down the side of my face, while my fingers untied the belt. Slowly, I worked my hands underneath the robe and around to her back. She was slowly progressing down my neck. Needless to say, by this time, I was on fire!

"You're not going to give up, are you?" she asked, breathlessly, as she straightened up to face me.

"No," I whispered, pulling her back down for another kiss.

She moaned as I moved my hand around her side and touched her breast, through the silky material. Wild sensations soared through my body. All I could think about was having her next to me; touching, caressing... and whatever came next.

"Stay… with me, Sara," I pleaded, through my kisses. "I… don't care... if we do…

nothing more... than this. Please!"

She let out a soft whimper; her tongue plunged deeper inside my mouth, where I caressed it with my own. We both moaned softly. Her right hand was once again on its way up my side and this time reached its destination. I let out a loud sigh -I felt everyone in the house could've heard- when she placed her hand on my breast.

She broke away and removed her hand slowly. "No Faith, this isn't right... I can't...

God, don't look at me like that."

"Stay with me."

Her eyes darted back and forth searching mine. I knew she wanted the same thing I did, I could see it in her eyes. She slowly reached up to the bedpost and pressed the button lowering the head of the bed. Then she reached over and turned off the light. I tingled with anticipation. And then suddenly felt frightened. Oh God, I thought, She's stopped playing cat and mouse. Now what am I gonna do? I wouldn't know the first thing to do past fondling her breasts. What will she expect of me? I've been so aggressive up 'til now, what if she's disappointed when I don't know what else to do?

You'll muddle through, I told myself, feeling the bed give on my left side and the covers being pulled back. I didn't know what to do, because turning over to face her would have been awkward at best. Instead, I reached out for her hand, when I felt her slide under the covers. It wasn't her hand I found, however; I touched soft, naked flesh.

Oh God, no clothes! A lump formed in my throat. I swallowed hard and ran my hand over her silky smooth skin. Fireworks went off inside my mind and body. I wanted her to come closer, but remembered myself saying, "if only we do nothing more than this". I was trapped in a web of my own making, unless she took things further.

A few moments later, she rolled over on her side and my hand fell to the mattress, as she moved closer. I could feel her breath against the side of my face. I wanted desperately to roll over, but instead reached out again. This time I found her arm.

"Would it be better if I turned the light on?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied, and struggled to reach the lamp myself.

The dim light flooded the bed and I could see her, in what I thought would be all her glory. But, she wasn't naked. She had removed her robe, but she still had on her pajamas.

The naked skin I had touched: her leg, where the shorts had been pushed up when she got into bed.

"Not what you expected?" she asked, as she ran her hand over my arm.

"No, I thought you were..."

"I know what you thought," she said, running her fingers around my lips. "But, you didn't know what to do, did you?"

"Er... huh-uh," I admitted, shaking my head slightly.

"You felt helpless, didn't you?"

"Umph. Well, I couldn't..." She silenced me by putting her finger to my lips.

"Now do you understand why I wanna wait? I don't want you feeling helpless like that. And I don't wanna feel like I'm taking advantage of you. No, now," she admonished, as I started to speak. "Just listen for a moment. I want you... you know I do. But, I want you to be able to move away or walk away if you want to, understand?"

"Yeah, but... that could take months."

"Not necessarily. But, even if it does..." I turned away, feeling rejected because I was crippled. She gently brought my face back around towards her. "Even it if does, Faith, won't it be better? Listen to me. Some people date for years and never..."

"That was years ago," I said, sarcastically. Immediately regretting voicing this argument.

"Alright... tell me... how do you picture the first time we make love? I know you've thought about it... I have. Or are you just after a quick roll on your bed, hmm?"

I glared at her for that last remark. But, I knew I deserved it. Matter of fact, I'd reminded myself of a couple of my boyfriends when I threw the argument back that dating without sex was something they did years ago. I was reminding myself of my old boyfriends more and more here lately. But, my god it was so hard not to want her close!

I'd finally found what I'd been looking for all these years. And what I'd been avoiding, as well. I'd finally found my wings and now was eager for my first test flight.

"Well?" she prodded.

"I... I don't know what I imagined it being like, I..."

"Wouldn't you like to be able to roll over here right now? Touch me, kiss me... crawl on top of me?"

"Yes," I admitted, my stomach tensing up with anticipation, thinking how much I'd like to be doing that right this minute.

"If we wait, sweetheart, it can be beautiful. Remember the song… I promise, I'll be worth the wait," she whispered in my ear.

A tear formed in the corner of my eye and rolled down the side of my face.

"Bear with me, sweetheart. I know I've caused a lot of this, because I want you as much as you want me... if not more. But I promise, it'll be better this way."

"So what should I do, tie my hands and… put glue on my lips before you come in the room at night?" I asked, a bit sarcastically. I shook my head, knowing this is not how I meant it to sound. "I... I didn't mean that. It's just... "

"I know," she said, as she put her finger to my lips. "I know all too well. We just shouldn't go any further than this, hmm?" she added, running her finger around my lips.

"I'm not a man who feels that he can't turn it off. But… I could very easily go too far, too soon, if you're persistent. As you can see, I'm not immune to your charms. Nor losing my head, for that matter. And you're wearing my resistance down, that's for sure. More happened here tonight than I intended."

"Sara… I love you."

"I love you, too, Faith."

She stayed that night until I fell asleep, I suppose. The last thing I remember was the feel of her arm draped across my side.

The next few days went by pretty fast, what with the new therapy added in. I was able to move my legs a little more, using the parallel bars and maintain my balance standing in the pool. Walking, well that was another matter that would take time. Sara was her usual cheerful self, but I was a bit restrained, trying to control the urges inside myself. I'd had my wings clipped and I was slowly adjusting to life without thoughts of flying, for the time being.

As Friday approached, I resigned myself to the reality that she'd done the right thing.

At this point in my recovery, sex of any kind would have been a bit strained. I knew it would definitely be much better if I could move around easily. Her way was best for both of us. I had just been far too eager to jump headlong into this new and exciting experience.

Friday came and Pierre offered to trim my own hair, evening up both sides, free of charge, before applying the wig. I had to admit it was quite a transformation he performed. When Sara saw the finished product, she thought it was nice, but voiced her own questions about my original hair color. When Brandon saw it, however, he nearly flipped! He went on and on and on about how he couldn't get over the resemblance. I was now a "living doll". Not just a princess, but a "living doll".

Yes, Chatty Cathy's string had definitely been given several good yanks that night and many was the time I felt like pulling out his batteries and would've, if he'd had any. This time he introduced me to everyone as his “princess” and “living doll”, embarrassing me to no end. I noticed several people looking at us both quite strangely, although most seemed more accepting of me, this time. I suppose I looked a bit more "normal" to them, even though I was still in a wheelchair. Several of them even came over and started a conversation with me.

When I had first considered wearing the wig -looking like my mother the way I had always wanted- I'd never envisioned the way other people would see me. I'd always heard blondes had more fun, but I'd never heard a wig could get you many future offers from eligible men. But, it seemed it did. Or either, I had been set up by my uncle. I wasn't exactly sure which.

While I was slowly buzzing through the crowd in my electric chair – which I had insisted on, since I didn't want to be Brandon's "living doll", pushed around the room in her carriage the whole entire evening- I was accosted by a young associate of his, who stepped in front of me and boldly introduced himself. I wanted to tell the bold and brash Mr. Graham that he took quite a risk doing this, because I was a horrible driver, but instead I smiled and said it was nice to meet him. Needless to say, those four few words, were just what he wanted to hear. And throughout the remainder of the evening, I couldn't shake him. The pleasant young man -in his late 20's, with dark brown, neatly trimmed hair and thin moustache to match- seemed intent on being with me, for some unknown reason. Of course, he wasn't really a nuisance I just didn't want to mislead him in anyway.

Towards the end of the evening, when I'd had a few glasses of champagne –he'd insisted on getting for me- he asked if I'd like to take a stroll with him. At first I made some comment about my driving and sweetly refused. But then I noticed Sara across the room, standing by the buffet table, having an animated and seemingly enjoyable conversation with a very pretty woman about her age. And suddenly, I was extremely jealous. I was now the one with the chameleon eyes, because the green-eyed monster had me by the throat. Sara turned and glanced over at me, holding two glasses of champagne in her hands, one of which, she handed to the woman next to her. I quickly turned back to Mr. Graham and accepted his offer.

He talked about himself mostly, as all men tend to do, while we strolled around the pool at a leisurely pace. He told me his plan was to one day own a large corporation like Brandon's. He was a junior associate at present, but moving up quite rapidly. I knew he was trying to impress me; I was only half listening. I couldn't keep my mind off Sara and that woman. I'd gotten jealous once before over the name of her car, which turned out to be her way of teasing me. This was real, however. Full-blown jealousy was rapidly eating away at me.

Up in my room, with two more glasses of champagne under my belt, I lost my cool and blew up at her. I demanded to know who the woman was. I was sure I'd met her, but how could I remember all those names? Sara explained that she was someone she had met at another party thrown by a patient's family and that the woman was interested in working with disabled people.

Continuing along the same vein and not straying from the asinine character I was already displaying that evening, I demanded to know who the other woman was: the one she had slept with quite a while back before we even started dating or whatever it was we were doing. When she started to tell me, I cut her off and wouldn't let her continue. I could tell from her unconcerned tone of voice that this person was a one-night stand.

I lit into her again. "I thought you said if sex was all I wanted from you, I wouldn't get it.

And yet, isn't that what you did with... that one?" I accused.

"That's different," she replied. "I was… drunk and... she was coming onto me."

"Now you sound like a man. 'Well who's going to refuse it when it's thrown in your face?'” I said, mimicking a few guys I'd heard voice this excuse to their girlfriends. "Was she that irresistible, Sara? Just because she could move her damn legs?"

"Faith, you're drunk," she said, matter-of-factly, as she turned and exited the room posthaste.

She was right. I was drunk, out of line and completely out of control. The green-eyed monster had nearly strangled me with envy and I'd tried to drown it with alcohol.

And the result was a very jealous drunk! After taking my tight dress off and struggling out of the chair in a drunken stupor, I must've passed out on the bed, because the next thing I remember Sara was putting a nightgown on me. I don't remember a lot about what happened, but I do remember touching her and pleading with her to make love to me.

Needless to say, the next morning I had one hell of a hangover and I felt like a real jackass. I vowed never to drink like that again, no matter whom I saw Sara talking to. I apologized for my asinine behavior and she forgave me.

This episode passed, as did many more disagreements and arguments over the next several weeks; for, it seemed the stronger I became, the more she pushed me. And the harder she pushed, the more tension developed between us. Of course, the kissing and making up was well worth the arguing.

Fourth of July came and went with Brandon throwing another gala party, complete with a spectacular fireworks display. Sara and I watched from our separate positions in a large crowd, glancing over at each other from time to time. I longed to be by her side, but this was not to be. Brandon had seen to it that we each had dates, so to speak. At least, we each had a guy hanging around, who would not go away. I began to wonder if Brandon was getting suspicious.

My birthday came around on the twelfth, as it did ever year, and Brandon wanted to throw another gala ball, but I wanted no part of that. I reasoned it was my birthday and I should be able to have the things I wanted. And all I wanted was a small party with a few friends. Needless, to say, that evening, my small party of a few friends turned into another gala performance, because he invited all his friends, as a surprise. I was surprised all right, but not in a nice way. I grinned and bared it for as long as I could, then sought the privacy of my own rooms, where Sara had to calm me down, because I was ranting and raving about him spoiling my party.

July stormed its way into August and August burnt its way into September. By this time, I was on my feet and using a walker for support. No longer confined to the wheelchair, I trudged about the house and grounds more slowly, but more independently.

Every morning now, instead of the pool therapy, Sara and I took walks around the grounds. We weren't able to cover up little displays of affection so easily now, so they became infrequent at best when we were outside the privacy of my room.

Jason would be returning to school after Labor Day and I already missed him; for, he'd began withdrawing, as if preparing himself for the inevitable. Brandon had grown more demanding of my time, seemingly in step with my progress and with his slow, but deliberate ushering of Sara into the background, where he seemed to feel she belonged.

Sara and I no longer spent any time together in the evenings. She had me from eight am to four pm only and he had me the remainder of the evening. Sometimes staying long past eleven, which I knew was his bedtime.

He also began asking and growing more insistent that I wear the wig in his presence, even though my hair had grown out and Pierre had cut and styled it for me. It was short, but at least it was mine and not a scratchy old wig. Sara thought my hairstyle was cute.

And I grew to like it, as well. It was cool and easy to handle, but I didn't like the color, it was coming back a mousy dull brown, which no one had a satisfactory answer for. I began ignoring Brandon's request to wear the wig and he finally stopped asking.

My relationship with Sara was tranquil. I no longer pushed her for more than she was willing to give during those few stolen moments before bedtime, but we were still close. Sometimes, too close for Brandon's tastes and he'd make remarks here and there, but never came out and directly said anything. He still brought me a glass of milk on occasion, which Sara still had an aversion to. So, I drank very little.

To occupy my free time, when Sara and I were not working and Brandon wasn't demanding my undivided attention, I tried to solve a few mysteries. Ashley's death was a dead issue, so I turned my attention to her mother's death. Why had Vivian committed suicide in front of her thirteen year old daughter, I wanted to know? I got nowhere with that one, either, because any of the staff who had known her would only clam up at the mention of her name. Brandon's orders, I assumed.

I then turned my attention to Sara's Swiss cheese of a past. But, that was a wash, too. For, I didn't have the resources like a private investigator would. Yet, I knew there had to be a way to find out and one day I would do just that.

Labor day came and just as Sara had predicted Brandon threw a party. But, it wasn't with a southern theme. Matter of fact, there seemed to be no theme at all. It was just another one of his business parties, as far as I could tell. I grew bored quickly, retiring to my room for a few moments of peace, hoping that Sara would follow. But, she seemed to think it was best she didn't. Instead, I saw her walking around the grounds by herself.

Seeing her down there and my own reflection in the glass watching her, I began to think seriously about leaving sooner than I had intended. This house had become a prison for both of us. She was being pushed out the door, while I was being kept inside.

"Sara, I want to leave here," I said, bluntly, as she sat down on the bed that night.

"What? Where will you go?"

"Well, I thought we could leave together, but... I guess I was wrong about that, huh?" I replied, as I looked away.

"You'd really take a chance on me?" she asked, softly.

"Of course."

"Have you really thought this over? You'd be alone in my apartment, because you know I'm never there."

"You mean if I was there, you still wouldn't come home?"

This time she looked away. "I... I've never made a commitment to anyone, Faith."

"Yes, you have. You make a commitment to your patients."

"That's different, that's a job."

"Oh, I see. So, all along I've been just a job."

"You know better than that. But, my job requires me to be away from home a lot. I mean… I'm living here, Faith. I have lived with each patient in their fancy houses."

"Does the job require this? Or is this your way of not having to return to an empty home?"

"Damn," she said, as she got up. "Stop shining that goddamn analytical spot light of yours on me."

"Truth hurt?" I asked, softly.

"Damn it, Faith," she cursed and flopped down in her chair.

"Do you love me, Sara?"

She offered no reply. She merely stared out the window.

"Not enough to make a commitment and live with me, huh?"

"What would we live on? Love?" she asked.

"Oh, money worries you? What… you think I'm sponging off my rich uncle here? I got news for you, sweet cheeks, I inherited half of Neilson enterprises, the same day my whole world went straight to hell in a hand basket." I crossed my arms over my stomach and turned away.

"I... I wasn't aware..."

"Does money change everything, Sara? Think if I have money I won't miss you if you..." I bit my lip and willed the tears back. "Just forget it. It was a stupid idea." I reached over, grabbed my walker and got out of bed.

I ambled into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, then broke down in tears. It was obvious she hadn't come to terms with her past. Nothing had changed for her. I was still a job she could walk away from when things got rough. And I assumed, she preferred it that way. Perhaps she was even considering walking away now. I was stronger, I was up on my feet and I was, for the most part, independent of her, so now she could leave without a guilty conscience. But, she was going to take my heart with her, ripping it right out of my chest when she passed through those front doors.

It took a while, but I finally got myself together again and opened the door to the bathroom. I half expected to find her still sitting in her chair, but she wasn't. I sighed heavily and started making my way over to the bed.

"Faith," she said, as she put her hand on my shoulder. I nearly stumbled all over myself trying to get away from her. She'd scared the shit out of me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I thought you saw me," she apologized.

"Saw you? Where the hell were you?"

"You walked right past me," she said, pointing towards the bathroom door.

"What the hell is that?" I asked, seeing the rectangular hole in the wall near the bathroom door, which looked like a small door itself, except there was no handle and it was only the height of the wainscoting –a little over 4 ft.

"I think it's some kind of secret passageway. Cum'mere and look." She gestured to it and even helped me turn around.

"How did you find this?" I asked, bending over, looking into the dark little opening.

"I was just standing here by the bathroom door and..." She paused, as she looked up at me. She quickly looked down and cleared her throat.

"Go on," I said, not wanting to get into that sad discussion again. I was truly intrigued by her discovery.

"Well, like I said, I was just standing by the door and I leaned up against this wall here." She demonstrated how she had leaned up against it with her behind and one leg bent at the knee, her foot pushing against it. "And it sorta gave with my weight. So... I went and got your nail file and... I made a mess of the paint in a few places, but..."

"Who gives a shit about the paint?" I avowed, taking a few more steps forward, then bending over the walker and peeking inside the darkness of the small space. I was a little afraid of going in. Too many late-night horror movies I supposed.

"Boo," she said, next to my ear.

"Damn you, Sara. Did you go in here?"

"A little ways… not far," she said, leaning over my shoulder, to see around me.

"Too dark and I haven't got a flashlight, have you?"

"What do I look like a boy scout?" I retorted.

"Not by a long shot," she said, next to my ear.

I turned and looked over my shoulder at her. She merely smiled and arched her eyebrows. "I feel like this is one of those Abbott and Costello movies, remember those?"

she asked.

"Never liked 'em."

"Me neither, but I'm sure we look like 'em right now, me peeking over your shoulder like this."

"Think Abbott and Costello had a thing…?" I stopped short, remembering our previous discussion.

She gazed into my eyes. "I'm sorry, Faith. Please, give me more time. I mean, I love you, but... I'm so afraid of hurting you. That's what... I wanted to say to you. I was standing out here, debating whether to barge in or not. I didn't wanna knock because... I was afraid you'd tell me to go away." She paused, giving me time to digest this information. "I do love you, Faith," she whispered, as she put her arm around my waist.

"So much," she added, placing a kiss on my neck.

"What... is this?" I asked, clearing my throat and desiring to change the subject.

"You get me in a small, dark, cramped place and take advantage of me?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," she teased, squeezing my side.

"Be serious," I said, looking back into the darkness.

"I am. We could use this as a hide out," she suggested.

"Um-hmm. You're all talk, I know you. Know where we can get our hands on a flashlight?" I asked, changing the subject again. "I'd like to check this out. I wish there was more light in the room, but..."

"I know where I can find a candle," she offered.

"Oh great and have it blow out on us, while we're looking around, hmm?"

"Knowing us, we'd be the ones to blow it out," she said, with a giggle.

"You are in an Abbott and Costello movie, now cut it out. I'm being serious here."

"Okay… seriously, Faith, whaddaya think we're gonna find in there, hmm?"

"I don't know. What are you suggesting?"

"Wait until morning, we'll find a flashlight tomorrow and then we'll check it out.

Makes no sense to do it now. Hell, we'll end up waking up the whole house."

"Well, you're the one who opened it up," I reminded, glancing over my shoulder.

"Don't blame me for getting my curiosity stirred up."

"Ooh, you're a hellion when you're mad," she vocalized, while breathing in my ear.

"Who pulled your string?"

"You did. You made me think I might lose you. I don't wanna lose you, Faith," she said, placing her face next to my ear. "Please… give me time."

"Like you've given me time to heal?"

She nodded. "Come on, we'll save this for in the morning. Right now...."

I saw the look in her eyes, as they darted back and forth searching mine. I knew she was asking me to forgive her and reassure her that things were all right. Just as she had done for me so many times when I had made a mess of things.

I nodded in agreement and she helped me backup and turn around. "How are you gonna get that thing shut again?" I asked, watching her attempt to close the door and realize she had nothing to hold onto once she could no longer get her fingers around the edge of the panel.

"Must be some way," she said, looking at the side of the door. "I mean whoever built the damn thing surely made a way to shut it from this side. Don'cha think?"

"What's that down there by the molding? No, there…” I corrected. “See that place near the very bottom of the door?"

She pushed the door open a bit, to reveal a small piece of what appeared to be leather, painted white and nailed to the inside of the panel. She pulled it out a little ways, then used it to pull the door shut.

"Look at that, the way it's painted and lays down behind the molding, you can't even see it," she said, astonishment in her voice. "Now we have our own secret door," she added, in a ghoulish voice, arching her eyebrows up and down. She rose up and faced me.

"Shame it doesn't run between my room and yours, hmm?"

"Maybe it does," I suggested.

She shrugged. "I doubt it. But… we'll find out tomorrow." She looked back at the opening. The only thing that gave it away was the tiny nicks in the paint. "Never was much good with a knife. Couldn't cut a straight line to save my life. Remember those damn little scissors they always gave you to cut with in grade school?”

"Sara..."

“Dull as shit and then hurt your hand when you used 'em? And they wanted you to have fun. Give me finger paints any day. Remember how that stuff used to smell?”

"Sara..." I said again louder.

"What, sweetheart?" she asked, putting her arm around my waist and starting to help me to the bed.

For a moment, I was afraid to mention it. But, I felt I had to. "Sara..."

"Yes, Faith." She stopped and looked at me "What? What is it?"

"You... remembered," I said simply.

"Huh?" she asked, as if not comprehending.

"The Swiss cheese is filling in."

She stared at me for a moment then looked down at the floor. "I did remember, didn't I? Those little scissors… the finger paints…” She paused, looking awestruck. “I even remembered the smell."

"How about the Abbott and Costello movies?"

She stared at me, as her mouth dropped open and tears welled up in her eyes.

"You didn't like 'em, but… you remember 'em," I said, as my eyes became misty, as well.

"God, I love you," she said, as she grabbed me around the neck, nearly knocking me off balance.

"Sara..."

"Hmm...?"

"I think you should go to your room now," I whispered in her ear.

She raised up slowly, batted her eyes a couple of times and looked over her shoulder at me. "I love you." Words so soft and beautiful, said in a sleepy voice. Then suddenly she frowned. "What the hell...?" She sat up in the bed and looked down at me. "What did...? I didn't drink anything, did I? What did I do?" she asked, seeming quite bewildered.

"You fell asleep, that's all. Believe me, when you do that... I'll make sure you remember it the next morning," I quipped.

"What time is it?" she asked, running her fingers through her hair.

"Four-thirty," I replied, having read the clock only moments before.

"Damn, the servants'll be getting up."

"What? How do you know what time the servants get up?"

"Huh?" She shook her head. "What the hell did I just say?"

"I think you're still half asleep. Go catch a few more hours sleep and then... I wanna find out about our secret door."

"Huh? What secret…?"

"Just go to your room and go to bed."

She got up slowly and glanced around the room, then made a beeline for the bathroom. I waited a good while for her to come out. Thinking she may have went back to sleep on the john, I started to get up and go see about her.

Just then, the door opened and she appeared in the doorway. "My head's a fuckin' mess,"

she said, as she half stumbled across the room. "Goodnight," she added, as she walked out the door, leaving it ajar.

"I'll say," I agreed, with her first assessment. Getting out of bed to shut the door, I couldn't help but wonder if this had something to do with her regaining bits and pieces of her memory the night before. "I hope it all comes back for you," I said quietly, as I closed the door. "And I hope there's nothing bad like you think."

TWELVE

"Where'd you get the flashlight?" I asked, as she aimed the dim spotlight into the small, dark entrance.

"I poked around downstairs. There's a lot of stuff in the basement," she replied, the beam of light coming to rest on a wall just a few feet away.

There were rows of shelves, starting about 3 ft off the floor and extending up over our heads. The highest shelf was about 6 ft up and wider than the rest. Perched precariously near its edge was an old tin can: Maxwell House- good to the last drop. The rest of the shelves were bare, except for years of accumulated dust and cobwebs. She panned the light around the periphery of the small closet-like space and found two more sets of shelves -same height and width- running down the length of the sidewalls.

"Whaddaya think? Should I?" she asked, motioning to the coffee tin.

I nodded, wondering what we might find. She bent down and went inside. She picked up the coffee tin, bringing down dust and cobwebs with it. "Here, hold the flashlight," she said, handing it back to me, then brushing a cobweb out of her face. She slowly looked inside the tin, as if afraid of what she might find. A smile twitched at the corners of her lips. "We found ourselves a bloomin' fortune," she announced, glancing around at me.

"What?" I asked, getting excited now.

She reached in the tin can and brought out something in her hand. Slowly extending it in my direction, she opened her hand. In the palm lay two Indian head pennies, an old Liberty half-dollar, three mercury dimes and a broken pendant with a red rose bud on it.

"Like I said, a bloomin' fortune," she reiterated with a big smile.

"Oh, you."

She giggled like a little girl, while putting the coffee tin and pendant back.

"What'cha gonna do with the money?" I queried.

"Save it for our future."

"Oh, so you do think we have one?"

A smile graced her face once again, as she exchanged the money for the flashlight.

Illuminating the walls again and even looking behind the panel door, she asked,

"Whaddaya think, some type of storage closet?"

"I don't know. Closet doors usually open up to the outside, not the inside. Don't they?"

She nodded agreement. "I hadn't thought of that. So, what was this, ya think?"

"Maybe some secret storage room?” I was still standing in the bedroom, itching to go inside. “ I do know whoever made it didn't want it seen from the outside."

"Yeah. And it hasn't been used in a while. I went through two, maybe three layers of paint to get... Hold the phone," she announced, running her finger down the side of one of the shelves.

"What is it?"

"There's a separation here and...." She paused, grunting as she pushed on the shelf.

"Cum'mere and hold the light."

I pushed the small door open wider, its old hinges squealing a mild protest. Then I ducked down and maneuvered into the small space. It was a tight fit: the two of us, and my walker that is.

She handed me the flashlight. “I felt this thing move a while ago. Lemme try again.” She pushed on the shelf with both hands. The coffee tin above her head rattled with the force of her shove and the wall -from about head height down- opened like the other small door. We both glanced up at the tin can. If she hadn't moved that, I thought, it might've hit her in the head. "Shine the light in there," she said, sounding a bit excited herself now.

"Guess that shoots down our little mystery, hmm?" I said, peeking over her shoulder.

She took the flashlight from me. "Closet in the sitting room?" she queried, motioning up towards the steel rod overhead, running the length of the space.

"That'd be my guess," I answered, noting the doorframe, a few feet away, highlighted by the beam of light.

"Only one way to find out," she asserted, ducking down and moving over to the door. She opened it slowly and the hinges squeaked. Light edged into the closet from the window across the way. "Whaddaya think… an adjoining closet?"

"I don't know,” I murmured. My first thought had been a hiding place for slaves.

Yet, that didn't make much sense. Slaves hiding in the house? Don't think so. My second thought was “Sherman's March to the Sea.” It was said that in the final days of the Civil War, after General Sherman fought his way into Georgia, he and his troops burned, plundered and pillaged their way from Atlanta to the coast of Savannah. It made more sense that this may have been a hiding place for the plantation owner's valuables, or perhaps even his wife and children. I suggested as much to Sara.

“Could be. Got two entrances, so somebody wanted to be sure they weren't trapped,”

she commented, while searching the other walls of the sitting room closet for more niches or hidden doors. “Nothing there.” She pulled the small door shut in the same way she'd closed the other one the night before: another piece of leather. The hinges protested again and the tin can rattled. “Wanted to be sure these doors stayed hidden and could be closed from this side,” she remarked.

I merely nodded in agreement.

She panned the light around the hidden closet some more. I now realized the interior walls were paneled with unpainted, rough-hewn wood, unlike the sitting room closet. My second impression still held water, for me. It stood to reason this space would have been built on short notice, if the owner had feared being pillaged and plundered by Sherman's troops; ergo, the rough unpainted wood.

“You're probably right,” she noted. “The sitting room closet was probably down-sized.

It'd probably take up enough room to fool the eye, so no one would suspect this was even here.”

“Wonder why those shelves up there are wider?” I queried aloud.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she responded, as she reached around me and pushed on the far left hand set of shelves. She sighed heavily when it didn't move. "Damn, I thought we'd found something. I was all ready to find more hidden doors, an old staircase and....

maybe even a tunnel out to the road for quick escapes." She glanced over at me, disappointment written all over her face. "Pretty silly, huh?"

"No. I had expectations, too, ya know. I couldn't wait to get in here." I was more disappointed than I was letting on. I'd had high hopes of finding something old and valuable in this hidden space. As a child, I'd dreamed of being an archaeologist, or at least finding something important that had been hidden away for years and years. Guess that's why I liked the story of the old Hermit and Windell's Point.

This thought reminded me of Jason and then Brandon. I wondered if either one knew about this. “Wonder if this is what Brandon meant about maintaining the integrity of the house?” I vocalized.

“Oh… you mean the renovations? Hmph,” she grunted. “Stands to reason he should know about it. But then again…”

“Then again, what?”

“Like I said before, I went through a few layers of paint… at least two, maybe more.

So, it's possible, he doesn't know. He doesn't live on this end, after all.” She glanced over at me and shrugged. “Speaking of paint… that reminds me, I need to go back to the basement and try and find this color paint, so I can patch those nicks out there.”

“Why bother?”

“Well… just in case he doesn't know, then… we'll have ourselves a secret hideaway.” She arched her eyebrows suggestively.

“It's hardly big enough for that,” I countered.

She shrugged again. “Just a thought. Can't blame a girl for trying.”

“I hear ya. I just don't believe it. What's come over you?”

“I don't know, maybe it's the mystery… the intrigue… Or it could be having you trapped in such a small dark space.” The latter was said in a sinister voice, as she wrapped one arm around my waist. “Didn't I tell you I was a vampire?” She leaned over swiftly and attacked my neck.

"No-o... I believe you neglected to... share that little bit of... information. But..." I turned my head to one side, allowing her better access and hissed like a vampire in the movies. "…who's really trapped with whom, hmm, my dear?"

"I love you, Faith," she whispered in my ear. "Believe me this is as hard on me as it is on you. Maybe more." She nibbled on my neck, as her hands went around my waist, flashlight and all. "God, how I want you right this minute." Her right hand began moving towards my breast.

I didn't want her to stop. But I felt she should. She was only teasing both of us. "Ah-ah-ah," I said, grabbing her hand. "Remember, you don't wanna take advantage of me."

She groaned and relented. “Oh well, guess our little mystery… and adventure is… a wash, huh? Well, I should get outta here first so you can turn around easier.”

“That might help.”

Maneuvering the walker around was hard enough, but even more so in such a tight space.

I finally managed it, however.

"Now to find that paint,” she said, after shutting the hidden door behind me.

“It's not that bad. Besides, what does it matter if he knows we found it?”

“How you gonna explain what I was doing by the bathroom door?”

“Hmph. Well, I'll… I'll say I hit it with my walker.”

She glanced down at the molding. “Won't wash,” she objected. “You'd hit the molding first.” She flashed a half smirk as if to say, You know I'm right.

“So, what happens if you can't find the paint?” I queried. I didn't want her leaving right now. I had designs on finishing what she'd started in the hidden closet.

"Well, then I know a..." She bit her lip and didn't finish.

"Know a what?" I prodded.

"I know a woman who has her own painting company."

I sighed heavily. "One of your ex's, I assume?"

"I don't have ex's. They're just friends. It's not like... I went around promising these women anything and then... not delivering. What they may have assumed is… something different."

"You mean as long as you didn't say I promise to love you and live with you, you don't owe them anything, is that it?"

She frowned. "I seldom said I love you, come to think of it. That should've told them something, right?"

I sighed heavily once again and started towards the bed. "Whatever."

She followed behind me. "I'm a terrible person, hmm?"

"I didn't say that. But, how come you never stayed with any of them?"

"I don't know. It just... never felt right, somehow. Maybe… I just wasn't right, up here," she offered, tapping her head.

"You've been making excuses and running for too long, Sara." I sat down on the bed and made eye contact with her.

She glanced from me to the unmade bed. “Yeah, well… I better go look for that paint.” She abruptly wheeled around and left the room.

Two disappointments in one day! I fell back crossways of the bed and made a sound with my lips like a tired horse.

September breezed into October and the trees started putting on their autumn coats of many colors. From my window, I could see a small patchwork quilt starting on the sloping hills surrounding the estate. Shady Grove was a beautiful place. But, it was not a place where I had been happy for very long.

Sara was slowly regaining tiny bits and pieces of her memory, here and there. I could tell it was frustrating for her. It was almost like being handed puzzle pieces, a few at a time, which you tried to fit together and make sense out of, without knowing what the finished product should look like. And there was no box readily available where you could just reach in and draw out more pieces to consider, if these weren't to your liking.

For several weeks, right after her initial breakthrough and our shared disappointment about the hidden closet, she became withdrawn and spent a lot of time in her room.

Slowly, day-by-day, as the weather grew a little cooler, she started acting more like her old self. She stopped trying to force the memories, which seemed to have their own agenda about how and when to surface, as well as how much to reveal. The Swiss cheese was filling it, but it seemed to be a selective filling, which might well take years or may never be completely whole again.

Halloween came and Brandon threw an elaborate party. He even hired some carnival people to set up a haunted house out on the grounds. I dressed up as an elderly gentleman. I figured this was the only thing that went with a walker, besides an elderly woman and I didn't want to wear the wig. I merely donned a hat, a coat Sara came up with somewhere and a pair of women's pants, which were too long in the stride. I pulled the pants nearly up to my breasts and put on a thin belt, then blacked out a few teeth, for good measure.

Of course, Brandon frowned on my choice, as he escorted me down the stairway, but I wasn't about to wear the fairy princess outfit he'd chosen for me. My excuse to him was: I've never seen a crippled fairy. And I wasn't about to walk around with wings on my back that I couldn't use. At least not amongst his so-called friends, that would be asking for trouble in my opinion. Someone would inevitably remark, 'I thought fairies could fly' and I'd get pissed. And besides, at this of all parties, where everyone was free to dress anyway they chose, I wanted to be me. Not someone Brandon had managed to gussy up to like my mother.

As I entered the living room, where buffet and drink tables had been set up, I looked around for Sara. She wouldn't tell me what she would be wearing, which irritated me a little. Then again, I'd always enjoyed a good mystery.

Everyone was dressed a bit unusual at this little bash or so I thought, taking in all the masks and expensive looking costumes. At first, I didn't like the masks because I couldn't tell who was who. But, after I walked around a while, I started to enjoy guessing whose face was hidden under what mask. Cleopatra was Lynn Darbon, Brandon's secretary. The old hag was none other than Celia. Julius Caesar was Brandon's vice president and Zorro was Kevin, the man I had met at a previous party and couldn't seem to lose. I was relieved to see him accompanied by Cinderella, whom I didn't know. But, that was nothing new, I actually knew less than a third of the people milling around.

I finally gave up on the living room and made my way out to the haunted house.

Surely I would find Sara here. As I maneuvered my way through the small hallways, dummies covered with fake blood popped out of walls and coffins; spiders, bats and other assorted things scuttled, flew or moved in some fashion, in order to frighten the passerby.

And despite telling myself I wouldn't do it again, I jumped and yipped every time. As I neared the end, I noticed a very real looking dummy over in a dark corner. I was prepared for this one to jump out at me or do something else quite scary, as a finale, when the figure spoke. I nearly leapt out of my shoes right then and there!

"Meet me upstairs," a sultry voice whispered.

"Wh-What?" I asked, trying to calm my racing heart.

The figure stepped out of the darkness. I was face-to-face with Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. It took me a few moments to recognize Sara underneath all the makeup and long dark hair. I glanced down at the costume and was not surprised to find she filled the dress out better than Elvira, herself.

"Meet me upstairs," she said, seductively, as she ran one long red fingernail over my lips. "And make sure you aren't followed."

"Why?" I called after her.

She didn't even glance back, as she disappeared into the darkness of the haunted house. I wasn't sure what she was up to, but I definitely wanted to find out. The plunging neckline on that dress was enough to make me want to take the stairs two at a time. Of course, that was out of the question, since I could barely manage one.

I strolled back to the buffet tables and got something to eat, mingled around, killed a little time, and hit the champagne table, twice for good measure. I found Brandon a bit later and thanked him for the wonderful party. I kissed him on the cheek for emphasis, since I had enjoyed this one more. I especially liked the fact that he hadn't seen fit to drag me around introducing me to everyone.

I could smell the liquor on his breath, as he returned the gesture, narrowly missing my mouth. I told him I was going to bed early, all this excitement had worn me out. He seemed to buy my story. Either that, or he was too far-gone to care. He said he'd give me my goodnight kiss now. I made sure I turned my cheek and he placed a lingering wet kiss on the side. "Love you, Princess," he whispered. I merely nodded.

I knew he loved to play host and sometimes drank too much. I'd never seen him sloppy drunk, but I'd seen him pretty happy. And I could tell by his bloodshot eyes tonight, he was bordering on very happy. It wouldn't take long before he'd be talking up the single, intoxicated ladies.

I moved through the crowd slowly and made my way back to the kitchen. Usually the parties were contained in the living room and patio area, but tonight there were people everywhere. I passed one couple necking by the double-door refrigerator. It appeared neither one was in any shape to care who was watching. To me, it was like catching a glimpse of an x-rated movie, because you could tell by the way they were going at each other, something was definitely going to happen. Scenes from the movie Fatal Attraction flashed through my mind, as I noticed his hand lifting her skirt. Garter belt, no less, I thought, progressing past them.

I sat down in the lift chair and held onto the walker, as the former ascended the stairway.

Nothing like riding backwards up a flight of narrow stairs, holding onto a bulky walker.

At the top, I heard noises from the east wing. I looked down the long hallway. The only light I saw was coming from my sitting room. Sara had told me to meet her upstairs, so I proceeded down the hall wondering what she was up to. I heard voices behind me and saw a couple entering one of the bedrooms on her side of the hall. I wondered if Brandon knew they were up here?

I went through the sitting room, turned the bedside lamp on and glanced around. The room was unoccupied. I was disappointed. I reasoned she might not have anticipated me coming up this soon, so I went to the bathroom and removed my costume. Since I knew Brandon wasn't coming up, I donned only the top of my pjs. It was rare having a chance to be reckless.

I had just climbed into bed when the light in my sitting room went off. I assumed it was Sara and she wanted to scare me, so I dimmed the lamp. "Princess," called Brandon.

My heart sank. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, just a bit tired… as I told you."

"Well, I thought I'd say goodnight before you went to sleep," he said, as if he didn't remember doing so downstairs. I assumed he was further gone than I thought. Then I noticed he carried a glass of milk in his hand.

"Thank you," I said, as he put it down on the nightstand.

"Goodnight, Princess," he said, placing a long, lingering kiss on my cheek.

After he left, I felt very disappointed. I wondered if Sara had meant for me to meet her in her room. So, I got up, put on my shorts and walked across the hall. She wasn't there, either. She musta meant much later on, I reasoned. As I crossed the hall again, I glimpsed another couple disappearing into the darkness of one of the rooms. I was glad the walls were thick. I walked back into my bedroom and shut the double doors. I thought about locking them, because of the people coming upstairs, but still held out hope Sara would soon be coming through them.

When I turned around, I immediately noticed that the light I assumed was coming from my lamp was actually coming from a candle on the nightstand. I heard a noise off to my right and a figure stepped out of the shadows of the bathroom. My heart jumped up in my throat. It was Sara, wearing a long, black, revealing negligee. This wasn't the costume she'd been wearing previously, although she appeared to have retained the wig, because her hair was very dark.

“Holy-moly!” I gasped. “You scared the shit outta me! Where have you been?”

“I've been waiting for you,” she answered in a deep, sultry voice, as she moved towards me.

“Well, I've been right here, I just stepped out to…”

“Ssh! No, please,” she interjected, placing a finger against her own lips. “Don't say anything, Faith.” My eyes had followed this movement and then slid over to her hair, the dark, silky mane highlighted by the candle's glow. Great wig, I thought absently, my gaze following these flowing tresses down to the plunging neckline of the negligee, cut into a

“V” shape and ending just about her navel.

I swallowed audibly as she drew closer, the sheer fabric molded to her breasts. “There's something I wanna say to you," she whispered, stopping in front of me. My gaze lifted to meet hers. Candlelight danced in those soft green depths. "Remember when I said someday we'd be together?” She reached up and took my face in her hands, leaning in closer still. “Well someday… is tonight,” she breathed against my lips.

A barely audible moan issued from my throat as our lips touched. A fire ignited in my loins. My heart skipped a beat and then began to race, as her wet tongue parted my lips and slid inside. My legs trembled when our tongues began that intriguing mating dance.

“Sure you're ready for this?” she inquired, easing back from our passionate lip-lock. Her face was in shadow now. I could only imagine her eyes darting back and forth, searching mine as they often did.

“Y-Yes,” I answered, sounding breathless.

She moved off to one side and I heard the door being locked behind me. Putting one arm around my waist, she took the walker from me with the other, setting it aside. “You won't be needin' this anymore tonight.”

Then she led me to the bed.

My legs were trembling, heart racing ninety miles an hour, body tingling with anticipation when she sat me down on the side of the bed. Her gaze held mine for several heartbeats. Slowly, she reached out and touched my face. I kissed the palm of her hand.

She smiled and yet, I sensed reluctance, hesitation on her part.

“What?” I ventured.

“I… I had this all planned in my mind, but…” She nibbled her lower lip.

“Life isn't like the movies?” I finished, when she offered nothing further.

“Ya got that right,” she agreed, her thumb caressing my chin.

“Are you… having second thoughts?” I reached out for her other hand. Our fingers interlaced without a moment's hesitation.

She shook her head. “No. I… I think I'm more nervous than… you are.” Her voice quavered. “I want this to be… memorable for you. I want everything… to be…”

“It doesn't have to be perfect,” I interjected. “Let's just play it be ear, hmm? One kiss… at a time.”

A genuine smile now, as she leaned over and our lips met once again. Warmth surged through my loins. My arms went around her neck. I lay back, crossways of the bed, pulling her down with me.

“Oof!” she hissed against my cheek a moment later. I had felt her lose her balance and then catch herself with her elbows before her weight fell fully upon me. She quickly shifted her weight off to one side now. “Definitely not like the movies,” she said, gazing down at me from her propped up position.

“We don't know what happens between takes. We only see what they show us.” My eyes drifted down to the negligee, where her left breast was barely concealed by the silky black material.

I swallowed hard, feeling fireworks going off in my stomach. I wanted to see her body fully exposed to my view. I wanted to touch and explore. Having obviously noticed where my attention had strayed, she reached over and took my hand, placing it on her shoulder near the negligee's strap. No more prodding was needed. My fingers inched beneath the thin material, my hand caressing her shoulder and arm while moving the strap out of the way.

I could feel her watching me, as the negligee fell away, revealing her breast. My hand trembled as another fireball erupted in my lower abdomen. Beautiful, my mind declared, as I stared at the light brown areole, tightening and shrinking, while the budding nipple, a shade darker, gradually rose higher with each passing moment. The urge to touch this part of her anatomy, feel the changes as they happened, was nearly overwhelming. I licked my lips involuntarily and met her gaze. Candlelight danced in those green depths, as she moved back just enough for my hand to slide off her arm and onto her breast.

A low moan escaped her lips, while a loud gasp slipped past mine. I closed my eyes as an intense explosion erupted in my groin area and sent sparks cascading in all directions.

But my hand did not leave her breast. It seemed to have a mind of it's own now. I caressed the firm round globe, my thumb rubbing back and forth across the burgeoning nipple. My analytical mind wanted to make sense of why this felt so good, but other forces silenced and overrode it.

The next thing I knew she had one leg between mine, her hand on my thigh -underneath the leg of my shorts- and was kissing the side of my cheek, headed for my mouth. “We need to… scoot up… in the bed,” she mumbled around the kisses she was showering upon my face and lips.

“Um-hmm,” I agreed, but made to effort to do so. The hand in my shorts was inching beneath the backside of my underwear, the thigh between my legs pressing against the very center of my desire. I could hardly think, much less move.

“Get out… of these… clothes,” she said, as if continuing her previous thought.

This somehow filtered through on a different level. No clothes! I thought. “You first,” I said. She moaned in response, but didn't stop what she was doing: kissing my neck and caressing my backside.

“Sweet Jesus,” she hissed and finally broke contact. She sat up on the side of the bed, one breast exposed, the shoulder strap completely off her arm, dangling by her side. Her face bore a slight flush; her lips a rosy red hue; her hair framed all this in a dark oval shape. I thought she'd never looked more beautiful.

But I was wrong. For, in the next few moments she was on her feet, removing the other shoulder strap and allowing the negligee to slide off her body, forming a puddle at her feet. Lovely… Magnificent… were the words that came to mind as my eyes traversed the plains of her body. A trail of light brown fuzz down the center of her torso drew me eyes to the dark brown triangular patch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

In the next few minutes I realized just how right she had been about waiting until I could maneuver around better on my own. Removing my clothes and properly positioning myself in the bed was not nearly as awkward, nor as hard, as it could have been. I didn't feel as much like a cripple when she eased into bed beside me. Matter of fact, as she hovered over me, her long hair falling around my face, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. And yet, in the next moment, I was once again proven wrong. When her naked body touched mine –skin so warm, soft and smooth- my breath completely left me. I was certain I was going to die right then and there. Moist lips caressed mine, an eager tongue probed the interior and much needed air was somehow drawn into my lungs. As with any fire, oxygen fed the flames of the inferno burning inside my loins. Every touch, every kiss, ever sensation thereafter sent shockwaves throughout my system. The very center of my being was bombarded with one explosion after another, as she slowly positioned herself between my thighs. We both moaned, though not quite in unison: hers sounding more like an echo of my own. My loins were aflame and pulsing with wanton lust.

“Oh God!” I breathed. “Sweet Jes-sus!” she hissed, when she pressed her lower body against mine. My hands were soon in her hair, her lips sucking on my neck, our bodies moving in time to an intrinsic rhythm.

In some distant part of my mind, it registered that the mass of hair, in which my hands were intertwined, was not a wig. I didn't dwell on it, however. Nor could I, if I'd wanted to. There were far more pressing issues at hand.

“I never dreamed… it would feel… this good,” I murmured breathlessly.

“Oh yes, baby,” she responded, her right hand trailing down my side, lips inching towards my mouth.

As she kissed me, I felt her raise up slightly, her hand slipping between our bodies. The first touch from her fingertips sent a shudder through me that rocked me all the way down to my toes. A small squeak, emanating from my throat, escaped our joined lips. A low moan was her response, fingertips inching further downward, stroking my desire.

I was now lost in an entirely new world composed solely of immensely pleasurable sensations. I could hear my moans and sighs as if they were coming from somewhere in the distance. It wasn't until a warm mouth closed around my left breast and a questing appendage eased into my inner sanctuary that this world exploded and I was propelled into yet another one. I was floating, soaring, flying and finally blasting off into the outer reaches of some inner landscape, oblivious to everything else. I felt detached from my body for an all too brief and awe-inspiring moment. My body shuddered in response.

Gibberish streamed past my lips in a torrent. Colors burst before my closed lids resembling a fireworks display. Tears stung my eyes as the scattered embers showered down around me like a fine mist of rain. “Uh-h-uh-uh-h,” my mouth spewed forth over and over, as my lower body convulsed in spasms.

“Yes, baby,” she softly whispered near my ear.

My body shuddered once more and then went limp as a dishrag. Tears sprang from my eyes, as a surge of emotion overwhelmed me. I cried like a baby, while she held me, raining kisses upon my face and neck.

“I'm… I'm sor-ry,” I blubbered, once I regained some semblance of control.

“Ssh-h… there's no need to be sorry, sweetheart,” she soothed.

“But… I'm cryin'… I… I shouldn't cry… I should be… hap-py.”

She chuckled deep in her throat and nuzzled her face against mine. “Remember when we discussed how crying and laughing sometimes… cause the same reactions… tears?”

“Umph,” and a slight nod was the extinct of my response.

She raised up and looked down at me. “Well, this is one of those times when… it's hard to tell the difference.” A sweet smile graced her face, as she reached up and wiped a tear from my cheek with her thumb.

“I… I love you, Sara,” I blubbered.

“I love you too, Faith. So very much.” She kissed my tears away.

It took a while for the tears to subside and my emotions to return to normal, but once they did, I was ready, willing and eager to, at least attempt, giving back to her the same pleasure she'd seen fit to shower upon me. I felt awkward and clumsy at first, merely exploring the surface of her body. I found her nipples quite fascinating. The feel of those erect protrusions between my fingers quite a stimulating experience. I had no idea how much more intoxicating these could be, until I bravely lowered my mouth onto one. She moaned with pleasure, her hand pressing against the back of my head. I sucked lightly on the engorged membrane. She moaned louder and my tongue was suddenly tantalized by a flavor I wouldn't soon forget. My taste buds seemed to erupt, sending lancing bolts of lightning down my torso, where they exploded inside my loins. I sucked harder and was once again rewarded with the unique taste sensations that had set the center of my desire pulsing.

“My… god!” I murmured, going back for more.

She whimpered and shifted her left leg, which lay between mine, pushing it against my throbbing hub. My mind went blank, as my body sought to satisfy it's own urges by slowly rubbing against her leg. Vaguely do I remember her hand leading mine down to the dark brown thatch of curls at the juncture of her thighs. When my fingertips encountered the incredible warmth and moisture they found there, however, my own urges were suddenly shoved into the background. My hand once again had a mind of its own, my fingertips already inching their way into the silky, slick warmth.

“Oh yes,” I mumbled against her breast. I couldn't ever remember these appendages encountering anything more inviting and exciting. “Show me how to please you,” I whispered, leaving her breast for her lips.

She pressed my fingers against her and then propelled them back and forth over the slick folds and protruding nub. She moaned in unison with each slow stroke. In a burst of utter clarity, I now remembered what she had done to me. I took over from there.

I moaned along with her when my middle finger slid effortlessly into her slick well of desire. Soft hot tissue surrounded and engulfed it, squeezing and relaxing in rhythm with each stroke.

“Uh-huh!” she breathed, her hand pressing against my back, her hips now arching and pulling me deeper. After a few moments, she urged, “M-More.”

I wasn't sure what she wanted, but I pressed against her harder and raised up to gauge her reaction. Languid green eyes opened slowly and gazed up at me. “More of you… inside me,” she murmured.

The mere words alone sent a shiver up my spine, heat rushing to my cheeks and set off a series of volcanic eruptions in my loins. We moaned in unison as I sought to oblige her request. She buried her face in the crook of my neck and her fingernails in my back, her hips arching to meet each successive thrust.

“Oh yes, oh yes… Sweet Jesus, don't stop…Oh yeah, baby… Ung-h-h!” She shuddered several times and then fell still. “Oh-ho-ho, Oh-ho-ho,” she sighed and then began showering my neck with kisses. She sucked on my earlobe and growled in my ear, while the inner walls of her desire contracted against my fingers. “Don't ever leave me,”

she whispered, wrapping both arms around me and then squeezing my buttocks.

“Never,” I responded, feeling the dampness against my cheek, which had obviously originated from her eyes.

Being with her that night, was the most wonderful experience I'd ever had in my entire life. Our lovemaking far exceeded my expectations and fantasies. As we lay back, I expected this to be the end of our initial consummation, because in the movies the lovers usually smoked a cigarette afterwards. Perhaps that's what they did in the movies, but resting was not what Sara had in mind. She didn't even let the flames of passion die down to embers, before she was fanning them again and creating one hell of a raging inferno inside me.

"I could make love to you all night," she whispered.

"Please do," I responded and meant it. I wanted to blend with her, become a part of her, as we explored the realms of the most intimate of paths two people could traverse together.

It was also the shortest night of my entire life. Time slipped through our fingers like miniscule grains of sand on a windy day. There was no stopping it, no holding it back.

Time waits for no man…or woman. The candle burned out before we drifted off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

When I awoke, Sara was lying next to me. I was curled up to her back, my arm around her waist, my body molded to hers, as if we were two parts of a jigsaw puzzle that fit together perfectly. She was still asleep and I felt, as well as heard, each soft sighing exhalation that passed her lips. I ran my hand over her naked body, enjoying the feel of each and every curve within my reach. I tingled all over at the response from her smooth, firm breasts, as I fondled both in turn. Slowly, I worked my way downward.

I must have aroused her, for she moaned softly. "Umm... sweetheart..." She shifted her legs slightly, allowing me entrance to the area I sought. I kissed her on the shoulder, my fingers intent on exploring that most intimate and sensitive of regions. "Umm...

Faith... oh... baby..."

"Yes-s," I whispered, pressing my lower body against the backside of hers.

She reached back and ran her hand over my thigh. "Ah, yes... Umm… Are you sure you were a virgin?" she inquired, her tone husky and soft.

"Um-hmm... why?"

"Umm... Then you're a... quick study."

"I had a good teacher."

"Oh-h?" she said, as she shifted her position and turned over on her back.

"Uh-huh. A very good one," I remarked.

She reached up and brushed a strand of curly brown hair out of my eyes, as I repositioned myself beside her. I leaned over and attacked her right breast. I had yet to cease what I'd started previously. "Oh, Faith..." she said, pressing against the back of my head.

Suddenly, I felt her flinch. "Damn!" She hissed. "What time is it?" She raised up, taking me with her.

I glanced around at the clock on the VCR. "Ten after nine," I replied.

"WHEW!” she sighed, sounding like air escaping from a tire. “Thank God, Brandon should be gone to work." She eased back onto the mattress, taking me with her again.

"Now where were we, hmm?"

I hated to tell her, but I didn't think Brandon would be going in to work today, because he probably had one hell of a hangover. Instead of worrying her needlessly, however - the door was locked, after all- I picked up where I'd left off.

"Awh... baby... oh yes... Awh, Faith... oh... yes... AWHHHHH!" she exclaimed into the back of her arm, muffling the sound. She flinched involuntarily several times and then went limp. "Oh Jee-sus," she breathed, taking her arm away from her face. "Cum'mere you..." I was raising up, when there was a knock on the door. "Holy shit!" she cursed quietly and started to get up.

I put my hand on her stomach. "Ssh." I admonished. I didn't really care whether Brandon found out or not, because I was ready to leave this place. Blowing his top would only hasten my departure. I hated to witness it, though. I couldn't imagine how hideous a scene it might be.

I waited for the next knock. It didn't sound like Brandon to me. "Y-yes," I called, trying to sound sleepy. It wasn't hard.

"Miss Faith," Celia called. "Breakfus', 'mum."

I felt the tension go right out of Sara's body, as she breathed a very heavy sigh of relief.

"Umm, would you mind just leaving it... on the table out there. I... Well, I locked my doors because of the party and I... I'm ashamed to admit it but, I have a bit of a hangover this morning and I'm afraid if I try..."

"Yes, 'mum," she called back, interrupting me. "I understand."

"Thank you, Celia."

I heard her put the tray down. "Oh by the by, 'mum, if you see Miss Sara tell her... I took her breakfus' back to the kitchen ta warm."

I ran my hand over Sara's stomach. "Yes, Celia, I'll tell her… soon as I see her."

"Thank you, 'mum."

"Oh, Celia?"

"Yes, 'mum?"

"On second thought, would you mind taking mine back also? I... I don't believe I feel up to getting out of bed right now." I was looking down at Sara and grinning slyly.

"Ya want I should come back at a certain time, 'mum?"

"Umm... I... " I wanted to ask Sara: How long ya think this'll take? But, instead I answered, "No. Don't worry about it. I'll come down for breakfast, when I feel better."

"Very good, 'mum." I heard Celia's footsteps receding.

"Are you feeling poorly?" Sara whispered teasingly, as she brushed my hair out of my eyes.

I shook my head. "Fine as wine. And you?"

"Well, I was gonna say if you felt bad… I could try and make you feel better." She ran her index finger over my lips.

"On second thought, I feel real bad. Terrible, in fact. I think I need a nurse right away. Think you could go find one for me?"

She grinned broadly and rolled me over on my back. " I better be the only nurse you let take care of you... this way," she responded and attacked my lips.

THIRTEEN

After we both were sated, for the time being, we went into the bathroom and took a shower. Sara had already purchased a hand held showerhead which attached to the faucet, not long after I arrived, so she could wash my hair without me bending way over and we had a fine time with it now bathing and rinsing each other off.

"God, you're beautiful," I said, standing beside her as she dried herself.

"So are you." She turned her drying technique on me, as I held onto the walker in front of me. "It's been quite awhile since I've been able to do this. I missed it… a lot," she whispered in my ear, as she pressed her lower body to my backside and cupped my breasts in her towel-clad hands.

"God, I never thought I'd ever feel this way," I said, taking one hand off the walker and reaching around behind me. Her buttocks were so smooth. She let the towel drop to the floor and began manipulating my breasts, making me yearn with desire. "My God, Sara, what have done to me?"

"Made you my lover," she whispered. "Just like I wanted you to be the first time I held you in my arms."

"Oh?" I asked, looking over my shoulder. "You do this with all your patients, then?"

"No, just the pretty ones." I popped her on the butt and was about to walk away, but she held on tight. "And you're the only pretty one I ever fell in love with," she added, kissing on my neck.

"Keep that up and we won't be going down for breakfast."

"I'm not hungry for food," she responded, devouring my neck, while her hands sought other regions. There was a knock on the bedroom door. "Tell her you'll skip breakfast altogether," she whispered.

"I thought we took a bath so we'd be presentable when we went down to breakfast?"

"I changed my mind. I don't want food, I want you."

Another knock. A bit more insistent this time. "I've gotta go out there and talk to her or else she'll be worried."

Sara sighed heavily, then reached over and grabbed a robe hanging on the back of the door. "Get rid of her, quick," she said, helping me into it. As I started walking away, she tapped me on the butt. "Hurry back. I'll be waiting for you."

I gave one last glance over my shoulder and sighed heavily. Damn, she's beautiful! I love the color of her hair. I'm gonna have to remember to mention that once I take care…

Yet another knock broke into my woolgathering and a voice called out my name.

The voice did not belong to Celia. I froze in my tracks. It was Brandon.

"Sara..." I whispered, "…it's Brandon."

"Ah, Jesus H. Christ," she hissed. "What the hell do we do now?"

"Just stay in the bathroom," I advised. "I'll try and get rid of..."

He turned the doorknob. "Faith… Princess, are you alright in there?" he asked, his voice growing louder and his knock more insistent.

"Yes," I called. "I'm fine. I'm in the bathroom."

"What?"

"I said I'm in the bathroom. I'm fine!!" I shouted.

He tried the knob again. "Why is this door locked?"

"The party last night."

"What?"

He's hard of hearing, I thought, Or else suspicious. "I'm fine, Brandon!" I yelled.

"I'll be out in a little while."

He tried the knob again, seemingly for good measure then relented. "Alright, I'll be waiting out here."

"Shit!" I exclaimed under my breath.

Sara walked up behind me. "Listen, you have to stall him in there, get him away from the door. I don't know how, but do it so I can slip out."

"How are you going to...? Ah… the secret door…" At the time, I hadn't been thinking about any situations like this arising. I was glad she had been.

"I'll go get dressed and... Where the hell is my gown?"

"Where you left it… on my side of the bed," I answered.

"Oh." She pushed by me and tiptoed over to get it.

She also picked up my pjs and brought them to me. I tossed them into the bathroom on the hamper and went over to the chest-of-drawers to get out a pair of loose fitting pants and a matching T-shirt, while she finished dressing.

I was trying to think of a way to cover up the noise Sara was bound to make when she exited the sitting room closet. "We should have oiled those hinges," I said. "Why didn't you think of that?"

"I did," she said, looking down at herself in her negligee. "But, I'm afraid they'll still make noise."

"What? Did you plan for this?" I asked.

"It crossed my mind. Damn good thing it did, too."

"Princess, are you sure you're alright?"

I blared my eyes at Sara. "Yes, I'm fine. I'll be out shortly. Let me get dressed!"

"Why is this door locked?" he asked again.

I sighed heavily. "Because I saw some of your guests up here on the east wing last night. I didn't want anyone stumbling into my room by mistake!”

"Oh," he said, as if this were a satisfactory explanation.

"Boy he hates locked doors, doesn't he?" I whispered.

"A locked door keeps him from barging in wherever he damn well pleases," she hissed.

"Here, help me," I said, holding up my arms for her to grab hold of me, so I could pull my pants on standing up.

"Umm, those fit real nice," she said, running her hands over my lower abdomen.

"But, I better save this for another time, or else he'll be trying to knock the damn door down." She reached over and took the shirt from me and placed it over my head. "No bra?" she queried.

"I haven't got time."

"Damn, I wish he'd go away," she hissed, as I put my arms through the holes. She reached around and cupped both breasts. "I shall return," she added, as if speaking to them.

"Why don't I just go down to breakfast instead of you taking the chance on sneaking out?" I queried.

"Well… whatever you think'll work. I just thought if he saw me in my room when you two were coming out of yours... Oh well, doesn't matter. Do it the way you feel best, I'll follow your lead. Just make enough noise with that damn thing that I know where the two of you are." She was referring to my noisy walker.

"I'm going down to breakfast, no matter what. I'm starving, aren't you?"

"I won't be joining you. I don't think it'd be wise. But, I'll see you for our walk, hmm?" She placed a kiss on my neck. "I love you, Faith."

"I love you, too," I said, as she tiptoed over to the secret door next to the bathroom.

She had her hand on it, when I called out, "I'm coming, Brandon. You know, I'm completely famished." I plopped the walker down on the floor hard, to cover up for any noise she might make with the door. "How come you aren't at work? I thought this was Friday, not Saturday."

As I opened the door, he stepped in. I noticed his eyes searching the room. They lingered on the rumpled bed, as he said, "I... I didn't feel like going in this morning. Like you, I didn't feel very well." His eyes came back to rest on mine. "You say you're famished?"

"Well... when you purge your system like..."

"Oh… I see... rough night? Your hair is wet," he noted.

I blushed for a moment. "See what happens when you rush a woman? Would you mind getting my brush for me? I think I'll skip blow drying it today."

He walked over and retrieved my brush from the vanity. His eyes scanned the room once again. What the hell is he looking for? He had obviously talked to Celia. Is he suspicious about Sara's absence? That's when my gaze came to rest on the candleholder: the candle Sara brought with her the night before, now a puddle of wax that had leaked out onto the nightstand.

"Too much champagne was it?" he asked, holding the brush out towards me.

I didn't offer a response, but promptly took the hairbrush, shoved the handle in the waistband of my pants and proceeded out the door and into the sitting room. There was a mirror on the wall by the closet. I ambled over to it. "I… I guess I overdid it, hmm?" I asked, running the brush through my hair a couple of times then positioning my bangs. I could feel Sara's presence in the closet. And thought I might even have heard a faint squeak. I cleared my throat to cover for it. I wanted to get him away from my room quickly, but things weren't working out that way.

I saw his reflection in the mirror, as he perused the bedroom one last time, then closed the door. "I'll have to have a talk with my guests next time. We can't have you feeling as if you have to lock your door at night."

Whew! Didn't see the candle! But wait, what did he say? "And what's wrong with locking my door?" I inquired, tossing the brush over on the sofa. I was ready to go now. I started making my way across the sitting room, noisily.

"Well... what if you fall or something and I… we can't get in to help you?"

I shrugged. "Well, I suppose if that happens, I'm sure my big strong uncle would knock down the door to come to my rescue." I sounded sarcastic, although I turned at the door and smiled sweetly, which seemed to confuse him. "A woman sometimes likes her privacy, Brandon. It was all right when I really needed help...” I was through the door now. “…needed someone around all the time. But now that I'm more independent…

Well, I don't like everyone just barging in on me. You understand, don'chu?" I paused, watching as he considered this. "Well, of course you do," I added, answering my own question, before he had a chance to. "You have your office downstairs."

He cut his eyes over at me, seeming a bit surprised. Then he frowned, as we continued down the hall. "Yes, I... I understand, Faith," he said, letting out a heavy sigh.

He knew I had him by the shorthairs on that one. Otherwise he would've called me Princess.

Frankly, I didn't understand what the big deal was anyway. I wouldn't care if Sara locked her door. And I doubt Sara would care if I did. She'd merely knock and I'd let her in. Just as I would him, unless… I was otherwise engaged. I faltered a step, as tingling sensations ran over my body from just the thought of exactly how I might be otherwise engaged.

"Princess?" he asked, placing a hand on my arm.

"Hmm?" I looked up at him.

"Didn't you hear me, I asked if you had seen Miss Bennington this morning?"

I stopped as if truly concerned. "She's still not in her room? Hmph." I shrugged and started walking again. "You gave her the night off last night, didn'chu?"

He cut his eyes over at me, as if to say, Of course, she has every night off.

"Maybe she... got lucky."

"Princess!" he admonished. I shrugged and snickered. He made a huffing sound.

"Will you be glad when you're walking on your own?" he inquired, changing the subject.

He might as well have asked, will you be glad when she's gone? "Of course, I'll be glad to get rid of this thing," I said, glancing down at the walker.

"Time to start thinking about your future?" he asked, as we neared the back stairs, although it sounded more like a statement of fact.

"Perhaps, but not this morning," I responded, wondering if Sara had made her get away.

While I was eating, at the servants' table in the kitchen -something Brandon didn't approve of, but I preferred, since I didn't care to sit at that long dining table just to eat a small breakfast- Sara walked in the back door. It took me quite by surprise. Now how'd she get around to the back door? Must've snuck out the front and went around. Good thinking!

Brandon looked her over from head to toe. Sara was wearing the Elvira costume from the night before. It was wrinkled in several places and her hair was in disarray.

"Good morning... or should I say… afternoon, Miss Bennington," Brandon said, glancing down at his watch.

"I… I'm sorry, Mr. Neilson, I... I think I had a bit too much fun at your... party, last night," she apologized, raising her hand to her head as if she had a hangover.

"Where have you been? I think it's time for your therapy session already and...

you're not even dressed for it," he said, his eyes perusing her cleavage.

Oh how that burnt me up! Looking at me was one thing, but looking at her that way was quite another. Which is why I interjected saying, "I'm not exactly on my toes this morning, either, Brandon and... excuse me for saying so, but neither are you."

He straightened up and cleared his throat. "Yes, well. It was quite a party. But, I must say, this should not happen again, Miss Bennington.”

"Yes sir," she said, hanging her head in shame.

I didn't like this at all. She was being too subservient to him and it burned me up. "I think I might be ready for our walk in a little while if you're up to it, Sara. Or I can go alone today, if…."

"No, I'll..."

"I can do that, Princess," Brandon offered.

Oh shit. Why didn't I keep my big mouth shut!

"Oh my no, Mr. Neilson," Sara began, "It's my job and... as you say I should'a been here on time. I'll just go clean up and... take care of my duty. I've lost enough time already."

"Speaking of time…" he indicated with another glance at his watch.

"Oh yes, sir, you should dock me for the ... " She paused, looking down at her watch, which wasn't there. "…However many hours I've lost,” she recovered nicely.

"Oh, you can be sure of that," he said, looking her up and down, with a rather odd expression on his face.

"Yes sir," she said, as she started walking away.

"Is that a wig?" he asked, no one in particular.

I started to answer honestly and thought better of it. I shrugged. "Must be, looks like she's dressed as Elvira."

"Elvira?" he asked quizzically.

Boy, he's outta touch! "She was a late night horror show hostess,” I explained. “I'm sure you've seen her."

"No, I never watch anything but the news, I'm afraid."

Boring and depressing.

"And speaking of news, I suppose I better check in with the office." He got up. "I'll see you later, Princess," he added, leaning over and giving me a kiss on the cheek for good measure.

I didn't know how Sara had managed it, but she'd obviously gone to great pains to pull the wool over Brandon's eyes. And I believed she had him pretty well convinced she hadn't even been in the house this morning.

In a way, I felt disappointed. In a dark little corner of my mind, I wanted him to find out. I wanted an excuse to leave, so we could be together anytime we wanted. But, I knew this would only put undo pressure on Sara. It would be better if we both decided to leave together. Yet, if she didn't hurry things along, I just might move out without her. I was tired of him running my life, having to answer to him all the time. Not that I wasn't grateful for what he had done, because I was. But I was tired of placating him and walking on eggshells around him. Funny thing was, I wasn't sure why I was afraid of him getting mad. I'd never really seen him in a rage or anything, which would prompt my attitude. But, I definitely had the feeling he could be a very undesirable adversary.

Perhaps that was why my father never stayed in touch with him or wanted anything to do with the business. He may have known Brandon was not his ally, but his rival. And I had the feeling deep down inside that Brandon could be one vicious rival.

A few minutes later, Sara was back and "dressed to kill" as they say, in a tight pair of jeans, white shirt -open to the waist- worn over a white tank top. I called Celia to bring her tray. She tore into the food, as if she were starving.

"I thought you weren't hungry," I questioned.

"I'm ravenous," she replied. "And I'm not just referring to the food, either," she added, as she looked me up and down. "You do look good in that outfit. I don't usually like tan colors, but I bought it because you said you liked it. And I have to admit it looks real good on you."

"Thank you," I looked down at myself. I didn't see what she saw, but I was glad she did. When Celia came to clear the table, I noticed she kept glancing over at Sara, with a rather odd expression on her face. "Is there something wrong, Celia?" I had to ask.

"Your hair, Miss Sara is… is that a wig, 'mum?"

Sara shook her head. "No, it's mine. I had it dyed back the natural color rather than letting it grow out. Does it look that bad?"

"Oh no, 'mum, ya just… ya look... diff'rent with dark hair is all. And... 'tis usually pulled up back here an'..."

Sara laughed at Celia's expressions, interrupting her. "I didn't feel much like fooling with it today."

"Yes, 'mum," Celia said, turning her head sideways. "I believe there's sumthin' else different, itn't there, 'mum? I mean, if ya don't mind my saying so?"

"No, I don't mind. What else?"

"You're smiling, 'mum. No sad eyes and… worried looks."

Sara chuckled again. "I suppose I am feeling rather good today," she agreed, as she looked over at me. "Thank you for noticing."

"Yes, 'mum," Celia said and then glanced over at me. "Parties can make a lass feel good, can't they, 'mum?"

"Sometimes," I agreed, with a broad smile.

"Can I get you anything else, 'mum? More coffee or..."

I waved her next offer away. "We'll be going for our walk soon," I explained, not taking my eyes off Sara.

"Yes, 'mum. Very good, then," she said, as she turned and started away. "Must be men," she added, shaking her head.

Sara and I both cracked up laughing once she left the room. If she only knew, it'd curl her panty hose! I thought.

"We've got to get away from here, soon," Sara whispered, once our laughter died away and we were left staring at one another. "God, I can't stand being this close to you and not being able to at least touch you."

"Who's pushing now?"

"I am," she replied. "I'd like to push you into old Rosa Lee out there and buzz you over to my place. Lay you back on my bed and.... Umph… I gotta get outta here," she said, getting to her feet and taking a step backwards.

"Where are you going?"

"I… left something in my room. I'll be back in a few moments to go on our walk."

"I like your hair," I said, as she took another step backwards.

"I did it for you," she responded, glancing around us, before her eyes came to rest on mine.

"Then I like it a lot."

"I'm glad." She gazed into my eyes. "Umph! This is… sheer torture... I'm in hell for sure," she ranted softly, backing out the door.

I felt the same way, but didn't say anything. I'd reined mine in for so long, it only came natural to do so. Now, however, she was getting a taste of what I'd been through. I didn't enjoy her pain. Quite the contrary, I ached, as well. But, I did enjoy knowing she felt so strongly about me. Perhaps the virgin hadn't been such a disappointment after all.

When she came down, she was carrying a light brown cane with an intricately carved head on the handle. "I picked it up in an antique shop months ago," she explained, as she handed it to me.

I glanced down at the head of a panther carved into the end of the handle.

Interesting, I thought, looking it over more closely.

"The last hurdle," she said, softly. I looked up to find her nibbling on her lower lip and I knew this meant tears weren't far from the surface. "Here, let's get rid of this old bulky thing," she added, moving the walker out of my way. "Try it, Faith."

I hesitantly put the cane down on the floor and gripped the handle. "The last hurdle, huh?" I questioned.

She nodded and nibbled her lower lip again.

I took a deep breath and struggled to my feet, using only the cane, putting both my hands on the handle. I somehow got my feet tangled up between the table and chair when I went to move and nearly fell over. She caught me, as always.

"Now how many times have I told you, you're not ready for turns and dips, yet?" she teased.

"Oh, you." I pulled away and regained my balance. "Well, move back, let me see if I can learn to work this puppy."

“Pup-py?” She backed up and giggled. "Where did you learn all those cute sayings?"

"Oh… like a magnet picks up steel, I pick up these goofy sayings and..." I paused, as I took my first steady step without the walker. "…they pop out my mouth at the... damn-dest times," I finished, taking another hesitant but steady step.

"Well, looks like you've learned how to work that puppy, alright," she noted and wiped a tear from her cheek.

We strolled around the grounds at a bit slower pace, so that I could get acquainted with using the cane. I could tell I would soon be more mobile with it. I already felt much freer without the bulky walker. Yet, when my left leg grew tired, as it often did, I missed being able to prop myself up on that old walker. Instead, I put both hands on the handle of the cane. When she saw this, she genteelly offered me her arm for support. I put my arm through hers and leaned against her. When we resumed walking again, arm in arm, it felt so natural, I didn't even stop to think how it might appear to anyone else.

During our walk, she told me about her apartment in Smyrna, and how much she'd like to take me there. I relished the thought of being with her alone, without worrying about who could be watching or might walk in on us. We discussed possible scenarios for slipping off for a day. Shopping seemed the most viable excuse to offer anyone, even though I knew Brandon would want to go with me. He never liked Sara handling things that should be "family matters". Somehow I had to convince him that shopping was not a

"family matter" but "girl stuff". I'd also have to ask him for the money, since I didn't even have a driver's license anymore to prove my identity to the bank clerks. It irked me to have to go through him to get money from my own account. But, as he had so eloquently pointed out long ago, I couldn't very well cash a check from my bed and they wouldn't allow Sara to cash it for me, nor would he want her to. Which was why he had handled things since then.

As I looked up at her, thinking how I'd like to share my life with her, I decided it was about time I took control of things myself. First on the agenda would be a new driver's license, which I might even be required to take a driving test for, in order to prove my ability, since the accident. This might have to wait a bit longer, after all. It wouldn't be long before I'd need to take care of my parents' affairs: the house and their belongings. A few months ago, that day seemed far away, but it would soon be a reality.

I didn't want to think about going into the house again; for, I knew it would be filled with memories. Memories of happier times, which now seemed to have happened so long ago at times, and yet at others seemed like only yesterday. I dreaded the thought of going through my parents' belongings. What would I do with them? What does a person do when someone dies like that?

"Sara, what happened to your father's belongings after..."

She glanced over at me. "Well… the house I still own.” She looked away. “Lawyers advised me to keep it, with the inheritance."

"Inheritance?" I was quite surprised.

"Um-hmm. He wasn't filthy rich like Brandon, but he owned several horse and cattle farms around Georgia, a large kennel that raises greyhounds in Florida and… he had interests in several other areas. It all fell to me after he died, so... I kept it. It supports the upkeep on the house and... the rest is deposited for me. I just left everything the way he had it set up."

"You mean you own horse farms?" I asked, very surprised that she'd never mentioned it.

"In name only, I guess you'd say. Other people handle that stuff. I'd rather earn my own way. I mean... I never really knew him. I'd… I'd feel... funny using his money. I even tried to decline it, but the lawyers said that since there was no other living relatives the state would get it and his wish was for me to have it, so..."

"And you were the one worried about money?" I observed, a touch of irritation in my tone.

"It's not so much the money, Faith. I just… I don't wanna hurt you. Money worries seemed... Well, they seemed a good excuse at the time."

"And now?" I probed.

"What do you say we have lunch out on the patio?" she queried, changing the subject.

I knew she didn't want to discuss this anymore. "Alright, sounds like a fine idea to me. It's a beautiful day for it."

"Good, then I'll inform Celia of our plans."

She escorted me over to a patio table first, then went inside to talk to Celia. I sat there drinking in the fresh, cool autumn breeze. Memories of the night before wafted over me with the warmth of a lover's caress. The autumn leaves with their bright colors -

yellow, orange, red and gold- danced with the incoming puffs of air, their leathery skins rubbing together, sounding like the rustling of a thousand dancer's skirts, giving my eyes and ears a wonderful treat.

"Very good, 'mum," Sara said, walking out onto the patio, mocking Celia, though not in a derogatory fashion. "Don't you just love that accent of hers?"

“You should've heard my mother. Very refined British accent… she could make ordinary words sound… beautiful.”

Sara evidently noticed my mood slipping into sadness. "My, don't you look wonderful today?" she commented, as she sat down across from me.

"So do you," I acknowledged, with a smile. Then I noticed Celia approaching. "So, you own… two horse farms?" I asked, saying the first thing that came to mind in order to change the subject.

"Three actually. Randall Stables has horses and cattle, Marie's Pride has horses and greyhounds and The Vivien Leigh, where he lived, is mostly cattle… only a few horses."

"Vivian Leigh?" I queried.

"Um-hmm," she replied with a smile. "Musta had a thing for a movie star."

"Excuse me, 'mum," Celia said to Sara. "Cook would like ta know if you'd care for anything special?" Sara looked over at me.

"No, the usual soup and sandwich, will do, just ask him to include some ice cream," I stated.

"Yes 'mum, very good." Celia glanced back at Sara. "'Scuse me, 'mum, for listening, but... I couldn't help but overhear... did ya say Randall Stables?" Sara nodded and looked up at her. "That wouldn't be Tom Randall, would it, mum?"

"Yes," Sara answered, glancing over at me. I shrugged.

"Now, that's a name I haven't heard in many years," Celia declared, reflectively, as she looked off into the distance.

"Did you know him?" I inquired.

"Oh yes, 'mum, if he's the same one, mind you. Tall, dark an' handsome, as I remember him. Moved ta... Columbus, I believe it wuz. Has a stable down that way, don't he, 'mum?" Sara nodded. "Is he any relation to ya?"

"My father," Sara responded, ruefully.

"Well, glory be. Tom Randall's daughter." Celia stared at Sara. "This is Thomas Clancy Randall, 'mum?"

"Yes. I believe his name was Clancy.”

"Well, bless me muther. How is young Tom, if ya don't mind me asking?"

"He... passed away..."

"Oh no, I'm so sorry, 'mum. So very sorry, I am ta hear that. Tom wuz a fine man, he wuz. Yes, a fine man."

"How did you know him, Celia?" I explored, as Sara looked over at me. She knew my inquisitive mind was at work. And I felt we were hot on the trail of pieces of her past.

"Worked here, he did, 'mum. Stable hand. Worked his way ta being a trainer."

"He worked here?" Sara asked, as her eyes grew wide. "When?"

"Oh… Tom's been gone... 'bout thirteen years now, I'd say. Yes, that's 'bout right. He left right after Miss Vivian... took her life." The last three words nearly a whisper.

Sara looked at me. I knew she was doing some arithmetic and coming up with the fact that Vivian was around nineteen while he was here.

"How long did he work here, Celia?" I continued interrogating.

"Oh... wull that would be hard ta say, 'mum. See Tom, he grew up here. Matter-a-fact, he wuz born in the servants quarters."

"Born here?" Sara asked incredulously.

"Yes, 'mum. his dear departed muther and father, they worked for the previous Mr.

Neilson. Tom, he grew up rambling 'round here, following after his father, learning 'bout the horses and things. Grew into a fine man, he did. Always had a smile for ya and never an unkind word. Yes, that wuz me Tom. I wuz his god-muther, ya know." She glanced over at Sara, whose face was an angry visage. "Oh, I didn't mean ta go on so, 'bout the dearly departed, 'mum...I'm sorry, truly I am."

"That's quite alright, Celia," Sara asserted, waving away her apology, and flashing a wry smile. "Please… have a seat... tell me more."

Celia cleared her throat as if she were a bit uncomfortable. "Wull… I would, 'mum, but the cook, he'll be waiting for me."

"Perhaps you could join us for lunch then," I intervened.

"Oh… wull, yes, 'mum. I'd be honored ta do so, I would."

After Celia walked away, Sara just sat there staring at me. I knew she was wondering why her father had lied to her, because if I remembered correctly she had said he was from Columbus.

"I assume he didn't tell you he was born...?"

"No, he didn't," she interrupted. "Wonder how much more he didn't tell me. Was my mother from around here?"

I shrugged, hearing the anger in her voice. "Maybe Celia will know."

She stared at me a moment longer, as if she were looking through me. Then she quickly turned away and slumped down in her chair. I knew that her Swiss cheese of a past had just taken one hell of a blow from a cookie cutter. And Celia had been the one to wield it, unknowingly.

"Just wait, perhaps Celia will have some answers for you that'll make sense. I mean, maybe he moved away and came back or... maybe it's just a coincidence on the names and he's not..."

"Oh get real, Faith!" she declared, as she got up from her chair. "The woman was his godmother for Christ's sake. She obviously kept tabs on him for a while. She knew about that stable and him moving to Columbus. And he was tall, dark… and handsome. He always had that goddamn smile plastered on his face. Bad part was, he wasn't anything like Brandon, you couldn't see through it, so the damn thing musta been genuine."

"Sara please, just calm down, there may be a logical explanation for all of it," I offered.

"Yeah, he fuckin' lied to me."

Celia joined us for lunch and Sara plied her with questions, explaining that she hadn't known her father, because she lived with her mother and that after her mother died, they'd had only a brief few years together, since he'd passed away in January of this year.

Celia was very obliging and offered all the information she could. When Sara mentioned her mother, Amy Jackson, Celia shook her head and said she'd never heard of her, but that she might well have been one of Tom's girlfriends.

When Celia left with the trays, Sara got up and went over to the patio railing. "I've got to go through my father's things," she finally vocalized, after a long silence. "I didn't want to before. I felt he'd answered my questions the best he could, but now... You're right, ya know, about this hanging over my head. With things the way they are up here..."

She motioned to her head. "I'll never be able to make a commitment to anyone. And... I wanna do that with you, Faith. I really do," she added, as she turned around to face me.

I was touched by her desire to do this, but I could tell this revelation had turned our afternoon, which should have been peaceful and filled with loving glances, into one of unanswered questions and disappointment.

"I need to go to my apartment," she announced. "Come on, let's get you upstairs."

"Oh no," I protested. "You're not leaving me here to worry all day. I'm going with you," I avowed.

"Brandon will probably have a fit, if he…"

"Then let him. I'm going with you. I can walk now... I should be able to go anywhere I want and if he doesn't like it… Well, he'll just have to get used to it."

"Alright, alright. I'm not about to argue with you anymore. Just let me get my purse and I'll be right back." She touched my arm on her way by.

What I felt should have been a long, lingering contact followed by loving and knowing glances, like a few hours before, was now only a quick pat on the arm among friends. I sighed heavily at yet another ruined moment. This time, it wasn't Brandon's fault. It wasn't anyone's really.

And perhaps it's for the best, I thought. Finding out about her past was far more important than sitting here, yearning for each other. Besides, we'd be away from prying eyes. That part I liked. A lot!

FOURTEEN

I was able to get in one last sip of my tea, before she whisked me away to the garage. "Why are we in such a hurry?" I asked, moving along at a much faster pace than I was accustomed to.

"I wanna get back before Brandon does," she answered, opening the passenger door of her shiny black Trans Am.

"Where did he go?" I inquired, as she helped me inside.

"I don't know, but when I left word that we were going for a drive, Sammy said he was gone."

"I'm not afraid of him," I declared. "Why should you be?"

"He pays my salary, Faith."

"One which you don't need," I reminded.

"Just get in," she muttered and started around to the driver's side.

"I have money. We can move somewhere else and I can pay your salary," I offered, as she got in and closed the door.

"Gimme the cane, I'll get it outta your way. It's just better that we don't tempt fate right now, alright? Alright?" she asked again, after putting my cane in the back -propping it between the seats- so it was within easy reach.

"Okay," I agreed, looking over the infamous Rosa Lee, who was as clean as a whistle. "You always keep her this clean?"

"I've been expecting you for some time now," she said, with a sly grin, as she put her hand on the back of my seat and backed out of the garage.

We seemed to fly down the winding road leading out of Shady Grove. She braked to almost a full stop, waiting on the gates, which slowly opened. She steered around them and then off into the outside world we sped. It had been quite a while since I'd seen anything, except the grounds of Shady Grove. It felt good to be out from behind those gates. But most of all it felt good to be with Sara, alone.

I gazed out at the surrounding countryside, wishing this were just a lazy drive in the country for us. Why did Brandon have to rule my life?

I reached over and took her hand. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap at you," I said, softly. "I guess… I just feel frustrated. He controls my life and... I don't like it anymore, Sara."

"I know. I don't like it, either, but until you're on your feet properly and can take charge of your life, he'll stay in control. Gaining your freedom, well… it might not be as easy as you think."

"You talk about him as if you know him well."

"I... uh... Sometimes I feel like I do," she confirmed, with a decided frown. "I can…

sense things... I don't know what to call it. But, I just feel he's... Well, it's just not gonna be easy to gain your independence from him. That, I can tell, from the way he acts. He loves handling everything. Remember the exercise machine and parallel bars? I was all set to get you outta there, if only to the hospital and back, but… he didn't… he didn't care for you leaving the house. I guess it could be that he didn't trust my driving…” She glanced over at me very briefly. I'm not sure what expression she saw on my face, but evidently she didn't like it, because her tune changed somewhat. “Oh hell, maybe I'm makin' a mountain out of a molehill. All I know for sure is he's stubborn... very stubborn."

"Like someone else I know," I offered, pointing to myself.

"Yes, indeed," she agreed, as she glanced over at me once again and squeezed my hand.

When we got to her apartment she disappeared down a hallway, while I looked around. The place was rather plain, simple, but decidedly neat. Everything was arranged to be functional for one person. Missing were any family pictures, which added a homey touch to any house. The walls possessed only the scenic paintings one could buy in any department store, obviously for decoration. There were no books lying open on the tables, no shoes lying in the floor and no shirt or other apparel draped across the chairs, as would be the norm for an active home. Or at least, would be for mine. I glanced into the small kitchen, and from where I stood, I saw no real evidence that anyone lived here, except for the one used coffee cup on the counter. It was obvious Sara paid rent here, but that was about all.

My legs were getting tired, so I walked over and sat down on the sofa. A few moments later, she came out dragging a large box behind her.

"One of his associates sent this to me,” she explained, as she dragged the box into the middle of the room. “It's from his office. I haven't gone through it, yet. I didn't think I needed to. "I've been meaning to take it to the house in Columbus, but I just haven't got around to going down there, yet."

I eased down into the floor beside her, as she brought out a stack of papers. She halved the stack with me and we went through them. We found nothing pertaining to Sara. We then proceeded to go through all of it, but still came up empty.

"Maybe his personal papers were at home," I said, starting to hand back the last stack. I caught a quick glimpse of his birth date on a form he'd filled out some time ago.

September 6, 1947.

"Yeah, I was afraid of that. Now, I'll have to go to Columbus," she uttered, with a frown. "I've never seen the house, ya know. I don't even know where it is. Oh well... that can wait for another time."

"Good," I said softly, as I scooted over a little closer. "We're quite alone here... no prying eyes... no one's gonna walk in..."

"Uh-huh." She glanced at her watch.

"Forget Brandon, please, Sara. God, you made me wait so long and now we're here...

alone... no one knows where we are and... you're still thinking about him."

Her eyes darted back and forth searching mine. "I hope you're right, Faith. I hope... I don't ever cause any harm to come...."

I silenced her with a kiss. Our passions ignited quicker than a match thrown into a pool of gasoline. Soon, we were in her room, on her bed, making love with great abandon. I didn't know it could be any better than the night before, but it was. We even took another shower together -standing up- and despite my handicap, she turned this into a very erotic and sensual encounter. The feel of her warm, wet, slippery body against mine was an experience I wouldn't soon forget.

We ended up back on her bed; our bodies still damp, my hair quite wet. I could feel the moisture seeping into the comforter, even as I felt her warm, wet tongue leaving a trail down the front of my torso. I had no idea what she was about to do. Without warning that warm wet appendage flicked across my desire and set my loins ablaze. My hips arched involuntarily, begging for more of this tantalizing contact. And I was soon rewarded my first experience with what a knowledgeable tongue could accomplish. Sheer unadulterated bliss!

A bliss I longed to share through reciprocation. And even though oral sex had always sounded like something I would never, ever want to do, I soon found myself going back on that erroneous conclusion. And going down on her.

With the first stroke I was reminded of that tantalizing taste that issued from her nipples. It only made sense that these two areas were connected in some fashion. I'd felt this connection for myself. My taste buds yearned for more of this tangy ambrosia.

She moaned with pleasure as I feasted upon her succulent, sensitive flesh, my tongue delving inside at intervals to capture the exquisite taste of her unique and intoxicating liquor. I held onto her bucking hips and rode the glorious, undulating waves of passion, until she cried out in ecstasy. Her legs twitched, her whole body shuddered and then she went limp. I stayed right where I was, unable -or perhaps more to the point- unwilling to relinquish this intimate contact.

She shuddered once again from a long, languid stroke of my tongue. “Oh God, Faith, please…” she pleaded, slowly moving away from my eager mouth.

But, I'm not done with you, yet. I wanted to say, but instead held my tongue. At least, as far as vocalizing this thought. I could not, however, resist returning for more of the luscious sap, still oozing from between her legs.

“Oh holy hell!” she hissed, when I plunged my questing muscle deep inside, as if she were an ice cream cone; my tongue desiring to search out and savor every succulent drop of her creamy molten essence. I wanted it all! I couldn't get enough!

Her fingers slipped into my hair, stroking and caressing, while I gently lapped up the trickling juices. “Don't stop,” she pleaded now. “God, yes… like that… oh yes, just like that. Oh Faith… oh baby… oh g-g-go-od!!!” Her body shuddered once more, her legs trembling and closing tightly about my head. So tightly in fact, I was unable to continue my ministrations. “Dear god, Faith… cum'mere,” she requested, her hand moving around to my chin and lifting it.

I kissed each inner thigh lightly, in a parting gesture, quite aware of the moisture being transferred from my face, which was coated with her sticky juices. I wore this temporary mask of my ardor proudly, while maneuvering up her body, all my senses seemingly heightened by this awareness. She placed a hand on each side of my face, her eyes growing wide as the amount of moisture registered with her senses. She moved her hands over each cheek, removing the residue, then without warning, pulled me down and commenced devouring my lips.

"Can I go with you to Columbus?" I asked, as we were getting dressed. I didn't want to let her out of my sight, at this point. I felt I would follow her to the ends of the earth, if she asked me to.

"Don't I wish," she responded, glancing over at me. "But Brandon will surely become suspicious."

"So what? I can leave Shady Grove anytime I want. I'm well enough now."

"Let's not rush things, hmm? You may be well enough for all intents and purposes, but... leaving will… create a strain, right now. Just take it one step at a time." she replied, as she tied her shoes.

"In other words, you aren't... you won't...." I paused, as tears filled my eyes.

Evidently, she didn't share my enthusiasm over our time together. "It wasn't good enough was it?" I blurted out.

“What wasn't…?” She glanced over at me and obviously reading my expression added, “Oh, Faith! Sweetheart…" She moved closer to where I sat on the bed. "Good lord, Faith, one has nothing to do with the other! Nothing at all. How can you think such a thing?” Her arm went around my shoulder. “I've tried to tell you, I don't wanna hurt you. I... Sweetie, listen… let me get this... or at least some of this messy past of mine squared away here, okay? Otherwise, I might not be much good to you or me. I mean…

this is the first time, since the accident, that I've really considered delving into this. I guess I just kept assuming my memory would someday return, whole and intact, ya know.”

“Like the movies?” I suggested.

“Yeah, like the movies,” she acknowledged with a heavy sigh. “And I can't say that this won't still happen, especially now that I'm looking into it. And… I've been warned that it could be a very frightening and painful…” She paused. “Well… very hard on anyone I might be involved with, that didn't know me before. Can you understand that?"

I nodded slowly. It was frightening now merely thinking that if her memory returned, she might well have a lover in her past and she'd want to go running back to her. Or him. The latter of which would be even harder to deal with. And I really didn't want to think about any of it, right now. I needed to concentrate on myself; getting control of my life and allow Sara time to focus on herself and her past. "Do what you have to do," I said, drying my eyes. "And I'll do what I have to do."

"I don't like the sound of that, Faith. Sweetheart, Brandon isn't going to let you walk out of there that easily, I'm afraid."

"How can he damn well stop me?" I retorted.

Her eyes darted back and forth searching mine again. "I don't know how, but... I just feel he'll try. He dotes on you, Faith. And just like you and I wouldn't wanna give each other up, I don't think he'll give you up. He's made you his world for the last several months. And I doubt he'll give that world up so easily. Especially if you just up and take off so quickly… with me." One dark eyebrow arched skyward.

I could hardly argue with her reasoning, even though she made Brandon sound more like a lover than an uncle. "Well, he's just gonna have to gimme more freedom. I can not continue to live like this… in fear of what he thinks or what he...." I paused, considering once again, why I feared him. "Sara, why do you and me... Jason, Celia… all the rest of us fear Brandon so? I've never seen him angry but once, when you weren't around that day in the hospital. But, he calmed down quick enough."

She stared at me intently. "Honestly, Faith… I've seen a different side of him than you.” She looked away. “We've butted heads on several occasions over what's best for you; your emotional well being… your therapy. That's one reason I don't stick around when he's there.”

"I thought that's because you dislike each other."

"That's part of it.” She frowned. “But, it goes deeper than that, I think. Much deeper.

The way he…” She shook her head. “Well, he's just so damn pigheaded. Always insisting on having his way. It's either his way or the…" She paused, and waved her hand, as if dismissing this thought. "Oh never mind. You do what you have to do. I only ask one thing: gimme a few more days to check into this past of mine. Celia is my only link to my father right now. If you leave now, or he fires me... I lose that link. I know that sounds selfish, but... Faith, in all these years, I haven't really cared about my past, but now…

because of you… because of us… I wanna know. I wanna have this behind us before we start a life together."

Start a life together? Then there was hope. I knew I needed to carefully consider her request. She hadn't finished that sentence I assumed should have gone: “It's either his way or the highway” . I wondered how many times he had threatened to fire her? And if he ever did so, what might that mean to Sara's career, which she seemed to love?

I reasoned I'd lived with his firm hand on my life for several months now, what were a few more days? Especially since, if I was brutally honest with myself, it wasn't Brandon I was trying to escape, as much as Sara I was trying to run to; desperately desiring to be alone with her; have her all to myself. Which is something that would not be easy at Shady Grove. I was allowing my hormones to do my thinking again and that could be disastrous in the long run.

"Alright... a few days, then." I agreed, reaching down and tying my shoes. "How do you plan to go about finding out about your father?" I inquired, changing the subject.

"His lawyer is on a retainer. I'm sure he can recommend a private detective. It's not just my father I wanna know about, I wanna know about my mother and the life I lost."

"I suppose that's a good idea. But, can you afford one?" I asked, remembering she didn't like the idea of using her father's money.

She considered this for several seconds, before answering, "My father told the lies in the first place… it's only right his money should be used to find out the truth, don'chu think?"

She immediately got up and retrieved her purse, then went to the phone and punched in the numbers from a business card. In a very professional, no nonsense voice I'd seldom heard her use, she got the ball rolling. Where it might end up, she had no idea, yet seemed bound and determined now to find out. And I could hardly blame her.

As I eavesdropped on her conversation, I thought back to the date I had seen on the form: 1947. I did the subtraction in my head. Her father would've been 45 when he died.

And Sara was 32. It didn't take a genius to see that something was very amiss, unless he'd fathered her at the age of twelve or so. I suppose it wouldn't have been unheard of, but it was very unlikely. Then again, that could be the reason Amy ran off. But, it didn't answer the nagging question of why Tom had lied about where he had lived.

When she got off the phone, I inquired about her knowledge of his age. "Did you know how old your father was, when he... passed away?"

"No, why? What does that have to do with anything? Come on, we need to get back," she added, extending her hand for my support.

"According to the birth date on one of those forms, he was 45."

"So?" she said, picking up her purse.

"So, that would make him 13 when you were born."

She cut her eyes over at me, then she got that far away look and stared down at the floor. "Damn, it just gets more complicated, doesn't it? Seems the more I find out, the deeper the shit gets."

"Are you sorry I started this?"

"You. This all came about by accident remember? Celia's the one who turned over my little apple cart, not you."

We rushed back to Shady Grove. When she drove up to the front door, saving me quite a few steps, I noticed Celia was outside, sweeping off the front steps. She looked our way, then the broom slipped from her hands, as her mouth fell wide open and she quickly clamped her hand over it. I started to laugh at her odd behavior, thinking she must be reacting to my being so bold as to go running off, without Brandon's approval.

But then her reaction took an ominous turn: she crossed herself in the Catholic manner, her face turning as pale as a sheet. I glanced over at Sara, who had also noticed her peculiar behavior.

"Celia?" I asked, as I opened the door. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Ye-Ye-Yes, 'mum," she stammered, continuing to stare at Sara, who was coming around the back of the car to help me. "I… I thought I had."

"What? I know I don't look like my mother without that wig."

"No, not you, 'mum. It's... Miss Sara."

Sara turned to look at her, even as she offered me her hand. "What about me?"

"For a moment, 'mum, I..." Celia paused, as she reached down and picked up her broom. "…I thought Miss Ashley had… cum back from the grave, I did."

"Ashley?" I asked quite puzzled.

"Do I look that bad you thought I'd risen from the dead?" Sara asked, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh no, 'mum, I mean... f-forgive me, 'mum," she stammered, "But in those dark glasses, that car... your hair.... It just… it reminded me so much of Miss Ashley, God rest her soul." She crossed herself again and closed her eyes.

Sara helped me to my feet then took off the glasses, placing them on top of her head.

She squinted in the bright afternoon sunlight. "Is this better?" she asked, turning towards Celia.

Celia merely stared at her and then glanced over at me. "Sara doesn't look like Ashley, does she?" I queried.

"Yes, 'mum. I mean... No, 'mum. I... I suppose it's just the light. 'Scuse me, mum.

My eyesight is not so good anymore. And… I 'spect my mind plays tricks on me, from time to time," she mumbled, as she started into the house, leaving the steps only half swept.

Sara and I looked at each other. I shrugged. I didn't know what to make of it.

"Ashley musta had dark hair," I offered. "Maybe even a black Camaro?"

Sara nodded in agreement, but glanced back at Celia's retreating form, frowning.

I ambled in the front door, half expecting Brandon to be waiting on me - hand on his hip- demanding to know where I'd been. I'd seen this pose many times, when I'd wander about the grounds by myself and he'd come looking for me. But, to my surprise and relief, he was nowhere within sight or hearing, for that matter.

I slowly ascended the stairs, taking them one at the time, resting for a moment on each. The cane made walking up stairs much easier. Yet, I'd had quite a tiring day and my legs were complaining of fatigue. I took my mind off them, by thinking about poor Celia and her reaction moments before. Surely Sara didn't look like Ashley, did she? Then I realized I had no idea what Ashley looked like. I'd only assumed she had features like Brandon and Jason. Matter of fact, I didn't know what Vivian looked like, either. I decided this would be something to occupy my time, while Sara went off to Columbus.

I'd ask Brandon for some old photo albums and get him to tell me more about our history.

If I could, that is. Sometimes Brandon was more close-mouthed about the past than Sara.

She soon joined me before I got two thirds of the way up the stairs. Putting her arm around me, she helped me the rest of the way. "I wish I could just sweep you up in my arms and carry you," she whispered. "But, I'm afraid we might not make it halfway down the hall."

"You carried me in the pool," I reminded.

"That was different, water creates buoyancy. Makes you seem lighter. Besides, you've put on a couple of pounds since the days when I carried you around." I pinched her shoulder for that one. "Ouch! I didn't say that was bad. Matter of fact, I think you've filled out rather nicely," she said, glancing down at my breasts.

"Oh you, stop that. I have not filled out up there and you know it. They just look bigger cause your hormones are going wild."

"You can say that again."

"They just look bigger..." I paused, as she cut her eyes over at me and we both started laughing.

Back in my room, she helped me into bed. Dinner would be served soon and more than likely, Brandon would be coming in. I touched the side of her face, as she leaned over me. I wondered what she'd looked like before the plastic surgery. Not that it mattered. The thought just happened to cross my mind, as I perused her lovely features.

She'd said that her father had told her she looked like her mother. "Where's that picture of your mother?" I inquired, as she sat down on the bed.

"In my room, why?"

"Can I see it?"

"Why?" she asked, suspiciously. "Oh don't tell me, Celia, right?"

"Well, I never saw the picture. I just wondered what you might have looked like before the surgery. Kinda get an idea of how my looks might change."

"Oh come on, you won't be having major plastic surgery. They'll just redo this right here," she said, tracing her finger across the path of the scar, which lay beneath my bangs. "And I don't think that'll change your beautiful features very much. It'll only keep you from being so self-conscious about it." She kissed me lightly on the lips. Then seemingly could not resist returning for more. I reached up and pressed the button on the remote, lowering the head of the bed, bringing her down on top of me. "Ah, God almighty, Faith! I gotta get outta here...." She pulled away. "You're a bad girl," she admonished, shaking her finger at me.

"Yeah, but you love it."

"Tease," she said, getting to her feet.

"Sara," I called, as she started away. "The picture..."

"Alright. To satisfy your curious mind, I'll get it. But, like I said, you can't tell much about her. And you have to promise to be a good girl, or… I won't come back."

"Cross my heart," I lied.

A few minutes later she was back with a faded black and white snapshot. I immediately recognized my mother; for, I had seen many old snapshots of her. "This is my mother," I announced, suddenly feeling very peculiar about this whole thing.

"Where?" she asked, as she leaned over to look at the picture.

"Here," I replied, pointing to the woman on the left. "This isn't your...?"

"Oh no, the other one," she assured me, as we both gave each other a puzzled look.

How coincidental that our mothers had known one another. But, then again, this most assuredly meant that Sara's mother had been to Shady Grove and was more than likely friends, or at least acquaintances, with my mother back then. Yet, Celia had said she didn't remember Tom courting anyone named Amy Jackson.

"Maybe if you showed Celia this picture, she might remember her. Who knows, maybe Celia didn't know they were... lovers."

Sara raised her eyebrows. "According to that form you saw, my mother musta been much older than my father. What did she do, seduce a child?"

"Maybe I was wrong about the date or... maybe it was a misprint or..."

"He lied?” she finished for me. “I think he lied about a lot of things." She sighed, wearily.

"Well, just show Celia the picture and see if she recognizes her."

"That doesn't mean that she's my mother, though. He may have lied about that, as well." She turned the photograph over in her hands, nervously. "Why don't you show it to her?"

"Why?"

"Your mother's in it. I mean, she might tell you more, if…. she recognizes her, that is."

I nodded. Perhaps that would be better, I thought. Then I could sensor what I told Sara, in case it wasn't all good news. Now who's thinking about lying to protect someone else?

About half an hour later, Celia arrived with dinner. As she wheeled the tray over to me, I asked my question. "Celia, may I ask a favor of you?"

"A'course, 'mum. How may I help ya?" she asked, as she took a step back.

"This picture," I said, holding it out towards her. "Do you know these women?" I didn't want to taint her perusal by telling her one was my mother. I wanted to see how bad or good her eyesight was.

She took the picture and held it out at arm's length. Then she reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a pair of partial bifocals. Just as I suspected, her eyesight was failing.

"This one here, is your muther, 'mum," she said, without further hesitation, pointing to the photograph.

"Yes, I thought so. But, what about the other one?"

"Umm... face is a bit blurry," she observed. "But, I'd have ta say this is more'n likely Miss Vivian."

"Vivian?" I asked, quite surprised.

"Yes, 'mum, 'pears to be." She studied the picture closer. "Oh yes, 'mum, that's Miss Vivian, alright. I 'member that outfit she's wearing. Your muther and Miss Vivian were fond of riding, they were. Seen 'em together quite often."

"You mean Vivian liked my mother?"

"Oh my yes, 'mum. Who wouldn't like your muther?"

"She wasn't envious or jealous?"

"Well now, who wouldn't be envious of your muther's beauty," she replied, looking over her bifocals at me. "But, Miss Vivian, she wuz a lady, she wuz. Never seemed ta let it show. Not in my presence. Best I recall your muther was Miss Vivian's only friend.

Besides young Tom, a' course."

"Tom? Tom Randall?"

"Oh yes, 'mum. He took care of Miss Vivian's horse, ya see and... you'd often see

'em talking from time ta time. I 'spect she felt by Tom like he wuz a bruther."

"A brother?"

"Yes, 'mum, they's 'bout the same age, ya see. Mr. Neilson he… brought home a child bride," she said in a conspiratorial tone of voice, as she looked over her bifocals again. I could tell there was something she wasn't telling me. And from the way she quickly glanced back down at the picture I knew she wouldn't be doing so, either.

"Are there any pictures of Vivian and Ashley here in the house?" I queried after a short silence, in which she handed the picture back.

"Umm… Yes, 'mum," she said, a bit hesitantly. "In… Miss Ashley's room."

"Ashley's room?"

"Yes, 'mum. Mr. Neilson he's... Well, he closed off her room," she nearly whispered, glancing around behind her, as if to make sure he wasn't close by. "I suppose that's cuz they never found her b...” She paused, clearing her throat. “I think he still holds out hope she'll return."

"Where is her room?"

She looked at me rather strangely. "Why… next door."

“Next door? I thought Brandon said that was part of my mother and father's old suite?”

“'Twas, but Miss Ashley requested those rooms after she came back from hospital. I suppose being in her old room may've been a bit too painful.” She put her glasses back in her apron pocket.

"Thank you, Celia."

"Yes, 'mum," she said, as she started away, then paused at the door. "May I say,

'mum.... don't let Mr. Neilson see you…” Her gaze went towards the bathroom door –the door to Ashley's room was on the other side. “He... he's rather particular 'bout anyone going in there."

Now she was alluding to being afraid of Brandon, so I decided this was the prime time to ask about it. "When Brandon gets mad, Celia, is he…?"

She shook her head back and forth rather rapidly, cutting me off. "No one likes to see Mr. Neilson mad. No one"

"How come?"

She was still shaking her head. "No, 'mum," she said, glancing down at the floor, head moving rapidly for a moment, as if shrugging off some unsavory thought. "Is there anything else I can do for ya?" she asked, changing the subject.

I reasoned the type of behavior she was exhibiting came from years of practice at being a servant and knowing when to keep one's mouth shut. "No, thank you, Celia, you've been very helpful."

"Yes, 'mum."

After Celia left, a thousand different questions floated through my mind, as I picked at my dinner. Tom and Vivian? Now why had Tom given Sara a picture of Vivian and told her it was her mother? Was he merely trying to give her something, because she had lost so much? Then why not give her the truth? Or was the truth too painful? If so, too painful for who… him or her?

After dinner Brandon came up and I hid the picture underneath my mattress. I didn't want to explain where I'd acquired it. He stayed until well after ten, never even mentioning the fact that I'd been out of the house. Evidently, he had some closed mouth servants. Or else, they just didn't like talking to him. He kissed me goodnight, but I knew

-as did Sara- that he'd be back with a glass of milk. He showed up as presumed and I took a few sips before he left. Anything to get rid of him faster so I could talk to her.

When she came in, I imparted nearly everything Celia had told me. I thought she had a right to know all of it.

"Damn, this digging up my past is something else. The hole keeps getting deeper and deeper, but so far I haven't found out anything that makes any sense. Other than the fact that he lied to me, big time," she said, running her fingers through her hair.

"Want a diversion?" I asked.

"What?"

"Celia said that was Ashley's room over there.” I gestured towards the bathroom and the room beyond. “Wanna go in and have a look around?"

"Why?"

"I don't know, get your mind off this for awhile."

" You can take my mind off this, can't you? Besides," she said, unbuttoning the front of my pajama top. "I'll be gone all day tomorrow, the next day and maybe even Monday."

"What? You didn't say you'd be staying that long," I whined, and stopped her on the second button.

"Well, I can't just rush down and right back. I need to take my time and look things over. Maybe I'll find something that'll clear all this up. Maybe... he's not the same Tom Randall, I don't know."

I sighed heavily. "I'll miss you," I reached up and touched the side of her face.

She took my hand in hers and kissed the palm. Then she quickly got up. "Where're you going?" I demanded.

She didn't respond, but merely walked over to the stereo and turned it on. She put a cassette tape -lying on top of the entertainment center- into the tape deck, pressed rewind and went over to the door. I heard the lock click into place. On her way back she pressed play on the tape deck. Soft romantic music, from a tape she'd made for us, filled the room.

"You staying the night?" I asked, as she started towards me, untying her robe.

She shook her head. "Long enough, though." She sat down again and began kissing me.

I reached up and pressed the down button on the remote. The head of the bed descended slowly and so did she, right into my arms. And this time, she didn't run away.

FIFTEEN

"Faith?"

"Um-hmm..." I murmured.

"I just wanted to say goodbye." She kissed my cheek.

"Never goodbye," I admonished. "See you later maybe, but never goodbye." I pulled her close for a kiss. "Hurry back."

"I will." She eased away slowly. "You look so lovely laying there like that."

I glanced down to see what she was talking about. I was naked, lying with one leg bent at the knee and one laid straight out. I didn't see what the big deal was, but I was glad she liked it.

"Damn, I hate to leave," she said, her finger tracing a path from the middle of my chest downward.

"Then don't. Let the detective do all the work."

"That's tempting, but..."

"Whaddaya think you'll find there, anyway?" I asked, rubbing sleep out of my eyes.

"That's just it, I don't know. Maybe... something... maybe nothing. But, I can't just sit around here waiting. I have to do something. And besides, Brandon will want you all to himself most of the weekend, as usual."

"We've got nights."

"Uh-huh and then how do we explain why we aren't getting any sleep?" She ran her finger around my lips. "Look pretty suspicious if we're both tired all the time, wouldn't it?"

"I guess," I sighed heavily. "Frankly, though, I don't care who knows. But, obviously you do, so... you better get going and pray that no one sees you leave."

"Why? I told Brandon I was going. I'm not keeping this trip a secret."

"No, but you might wanna keep that big red spot on your neck a secret, or someone might figure out where you got it."

"What? What did you do?"

"I got carried away." I pulled her down for another kiss. “So sue me,” I mumbled against her lips.

"Jesus, Faith, look at that sucker," she said, as she stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror.

"Like I said, sue me."

"Did you have to put it so... high... in plain sight?"

"Well, I didn't actually think about where I was or how it would look later, at the time I was doing it, Sara. It just... kinda happened. I mean, it's your fault, too, you know.

If you hadn't done what you did… I wouldn't have done what I did."

Sara merely shook her head and grinned. "First time meeting these people in Columbus, and I have a great big hickey on my neck. Oh, I bet that goes over real well."

"Stay here, then."

"Oh-ho, no. And try to explain this, sucker. No-o sister," she said, as she looked back at her reflection. "Wonder if it would be too hot for a turtleneck?"

"I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't mean to..."

"Oh, come off it. You know I'm not mad. Why should I be, hmm? It's only a reminder that I musta been pretty damn good last night, wouldn't you say?"

"I think I already did."

She chuckled. "Yes I believe you did. In big, bold, red print too, sweetheart."

The first day of her absence drug by. I knew better than to expect to see her on Saturday, but I hoped she'd be back Sunday, even though she wasn't scheduled to return until late Monday. Meanwhile, on Saturday afternoon, while Brandon was out doing something, I took it upon myself to have a little adventure. My plans went array, however, when I found the door to Ashley's room locked. I went around to the entrance from the hall and found it locked, too. I went back to my room and sat down on the bed.

Now, why would Celia tell me to be careful and not let Brandon see me, if she knew both doors were locked? Maybe she thought I was going to pick the lock. But what did I know about picking locks? Nothing. But I might be able to find where they kept the keys.

Celia had said Brandon was particular about who went in there. Just like he was particular about who cleaned up his office, which was one particular maid. And I knew who she was.

"Celia?" I began, as she placed my dinner tray on the table. "I have another favor to ask of you?"

"Yes... 'mum," she said, hesitantly, as if she knew what was coming.

"You have 'em, don'chu?"

"Have what, 'mum?"

"Jingle, jingle, jingle," I said, holding my index finger and thumb together, as if holding a key ring and dangling it back and forth.

A sly grin formed on her face, as she pushed the table over to me. "Yes, 'mum," she said, very softly. She glanced around behind herself, then slipped her hand in her pocket and slid a key underneath the side of the plate. "I'll be back for your tray later."

"Make it much later," I said, with a smile. "And Celia, thanks."

"For what, 'mum?" she said, with a sly grin. “Just doing me job.”

As soon as she closed the door, I pushed the table back, grabbed my cane and got up. Within a few minutes I was in Ashley's room.

The room looked like someone still occupied it; free of the dust and cobwebs you'd expect to find after five years. There were toiletries, hairbrushes, a few bobby pins and even an open jewelry box on the vanity, as if the occupant would be back at any moment.

A small closet door, across the room, was standing open. Inside were many neatly arranged dresses, which surely must be musty. There were also several pairs of jeans, a sweatshirt or two and lots of blouses and skirts. I felt like I was treading on a living person's private space. Brandon had seemingly kept everything the way Ashley had left it. But why? Did he really think there was any hope of her coming back? I shook my head to clear it, I needed to get down to the business at hand: finding a picture of my cousin.

I scanned the room and came across what I was searching for on a dresser over by the window. I ambled over there. The first picture was of Vivian. I could see the resemblance to the snapshot Sara possessed. Vivian had been rather pretty, her blonde hair pulled back in a French twist. This reminded me of Sara, herself. I wondered if Tom had told Sara that Vivian wore her hair like this, since in the picture he'd given her, Vivian's hair was long and flowing. I also wondered if Tom had a crush on Vivian all those years ago. He'd obviously kept the photograph for some reason. And tried to pawn Vivian off as Sara's mother. Perhaps, he even wished she had been. The Vivian Leigh was the name of one of his properties, after all.

I shrugged this thought away, and admired the woman's features. She had finely arched light brown eyebrows, a small petite nose, full lips and an oval shaped face. I didn't see why she would be jealous of my mother, because she was very pretty, in her own right. But, seldom are we ever satisfied with ourselves, I thought.

I then turned my attention to the picture on the other end of the dresser, which I assumed was Ashley, in her late teens. The dark hair got my attention first, then the face that was so much like her mother's. Yet, instead of Vivian's sweet smile, Ashley had a hard look, as if she wasn't a happy young woman. I glanced between the two pictures, back and forth, as if my mind were searching for some connection that was just out of reach.

I moved closer to the picture of Ashley. I could see now why Celia had mistaken Sara for her, because there were definite similarities. I glanced back at the picture of Vivian: blue eyes. Then back to Ashley: green eyes. Familiar green eyes! I backed up rapidly, stumbled over my own feet and sat down hard on the edge of the bed behind me.

My hand went to my mouth, just as Celia's had that day on the porch. I didn't cross myself, however. I hadn't seen a ghost. I'd seen the real thing! The eyes staring back at me from the photograph were… Sara's! But, how could that be? It couldn't! And yet, the similarities were too striking to ignore. The resemblance was clear, in the set of Ashley's jaw and especially in the depths of those green eyes. I had seen this overall expression on Sara's face many times. Usually when Brandon was around.

"Oh my God," I said aloud, my mind struggling to make sense of the myriad of thoughts careening around in my brain. But, it can't be! It just can't be!! Sara was in a car accident with her mother. The article was in the newspaper. We both read it!

Just then the door to Ashley's room squeaked open. My heart jumped up in my throat. Brandon or Celia? I was swiftly preparing myself for the proverbial “shit to hit the fan”, when Sara peeked around the door. "I knew you couldn't resist coming in here,"

she said with a big grin on her face.

"Wh-What... are you doing back so soon?" I asked, knowing I had a look of shock on my face and groping for a way to change it.

"So soon?” she questioned, one eyebrow arching skyward, the grin slowly sliding off her face. “I couldn't wait to get back here to you," she explained, walking towards me.

“Aren't you glad to see me?”

“Uh, yes… yes, of course I am,” I stammered, thinking how much I wanted to get her out of here and fast. “Wh-what happened?” I started struggling to my feet.

"Oh, I decided to let the detective handle things like you said. He'd probably have better luck than me. And besides, I've got something I couldn't wait to tell you." The smile was back. “There's no big rush,” she added, when I nearly lost my balance.

"Well, Brandon might find us here and he doesn't..."

"He's not here."

"How do you know that?" I asked, steady on my feet now.

"I saw Celia on the way in. She said to tell you she'd be up when he came home.

Whatever that means."

"She... she gave me the key to this room. He doesn't like anyone coming in here. So, let's go."

"Wait, don't I get at least a hug, first?" she inquired, as she reached out for me.

"A'course." I wrapped one arm around her neck. "I missed you terribly. Now, let's go."

"Jesus, you're as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof," she noted, as I pulled back. Her gaze then shifted to our surroundings and her expression changed quite dramatically.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my heart racing, wondering what she might be thinking.

"I… I don't know. I…” She glanced around at the walls. There were just a few pastoral scenes strategically placed here and there. “This was a young girl's room?” she questioned, frowning.

“College age, I believe.”

“Something's missing,” she stated, her gaze sweeping the room again. “It doesn't feel right. No posters, no… individual touches.” She shrugged. “So Celia keeps things just like this?" she asked, reaching out and rubbing her finger over the bedpost, obviously checking for dust.

"Guess so.” She had a point about the room. Now that I looked around, without an agenda, I realized it didn't feel like a place where a young girl had come of age. But, I didn't have the luxury of delving into that right now. “Come on, I'm getting hungry. I left my dinner and I wanna hear about your trip."

"Okay, but hold on a minute. As long as I'm here…” She'd obviously noticed the dresser behind me, for she moved in that direction. “So did Ashley look anything like me or is Celia's eyesight…?” She paused, her gaze landing on the picture of Vivian.

"Come on, Sara," I prodded, touching her arm.

She wouldn't budge. "Look at this, Faith. She… she could be... my mother."

"Oh no, there's not much resemblance,” I lied. “Your father probably just had a crush on her or something and... had a picture of her, so he gave it to you and..."

“Yes, there is,” she interrupted my babbling. She glanced up into the mirror, then back at the picture. “Look at the eyebrows, Faith. I don't arch 'em to make 'em look like this, ya know.” She stared at the photo. “Her lips are a bit fuller, but that could be because of the surgery. Her nose is a little larger, but..." She paused, as her eyes drifted to the other photograph on the dresser. She moved behind me and towards it so slowly, I felt like I was watching her on videotape, in slow motion. "Ho-o-ly shi-it!" she gasped, her lips starting to tremble. "Oh God, Faith!"

I took hold of her arm. "Come on, let's get outta here. It's not what you think, it... it can't be."

"But, you saw it, didn'chu?" she asked, turning to face me. "That's me. Faith! And…

and you know it, don'chu?" Her eyes darted back and forth seemingly beseeching mine.

"I know no such a thing. For all we know the plastic surgery could have changed your features dramatically and it's… it's just a coincidence you resemble her... a little."

"Bullshit!" she exclaimed, as she wrenched away from me. "That's me. I know it. I can feel it… in here," she said, tapping her chest. "That means... I'm not… Sara Bennington.” She paused, her mind obviously running wild. “I'm not Leon Bennington's daughter nor… Amy Jackson's or… even Tom Randall's." She picked up the photograph.

"I'm... Ashley Neilson,” she whispered. “Jason… is my brother and Brandon... is my father." She spun around on her heels and faced me. “And that means you're my… Oh God, Faith, what have I done?" The look of horror on her face cut me to the core. The photograph slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor, the glass shattering. She glanced down at it then up at me, her mouth agape. "I'm... so sorry!" she screeched and bolted from the room.

I knew the implication of her statement. I'd already been considering that same thing only moments before. If it were true, we each had fallen in love with and made love to our own cousin. It hit Sara harder, however. All these revelations were almost too much for me to bear, much less her, because it was her life, her past, we might have unearthed here. It appeared the skeleton in the closet was one we hadn't even considered. One perhaps, we didn't want to. At least I didn't. Not even now.

I took off out the door, as fast as my legs would carry me. I didn't want her to leave, in her present state of mind. We met in the hall and I noticed her purse slung over her shoulder, her keys in her hand. "Where are you going?" I asked, as she brushed past me.

She stopped abruptly; the look in her eyes was disturbing, to say the least. It reminded me of a deer caught in a car's headlights. She offered no response, but merely stared at me for several all too brief moments; her eyes changing color, from green to light brown.

As abruptly as it started, the spell was broken and she was walking away at a rapid pace.

"Sara... Sara..." I called my voice seemingly echoing down the long hallway after her.

She stopped at the stairs momentarily and glanced back. I didn't know what to say.

No words would come out. She turned quickly and disappeared down the stairs. And I had the sinking, all too real feeling in the pit of my stomach that she wouldn't be returning anytime soon.

I ambled back into Ashley's room. I felt like I was on automatic pilot. Reaching down and picking up the broken picture frame, Sara's eyes stared back at me. There was no mistaking this. The nose was a bit different; Sara's a bit smaller now. The lips were a fraction smaller, without so much of the previous pouty expression. The cheekbones were more pronounced now, probably from losing the baby fat. But, the eyes hadn't changed.

They were the same sad green eyes that I had come to love.

I sat down on the floor and picked up all the broken pieces of glass, placing them back in the frame bit-by-bit. After getting to my feet, I unhurriedly carried them over to a trashcan by the small desk. Leisurely turning the frame over, the shards of glass shifted, making a tinkling sound as they rubbed against one another. Larger pieces splintered into smaller shards when they toppled into the empty trashcan together. I couldn't help but wonder if I was listening to the sounds of broken dreams and shattered realities. If she truly was my cousin, what did that mean for us? I cringed at the thought of how horrified she had looked when she said, "Oh God Faith, what have I done?"

"Miss Faith," Celia called from my room.

I ambled out the door with the photograph in its frame still in my hand. "I'm sorry, Celia, but... I dropped this picture and... I'll try to get a frame to replace it."

Celia stared at the object. "It's alright, 'mum. I… I'll say I did it."

"No, Celia, I can't..."

"It would be better that way," she said, as I handed her the key. "Want I should put it back for ya, 'mum?"

I hesitantly handed the picture to her. "I'm truly sorry… I…"

"Think nuthin' of it, 'mum. It can be replaced."

"Thank you, Celia."

She took the tray with her when she left. I hadn't even touched my meal and didn't feel like eating anymore. I merely crawled into bed and turned on the television to help silence the endless chatter going on in my head. Chatter that was trying to make sense of all the implications this newfound knowledge presented. And at the same time, desperately seeking to justify our relationship.

Oh, Sara, I thought. No, no, she's Ashley now. Or rather again. NO! She can't be Ashley, I argued with myself. She just… looks like her. But the photograph Tom had given Sara with Vivian and my mother in it… Why would he do that unless…? No… Sara was in a car accident with her mother. We saw the article. Ashley was in a car accident…

her body never found in the river... Sara can't be Ashley! It's impossible!! Isn't it? Sara just happens to look like Ashley. A coincidence, that's all. Just a coincidence! Yes, there's no other rational explanation! And Sara will realize this when she's had time to sit down and think things over clearly. At least I hope she will! My god what thoughts must be running through her mind? I couldn't imagine not knowing about my past and then having something like this happen to confuse things further. God what a mess!! A mess I had caused with my incessant curiosity!

I went on and on like this for the rest of the afternoon. I was deeply worried about Sara.

Guilt became my constant companion!

Brandon came up as usual, this time talking about some new undertaking he was involved in. My mind was elsewhere, however. Denial had effortlessly edged into “what if it's true”, by this time. And my mind was spinning its wheels with the questions this perplexing conundrum would pose.

If Sara is Ashley then why didn't Brandon recognize her? I wondered. Or Jason, even?

But, then Sara's hair had been blonde, her eyes blue from the contact lenses, which she hardly ever took off until late in the evening. That is, until recently. Celia hadn't made mention of the resemblance until Sara dyed her hair. And Brandon hadn't been around Sara much lately. Nor did they make eye contact, often. Theirs was always a quick glance or nod, whenever dealing with each other in my presence. Most of the time Brandon seemed to ignore her, as if she weren't even in the room.

Could this be why they didn't like being around each other? Did they have some type of affect on each other? Is that why Brandon didn't look at her? Had she reminded him of Ashley, therefore making it painful for him to be around her?

He finally noticed my inattentiveness, interrupting my thoughts when he inquired about it. I lied; saying I was tired and not feeling well. Of course the latter, in itself, wasn't far from the truth, because I was sick. Heartsick!!!

I sat up in bed until the wee hours of the morning waiting for Sara. Even though my mind maintained she would not return anytime soon, my heart still clung to that thin hope.

The next morning, Celia woke me and inquired about Sara, I pretended I didn't know. I could only hope she would return soon. I desperately needed to talk to her; for, I felt I would surely lose her otherwise.

Afternoon came and went; still no Sara. As the hours slipped past, my heart sank lower and lower. I sat in her chair and gazed out the window overlooking the patio. I remembered all the times we had spent together, especially our first night in bed. Would it be ruined now? If we were really cousins, then what we had shared was very wrong, wasn't it? But, how could love be wrong?

I sat right there until midnight, refusing my dinner and suffering through Brandon's chatter from across the small table between our chairs. I accepted the glass of milk, as usual. And this time I drank it.

The next morning, my head felt heavy. I assumed it was from not eating and worrying so much. I asked about Sara, but Celia hadn't seen her, either. After breakfast, Brandon was back again. He was taking the day off, because he said he was worried about me. He wanted to escort me outside and I finally agreed. I took his arm as we walked around, but all I could think about was the first time Sara and I did this. I suppose, in my reverie I acted too close to him, for he remarked about it, as he put his arm around me. Comfort of any kind, felt better than none at all, at that moment. I readily accepted it.

When we finished our walk, we had lunch at the dining room table, which Brandon thought should be a treat for me. I tried to show enthusiasm for his sake, but inside I was filled with pain and agony. He escorted me to my room after lunch and I ended up falling asleep in Sara's chair.

I awoke later and was headed for the bathroom, when I caught a glimpse of taillights moving slowly down the driveway. I only saw the rear bumper for a moment or two, but I knew by the spacing of the lights the car belonged to Sara. I walked as fast as I could to the stairs and began descending them. My thought was to commandeer Charles and have him drive me to her apartment. But, Brandon met me at the bottom of the stairs.

"Good news, Princess," he said cheerfully, as he placed his arm around my waist.

"You have been officially released from the doctor's care."

"Officially released?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yes, I spoke with Dr. Rosemund this afternoon and he said that you're well enough to be released from his care."

Great, I thought. This meant I could now set the date with a plastic surgeon. But who cared about that at the moment? I didn't.

"Was Sara here?" I asked, ignoring his enthusiasm.

"Oh yes... just now. I informed her of the doctor's decision and she agreed that you no longer require her services."

"What?!" I exclaimed.

"Why, Princess, I thought you'd be happy. You're free now from anyone watching your every move. I thought that's what you wanted. You've been talking about having more freedom and...."

Brandon's voice droned on, but I was no longer listening. I felt weak inside. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't do this to me, could she?

I turned away from him, as quickly as I could and headed for her room. She'd have to come back for her things, I thought. And I'd be waiting for her.

My heart sank all the way to my toes as I entered her bedroom. She'd already removed her things. Tears welled up in my eyes, as I slowly scanned the area, looking for something, anything that she might return for. There was nothing.

I slowly ambled back to my room and shut the door. Then I went over to the bed and sat down. I could not believe she had left without even a word to me. Didn't she care? I fell over on my pillow and something crackled underneath my head. I pulled back the pillowcase and found an envelope. My heart pounded, as I tore into it. Perhaps she wants me to go with her, I thought. Perhaps she'll be back to get me and then we'll...

Dear Faith. .

I love you with all my heart. And I'm very sorry, but I can't stay here any longer. I intended to come back and say

goodbye, but I just can't bring myself to face you. Perhaps, it's better this way, anyway. I'm sorry for what I led you

into. Surely, you must feel the utter shame of our

relationship, now. I won't subject you to that further. I wish you all the luck in the world. I know you'll do well. And

despite the shame of what I've done, I wouldn't change any of the memories I carry with me. Not even one little bit. Please forgive me, Faith. I truly had no idea. Perhaps one day I'll read about my famous psychologist patient and smile. Maybe, by then, you can smile, too.

Sara

I knew she had written the letter hastily, for the handwriting was not her usual careful style. There was even a small round spot on the paper, which hadn't completely dried, smearing the ink on the word "further". I suspected a teardrop caused it.

I burst into tears myself, clutching the letter to my chest. My heart was breaking into a million tiny pieces and each one was cutting away at my insides. I cried so hard, I didn't even notice Brandon was in the room, until he spoke.

"Why are you crying, Princess?" he asked. "This should be a happy day. Now we can have that scar taken care of and.... What's this?" He pulled the letter from my hands, before I had time to object. I started to voice a protest, but nothing came out. What did it matter anyway? He could no longer fire her. She was already gone. And I really didn't care what happened anymore. My world was in utter shambles!

"Damn her!" he exclaimed, as he ripped the letter in half. "She… she seduced you, that... that perverted whore! I'll... I'll kill the bitch! I knew she was no damn good! But, you liked her so much... and now I understand why! Oh, great God in heaven, tell me you didn't lay down with her!" he demanded.

"I… did," I blubbered, though not ashamed in the least.

"Goddammit!" He roared. "And I never suspected! But, I should have. Yes, I should have. I saw her making you hang all over her and... Oh, Princess, it was my fault. Yes, all my fault, for not making her leave sooner. I should have seen through her." His tone was softening. "Oh, you poor child… poor, poor helpless child. Seduced by such a vile creature. But, it's not your fault, Princess," he added, as he knelt down beside me. "I know you're innocent."

"No, I'm... not," I corrected.

"Of course you are. You've never done this before, have you? Why, of course not, you're just a child. A sweet virgin," he said, as he touched my face. "Don't worry about this, at all. It will be our secret. No one ever need know of this. And we'll speak of it no more."

"But... I love her," I blubbered.

"Oh great God in heaven!" he exclaimed. "She has turned your head completely!"

He raised up quickly and stormed over to the window. "Damn that pervert! I wish I'd known before..." He slammed his fist down on the windowsill, rattling the widow pane.

"I'll have her name smeared from here to... Timbuktu. She'll never work again!"

"No, Brandon!" I shouted, as I raised up. "She's not to blame. I am! Leave her alone, please!"

"Princess, she has... defiled you," he said, disgust in his tone. "Not only has she spoiled your body, she has turned your head and… completely muddled your thinking."

"Just leave her be!" I demanded.

He wheeled around and glared at me. I suddenly felt afraid. I'd never seen such a nasty, hateful expression on his face before. Out of habit, I quickly searched for a way to appeal to his better judgment, because anger seemed to be getting me nowhere. "You said no one else need know," I began, dropping my head and looking ashamed. "If you do this, you'll surely... shame me. Please, Brandon," I pleaded. "Don't do this to me!"

"Princess, you know I wouldn't hurt you for the world, but... she must pay for this."

"At what price to me?" I prodded. "I think she's paying a price now.... a heavy one.

Let her be, Brandon, please… just let her be. Promise me, you will." I broke down again.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he were stuffing his anger inside them. He turned back to the window and stared out into the night. "I... I suppose you're right," he said, after several moments, his tone calmer. "No one need ever know. Time will heal all.

I... I was going to throw a lavish party this weekend to celebrate… what I thought would be good news, but...." He paused for quite a long time. I was relieved that the angry storm had past. "Perhaps... it's still a good idea. We'll celebrate, despite this. Yes, indeed we will. Perhaps that was my mistake leaving you in the hands of a woman. Time with a man would do you good."

"Brandon, please I don't…"

"All you need is male company. You'll soon forget all this disgusting nonsense she's filled your head with," he said, as if he hadn't even heard my protest. "I'll arrange a date for you."

"No, Brandon, please I don't wanna be..."

"I know what's best, Princess. You'll see that a man can offer you far more than she ever could. All you need is a good man," he maintained, as he quickly turned and left the room.

I fell back on the bed. I knew he was going to complicate the issue further, but I had no strength left to protest. I was mentally, physically and emotionally drained. I curled up in a ball on the bed feeling like a child: a helpless, angry and most of all brokenhearted little girl. Fate had played a cruel joke on both of us. It wasn't fair! Now, I truly had lost everyone I dearly loved!

Feeling lost and alone, like a child without a home, I cried myself to sleep.

SIXTEEN

Throughout the next week, I grew more and more depressed each day. I abandoned thoughts of running to her, trying to convince her it would be alright, whether we were cousins or not; for, it seemed this parting was what she wanted. Perhaps it even gave her the excuse she needed in order to walk away. For, why else had she always been so afraid of hurting me?

Brandon tried to cheer me up, but it didn't work. I feigned a smile for him, yet inside I was crying deep, sad tears, which no one ever saw, but me. Each night I drank the milk he brought and cried myself to sleep. And each morning I felt dizzy and sleepy, which only led me deeper into the pit of despair.

At the end of the week, Brandon threw his lavish party. Young men I had never met before followed after me, each trying to outdo the other with common courtesies. They were supposed to make me feel like a princess, I'm sure, but I felt more like a bitch in heat, with all the studs in the neighborhood hot on her trail. These studs, however, weren't merely responding to biological urges, they were onto the scent of money. I sensed this by the way they kept glancing over at Brandon, as if for approval. I wondered how much green paper had been handed out to each one willing to take on the challenge. And what the proffered pay off was for the one who caught me. Needless to say, I wasn't interested in any of them. All I wanted was Sara. I knew Brandon noticed my inattentiveness, because I saw him watching us, while he downed one drink after another. Finally, when I'd had my fill of the drooling studs, I excused myself. I saw no sense in leading these young men on, only to please my uncle. I could not be something I wasn't. Nor would I even try.

Upstairs in my room, with a bottle of brandy - pilfered from the kitchen- I locked the door and turned on the stereo to drown out the party below. I pressed play on the tape player on my way by, while I downed a big swallow of Brandy straight from the bottle.

The liquor nearly took my breath away as it burned its way down my throat. I could feel it continuing down my esophagus and finally slam into the pit of my stomach, still burning as if it had been concocted from the fires of hell itself.

I went over to her chair and flopped down. In the song now playing, the female singer was talking about being alone again… silence filling the empty room… I turned the bottle up again, tears stinging my eyes. The singer wanted to turn back the hands of time. They had kissed in a warm September rain, before her heart was filled with pain. She wanted to love that way again. She longed for wishes to come true. I turned the bottle up once more, my heart breaking, my eyes streaming tears and my throat burning like I had swallowed embers of hellfire and brimstone. The song could not have been more appropriate. Funny thing was, I had never really cared much for this song before. Now, I grabbed the remote and rewound the tape.

"Play it again, Sam," I said, aloud, as I downed another big swallow. I gritted my teeth and sucked in air. I was getting good at this. I started to sing along. Another burning gulp, when the next song began. "Come back to me," I sang, as the tears streamed down my cheeks. And they said Country was 'crying in your beer music', I thought.

Next up was a song we had made love to. "Just great... just fuckin' great," I said aloud, turning the bottle up again, as that beautiful memory began playing in my head right along with the song. Remembering love this way was bittersweet, but it was all I had left. Preserve your memories… they're all that's left you.

Celia brought up my milk that night which was quite a switch. But I was glad, because what she found was a very intoxicated woman who needed to be put to bed. She noticed my red, swollen eyes and questioned me. I almost let it all tumble out. Yet, even in my condition, I somehow managed to control my tongue. I made up the excuse of my monthly cycle. She seemed to buy it. Then added that she missed Sara, as well.

"Whaddaya mean, as well?" I asked, shocked at her reference.

"Very little slips by me, 'mum. Servants become invisible, but they're not deaf or blind," she replied, helping me up out of the chair.

"You're... very obser-vant, Celia. I never realized..."

"Yes, 'mum," she said, catching hold of me, as I stumbled. "I seen ma share of...

strange things. Not that you two are strange, 'mum. Why in my day, hardly anyone woulda given it a second thought, you two being so close. But, today... well, 'mum, the servants notice things."

"And what else... have you noticed?" I asked, as she sat me down on the side of the bed.

"Well… Miss Sara, she bears a striking resemblance to Miss Ashley. I 'spect ya realized that too, after being in there." She nodded towards Ashley's room.

I cleared my throat and hiccupped. "Yes, I did," I said, sadly.

"I 'spect she left on account of it?"

I nodded again. "She did."

"I'm not condoning or condemning, 'mum. But, if I wuz you... I'd have myself a look in the attic. Miss Ashley spent time up there."

"Attic? What are you talking about?"

"This ol' house holds many secrets, 'mum, like the castles of our kings and queens.

Sum' are best left alone, but others… could be helpful."

"Exactly what are you... tryin' to tell me?"

"Just look in the attic, 'mum," she replied, a bit of irritation in her tone now.

"I… miss her," I babbled, struggling to remove my clothes.

"I know, 'mum,” she sympathized, helping me out of the dress. “You wuz very close." She then went to get me some pajamas.

"Are we cousins, Celia?"

"Can't really say. Tom wuz fond of Miss Vivian and... wull, I'd be afraid ta speculate."

"Would it be so bad if we were? I mean... we can't have children or anything, so..."

"In the olden days, cousins wuz not too close for marriage," she offered.

"Why'd she have to leave me, Celia?" I asked, as she sat back down beside me. I leaned my head over on her shoulder.

"Oh, 'mum, maybe she'll have a change a heart, soon," she soothed, patting my cheek with her hand. "Cum' now, we need ta get ya dressed for bed."

The last thing I remember was Celia cutting off the light. "Goodnight, 'mum. She'll be back. Don' ya worry 'bout that."

The next morning, I had one hell of a hangover. Brandon came up after breakfast, but I think he was suffering from the same problem. He reluctantly left the room. And when I wouldn't join him later, still feigning a headache, he eventually left the house.

I remembered bits and pieces of the conversation with Celia the night before. What could possibly be in the attic? I wondered. Secrets? What secrets?

Needless to say the intrigue pulled me from my bed. I got up, despite the headache that lingered just behind my eyes and went looking for the attic. I searched the east wing and found nothing that even resembled stairs, behind any of the unlocked doors. So, I proceeded to the west wing. The very last door on the left was my only hope, although it looked much like all the rest. I expected one of two things: to find it locked like the others I'd tried, or find it another bedroom. Yet, when I opened it, I knew immediately I'd hit pay dirt.

In front of me lay a steep stairway. Upon first glance I thought it too steep for me and my cane. But I wanted to go up there now more than ever, so I tried the first step. My legs wobbled. This was not going to be easy, but I was determined to do it.

Finally, I reached the top. The large open space before me was dark, except for daylight coming from an oval window in the middle of the house. I could tell by its immensity that the attic spanned the entire length of the house. Searching for whatever Celia wanted me to find was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

I wiped a trickle of sweat off my brow, wondering why she hadn't informed me where exactly to look for whatever it was she thought I should find. But then Celia was often vague: dropping hints and little suggestions without ever really coming out and saying what was on her mind. I assumed this must be due to her servitude position. Maids were often seen, but never heard. Or at least, isn't that the way it was said to be?

I glanced around my general area, knowing that if I wanted to do any searching I'd need some light. I ran my hand over the wall and found a switch. I flipped it, expecting the attic to come to life before me. Nothing happened. I flipped it back down then up again. Still nothing.

"Damn," I said, as I leaned against the wall. "What now? Get someone to change the bulbs before I can see what's up here? Shit!" I backed down the steep steps very slowly. I was turning to close the door, when I saw a silver tube like object on the floor by the wall. I hadn't noticed this on my way in. Because, it wasn't there, I thought. Thank you, Celia. I reached down and picked it up. I needed to rest a few minutes before reinitializing my ascent; my hangover didn't mesh well with climbing steep stairs.

I flicked the flashlight on to make sure it worked, as I wondered what it was Celia wanted me to find so badly that she would follow me and have a flashlight ready for use? Must be something very important. Or was she merely like me and loved a good mystery. Even if it was just watching someone else figure it out, since she obviously already had.

I finally reached the top again and turned the flashlight on. The narrow beam skimmed over old furniture and clothes. What a task I had before me. I hoped whatever I was looking for was big, or else I'd never find it up here. Unless my benefactor has left me a trail to follow?

"Come along Watson," I said to my cane. "The game is afoot."

There was a narrow path, I presumed had been left open for the purpose of getting from one end to the other, most likely in order to carry more stuff up here, so I followed it. I took it slow, shining the flashlight around on either side, searching for some clue.

There were loads of old dusty furniture, racks of clothes and even a few tailors'

mannequins. Some of the clothes dated back to the Civil War era, or so I assumed.

I made my way over to a very beautiful dark blue gown on one of the mannequins, which I took for granted had been worn by one of my ancestors. A true Southern Bell, I thought, touching the hoop skirt. How did they manage to get around in these things? I wondered, lifting the skirt up to look underneath. Jesus, look at all that wasted material.

She coulda made two skirts with all that cloth. Beside this was a dingy white lace dress, complete with veil, draped across the headless knob of a mannequin. Someone's wedding dress? Perhaps this wouldn't be such an awful task after all. Being up here surrounded by history was quite intriguing in itself. I could definitely let my imagination run wild, conjuring up all sorts of images concerning my ancestors who wore the clothes or used the furniture. As I panned the flashlight around, I got so caught up in imagining what they must have been like, I almost forgot what I came for. Then again: What the hell am I looking for?

I sat down on a stool -by a dressing table- and fanned the light around hoping something… anything would catch my eye. The beam of light skimmed over a mass of large wooden frames, which looked like picture frames, propped up against a headboard.

When I found nothing else as intriguing, I made my way over to them. This could prove interesting, if nothing else, I thought. Maybe I would get a chance to see these ancestors, instead of merely imagining what they looked like.

I walked over to the stack and bent down to admire the first portrait. It was a distinguished Southern gentleman. My, but he did look proud in his gray outfit and top hat. His light brown eyes twinkled, and his facial expression bore only a hint of a smile, as if he were too proud for that. I wondered who he was? Was this the first owner of Shady Grove –from the headstone I'd seen- or was he someone further down the line? I looked for a nameplate on the frame, to no avail. Silly! I thought. Who needed nameplates on family portraits? They only use those in movies.

Feeling a bit tired, I noticed an old trunk near the portraits and took a seat. My, but this is conveniently placed, I thought, as I reached out to move the first portrait aside. A slight chill ran down my spine at the thought that I wasn't the first to do this very same thing. Silly-willy, now why should that scare you? Jesus, you're immature. You watch too many horror movies.

I pulled out portrait after portrait from the stack for closer inspection. Young children, old men, old women, young men and young women all dressed in clothes from the 1800's to the turn of the century had all been immortalized on canvas. My ancestral history was unfolding before me and I enjoyed every minute of it, even if I didn't know a single one of their names.

Finally, I reached a familiar face: Vivian. I pulled the portrait out. Her blue eyes seemed sad in this one. Or was it just the artist's interpretation? Funny how a photograph could catch a person within one unique frame of time and preserve that expression for all time to come, making others who saw it assume the person was always that happy or sad, as the case maybe. But an artist, on the other hand, saw the person for a longer length of time and in their interpretation they added things a camera wouldn't pick up in that split second interval. I scanned over the portrait again, seeing the vague likeness of Sara in the flawless face. I quickly put it back. I didn't feel like crying again this morning. Besides I had no Brandy to drown my tears with.

The next one I came to was my mother. Her blue eyes twinkled and a smile spread across her lovely face, raising the dimples on each cheek. I pulled it out slowly, unable to control my own smile, because she looked so very lovely. When I propped it up in front of me, I was shocked at the low cut style of her blue dress, her bosom pushed up to tantalize the eye, like all the other Southern Bells that had went before her. Upon closer inspection, I realized she was wearing the dark blue gown I had been admiring previously.

Had this been hers? I wondered. And why had she never mentioned this portrait?

Why had she left it? Then I remembered Celia telling me how my mother and father had left so suddenly that they left things behind. I was intrigued. Was Celia leading me to some clue, as to why? And did this have something to do with Sara? I stared at the portrait, wishing my mother were here to clear it all up for me.

Finally, I got up and started to put the portrait back. The others in the stack had shifted forward and staring me in the face now, was a portrait of Ashley. I put down my mother's and pulled this one out, unable to resist, though I knew it would only bring me grief. Sara's sad, green eyes stared back at me, from the face of a preadolescent young girl, no older than eleven or twelve. Yet, there was more than sadness in these eyes: they had a haunted, troubled look about them. I wondered what could have caused her to look this way? Why were these eyes filled with such turmoil? The thought of Sara's eyes having this same look, as she brushed by me, on the day she walked out of my life, filled me with sadness and a deep yearning. I wanted her back, dammit! I didn't care if we were cousins! I loved her and I wanted to be with her!

I traced my fingers over the immortalized face of a young girl, who was in essence a stranger to me. I couldn't help but wonder if she was still a stranger to Sara. Had she regained her memories after the initial shock the other day? This was the preferred method for remembering in the movies. But then, this wasn't a movie. This was life and all too real!

I put the portrait back hastily, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. Then I picked up my mother's and tried to replace it between Ashley's and another one, but it wouldn't go back in place. Something was in the way.

"Damn," I said, as I looked over behind the picture to see what was holding it off the floor. I found a staple on the back of my mother's portrait, which had come loose and was striking the frame of Ashley's. As I leaned over to try to adjust the frame, I noticed writing on the back of my mother's picture. I picked up the flashlight and went around to the other side to get a better look. It read: To the most beautiful princess in the world, Brandon.

His pet name for me had been his pet name for her! I sat back down hard on the trunk. Had this portrait been a present from him, as well, which would suggest why she'd left it behind? Was Brandon's infatuation part of the reason they left? Did my father read this and get jealous? Or had there been more to it?

Just then, I heard a noise from the other end of the attic. I quickly swung the light in the direction of the east wing and got to my feet to get a better look. Nothing moved.

Rats, I thought, Yuk! I shivered at the thought of them running over my feet and quickly checked the area around me. Relief flooded my system when I found nothing there. I didn't like the thought of rats running around up here with me. And yet, I figured I might as well see what else was up here, while I had the chance.

Mustering my courage, I continued down the path to the far end of the east wing and then crossed over to the other side of the house, which put me over what had been Sara's room. This side had no sitting room, only a bedroom, so it was much smaller. I ambled down its small path, wondering how much money lay up here wasting away. There were boxes neatly arranged on the outside wall, containing God only knows what. And on the opposing side of the path, fine antique furniture that must have been worth a fortune, sat covered in a thick layer of dust. I stopped and ran my hand over one of the dressers, which was still in very good condition. I opened one of the drawers, out of sheer curiosity, to find old clothes, still neatly arranged inside it. Did this family keep everything? I wondered. I then looked through several other drawers. If was as if time had stood still here. Every drawer was packed with some woman's neatly arranged clothes. What a strange thing to do, I thought. Why save these clothes like this? And whose are they? The style appeared to be from this century, the sixties perhaps. Was this Vivian's? Or my mother's?

I turned my attention to another dresser and opened its drawers. These were empty, as I would have expected. And so were the next chest of drawers and an old blanket trunk. This puzzled me. Celia was right about secrets; this attic was a world of mystery. I scanned around me, wondering where the answers to these secrets might lie.

It was then that I spotted a mattress, with what appeared to be fresh linen on it. It was partially hidden behind an old dresser with a large mirror. I walked over behind the dresser and panned the light around. I was right, these were fresh linens; for, they weren't covered in dust. Here was yet another mystery before me. I bent down and inspected the linen. It wasn't the kind of fabric used today, because this was much thicker. I eased down on the mattress, pondering this new mystery I was faced with. What is this doing here?

I remembered Celia saying that Ashley had spent time up here, so had she put this here?

Surely not, it would be dusty in five years time. Had Jason been up here? Was this perhaps his place, now? Not a bad place, I thought, panning the flashlight around.

What was that? The flashlight had skimmed over something shiny, between the dresser and the chest of drawers. I scanned back to find the small object was a lighter.

And beside it was a used candle in a holder. Someone had definitely used this place and recently. Did Jason hide from Brandon up here? I wondered. Like I would like to do at times?

I sat down the flashlight and lay back on the mattress. Perhaps if Jason didn't mind, I could use this place as a hide out. Brandon would never think of looking for me here and then I'd have time to myself. "Damn it, Faith," I chided myself out loud, as I rolled over on my side. "You're thinking like a child, again. Grow up. You know you can't stay here forever, just waiting on Sara to return."

Yet, what awaited me out there, without her, was frightening. I had only been on my own when I was in college. But then, at college you're seldom alone. There was always someone around. You were independent, but only to a certain degree. If I left this house and moved out on my own, I would be all alone. And I didn't want to be all alone, dammit. I wanted to be with Sara.

I buried my face in the musty scented pillow and hit the mattress with my fist. "Sara, please come back to me," I whined. "I love... you."

For a moment, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, or at least my olfactory senses were, because I caught a whiff of her perfume. It was faint, but I knew the aroma very well. I lifted my head slightly and sniffed the air like a dog that's just caught the scent of game. Then I felt absolutely stupid for doing so. I had obviously imagined it, because I wanted to be with her so badly. What the hell are you even doing up here? I wondered. I'll never find what Celia wanted me to. I have no idea where to look. I picked up the pillow and put it in my lap, resting my chin on it. It felt good to have something to hold onto, even if it was just a musty old pillow.

I caught another whiff of her perfume. Where the devil was it coming from? Was it on my clothes somewhere? I sniffed around my shoulder area. Not on that side. My nose brushed against the pillow on the way by. "Damn," I said, aloud, realizing the aroma was coming from the musty pillow itself. "You're here, aren't you? Yes, by God you are," I added, answering my own question, as I found the exact spot on the pillow that held her sweet scent.

Sara… here…? Why? What was she doing here? Why hadn't she come to see me?

Was she up here now? Was she hiding from me?

"Sara," I called out. "Sara, I know you're here. You might as well come out." There was no response, only silence. "Sara, please talk to me." I stood up. Still there was no response. "Dammit, Sara, I love you! I don't care about anything else. I don't care if we're cousins. I'm not ashamed of what we did," I continued, panning the flashlight around.

"If... if you're ashamed, well… I can understand that, but.... at least talk to me." Nothing.

"Damn you're a stubborn woman, ya know that?" I walked down the path, getting closer and closer to the west wing and the door. "Okay, fine, if that's the way you want it. I'll leave you to your... whatever the hell it is you're doing up here." With that I turned for one last scan of the attic and then made my way slowly down the steps.

I sat the flashlight down on the inside of the doorway, leaving it for further exploration at another time, and was about to open the door when Brandon's voice drifted down the hall.

"Where is she, Celia? This morning she had a headache, and I expected she would stay in bed most of the day."

"I dunno know, sir," Celia responded from somewhere close by. "Perhaps she went for a walk."

Nothing else was said and then I heard his footsteps going down the hallway. I knew I had to get out of there and fast. I opened the door just a crack and peeked out. The door to Jason's room, which was only a few doors down on the same side, was open. I assumed Celia was inside cleaning up. And I didn't see Brandon anywhere. The door to his room, which was two doors down from Jason's and closer to the stairs, appeared to be closed.

I shut the door behind me, then made my way down to Jason's room. Celia was nowhere in sight. I was perplexed. I turned to go out the door as Celia entered. She nearly dropped the bed linens in her arms. "Ooo!" she screeched.

"I'm sorry I scared you," I apologized. "But, I was looking for you. Where's Brandon? "

"He's outside, 'mum, looking for you, I should think."

"Which door did he go out?" I asked, wondering how I could explain how we had missed each other.

"I don't rightly know. I wuz..."

I patted her on the arm. "Thanks anyway. Oh and thanks for the flashlight."

"Flashlight?" she asked, looking at me rather peculiarly.

"Yes, but you don't have to own up to it," I said, patting her arm again. "Just answer me this, how did you know she was here?"

She looked down at the floor. "Strange sounds at night, 'mum. Thing's...

disappearing…"

"What kinds of things?"

"Food, 'mum. Only food."

"How long has she been here?" I couldn't help but think of how she'd conveniently shown up the very day Dr. Rosemund released me from his care and Brandon was ready to let her go.

Celia shrugged. "Can't say for sure, 'mum. I... I think I said enough, already."

"Why? Because she doesn't want to see me?"

"I dunnno nuthin' 'bout nuthin' like that. I haven't seen her. I just know that ghosts don't eat chicken."

"Ghosts, you mean this house has ghosts?"

"Didn't say that either, 'mum. If you'll 'scuse me I have ta be about me work."

I shook my head, dislodging these latter unnecessary thoughts. I wasn't worried about ghosts, it was the living I was hot on the trail of. And also hiding from.

I proceeded down to my room and changed into my bathing suit. It was the only thing I could think of doing, to work off this pent up energy and hopefully give myself an excuse for missing Brandon, as well. There was no way I was going to let him know that Sara was here. I would say I went for a walk, came up the backstairs and changed for my exercise. Might just work, I thought. I'll deal with Sara, later.

When I entered the heated pool, the water was so warm, I decided against exercise.

I'd already had my share of that with the stairs and perusing the attic. Instead, I lay back in the water and relaxed. Only occasionally did I move my arms and legs to keep myself afloat. I stared up at the attic, wondering again: What's she doing here?

Was she trying to torment me with her presence? No, that didn't sound like Sara.

Keeping an eye on me, perhaps? But why? And if so, why hadn't she made her presence known to me? Then again, maybe her reason for being here had nothing whatsoever to do with me. Had she remembered her past? Was she indeed Ashley? Every indication seemed to suggest as much.

So, if she's Ashley then that means Tom had to find her after the accident, I reasoned. But how could that have happened? How would he even know she was missing unless…?

Had he somehow been involved in the accident? Not directly, but inadvertently? If Ashley was his daughter, had he tried to make contact? Confront her even? Did Brandon know? Had she confronted Brandon the night of the accident? The night she was reported to have “left out like the devil himself was on her heels”? That was certainly possible, wasn't it? I sighed heavily. The questions were endless.

And if Tom had found Ashley, I thought, my analytical mind changing gears, how did he manage to pawn her off as Sara Bennington? Were there two Sara Bennington's now… with the same social security number… birth certificate? Or had he falsified these documents? How did he know she'd have amnesia? Good lord, what a complicated situation! Was it even plausible that these things could have happened?

Sara's presence in the attic suggested it was. For, why else would she return, unless she knew she was Ashley? Then again, if all this were true, then… why hide? Why not come out in the open with the truth and be welcomed back into her own family? Because she wouldn't be welcomed with open arms, I surmised. Not with the way Brandon felt about her now! Oh what a tangled web of confusion! What, if anything, could I do to possibly unravel this perplexing mess? How do I get Sara to at least talk to me? I have to know what she remembers. I have to…

"Princess!" Brandon exclaimed. I nearly went under, as his voice seared through my thoughts. "Where have you been?" Anger tinged his tone.

"Wh-what do you… mean?" I asked, spraying water.

"I've been searching the grounds for you. You were not here a minute ago."

"Well, I don't have my watch on, but I'm sure I've been here longer than that. Why were you searching for me anyway?" I asked, turning the tables on him. "I'm not a child.

I'm not gonna wander off and get lost."

"Well, yes, I know that, I just… I wanted to see if you were all right,” he explained, calming down considerably. “After your hangover this morning, I mean."

"I'm fine. I'm exercising. The doctor has released me, ya know and... I can pretty much take care of myself.” As Sara's leaving is proof of, I thought, but said, “And I am a grown woman, after all."

"Yes," he remarked, as he glanced down at my chest. "I can see that. I guess I'm just being overprotective of my princess."

"A bit," I agreed, turning away from his stares.

"Perhaps I'll join you," he said, as I swam away slowly. I didn't even offer a reply. I wasn't sure I wanted him in the pool with me. At least, not the way he was looking at me.

He left and came back a few minutes later, wearing an outdated pair of swimming trunks and a short black robe. His pale muscular legs, covered in dark brown curly hair, reminded me of my father. He removed the robe to reveal his white chest, untouched by the sun, the dark hairs sprinkled with gray. He walked proudly over to the diving board and dove in. Not bad for a man his age, I thought. Perhaps, this could be okay, if he'd act like a father.

I lost him in the water and he came up beside me. "Didn't think the old man could still do it, did you?" he asked, as he slicked back his thinning brown hair. "I was on the swimming team in college," he said proudly.

"I didn't know that."

"There's a lot you don't know," he remarked, as he gazed deeply into my eyes.

"Especially about men." The look in those dark depths frightened me. It seemed he was insinuating something I knew I didn't want to hear. "You spent far too much time with...

her. I dare say you know anything about men, do you?"

"Enough," I responded, as I turned away from his stares and started moving again.

"Oh, so you've made love with a man?" He was following me.

"Uh... no, I mean, we never went that far," I answered honestly. I knew immediately I should've lied.

"Then you don't know," he said, as he came closer. I quickly waded away from him and still he followed. "You are quite attractive, Princess, even now. And I'm sure the surgery will only enhance your natural beauty. Why only last night, one of those young men at the party, Robert, I believe his name was, asked if he might call on you sometime.

Of course, I told him it would have to be your decision. But, I did give him my blessing to ask you."

The thought that he was pushing me to date a man, in the hope I would forget Sara, made me angry.

"He comes from a fine family, well bred, old money. He'd be quite a catch for a young lady like yourself. Could be just what you need."

That did it. Now, he was telling me what and who I needed. This enraged me. "Do you really think this would change things?" I asked, sarcastically.

"Of course, I've already consulted several psychiatrists and they all say you could definitely use a man in your life. Especially since you've never been with one before."

"Oh and sex with a man... that'll cure me, right?"

"Why are you so angry, Princess? Are you afraid it's true?"

"No," I answered calmly, trying to control my ire. "Frankly, I detest your interference in my life." I spun around to face him. "If I want a man, I'll pick my own, thank you very much. And if I want a woman, I'll make that choice myself, as well."

"Princess, don't say that!" he scolded. "You're not one of those... queers! You're simply a naïve and vulnerable child. You were seduced by that... that filthy whore.

Women like her would lay down with anyone and anything, just to get their perverted kicks."

I glared at him and my lip quivered, as I thought of how much I'd like to slap him. I turned away to avoid doing just that.

"Princess," he said, more calmly now, as he wrapped his arms around my waist. "If only you knew the joys a man and a woman share. The ecstasy of their bodies joined together, the way God planned it." He pressed the lower part of his body against my backside. "Once you experience the passion of a man... a real man, you'll forget all this nonsense."

I felt his passion growing, even as he spoke. And was suddenly afraid of what he might do next, because I was trying to pull away from him -without actually physically lashing out- but it was to no avail, he was too strong.

"God made man stronger…" he persisted, as if reading my mind, "…so that he might overpower a woman, which women truly love. Men were meant to take women in this fashion and show them what true ecstasy is all about. You'll never find it any other way."

"That's not love!" I exclaimed, as I struggled against him.

"Love? What would you know about love?" he asked, as he finally released me.

"True love can only exist between a man and a woman."

"You're wrong!" I exclaimed, as tears filled my eyes.

"So, you think you've experienced love with... her?" he asked, sarcastically. "Ha!

That was just the lust of a whore who gets a thrill out of seducing innocent and helpless children like yourself. She could never have shown you love. What she did to you was…

a perversion. An abomination unto the Lord."

Oh great, now he's dragging God into it, I thought, when I had never known him to set foot inside a church in all the time I had been here. I swam away from him as fast as I could. I didn't want to listen to anymore of his accusations and especially his sanctimonious quoting of the bible. It felt sacrilegious.

"You'll see, Princess," he called after me. "A man can satisfy your needs and desires in ways she never could. Women were made for men. Made from one of his ribs. God put woman here for man to protect and to bear his children. Trust me, Princess, I really do know what's best for you."

I pulled myself out of the pool, by using the drainage trough, stumbled over to my cane and got away from there as fast as I could, leaving a trail of water behind me. I never wanted to see him again, at that moment. I'd leave if I had to and live right by myself.

As I climbed the stairs, I couldn't help but think of my mother and father. This must be the side of his personality they saw. Surely he had subjected one or both of them to some type of verbal torture such as this for them to leave so suddenly. And I could see why my mother would leave her things behind. I had a good mind to pack what few things I would need and get the hell out of there, myself.

Once inside my room, I closed and locked the door. Then I quickly changed out of my wet bathing suit. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. I was determined not to answer it. I didn't want any part of him, right now.

"Miss Faith... lunch is ready," said Celia. I went over and unlocked the door for her, then locked it right back, once she was inside. "Is there sum'thin' wrong, 'mum?" she asked, as she placed the tray on the table.

I wanted to tell her the whole sorted tale, but instead I merely said, "No, I just prefer a bit more privacy these days."

"Begging your pardon, 'mum, but I overheard... out at the pool… Be careful, 'mum.

Men can be… very sensitive 'bout this issue."

"Very sensitive? Celia, how do you know so much about this issue?" I asked, curiously, as I crossed my arms.

"I... me sister, 'mum. She wuz... like you. Just be careful, 'mum."

"What do you mean, be careful?"

"Men have sensitive egos, 'mum. A woman lover... threatens that. And... men do strange things when they feel threatened."

"I don't understand. He's my uncle, not my boyfriend, so why should he feel threatened?"

"He's still a man. Don't seem to matter much what relation they are ta ya. Another man don' pose a threat like a woman duz. I've seen it before, 'mum, believe me. Almost all men feel threatened by this. Sum' more'n others. Your uncle, he's a proud man. And he has no wife ta... soothe his battered pride. So please, 'mum, don't be throwing caution to the winds."

"How do you know so much about men and their egos, where this is concerned?" I questioned.

"It's… a long story."

"I don't have anywhere to go," I said, as I moved over to the bed.

"We-ell…" She paused, as she pushed the table over to me. "Like I said 'bout me younger sister…. Ya see, she had herself a suitor, a nice young man, he wuz, but... she met this older woman… and well, me parents found out what they wuz up ta. Oh my, me father nearly tore the roof off the house, he did. And he... he also did a very bad thing.

He...he told her suitor 'bout it all. Told him it might be good if he… well, showed her what men wuz about, ya know. And... Marcus... he... Well, he took me… me poor sister by force. And... she wuz never the same after that. She… umm... Well, she run off, is what she did, 'mum and… me muther and father hasn't seen her since," she concluded, sadly.

"Celia, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

She waved my apology away. "It's alright, 'mum. Maybe better I told ya."

"Are you trying to say that you think Brandon will try... something like this?"

"I didn't say that, 'mum. No, what I said wuz be careful and don't injure his pride."

"What about my pride? What about how I feel when he calls Sara a whore, who would lay down with anything just for kicks?" I asked, my anger showing again. "What am I supposed to do just stand there and take it?"

She sighed. "We women been taking worse than that for centuries, 'mum. But, we survive, somehow."

I sighed heavily and pushed the table away. I had lost my appetite. I got up and walked over to the window, gazing out at the great expanse of land behind the mansion.

The trees were losing their leaves now. They were withdrawing their sap, preparing themselves for the cruel winter weather ahead. Was I to be like them and withdraw from the cruel wind of Brandon's words? Go along with all he said, just so his precious pride would not be damaged?

No! I thought. Sara is here somewhere and despite the fact that she may be my cousin and may not want to see me, I'll get her to leave this place with me. One way or another. I wasn't about to leave her here for Brandon to torture. Because surely, he would, the way he felt about her. I doubted whether finding out she was his long lost daughter would affect his feelings any. Because I wasn't sure he had really loved Ashley.

I wasn't sure he truly cared about me. True, he loved lavishing presents and attention on me, but he also wanted to lord over me. And I'd come to learn that this kindness was one way in which he bartered for that control.

We both heard the bump that came from the vicinity of my sitting room. I braced myself, waiting for Brandon to knock. Celia got up and straightened her apron, seemingly on pins and needles now. No knock came. But there was another noise from the sitting room. It sounded like the squeak of a hinge. I recognized it immediately. I wanted to run over to the secret door and snatch it open to see if Sara had been in there, listening.

Instead, I merely stared at the place on the wall, where I knew the door was, remembering the morning she had hidden there. Obviously, she was using it again. But why? Was she spying on me? To what end? Or was it that she had merely wanted to be near me? Had she been trying to sneak in and heard us talking?

"Will there be anything else, 'mum?" Celia asked, looking at me rather strangely. I shook my head and watched her walk over to the door. She opened it a crack and paused.

"If..." She frowned and shook her head as if she'd thought better of what she was about to say. "There's plenty of food in the kitchen, 'mum. No one but myself an' the cook down there. An' he sleeps like the dead, he duz," she said and then left, closing the door behind her.

Was she insinuating that if I got hungry I could come down and get something during the night? Or was there more to her vague ramblings? Was this meant for someone else she thought might be listening?

Listening? Had Sara exited or entered the closet? Worth a try, I thought. I walked over to the bed and sat down. "Food's getting cold," I said aloud. "Looks good, too."

There was no response. "Plenty for two. And you know I don't like eating alone." I waited with baited breath. "Alright, I guess it'll just go to waste."

Still there was no response. Musta been leaving, I thought, with a heavy sigh. But, I would give it one more try. I got up and walked over to the secret door. "I… love you, Sara. To me, you're not my cousin. You're not Ashley. You'll always be... my Sara."

I was very tempted to push the door open, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't want to force her like that, not yet anyway. I'd give her time to come to me, first.

I hardly touched my lunch. I had no appetite. All I could do was stare at that secret door, hoping she would come through it. Tired of waiting, finally, I took the apple off my tray and went over to the door. I pushed on it slowly. Nothing moved inside. I pushed it all the way open and found it empty. My heart sank. Had I imagined the squeaking hinge? I placed the apple on the floor of the closet and closed the door back. Calling myself saving Celia a few steps, I carried the tray back down to the kitchen. I should've known it was a bad move; for, on my way back up, at the top of the stairs, I ran into Brandon.

"Oh Princess, there you are. Please forgive me," he said, apologetically, as he drew nearer. "I lost my head for a moment out there. I truly didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

I didn't offer a response I merely turned and headed back down the stairs.

He followed. "Princess, please... I'm truly sorry. Please forgive me. I never intended to… say all those things. Believe me. It just makes me so angry when I think of how...

she used you, Princess."

I stopped and stared at him. Used me? I thought.

"She did, you know,” he maintained, as if reading my expression. “She used you and cast you aside when she got ready to leave, didn't she? Princess, I can see you're hurting...

I realize you probably felt she loved you and that... you loved her.” He frowned as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth and then continued, “But, you know now it wasn't real, don't you? I mean look around you... she's gone. And all she left you was a note.

Dear Jill," he added, a very solemn expression on his face.

I turned away and took another step down the stairs.

"Princess, please. I'd hate myself if I thought I'd hurt you so much that you'd never forgive me. I wasn't considerate of your feelings and… I'm truly sorry for that. I'm... an old man. I've forgotten what it feels like to be young and naive and vulnerable. I've forgotten how these first... encounters can be. They can seem magical, I know. I was...

just so angry, Princess. Please forgive me."

As he apologized over and over, my heart was very reluctant to give in, because his words had cut deep and I knew down deep that I'd finally seen through his facade. Yet, my mind kept telling me I should say I forgave him whether I did or not. After all, I didn't need him following me around apologizing and trying to make up to me. I needed him to think everything was okay, so he'd go on with his business and let me get on with mine: getting Sara to at least talk to me.

"Enough," I finally said, "I… I forgive you."

"Thank you, Princess, I needed to know that," he said, as he reached for my hand.

My insides turned cold at his touch. "By the way, where were you going?"

"Oh... I... I thought I'd... do some reading," I lied.

"That's good, I'll see you to the library."

"No, that... that won't be necessary. I mean you probably have more important things to do." I bit my lip, knowing I had said the wrong thing, but unable to take it back.

"Nothing is more important than you, Princess." He offered me his arm. "I'll escort you the rest of the way down. Perhaps I'll even do some reading myself."

Oh what a tangled web we weave, I thought. Now I might possibly be trapped in the library with him for the rest of the afternoon.

Which, to my utter dismay, is exactly what happened.

SEVENTEEN

I wandered around the library, taking my time scanning the titles, hoping he'd get bored and leave. He did seem to get bored, but didn't leave. No, he pulled out a photo album and sat down on the sofa with it. A few seconds later, he chuckled to himself, which I presumed was supposed to make me curious. It did, of course, but I didn't rush over to him to see what was so amusing, as I believed he wanted me to.

"Princess, come over here. Let me show you something."

Reluctantly, I ambled over; it appeared I was stuck here for the duration. Might as well make the best of it. He showed me an old snapshot of my mother and father; obviously clowning around: she had her eyes crossed and he had his fingers in his mouth, pulling the sides apart in a grotesque manner. I had never seen any pictures from this time period in their lives. All of their photos or snapshots were made after they left Shady Grove. And by then my mother was three years older and pregnant with me.

We spent quite a long time looking at one photograph album after another. There were lots of pictures of my mother in the first two. Some of which appeared to have been taken without her knowledge. Or at least, she wasn't looking at the camera. I could only guess at who the photographer had been.

There were no pictures of Ashley or Vivian. But in one album, there were several sheets of blank pages. He explained that he found it too painful and difficult to look at their pictures, so he'd removed them.

There were also pictures of my ancestors, at least those who had lived after the invention of the camera. Brandon named off each and everyone, putting names to some of the faces I had seen in the attic, as well as, offering a short narrative on each. I learned from this, that there were some members of the family -down the line- who had moved away, which meant I had other distant relatives in various places. It also seemed that the family, especially our particular branch, which had stayed with the old homestead, had a knack for dying, by various means, before the age of fifty. To which, Brandon added that he must be doing something right, because he was fifty-two already.

I also learned something else no one had made mention of: Brandon and my father had different mothers. He showed me the only picture he had of his biological mother, which was a very faded snapshot. Then he explained how she had died during childbirth.

The latter seemingly being something he felt a tinge of guilt over; for, he moved on rather quickly, showing me my grandmother, who was the only mother he had ever truly known.

And of course, my grandfather, which he resembled a lot, as did my own father. It appeared the Neilson genes were strong and very dominant. Except when they tangled with my mother's, I thought.

When he came to a picture of Jason, he started bragging and repeating the plans he had for his son's education and life.

Then without preamble, he closed the last album and looked up at me. "As soon as you have your surgery, I'll arrange a sitting with the best photographer and the best artist, so that your beauty can be preserved for future generations."

I offered no objections, because I knew it would be futile. Besides, all I could think to say was, I don't wanna be preserved like a jar of peaches. And I didn't think that would go over well. When he started on my future, however, talking about changing my major to

“business” and extending my class load from two thirds of a day to a full one -which had been my choice, so that I could work and help pay for my miscellaneous expenses, instead of my parents shelling out for everything- I had to say something.

"I think that should be my decision," I asserted.

"Oh, of course, of course. I was merely suggesting this because... a lot of things have changed for you."

"Indeed," I agreed. "And speaking of change... I know you mean well and... I don't propose to handle all my inheritance, at least not my father's share of the business, but...

I'd like to handle my own finances from now on."

He merely stared down at his hands, intertwined on top of the photo album.

"I appreciate all you've done for me,” I continued, “but... I've depended on you far too long. I can get around better now and I think I should start taking on more responsibility." I was trying to ease into saying what I wanted, in terms he would understand and offer little objection to. "As you've pointed out, I am a Neilson and I have the same pride you do. I'd like to be... more independent. You can understand that, can't you?"

He sighed heavily and slowly got up from the sofa. He then turned to me and smiled slyly. "Yes, you are a Neilson, through and through. Your father taught you well.

Raymond always told us never to depend on anyone but ourselves. So, yes, I do understand." He shoved his hands in his pockets, as he walked over to the fireplace.

"Your inheritance from your father has been placed in a savings account and a small checking account for you. It hasn't been touched. I... I was waiting for you to... inquire about it. I didn't realize it would be so soon, however. But, as you say, you have your pride. And I can sure see that. I'll... I'll bring your passbook and checkbook up tonight, if you like. Just promise me one thing?"

"That depends on what the promise is."

"That's your mother talking," he said, as he turned to face me. "She was always careful about what kind of promises she made. You're quite a unique combination of the two." He smiled and his voice softened. "Promise me... that you won't spend it on trivial things."

"What's trivial to you?"

"Perhaps you could handle business affairs," he commented, with a wry smile.

"Don't agree to anything, until you have all the facts, right?" I nodded. "Well, trivial is expensive clothes you don't need. Lending to people you don't know and… some you do.

And buying an outrageously expensive car, for its looks."

"Anything else?"

"Just... don't throw the money away. My advice is to invest it. Let it work for you."

"Well, I can tell you now that I won't be buying a lot of expensive things, because I want what little there is to last. And I assume from what you said that my allowance came from you, not from my own money, but why?"

"It was all left to you in his will, I couldn't touch it."

"Oh, well then... I'll reimburse you for my allowance and then I'll pay you back in installments for all the other expenses you had to incur because of me." He chuckled, as if I had said something quite funny. I didn't get it. "I'm sorry if paying in installments seems funny to you, but I'd like to keep some for a rainy day. I mean, I know there's not much, but...."

"Oh quite the contrary," he said, interrupting me. "Your father was more cunning than either of us realized. There's over a hundred thousand dollars in your savings account and a few thousand in checking. Plus, your father invested in stocks. Computer stocks. All total, including life insurance policies, excluding the house of course, your inheritance was over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"What?!"

"Yes, Princess, your father was rather successful with his writing. Although, he shunned the limelight, and why, I'll never understand. He had the most beautiful woman in the world to share it with," he remarked, as he turned back to the fire. "He had everything and yet, he chose to live in that small town in Tennessee."

"He probably had his reasons," I said, thinking of how he labored over each novel.

Perhaps that small town was his inspiration, I thought. Its quiet streets and friendly people; a place he could retreat to and let his imagination run wild. Although he wrote adventure novels, I knew he penned these from his heart, as well as the lives of some of the people around him. Many times had I watched, as he listened to some of the old men in town, while they told about some of the adventures they'd had and some they would like to have had. This, compiled with his imagination, would turn into a novel. He created worlds for those who craved adventure to escape into for a while. A tear came to my eye, as I thought about him and his wonderful talent that so many people would surely miss.

"'Scuse me, sir," said Celia, interrupting my quiet thoughts. "Dinner is served. Will ya be dining at the table, 'mum or shall…?"

"Yes," Brandon answered, before Celia even finished her question, which had not been directed at him.

I didn't object to eating with him, though; for, I hoped he'd eventually become bored with me. Yet, this didn't happen until around ten o'clock. And then I knew a glass of milk would soon bring him back. I undressed and got ready for bed, then waited for the good night ritual. He returned a while later with the milk, my passbook and checkbook. Then he gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek, telling me how much like my mother I was, in a rather soft sensual voice.

After he left, I lay in bed pondering the question of how I was going to get Sara to talk to me. I didn't want to force the issue by blundering around the house looking for her.

At least not yet. I knew it could prove fruitless and might make her presence known to the rest of the household. No, I had to be subtle and cunning and lure her to me. But how?

She was no moth and I certainly wasn't a flame. But, somehow I had to let her know that I knew she was here and I wanted to talk to her.

I stared up at the ceiling wondering where she was at this moment? Was she sitting on her makeshift bed up there? Or was she close by... in the closet, perhaps? My eyes strayed over to the secret door and I longed to go over there and throw it open. But, that wouldn't be wise. I then remembered the apple I had left inside and was quite curious at to whether it was still there. But, alas, that could wait until morning. If she was there, she obviously didn't want me to know about it.

"Goodnight, Sara," I said aloud, as I turned off the lamp. I wished more than anything at that moment I would hear a response.

The first thing I did the next morning -after cutting off the alarm on my recently purchased bedside clock- was open the secret door. The apple was there, just as I had left it. I sadly closed the door and went into the bathroom.

Celia brought me breakfast, as usual, eyeing me rather curiously, as if inquiring as to whether I'd had contact with Sara. "She's a stubborn woman," I finally said.

Celia quickly glanced back at me. "Persistence has its rewards, 'mum."

"Perhaps, but... I don't think so in this case. I don't think she came back because of me. I think I'm what's keeping her hidden."

"Begging pardon, 'mum, but… I disagree," she said, pushing the table over to the bed.

"Why is that?"

"I... I didn't know ya wuz in the library yesterday, so... I came up here, 'cuz I'd forgotten ta ask if ya had any request for dinner and…"

"You saw her?" I inquired, excitedly.

She glanced down at the floor, as she backed away. "Yes, 'mum, that I did."

"Where was she? In here? What was she doing?"

"She wuz... standing 'bout here and..." She paused, as she moved over to the end of the bed.

"And?"

She shook her head. "Just... looking, 'mum," she replied, as if a bit embarrassed.

"Looking at what?" She had me on pins and needles now. What had Sara been looking at?

She dropped her eyes. "At the bed."

"I don't understand. Why do you act embarrassed about this?" I inquired. I couldn't understand the big deal about looking at the bed.

"I... I felt I wuz... watching a private moment, 'mum," she replied, her cheeks flushing red.

"Oh... oh, I see. Um... thank you... thanks for everything, Celia."

"Yes, 'mum," she said, as she turned and exited the room.

So, according to Celia, Sara must still feel something. But, Celia also could have been mistaken about the reason she was looking at the bed. Was she remembering with longing? Or with regret? Then again, I couldn't take the chance that the former wasn't so.

There had to be someway to get to her.

I sighed heavily and turned on the stereo via the remote, setting it to “Tuner” and the radio station that played easy listening music. As I nibbled on my breakfast of sausage, eggs, toast, juice and grits, the morning disc jockey joked with his cohort and I pondered what I should do. Several ideas ran through my head, but none seemed plausible. Either that, or I ran the risk of exposing her.

A few seconds later, the chatter of the disc jockeys ended and a slow love song -one she and I had liked- began to play. "Oh great," I said aloud. "Just what I need to start the day off right. Tears in my grits."

I picked up the remote to change the station when I heard a faint bump overhead. I looked up at the ceiling. Not rats, this time, I thought. Then it suddenly hit me that if I could hear her, she could hear me. Well, perhaps not me, but something I wanted her to hear, something to bait my trap with. At least I hoped and prayed it would be bait and not a repellent.

Instead of changing stations, I turned up the volume. Having yet another flash of inspiration, I turned on the CD player, knowing there was a soundtrack album from a movie inside. I'd seen the video for the song and wanted to see the movie, which Sara had promised to rent for me, as soon as it came out. In the meantime, however, she had bought the CD and I had fallen in love with two of the songs. I programmed these two into the CD player, set it to "repeat disc" and as soon as the song ended on the radio, I flicked to the CD.

The two songs I had chosen -the first in essence said, “without you in my life, I have nothing to live for”, and the other about the woman's desire to run into her lover's arms, and asking the question, if she did would her lover run away- repeated three times before Brandon showed up.

He didn't knock, or if he did, I didn't hear him. He came in, with an angry look on his face and went straight to the stereo. "Princess, why is this so loud?" he shouted, as he turned the volume down. "I can hear this downstairs."

"Sorry," I apologized. "I didn't realize."

He looked at me curiously. "Are you alright? You aren't even dressed yet."

"I'm fine," I replied. I was just miffed at his intrusion. "I was about to do just that.

So, if you'll excuse me."

"Of course. Then, we'll take our morning walk," he said, glancing down at his watch. "Shall we say eleven-fifteen, then?"

I glanced over at the clock. "Fine," I answered. Anything to get rid of him.

From eleven fifteen onwards, however, I could not get rid of him. He stuck to me like glue, following me around and lavishing me with attention, as if he were a suitor. Or at least, I felt like the pursued. His caresses made me quite nervous and I was constantly forced to shy away from him, as best I could.

After dinner that evening I suggested putting a puzzle together, thinking this would surely bore him. But, no, he stayed until after ten. And as usual, he was back a few minutes later, with a glass of milk. Then as he bent down to kiss me goodnight, his lips touched so close to my own, I nearly gasped. He merely pulled back, smiled and turned to exit the room, as if nothing was amiss. I tried to pass it off as just a mistake. Perhaps I had flinched and caused this? But I didn't think so.

These thoughts were soon relegated to the back burner; for, I had more important things to think about. Namely Sara. The next day was Monday, so Brandon would go back to work, or at least I hoped he wouldn't take any unscheduled time off. In the morning I would bait my trap once again and if she didn't take it this time, I was going to flush her out, personally!

I played the CD from the day before, over and over again the next morning, until I was sick and tired of hearing it. After lunch I was on my way to the attic.

As I slipped inside the door, I glanced back to make sure no one was nearby – Brandon hired an outside maid to come in and clean the unused rooms once a month and I couldn't remember when they were due. I nearly tripped over the flashlight I'd left here on my last visit. I reached down, picked it up before it fell over, then turned it on, and as quietly as I could, ascended the stairs.

Once I made it to the rear section of the west wing, I proceeded down the small path slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible, just in case anyone was below. Along the way, I kept the flashlight trained ahead of me, on my destination of the dresser where I suspected she was surely hidden. As I neared it, my heartbeat increased, drowning out any other sounds. I swung the flashlight over behind the dresser, spotlighting the mattress. To my utter dismay it was empty.

"Damn, Sara," I said, quietly, as I leaned up against the dresser.

"You shouldn't be here," said a voice from behind me. Naturally, I gasped and quickly swung the flashlight around, the beam of light catching Sara in the face. She put her hand up to shield her eyes. "Please, Faith."

I swiftly lowered it, holding it by my side while perusing her attire. I had half expected her to be disheveled and dirty, after hiding up here for at least two days, but she was neither. Wearing a clean white sweatshirt and a pair of tight blue jeans, her hair recently brushed, she smelled wonderful.

"Go back to your room, Faith," she said, as she turned to walk away.

"No, Sara. You can't get rid of me that easily." I reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Faith, don't... please," she muttered, looking down at my hand on her arm. "Go back downstairs, you shouldn't be up here."

"Why are you here?" I obligingly let go of her. "Don't tell me you didn't want me to find you. You provided this flashlight."

"I didn't want you to find me, but... I couldn't have you blundering around up here in the dark, now could I? Because I know you woulda."

It had been a guess that she'd provided the flashlight, since Celia didn't seem to know anything about it. "What are you doing here?" I scrutinized.

"Looking for answers, I suppose. Someone put this..." She paused, as she reached over to one of the dresser drawers and opened it, withdrawing a book with a flowered cover, "…in with my things. I found it when I got back that day." She was obviously referring to the Saturday when my curiosity caused all this misery.

"What is it?"

"Ashley's... My diary," she corrected herself.

"Well… what did it say that brought you back, because obviously you didn't come back because of me?" I braced myself against the dresser, feeling disappointed.

She lowered her eyes and stared at the diary in her hands. "I don't really know. It's odd. I'm writing about things that make no sense. Trees… walls… animals with ugly faces. I don't know what it's about. I came back hoping I'd remember something."

I bit my lip. She had ignored my reference about her obviously not coming back for me. I could only conclude it was a true statement -her silence signifying agreement.

"How long… have you been here?" I asked, trying not to let my damaged feelings show.

"Several days," she replied, as she glanced up at me.

"You've obviously been doing well for yourself," I remarked, looking her up and down.

She nodded. "I found some clothes. And... I got into one of the bedrooms. I'm afraid I used some of your soap and... shampoo."

Who gives a shit about soap and shampoo? I thought. "Why didn't you come to me?

Maybe I can help." I sighed heavily, knowing she'd turn me down.

"I... No, it…" She glanced up at me and her eyes held that oh so soft expression I had come to love. "No, I need to do this alone." She looked away.

This expression suggested Celia had been right. Sara was trying to hide her feelings, just as she'd been trying to hide her presence. I was onto her now. I took a step forward.

"I don't care if we are cousins, Sara."

"I do, Faith," she said, quickly, as she held up the index finger of her right hand and backed away. "Don't do this to me. I feel dirty and... and disgusting."

"I don't. I don't know why I don't, but I don't. Perhaps because I don't believe we are cousins, Sara. At least not by blood."

"It's Ashley," she corrected.

"No," I said, taking another step forward. " You will always be Sara to me. Ashley died in that car crash five years ago. You are Sara."

"No, Faith. Sara Bennington died the day after her car crash."

"How did you...?"

"The detective. He checked out the hospital where she was admitted,” she explained. “I was listed as a transfer at the last hospital I was in. Transferred from a smaller place north of Atlanta, where I'd been listed as a 'Jane Doe', apparent victim of a 'hit and run'.

Brought in by a Good Samaritan, who conveniently vanished in the E.R. I vaguely remember regaining consciousness in the other hospital and not knowing who I was or what had happened.” She let that sink in before continuing, “Once stabilized, I was moved to a larger hospital, with better facilities for reconstructive surgery and physical therapy. That's when Tom showed up, claiming to be my father and… that I was Sara.”

She scratched her head and sighed heavily. “I still don't know how he pulled it all off. I suppose the hospital was just glad someone showed up to foot the bill. The detective's still checking on the police reports about the 'hit and run'. There's no telling what cock and bull story he fed them. I'm sure it wasn't the same story he spoon-fed me.”

We both fell silent. There could be no more denial. She was Ashley.

“I'm Brandon's daughter, Faith and we both know it," she stated, finally breaking the silence.

"If so, then why did Tom… do all that? Why leave you everything in his will?"

"He was probably crazy. Who knows?"

"I don't think so. What if you are Tom's daughter? It's possible ya know."

"But, there's no proof, Faith. No proof at all. The only person who could've answered that question died over fourteen years ago,” she said, referring to Vivian. “At best it would be wishful thinking. And, I'd never be sure… I'd always have that doubt."

So, she was admitting she still cared. The only thing standing in her way was the thought that we were cousins. "If we could prove you're Tom's daughter...." I paused, as I took another step forward. "…would you come back to me?"

"Don't do this to me, Faith," she uttered, turning away.

"Alright, I won't pressure you." I stepped back. "Ya know… I half expected to come up here and find... you missed me as much as I missed you. And then I'd… tell you it didn't matter to me and... we'd ride off into the sunset together."

"I'm sorry, this ain't a movie," she responded, ruefully. "But, even in the movies, sweetheart, the princess doesn't ride off into the sunset with the female heroine."

"In this one she will. Just as soon as we can prove you're not my cousin. Which I hope we'll do soon. Because… I don't know how much longer I can stay here."

"Why?" she inquired.

"Brandon knows. He read your letter."

"Oh, good God!" she hissed and ran her fingers through her hair. "What did he say?"

"What didn't he say is more like it? And... he's acting strange."

"How?" She sounded concerned now.

I told her an edited version of the incident in the pool, while making myself at home on the mattress. Then I passed on Celia's warning to be careful, and even what she'd claimed happened to her sister. When I finished Sara came closer and propped herself up on the dresser. She stared into the darkness of the attic, seemingly contemplating all this new information.

"Perhaps it would be better if you left," she said calmly. "I've never trusted him, wholly, where you're concerned. And don't ask me why because… I don't know. I just believe... you should leave."

She didn't know how bad these words wounded me. Still I managed to say, "Not until you come with me."

"I can't, Faith. I have to find out who I am. I have to remember. This book was given to me for a reason."

"I can only imagine who'd do that.” She glanced up at me. “Celia knows who you are and she's the one who sent me up here to begin with."

"She knows everything?"

"Yes. And... I think she knows more than she's letting on about all this stuff. You know how she is… never comes out and directly tells you anything, just offers vague hints. But, I don't believe you're Brandon's daughter, because I asked her and she said she

'couldn't rightly say'. She did admit Tom and Vivian were close."

"That still doesn't prove..."

"Yes, but Sara he must've thought you were his. He left you everything he had in this world. He has a stable named the Vivian Leigh, not after a movie star, but after your mother. And what was the other one… Marie's what?"

"Marie's... Pride," she said, slowly, as if considering this could possibly be named after her: Ashley Marie. "But, why lie to me? Why not tell me the truth?"

"That... I don't know. Perhaps he was afraid you'd wanna come back here and... he'd lose you or something, I dunno. Seems he sure went to a helluva lot of trouble to give you another identity. You're sure he didn't leave you anything in writing?"

"If he did, it wasn't where I would find it, right off. I did find some more old photographs of a little girl on horseback, like the other one. But, it could be anyone… a niece... a neighbor's kid…"

"Or you," I interrupted. "You were a cute little girl. Who grew into a beautiful woman.”

She shook her head and turned away, nibbling at her lip. "I think he wanted to get even with Brandon for firing him, by taking his daughter away or... maybe he just needed an heir to leave his things to, instead of letting the state get it. Ah, who the hell knows."

She ran her fingers through her hair again in apparent exasperation.

"Pretty expensive and complicated revenge, wouldn't you say? As for an heir…

there was always the possibility you'd regain your memory. Besides if he wanted revenge against Brandon, why leave everything he had to Brandon's daughter?" She glanced over at me and continued nibbling on her bottom lip. Her eyes said she knew what the truth was, she was just afraid to accept it. "If you really believe you're Brandon's daughter, why not tell him who you are instead of hiding up here?"

"I dunno, I just… don't know." She ran her fingers through her hair. "He... he gives me the… creeps to be honest,” she said at length. “When he's around, I... I feel trapped. I wanna get away from him before I… suffocate or somethin'."

I wanted to ask: So why come back to his house? Yet, listening to her and seeing the look in her eyes, I thought she might be on the verge of remembering something.

Something that obviously wasn't pleasant. And she was fighting it, because she didn't want to know. I could only hope the answer to my unvoiced question would have been: because I wanted to be near you.

Not wanting to risk pouring salt in my own open wound, however, I changed the subject. "Let me see the book," I said, afraid she'd soon ask me to leave again and this time, I'd feel obligated to comply.

She hesitantly handed it to me. It was not a cheap diary, but one of the expensive kind you find in bookstores: unlined pages, gilded around the edges. I opened it and began reading. The handwriting on the first couple of pages was far from neat. In places nearly illegible. Yet, I could make out that the rather short story recorded here was about a baby bird: one who had been orphaned by its mother's death. A death the baby bird felt responsible for, because its mother was trying to remove it from harms way, when she was attacked, herself. In the baby bird's panic, it somehow caused itself and its mother to be thrown from the nest. After sensing the mother's death, the unnamed attacker then flew away. The baby bird was left alone in a hostile environment she knew nothing about. She wandered aimlessly through the dark, silent forest. Unable to fly, she knew she was easy prey for other animals like the unnamed attacker.

The next entry was in a different handwriting, much more legible and neater in appearance, as if written by someone older. The passage started with a bricklayer and a structure he was building. He labored carefully on the walls, laying each brick cautiously and with great care, so it would be impenetrable. He wanted to be sure the walls would stand up against the storm he knew would soon come. He worried whether it would hold back the torrential winds he foresaw with this storm. Finally, when he was finished, he sat back and marveled at his magnificent accomplishment. It was a fine structure that he knew would stand up against any onslaught.

When the storm finally came, however, and the rain began to fall, he realized he'd forgotten one important part of his structure: a roof. He'd been so concerned with his walls surviving the wind he had overlooked the factor of rain. Now, it was too late. The rain was pouring into his structure. Another fatal mistake soon made itself apparent: he'd left himself no means of escape, except climbing over the walls. And yet, as he tried to scale them, he fell back down; his walls were so neatly and carefully arranged that there was no purchase, by which to ascend them. They had become slippery as ice in the rain.

He was now trapped in a prison of his own making. His structure against the coming storm was a double-edged sword. Not only did it keep things out, it kept things in. His safe haven had become his tomb.

After reading this, I got the impression this wasn't just a story she had made up. It was much more than that. "You don't understand any of this?" I asked, as I closed the book.

"No. Why would I write about birds and… making walls? It's just stories. I don't understand why Celia put it with my things. Maybe… she grabbed the wrong book or something."

"They're stories for your eyes only,” I offered. “You wrote these, I assume, in case anyone else found the book, so they wouldn't understand what you were saying."

"Well, I did a good job, because I sure don't understand it."

"I'm assuming you wrote them as metaphors, so to speak."

"Metaphors? Whaddaya mean?"

"Okay, for instance, let's say I wanted to write about... what happened yesterday in the pool. But, I was afraid of someone else finding it. I would disguise the characters in the real drama, so that only I knew what it meant." She frowned. "Hmm, well, perhaps I'd use an... Octopus say, to represent Brandon, and... a crab to represent me, ya following me?" She nodded. "Alright, let's see... I might write something like… the little crab felt defenseless and helpless within the octopus's strong grasp."

Her eyes narrowed. I'd forgotten I hadn't told her about him grabbing me around the waist and holding me. I'd merely told her what he'd said and that he followed me around the pool. "He had his arms around you?" she questioned. "You didn't mention that before."

"I... uh… I didn't feel, well... it was nothing."

"The crab felt helpless and defenseless... sounds like something to me," she said, dropping to her haunches in front of me. "He didn't... try anything, did he, Faith?"

"Oh, of course not," I answered. "He... Well, you know how I am. You had to hold me down to get me to listen." The words had just slipped out, I couldn't take them back, so I held my breath waiting for her reaction.

"Yes, I... I remember that well," she said softly, as she reached out towards me. Oh, how I had been waiting for this moment. I reached up towards her face and she pulled back. "No, Faith, don't... I... I only wanted the book," she explained.

My heart sank to my toes. I quickly lowered my eyes and then handed over the book. I turned away and bit my lower lip. I wanted to feel her touch so badly and she was turning me away again.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, as she got to her feet. "I... You should be getting back.

And..." She paused, extending her hand to me. I gazed up at her, tears welling up in my eyes. She stared down at me for several moments. I slowly offered her my hand. She swallowed audibly and shut her eyes, releasing a heavy sigh. "You should leave here, Faith," she added, grasping my hand and pulling me to my feet.

"I'm not leaving without you."

Her eyes darted back and forth searching mine. "Don't come here again. It's... it's too dangerous for you."

"The world is a dangerous place, Sara.” I held onto her hand, not letting her pull away. “For crabs… baby birds… their mothers and… even those who think themselves hidden away and protected from all of life's storms."

"Damn you, Faith. Why can't you just... just do as I say?" She made a rather lame attempt to pull away from me.

"Because I love you too damn much! And… I don't wanna lose you." I took a step forward, which put me mere inches from her face. "I... I set you free, Sara, like the saying: Set something free and if it comes back it's yours forever. If it doesn't, it never was to begin with or… something like that.” She looked at me. “Well... you did come back.” Of course she'd made it plain she hadn't come back for me, but I didn't want to think about that, right now. “And... I know you love me,” I babbled on, knowing I was throwing caution to the wind, yet feeling this was the truth. “I can see it in your eyes.” I still held her gaze. That was a good sign. “It's written all over your beautiful face, right this very moment."

"Faith, please…" she said, turning away.

"I love you, Sara," I whispered, as I let go and started by her.

She touched my arm and then cleared her throat. "I'll... see you safely down the stairs."

I started to object, but feeling the warmth of her touch caused me to rethink this and swallow my pride. "Thank you," I said, instead.

We walked slowly over to the stairs as quietly as possible. Then she went down the first couple and motioned for me to follow. I started down them, with her watching each step I took. She even steadied me once, by putting her hands on my behind. No one, not even Sara, herself, could make me believe this woman did not care for me. I felt it would only be a matter of time before she came back around to her old self again. And no matter which name she chose to go by, she'd always be Sara to me.

When we got to the bottom, she stepped back against the stairwell so I could get past her. We stared at each other for a moment and then she motioned with her head. "Go on, Faith," she murmured.

"I'll go back to my room, Sara, but I'm not going anywhere without you."

She ran her fingers through her hair. "Why do you have to make this so difficult?"

she grumbled.

I reached out and touched her face this time, for she couldn't run from me any longer; she was trapped between my body and the stairs. I wanted to kiss her so badly I could almost taste her sweet lips against mine. I quelled this urge, however, and merely brushed her hair out of her eyes. Then I turned and exited the stairwell quietly.

The afternoon was dreary and cool; the temperature dropping rapidly towards evening, or so I surmised from my seat by the window. The puzzle, on the table before me, was filling in at an excruciatingly slow pace. My mind wandered off at every opportunity. Until time for Brandon to come home I held out hope that she would show up, saying she'd had a change of heart, change of mind. Disappointment seeped into my bones like a damp chill. After dinner I was forced to break out sweat pants, sweat shirt and fuzzy booties. Winter was definitely just around the corner.

Needless to say, Brandon was not impressed with my cozy, warm attire. He didn't say this, but his expressions told the tale. I could have cared less, however. Despite being an eye sore to his impeccable sensibilities, he sat with me, searching for piece after piece in the quest to solve the picture puzzle. He left only long enough to bring me a “special treat”: hot cocoa.

I never had been especially fond of hot chocolate -or “cocoa” as he corrected me- but I was not so ungrateful as to refuse his “special treat”. Besides, it was tasty, quite sweet, and most of all hot. It seemed to warm my emotional and weather chilled insides. At times like these, it was all too easy to feel an almost fatherly affection towards him. I had to remind myself this was the same man who had held me and rubbed himself against me in the pool, not so long ago. Remembering Celia's warning about men and their egos, I found myself wondering if I had somehow prompted that sort of behavior from him just by virtue of my “preferences” alone, much less saying so to his face. It had always seemed somehow easier when making an attempt at forgiveness, if I shared at least some of the blame.

Soon, I was too sleepy to concentrate on the puzzle. And obviously sensing my somnolent condition, Brandon called it an evening, kissed me goodnight and graciously left without hesitation. I could only assume the hot chocolate had an effect on him, as well.

My last thought before my head touched the pillow was of Sara: Tomorrow… she'll come to me. I just know she will

EIGHTEEN

The alarm clock went off at 9:30. I groggily reached over and turned it off, then floated back to La La land. The next thing I remember Celia was knocking on my door.

"Come in," I grumbled.

She entered with the tray and put it on the table, then pushed it over to me. By this time, I usually had the head of the bed raised and already paid my morning visit to the bathroom. Today, I had accomplished neither.

"Are ya alright, 'mum?" Celia asked, as I struggled to focus my heavy, sleepy eyes.

"Um... yes. Must be the… weather," I replied, offering both of us an explanation for my seeming stupor. “Cold, rainy weather… all I wanna do is sleep.”

"Oh?" she said, as if asking for more information on the subject. "Are ya ready for breakfus' or...." She glanced around the room, as if she were looking for something or possibly someone. "…should I bring it back later." I wiped my eyes, which were finally beginning to focus. "Should I bring another tray, 'mum?" she asked, quietly.

"Huh? What? Why would I need ano…?" I paused, as she cut her eyes over to the other side of the bed. I followed her gaze, finding an obvious indention in the pillow beside mine. Had Sara came in here while I was sleeping? I wondered. I glanced back at Celia and wiped my eyes again. "I, uh… No, don't bring another tray. If she won't stay, then she shouldn't eat, hmm?"

Celia flushed red as a beet.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I apologized. "I... I'm so dizzy headed," I added, starting to raise up.

That's when I felt something was amiss in another area. I pulled up the covers knowing what I would find. "Oh, Celia, I'm sorry, but I believe I had more than one visitor last night."

"Oh, think nuthin' of it, 'mum. That's just one of the burdens of being a lady. Here, let me help ya up and..." She grabbed hold of me, as I almost fell backwards. "Oh my, so sorry, 'mum."

"I always heard my mother complain about her balance being off during this time of the month, but this is the first time it's affected me. And I have to say, I don't like it very much."

"Yes 'mum. The things we women go through. It's a wonder we don't die 'fore the men."

"Can you help me into the bathroom, too, Celia? I'm… a bit dizzy this morning."

"Oh, of course, 'mum."

"If Sara had stayed around, then you wouldn't have to do this. Guess she thought no one would notice she'd laid her head on the pillow, hmm?" Celia glanced up at me. I knew what she was thinking. "No, I didn't even know she was there. I think she likes sneaking in here. Thinking it will be her secret. And speaking of secrets, Celia," I added, as she helped me to the toilet. She then backed away and stared at the ceiling, as I did what needed to be done. "You know some secrets you aren't telling, don'chu?" I finished.

She offered no reply.

"Okay, how about this? Brandon isn't her father is he?" I asked, as she helped me over to the bathtub, where I sat down on the side. "Is he, Celia?"

"I don't like ta speak about things I'm not sure of, 'mum," she replied, as she straightened up.

"Tom was sure, wasn't he? He and Vivian were having an affair, weren't they? And he thought Ashley was his daughter," I concluded, hoping she'd give an indication, one way or another.

"I've always kept me mouth shut 'bout them things, but... they're gone from this world, God rest their souls.” She gazed heavenward. “An' I see ya won't be satisfied with nuthin' but the truth.” She arched one gray eyebrow. “So… Yes, 'mum they wuz having a luv affair. Tom wuz head over hills in luv with her."

"And Vivian?"

"Oh, she luved him, there was little doubt about that. But, she wouldn't leave Mr.

Neilson. See, Tom wuz poor… didn't have much in this world, but the clothes on his back and... how could he very well ask her ta leave all this and come away with him?"

"So, she is his? Sara… I mean Ashley?" I turned on the water for my bath.

"I 'spect only Miss Vivian could say for sure, but... she's got young Tom's coloring... and his green eyes."

Ah-ha "I bet his eyes changed color too, didn't they?"

“Changed color?” she mused. "Oh yes, now that ya mention it, 'mum, indeed they did. Strange thing that wuz ta watch, I have ta say."

"Tom left after Vivian's death, right?"

"Wull…” She paused and cleared her throat. “Actually, 'mum, he left 'fore then.

He... wull, he stayed gone 'bout two years 'fore he came back with his pockets a jingling with money. Said he'd had a grand streak of luck out in Kentucky."

"Oh, so he left and made some money so he could take care of Vivian, hmm?"

"Yes, 'mum, I believe he thought so. But, I think it just put too much strain on Miss Vivian. She wuzn't a strong willed woman. Not like your muther, 'mum. No. And Miss Ashley… she inherited a bit of that weakness a'heart from her muther, I think."

I raised my eyebrows. Sara? Weak? I thought.

"Oh, now she wuz a rebellious sort,” she added, obviously answering my unvoiced question. “Yes, she wuz that, at times. Especially after Tom left. But, she wuz fragile in here.” She tapped her chest. “It came in spurts, 'mum. She wuz never rebellious for long.

It'd just flare up from time ta time."

"You said after Tom left? Why would that affect her?"

"She wuz a happy child, until he left. He spent lots a' time with her, he did. Bought that wild horse for her. They wuz the only ones who could ride it. Strangest horse, I ever did see. Why Mr. Neilson, he couldn't even go near it, without it raising the roof down there."

"You know a good bit about what goes on around here, don'chu?" I asked, softly.

"Servants notice things. Yes, 'mum." Her cheeks flushed.

"You know what happened the night Vivian died, don'chu?" I further queried. She offered no reply. "Sara… I mean Ashley, didn't shoot her, did she?"

"No, 'mum! Where'd ya hear a thing like that? Miss Ash... she don't believe that, does she, 'mum?"

"Jason overhead you talking about it and... he told me. I can't remember telling Sara, but I might have. She hasn't mentioned it."

"Oh, wull… I never believed Miss Ashley wuz capable of doing that, 'mum. She loved her muther. But… she wuz there that night… by the Missus... the gun in her hand… Poor thing wuz standing there screaming…. blood all over her hands." She shivered.

"So, it was covered up?”

"Yes, 'mum." She sighed heavily. "Mr. Neilson, he didn't want ta see Miss Ashley put in jail. Who would, a young thing like that? So, we all covered it up and didn't tell

'bout her having the gun. Shame of it wuz she's sent away anyway. Seemed her mind...

just snapped."

"Is that all you saw that night?"

"Yes, 'mum, I put the Missus suitcase away an' tried to forget."

"Suitcase?"

"Umm… Yes, 'mum. Miss Vivian… she wuz going sum'where that night," she whispered. "Mr. Neilson, he ordered me ta unpack her suitcase and put things away 'fore the law got here."

"Wait a minute, lemme get this straight… Vivian had a suitcase packed and was ready to go off with... Tom, I presume?"

"I dunnno where she wuz going, 'mum, but... you can see why master Jason overheard us saying Miss Ashley might've had a hand in it."

"Because her mother was leaving her, is that the assumption?" I wondered if this might be the reason Sara didn't want to believe she was Tom Randall's daughter. Had Ashley known Vivian was leaving with him? Leaving her perhaps? And… had she stopped her? Did Sara know this on some unconscious level? I realized I was thinking about the same person as two separate entities, but to me, they were. Especially since Sara had no memory of being Ashley

"We all knew Miss Ashley doted on her muther, 'mum,” Celia answered. “Her and Mr. Neilson... they weren't close a'tall. Fact is, Miss Ashley often hid from him, up there." She nodded towards the ceiling.

"Why?" I asked, turning off the water.

"Don' rightly know, 'mum. Miss Ashley confided in no one, but her muther and Tom. And when they wuz gone, wull... she didn't talk much ta any one."

. The baby bird alone in the forest, I thought. "What do you think happened to Vivian, Celia?"

"Oh, 'mum, I wouldn't even want ta speculate. No. Not me, 'mum. Do no one any good. That's what we all agreed at the time: putting Miss Ashley in jail… it wouldn't bring Miss Vivian back." She shook her head, her eyes taking on a faraway look, as if she were remembering the events.

"So there was only Vivian and Ashley on the stairs, right?"

"I suppose, 'mum,” she answered a bit hesitantly. “A'course by the time we servant's got there, Mr. Neilson wuz already trying ta calm his daughter."

"Trying to calm her? Why, was she hysterical or something?"

"Oh yes, 'mum. Like I said, she wuz screaming sum'thin' awful. And when Mr.

Neilson reached for the gun… she threatened him with it.” This raised my eyebrows.

“Said she'd kill him, she did,” Celia added, as if she thought I didn't believe her. She glanced down at the floor. “But… I don't think she coulda',” she added in a softer tone.

"How'd he get the gun from her?"

"Wull, he smooth talked her for a while. An' when she calmed down, he snatched the gun away from her. Fainted dead away, she did… right there beside her muther." She shook her head.

"You said the police were called, what did Ashley say happened?"

"She never said anything, 'mum. Not til the day she die… I mean… She's never said,” she corrected herself. “Her mind, 'mum… it snapped. Poor child, never said another word 'fore they took her away ta hospital." She was shaking her head, a rueful expression on her face.

"How was she when she came back?" I asked, pulling off my top.

Celia immediately turned away, as if embarrassed. "Very withdrawn, I guess ya would say. Never spoke ta anyone. 'Scept, a'course, master Jason."

"She didn't have any friends?"

"Not til college, 'mum. She brought a few young women home then, as I recall."

"Young women? Was she like…?"

She nodded. "I 'spect so, 'mum. The few I met were... not so ladylike, if ya know what I mean. “Course few are. Not like girls in my day."

"Did Brandon know?"

"I dunno, 'mum. They wuz seldom together. Mainly went their separate ways after she went off ta college. That's when she got real rebellious. Seldom had a civil word for one another in them days. Even had a big row the night she had her accident, so I wuz told. Sammy said she tore outta here like the devil himself wuz hot on her heels."

"Oh really?" This was interesting news. I pulled down my pajama bottoms. “What was the row about? Do you know?”

She turned, looked over at me and then twisted back around in a flash. "No, 'mum, no I don't know what it was about. I... I should leave ya ta your bath, now. I have me chores ta do. Take care a'those linens for ya,” she rambled on, as if embarrassed about something. I assumed this concerned revealing so much about Ashley and Brandon's relationship. “Want I should take your breakfus' down and keep it warm, 'mum?" she inquired.

"No, that's alright. If my visitor comes back she might want something to eat."

"Will ya be needing me ta cum' back an'… help ya outta the bath?” she asked, her tone suggesting she hoped her services would not be required.

“No, thank you. I'm sure I'll be able to manage.”

“Yes, 'mum," she said, as she closed the door behind her.

I was eager to tell Sara what I had learned, which was a lot. Celia was a veritable fountain of information; once you got the water running, that is. And after eating part of my cold breakfast, I started out for the attic. But things were definitely not right in my head. I was almost too light-headed to walk, much less climb the stairs. I turned around half way down the hall and ambled back to my room. I would just have to lure her to me.

I sat down on the bed and turned on the stereo. Then I put on the same disc as before and programmed the same songs. I turned up the volume and hoped that my ploy would work.

On the tenth repeat, I was growing tired of it myself. I'd already moved over to her chair, feeling disheartened that she hadn't responded. I was gazing out the window, with my finger on the button to stop the player, when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

"Please!" Sara shouted, as she shut the sitting room door behind her. "I don't think I can take hearing it again."

I pressed the button, stopping the music, never taking my eyes off her. She looked wonderful. She was neatly dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a white button up shirt. Her hair had been recently brushed and was hanging long and silky over her shoulders. God, how I wanted to run my fingers through it.

I started to get up, but she shook her head. "No, Faith, don't... just... stay right there. It'll be easier that way."

For who? I thought.

"I assume you wanted me," she said, toeing the carpet with her tennis shoe.

I couldn't resist. "You'll never know how much."

She sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling. "This is hard enough, Faith, don't make it any harder. Whaddaya want?"

I cleared my throat, for I almost said, you. "I have a lot of things to tell you," I answered, instead.

She glanced over at me. "About what?"

"I've been talking to Celia. We had a very informative little chat. Did you know you used to like Tom? That he got a horse for you… one that only you and he could ride?

And you have his eyes and his skin tone?"

She leaned her head back against the door. "You're not just telling me this, are you?"

"You think I'd lie to you about this? Then we'll call Celia up here and ask her," I declared, getting up out of the chair, headed for the phone.

"No, Faith, I... I believe you," she acknowledged. "Don't... don't bother her."

"You want to sit down and listen to a few other things or... do you have a busy schedule today?"

"I'll listen… from here."

"Afraid I'll bite?" I asked, sarcastically, as I sat down on the bed.

"Frankly… yes," she admitted, as she toed the carpet.

There was a long silence between us, as I sensed my new information changed nothing. Then I relayed the rest of what Celia had told me.

"Doesn't say much for my mother's character, does it?" she asked.

"Well, we don't know the whole story here and probably never will. But, I should think that if Brandon fell in love with my mother... she probably wasn't the first one to stray."

She sighed heavily. "Where are you going when you leave here?" she asked, obviously changing the subject.

"Well, I want you to go with me to Jackson Falls, first." I picked at a piece of fluff on the bedspread, assuming she would object. "I need to settle things there."

"Where then?" she asked, without even looking my way.

"I dunno. We… haven't discussed it. Oh… but I have my inheritance now. Brandon gave me the savings account passbook and the checkbook. It's all mine. None of it's his. It came from my father. I intend to pay him back for all this." I was referring to the stereo, clothes, physical therapy equipment, etc.

"Tell me about Jackson Falls," she said, as she finally looked over at me. "Would you like to go back there to live?"

"I don't believe we'll be able to. There probably aren't a lot of jobs for a private duty physical therapist. At least, not like what you're used to. And we'll need to be near a college so I can finish my education."

"You keep saying we. I asked about you."

"I... I don't wanna even consider life without you, Sara."

She sighed heavily. "I'd be no good for you, Faith. I... everything is just too messed up."

"Are you saying that... we can't fix whatever is messed up?"

She sighed again and ran her fingers through her hair. "Why don't you just... go back to Jackson Falls and... forget about all this?"

"I can't... can't you see that?" I got up from the bed and started towards her. "Didn't you listen to the song? Without you, Sara, I have nothing. I love you and I'm not leaving here without you."

"Faith, please, I told you… Don't." Her right hand fumbled with the doorknob, as if she was going to leave.

"You gonna run again, Sara?” I took a step forward. “You gonna spend your life running from me?" I asked, taking several more steps in her direction. "Because, I'll follow you, Sara. I'll follow you to the ends of the earth, if I have to. 'Cuz I know you love me. It's there in your eyes and its written all over your face," I added, covering the remaining distance between us, while watching her grip the knob, but not offering to actually open the door.

"What if... Celia is wrong?” she asked, quietly. “What then?"

"I'll still love you just the same. I can't change what I feel," I replied, reaching out to touch her face.

"Faith, please," she said, turning away. "I'm begging you."

"No, Sara, I'm begging you. Don't run from me, please! I need you, I want you and I love you," I pleaded, letting go of the cane and placing both hands on the door, one on either side of her head. She merely continued to stare at the floor. I leaned over closer to her face and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Come back to me, Sara. I need you so much," I whispered, nuzzling my face against the side of hers. God, she smelled wonderful.

"Faith, please, you'll... you'll only end up hating me if..."

"I believe you said something similar once before," I interrupted. "And that time I ended up falling in love with you," I whispered in her ear. "Head over heels, as I recall." I placed a kiss on her neck.

"Dammit, Faith!” she hissed softly. “You're always so persistent." She placed her hands on my waist. "But, I can't let you do this. You'd be throwing your life away on me, cousin or not," she added, gently pushing me away.

I bounced right back. "You are my life, Sara, you know that." I kissed her cheek.

"Oh-h… you're so blasted stubborn," she said softly, as she finally faced me.

"Yes, but you wouldn't want me any other way." I placed a light kiss on her lips, then eased back, watching her eyes dart back and forth searching mine. "I love you, Sara, with all my heart."

She hesitated a moment, then suddenly pulled me to her and pressed her lips to mine. "Damn... you... Faith," she mumbled around her kisses. "I... love… you… too.”

She fell silent except for a few moans, then, “Faith, no," she objected, hearing me lock the door. "I can't stay. I shouldn't stay. Faith... don't…”

"Yes, you should. I've missed you."

I didn't give any thought to the other visitor I'd had the night before, until we were on the bed. "Uh-uh," I objected, stilling her hand. "It's... that time."

She hesitated a moment, her eyes darting back and forth searching mine. "You mean, you get what you want, but… I can't?"

"Um-hmm, that's about the size of it," I said, unzipping her pants. "I know you've encountered this before."

"Not with you," she said, gazing into my eyes, as if I were somehow different.

"Awh, sweetie... I've missed you."

"Celia, put a hold on lunch, please," I said, into the phone. "And... would ya be a doll and buzz me when Brandon gets home?" I ran my fingers through Sara's hair. "Oh no, I don't wanna see him, just... let me know when he gets here. Thanks, Celia."

"Pretty chummy with Celia these days, aren't we?"

"You left me all alone, I had to have someone to talk to. Besides, itn't it nice to know we don't have to hide things from her? Oh, no you don't.... I told you…"

"Let's go take a shower then." She arched her eyebrows up and down and moved her hand up the inside of my thigh.

"For someone I had to practically drag into this bed, you sure are eager now."

"You're the one that put the lighter fluid on the charcoal and struck the match, so don't be complainin' 'bout the fire you started, hmm? Come on."

"I think you better order that lunch now," she said. "Or else I won't get anything to eat again until tonight, after they all go to bed."

"Have you been starving up there?" I teased, running my finger around her lips.

"Um-hmm, in more ways than one."

Celia left the tray in the sitting room and Sara sneaked out and got it. Then she tore into it like she really was starving. "Want me to ask her to leave a tray for you, tonight?"

I asked.

"No, that would be too obvious. But, you could save me some of yours."

"Should I bring it..."

"No, too dangerous for you. I'll come get it."

"Good."

"Uh-uh... I know what you're thinkin'… I can see your wheels turning. No, I can't stay the night."

"Why not?" I moved my hand over her back. "You've done it before."

"Yeah, well, at least before we woulda been able to make up some excuse if he happened to find us. Now... Whew… Uh-uh."

"Let's leave tomorrow then."

"What are you gonna do, just leave while he's at work?" she asked.

“That would be kinda… rude, don'cha think? Making him worry like that.”

“Might be for the best though. I'd hate to see the scene he'd create over you leaving with me.”

"Ya may have a point there,” I acknowledged, knowing how he felt about her. “I guess…

I could move my stuff out while he's at work. Then come back, pay him off and say goodbye."

“Or handle the rest via long distance. I don't like the idea of either of us coming back here, once he knows you're leaving with me.”

“Why? What can he possibly do? I am an adult, ya know.”

She shook her head. “I dunno. I just… I don't like the idea.” She paused briefly. "Are you sure about this? I mean... you know I'm not good with commitments."

"I'll take my chances," I said, laying my head against her back and putting my arms around her waist. "Are you... satisfied with what you've found out, about the diary and all?"

"I suppose. I don't think my memory is ever coming back, though. Maybe it's better if it doesn't. When I try to concentrate on these little fragments, I get this awful…

foreboding feeling. As if part of my mind is saying, 'you don't wanna know'."

"Maybe, it's that part of you who wants to remain Sara Bennington."

"Yeah, I... I think I do wanna remain Sara Bennington." She rubbed her hand over my arm around her waist. "I know I liked her much better with you. Finding out has only been painful and... to tell you the truth… I don't think I'd wanna be his daughter, even if he did accept me." I assumed she was referring to Brandon.

"Then there's nothing for either of us here anymore, is there?"

"I thought my memories might be here, but… I suppose those would be better left in the past," she agreed.

"I beg your pardon. I have a very nice memory of the first time we made love, right here on this very bed," I rebutted, teasingly.

"Umm, too bad we can't take the bed with us, hmm?"

"That's an idea. We could take the frame and mattress... leave the canopy part. I could buy it from Brandon and have it..."

She put her finger to my lips. "Why don't we just buy our own bed, hmm? Start over, fresh and new? And the first thing we do is… break the bed in."

"Sounds good to me," I said, as I hugged her tightly.

"Oh... and that reminds me, I never did get to tell you about my trip to Columbus."

"No, you didn't. How was it?"

"The place is… beautiful, Faith. It's nothing like this, of course. Only a two story brick house with maybe ten… twelve rooms at most in the whole house."

"That still sounds big."

"Well, it's not... not really. Anyway the best part is the pond out behind the house. It has this gazebo built out over the water, with a swing and... there's ducks and... Oh, you'd just have to see it. It's really… charming," she said, as she turned to face me, her expression changing from very happy to quite somber in an instant. "Um... since we're...

leaving and all, I..." She turned away for a moment and nibbled her lower lip. Then she slowly moved the table away from her and turned around again. "Faith... I..." She paused, as she reached down and took my hands in hers. "I want you to come live with me there."

She spit the words out very rapidly.

I was a bit taken aback. This sounded a lot like a proposal. It seemed things had changed a great deal in the last couple of hours. "Are you proposing..." I paused, for I couldn't say marriage. "…making a commitment?"

She nodded, as she brought my left hand up to her face and kissed the palm. "Yes, I suppose I am." She gazed into my eyes.

I didn't want to ask this, but I felt I had to. "Are you sure?"

"Yes... yes, I am. I... I came back here that Saturday to tell you all about the place and... because I didn't like being without you. I wanted you with me that day. And I...

well, I knew I wanted you with me always." She kissed my palm again. "I knows it seems sudden and... it sounds odd since only a short while ago I acted as if I didn't even want you touching me, but... I had to know for sure that you wanted me... no matter who I was or what I'd done in…"

I silenced her by putting my finger to her lips. "I've been waiting a long time for this." I reached out and pulled her close, tears welling up in my eyes. I kissed her on the neck and whispered softly, "I told you I'd follow you to the ends of the earth… and I meant it. Wherever you are, that's where I wanna be."

"Oh, Faith..." She eased back. "…I do love you so." Our lips met in another passionate embrace.

I lay back on the bed, taking her with me. We languished in each other's arms for quite a while, before hunger brought her back to reality.

"I'm so happy, Sara," I affirmed, holding onto her once again, as she attacked the now cold food. "You just don't know how it hurt when he told me you agreed I was well enough not to need your services."

"I never said that, Faith,” she mumbled around a piece of bread. “He let me go, that night."

"But… he said you agreed with Dr. Rosemund... that I was well enough to be released."

"Released?" she asked, as she looked over her shoulder at me. "Has Dr. Rosemund been out here lately?" I shook my head. "Then he hasn't released you, I'm pretty sure."

Her eyes darted back and forth, as she stared down at the tray. “I wonder why Brandon would tell you that?” she murmured. “He didn't say he was changing doctors?”

I shook my head. I wasn't interested in Dr. Rosemund or any other doctor. "How come your letter said, 'I'm sorry, but I can't stay here any longer?' You made it sound like it was your choice."

"Well, I was planning on leaving, only… not that night. I came back, as I was scheduled to, remember?” I nodded. She hadn't been due back from Columbus until Monday afternoon. “Well, Brandon was waiting for me when I walked in the door. He handed me my walking papers, which… shot to hell and back the way I planned to say goodbye,” she grumbled. “Didn't I say I wanted to say goodbye, but I just couldn't face you?" I nodded. "Ya know, I... I sat right here on the bed and wrote that while I watched you sleeping. And god, how I hated to leave you. But, there was nothing I could do. I...

kept hoping you'd wake up, because I couldn't bring myself to wake you."

"Why not?"

"Guilt. I felt so ashamed of what I had done to you. I had always dreaded the thought of hurting you by... not being able to commit to a relationship, but... I never dreamed I'd ever hurt you this way. And knowing how ashamed I felt, I assumed you had to be feeling… just awful! So... I figured maybe it was… for the best, ya know. And I had myself pretty well convinced I was acting in your best interest, until..."

"Until today?" I interjected.

"No, yesterday in the attic. You sure know how to wear a person's resistance down."

"I know something else I'd like to wear down. Or more appropriately tear down.

And that's all these lies that Brandon…”

"Ssh," she said, rubbing my arm around her waist. "It doesn't matter now sweetheart, we'll be leaving tomorrow." She brought my right hand to her mouth and planted a kiss on my fingers. Then she returned her attention to the food on the tray.

"You like watching me sleep, don'chu?" I asked, kissing her on the shoulder, remembering the indention in the pillow this morning.

She shrugged. "What can I say, you're pretty when you're asleep." I popped her on the belly lightly. "Oops, I didn't mean you weren't pretty all the time, it's just..."

"How did you sneak back in without being seen?" I inquired.

"Oh, that was easy. You know they all have Tuesday nights off…” She was referring to the servants. “…and I knew Brandon would more than likely be up here with you, so it was just a matter of…” The phone rang, silencing her.

I snatched it up promptly. "Yes," I said, into the receiver. "Thanks so much, Celia." I put the phone down. "Get your clothes on, Brandon's coming up the drive.”

"So early, gee whiz. He would pick today of all days. Oh well..." She kissed me long and hard. "See ya later. Remember save me some dinner. Put it in there," she motioned towards the closet.

"Have you been in there a lot?"

She merely looked at me. "The apple was tempting. I eventually ate it. I just didn't want you to know I was here, then."

"Why'd you show yourself in the attic yesterday?"

"Because if I didn't you'd alert the whole damn house and I couldn't have that, now could I?" She zipped up her jeans. "Gimme one more of those French fries," she added, reaching over to the tray.

"Ah-ah-ah," I said, popping her hand. "Either I feed you or I dress you, take your pick."

"Feed me and make it quick."

I stuffed two French fries in her mouth, while she slipped her shirt on and buttoned it. Then she sat down on the bed and put her shoes on, while I fed her the rest.

"Umm, I like feeding you. Come back tonight and let me do this again."

"Oh no," she said, shaking her finger. "I know you, you'll have me hungering for more than food." I arched both eyebrows and chuckled. She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss. "Hadn't you better get dressed, too?"

"I will. He won't come up here first. 'Course if he does, the door's locked. Be sure to lock it on your way out."

"Sara," I said, as she set the door to lock behind her. "I love you."

"I love you too, Faith, especially for your stubborn, persistent streak. I love the way you wear down my resistance."

“Come back and I'll do a little more… wearing on that resi'stance of yours.”

“I bet you will.” She arched her eyebrows and then was gone.

NINETEEN

Although Brandon arrived home around two, he didn't come up until right before dinner to escort me downstairs. When we paused at the stairs, I glanced down at the attic door and smiled, knowing that Sara was up there somewhere. Brandon, of course, thought I was smiling at him and began his usual chatter about his business. I heard him, but my mind was elsewhere.

After dinner he escorted me into the library, saying he had something he wanted to discuss with me. I didn't really want to talk to him, but I knew I should humor him. And besides, it at least kept him downstairs where he was less likely to hear Sara, if she moved around.

He offered me a drink this time. I hadn't had anything since the night of the party, so I decided why not? It seemed he had something important to tell me and I might as well have a drink to wash it down with. Especially, if it was bad news or another lie.

Hopefully, it would be the last of these I'd have to listen to.

He left the room for a short while and when he returned, he had two glasses of champagne. He handed me one and then sat down on the sofa beside me. "I'd like to propose a toast," he said, as he raised his glass. "To you, Faith, my beautiful niece, may you make your family proud by being the first psychologist in the Neilson family."

Oh, so this was his announcement. He had accepted my own choice of professions.

"Thank you, Brandon." We touched glasses.

"And that's not all," he declared, as I took a sip of my champagne. "I've seen to it that you will be enrolled at the University of Georgia next semester."

"Next semester?" I asked, quite shocked at this revelation. "I wasn't planning on starting until the spring quarter. I assume it'll take that long before I'll be walking and looking normal after the plastic surgery."

"I've already arranged the appointment for your surgery with the best plastic surgeon in town. He says you should be home in two days, maybe less. And your records are being transferred here. You can start back to college in January."

My records are easily transferred, but not my clothes and other belongings? I wondered. And yet, I said, "Well, Brandon I... I appreciate the thought and all the trouble you went to, but... I haven't decided what I'm going to do, yet. First, I need to go home.

After that..."

"Home? Your home is here, where your family is, Princess. Jason and I are the only family you have left. I can take care of all of your affairs up there. Selling the house and..."

"Having my clothes and some of my things sent here?" I queried, interrupting him.

He looked at me rather strangely. "Your things were here. I thought you already received your clothes months ago."

"No, you haven't said anything about..."

"I distinctly remember telling Miss Bennington, because I ... I didn't want to tell you.

I do so hate to see you sad and I knew how this would affect you."

"You told Sara?"

"Yes, Princess, I thought you had already went through those things and picked out what you wanted. I had one of those rescue organizations come by and pick up the boxes Miss Bennington said you didn't want anymore."

"What?" I asked, quite perplexed now.

"You never saw any of your things, did you? That woman!" he fumed.

"Wait… my things were here and... they were given to a rescue organization? Even my stereo?"

"I suppose, I didn't look in the boxes, I merely went on her word. I'm sorry, Princess, I never should have trusted her. That was my mistake… ever trusting that woman."

"I never saw those things. Why weren't they brought to my room?"

"I had them put in the attic, until you found time to go through them. They would only have cluttered up your room."

The attic? Just the fact that he had mentioned it sent a chill through me. And also made me quite suspicious. Had there ever been anything of mine in the attic? Surely if he had informed Sara, she would have told me. She knew how I felt about my old clothes.

Sara wouldn't do this to me! And come to think of it, I'd never known Brandon to let Sara handle anything that wasn't unmistakably her job, especially not family matters.

"Princess... Princess," he said, pulling me back to reality.

"Uh... yeah?"

"I'm sorry about this, Princess, but... well, as you see I did do my part. And I can contact a good real estate agent and..."

“Real estate agent?” I interrupted.

“Why yes, to sell the house and…”

"No. No, that won't be necessary. I'm not sure I will be selling the house, I..."

"What?" he asked, as he flinched.

"At least not right now," I added, thinking of how Sara and I might stay there awhile, during our trip. My mind then wandered back to my things. How much had been given away? And more importantly why? Was he just making this up to try and turn me against Sara?

"All right," he said, rather sweetly. "We can do that soon enough. But we have to start thinking of your future now. You can't stay behind these walls forever."

"I am thinking of my future and... I haven't decided exactly what I want to do. Don't get me wrong I appreciate everything you've done for me. You've been very kind to take me in like this and cover all my expenses and… Well, perhaps the best way to repay you for everything, all the bills, etcetera… would be to turn over my interest in the company to you."

"What? Part of your holdings in Neilson?" he asked, incredulously.

"Yes." I wanted to add, My father never wanted any part of it, so why should I? I literally held my tongue with my teeth.

"No," he said, as he turned away. "We are family, Princess. I will not have you repaying me for any of this."

"But, I must Brandon. I don't want to leave here feeling indebted to you."

"Leave here?" he asked, his voice rising in tone. He flinched and turned towards me rather abruptly, as if I'd just pricked him.

The cat was out of the proverbial bag now. The bridge I had laid a course to cross tomorrow –via long distance as Sara advised- yawned before me now. Why I was afraid to tell him this, I didn't know. Was this due to Sara's warnings that it wouldn't be easy to get away from him? But, what could he do, short of physical violence? And why should I fear that? He'd never exhibited any signs of that kind of behavior.

I decided to go with the flow, albeit treading lightly and see what happened. "Yes, I told you once before that I wouldn't be staying indefinitely."

"But… you have to stay here. I mean... we're your family, Princess. And you need to be with your family. Where else would you go? Where else could you find anything better than here?" He sat his empty glass down rather hard on the table in front of him.

Then he stood up and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Something inside made a jingling sound, which he stifled. "I just can't see you leaving here, Princess," he continued, in a rather soft tone. "Aren't you happy here? I've... I've tried to give you everything you wanted. Everything you asked for. But, obviously...." He paused, as he walked around behind the sofa. "Obviously I didn't. Just tell me what you want, Princess.

I'll give you anything... anything within my power, of course.

"Do you want more parties?” he questioned. “More freedom to come and go? I'll hire another driver and put the other limo at your disposal. It should be yours anyway… it was your father's. Oh, and I'll have it updated of course, with every modern convenience you might want. You can use it to go back and forth to college. You'd never have to worry about the traffic or anything of that nature.

"You can even have your own parties," he went on, his voice getting that excited, 'I have great plans for you', tone, as he put his hands on my shoulders. "We'll invite more suitable guests. Yes... yes, that's it. You'll be making new friends at college and meeting plenty of nice young men. I'm sure you'll have so many flocking around you I'll… have to lock the gates to even be able to spend any time with you. Oh yes, can't you see, it could be just wonderful, Princess?"

For who? I wanted to ask, but refrained, as I took another sip of champagne. I stared at the glass, sensing an odd odor, as if it hadn't been cleaned properly.

I could feel his strong hands on my shoulders applying enough pressure to keep me from raising up to sit the glass down. This was a bit disconcerting. "Brandon, I..."

"I need you, Marion," he said, gripping my shoulders a bit harder, obviously unaware of calling me by my mother's name. I rolled my eyes skyward. I knew he was off on his spree with my mother's memory. "This place needs a woman's touch. Things are so drab. Before you came, I dreaded coming home to this big lonely house. But, now that… you're here, it's so different. I feel alive again. You're like a ray of sunshine in my dark and dreary life, Princess."

Listening to him, I started to feel sorry for him. I hadn't given much thought to how lonely he must be. I had only seen the cheerful side of his personality, the one that spoke of his business, as if it fulfilled him, wholly. Only when he talked of my mother did he seem lonely. And I knew all too well that he was thinking of her now.

"Stay with me, you'll see. I'll make all your dreams come true." His voice again taking on that excited tone. "After you finish college, we'll go on trips. Yes, we'll see the world. I can take you to all the wonderful places I've been to. And they'll be so much more special now, with you by my side." His voice lowered an octave to a very soft, soothing tone, as he placed one hand on the side of my head and slowly stroked my hair.

"Then you'll be ready to settle down with… the man of your choice. And… I'll have your mother and father's whole suite redecorated for you. We can make one room a nursery.

Perhaps even the one across the hall? Yes, of course. Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

This proposal of his was not one I fancied. It was nowhere near my dream. While I might once have wanted to stay at Shady Grove –it had been my home for many months now and I knew I'd miss Celia and the servants I had gotten to know- I did not want him planning my life. Especially, concerning marriage, because I had my own ideas on who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And we had already made our plans.

"Brandon, what if my choice is a woman?" I asked. I wanted to see what he would say.

"Oh, good god almighty, Faith!" He quickly removed his hands. "I told you all you need is a good man and…"

"But, I don't want a man."

"Utter nonsense," he said, disgustedly, as he walked down the length of the sofa.

"You'll get over this, you'll see."

"Brandon, if I can't be myself here, I can't stay."

He turned and glared at me from the end of the sofa. " She did this to you! Put these ideas in your head and turned you against me. From the very first time you opened your eyes, she did nothing but come between us. And now I know why! I should have fired that disgusting bitch the very first time she disagreed with me," he said angrily, as he began pacing the floor.

"And that was over your mother, you know,” he continued. “Yes, they both advised me not to tell you. No, it will upset her, they said. But I wanted to, Princess. And I wanted to fire her then and there. But no, Dr. Rosemund said she was an excellent therapist. Always got results with her patients. She got results, all right. And I doubt you're the first patient she's seduced, either."

"This is not her fault, Brandon. None of it," I said, angrily, knowing he was lying about not telling me about my mother. "Sara didn't seduce me, I seduced her."

He turned and glared at me. I was unafraid of his angry looks, for some reason.

"Oh yes, it was me, not her. And she is not the cause of me wanting to leave. The reason I can't stay is because you can't accept me for who I am."

"Who you are? You have no idea who you are and that's the damn problem. You want me to accept this... this perversion, when I know your mother wouldn't!"

That stung, but not for long. "She'd want me to be happy," I interjected, running my finger around the rim of my glass.

"Happy?" he asked, as he abruptly stopped pacing. "How could you possibly be happy with another woman?"

"I was happy with Sara."

He glared at me again, as he shoved his hands in his pockets again. Whatever was inside jingled. "That can not be happiness. Women were made for men, not for each other. You can plainly see that, Princess," he pleaded. When I offered no response, his tone changed again. "No. No, I can't accept it and I won't! I will not sit idly by and watch, while you throw your life away because some... perverted whore turned your young head.

No, we'll just have to fix this!"

Fix it? I felt heat rush to my cheeks. "And just how do you propose to do that?" I asked, sarcastically to his demanding tone of voice, which seemed to say he, above everyone else, had the answer to everything.

"I'll hire the best doctors money can buy. You'll see... they'll know what to do to make you... normal again. They'll know how to undo what that... that beast did to you."

I could feel the rage building inside of me, as the word "beast" echoed in my ears. I sat my glass down on the table hard, sending some of the half full remains dribbling over the side. I quickly stood up to protest this insult. And then the room started to spin. I sat back down, slowly. I could hear Celia's warning concerning his ego, echoing in my head:

"Be careful, 'mum… be careful."

"She's a sick minded woman to seduce such a child," he continued on his tirade, oblivious to my plight. "She took advantage of you is what she did. Doesn't matter who made the first move. She precipitated it. I should have seen through her, when she had you putting your arms all over her out there in that pool. Such a sick beast. All her kind should be destroyed!"

Damn his infernal ego! I thought. He had no respect for my feelings, so why should I have any for his? I rose up slower this time and made it to my feet. "She's not a perverted whore!" I shouted. "Nor a sick beast. When you start calling names, you best look inside your own heart, because that was a disgusting display you put on out there in the pool. Now, that's perversion. Rubbing yourself against your own niece. She never had to hold me like that."

At this point, I was saying anything that came into my head in order to hurt him, for I was on my own tirade and out for blood. "I don't doubt you'd wanna keep me here for some perverted reason or another. If you need another woman around here, find yourself one.

Or is that too difficult? Of course it is, isn't it? No one compares to my mother, do they?

That's why you never married again, because no one could fill her shoes, could they?"

He didn't answer. He turned his back to me and faced the fire.

"Is that the reason you want me to stay here, because I remind you so much of her?

You don't want me here Brandon, you want her! You want a memory you could never have!" He gave a quick glance over his shoulder, as if he might say something, but didn't.

"Or did you?" I inquired, wondering if this was what he had wanted to say.

He spun around on his heels to face me with a look of utter surprise on his face.

"You did, didn't you? You had an affair with your brother's wife... didn't you?"

His eyes narrowed until they were no more than tiny slits. I could still see the anger and guilt written all over his face. I'd hit a nerve and I knew it. He was bleeding inside, just as he'd made me bleed.

"How dare you smear your mother's good name!" he exclaimed, as he came around the sofa towards me, his dark eyes seemingly shooting daggers. "She was never anything but faithful to your father. She was extremely loyal."

"And you, were you loyal to your brother? Or did you lust after his wife so much that you drove him from his own home?"

Before I even saw it coming, he slapped me across the face, with the back of his hand. I stumbled backwards, my head reeling. The only thing that saved me from hitting the floor was the position of a chair close to the sofa, which I stumbled into. I looked up at him, my vision a bit blurry for a moment and my lips stinging from the blow. The coppery taste of blood shocked my foggy brain into alertness. I reached up to my stinging lips, to see what other damage had been caused by the severity of his blow. Upon removing my hand, I found blood coating my index finger. I scrambled to my feet, my head still spinning, weaving my way to the door and eventually the stairs. The taste of my own blood and the dizziness in my head, made me feel nauseous. I paused at the foot of the stairs afraid I was going to throw up.

"Marion," he called from behind me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I... I lost my temper, darling."

Darling, my ass! I thought, and started climbing the stairs as fast as I could. If only I can reach my room, I'll be safe.

"Marion... Marion, please," he called from the foot of the stairs.

"I'm not Marion!" I exclaimed from the second floor landing. "And stay away from me! I never want to see you again!"

I started off down the hall. I could hear him coming up the stairs. I increased my pace, hearing him getting closer with each long stride. All I could think about was getting to my room and locking the door. I tried for more speed, but my head was truly reeling now and I couldn't focus on anything. I was moving on pure instinct and adrenaline, reaching out to the walls for support.

I reached the door to my sitting room just moments ahead of him. I slipped around the door, slammed it behind me, then backed up against it and locked it.

"Princess... Princess, don't do this. Let me explain," he said, turning the knob.

"Go away, Brandon," I moved away from the door. "I don't wanna see you ever again."

"Princess, please don't say that. I... you made me mad with what you said and... I really didn't mean to strike you. I... I lost my head. Please, Princess..."

"No, just... go away," I called over my shoulder, as I went into my bedroom and locked those doors behind me, also.

My heart was beating ninety to nothing; my head pounding; it was hard just keeping my balance. I leaned back against the door to rest for a moment. I could feel my blood coursing through my veins, providing the necessary elements to keep moving. I reached up and touched my lip again. It was still bleeding in the corner.

"Damn him," I said, as I straightened up and started over to the bed.

I turned quickly as something jingled outside the door. I heard a sickening click and then saw a sobering turn of the knob. The door opened up with a spine tingling squeak of the hinges.

"Princess, please forgive me, I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, closing the doors behind him.

“What the hell are you doing… with a key to my room?” I screeched, taking a step back.

His right hand stayed behind his back for several moments. “Why I have a key to every room, Princess,” he stated calmly, as he started towards me. “It is my house, after all.”

“You carry them all with you?” I was getting scared now and started backing up in the direction of the phone on the nightstand. I wasn't sure who I was going to call: Celia or 911. What would I say to the 911 dispatch: My uncle is my room, come arrest him?

What would I say to Celia? I had no idea. I just wanted someone to know what was going on up here. And I was hopeful that the mere threat of me calling someone would be enough to make him leave.

“What are you doing?” he asked, still moving towards me.

“I want you outta my room,” I responded, reaching for the phone and wishing like hell I could call the attic.

I had the receiver to my ear when he lunged for me and snatched it out of my hand.

“Wouldn't do you any good,” he growled, slamming the receiver back in the cradle.

“They all have Tuesday nights off, remember?” He ripped the phone cord out of the wall.

“Even Celia has a friend she visits.” He snatched the other end of the cord out of the base.

Receiver and cradle hit the floor with a whack and a jingle of the ringer.

“What are you doing, Brandon?!” I exclaimed, “You're scaring me!” I took a step back.

“Scaring you?” he asked, his eyes glassy and wild looking as he started towards me with the phone cord in his hand. “Oh well, we wouldn't want that now, would we?” A devilish smirk spread across his lips.

“Brandon, stop!” I pleaded, unsure of what he planned to do and feeling the bed touch the backs of my legs. This isn't good. I started crab walking down the side of the bed.

His gaze fell on the turned back comforter and sheets. “Had yourself a find time in here today, didn't you?”

“Wha…?”

“Oh yeah, I heard it all. After the fact, that is.” He was winding the phone cord around his left hand. “Your whore's been staying in the attic, hasn't she?” He arched his eyebrows suggestively. “Well not anymore. No, no, I expect she has a quaint little cell in the county jail by now.”

“What are you talking about?” I feigned innocence, rounding the end of the bed now, never taking my eyes off him. My plan was to get to the open bathroom door.

Surely he wouldn't have a key to that.

He reached underneath the canopy top and felt around, then produced a small round object that looked like a magnet. “I put it here last night, after you went to sleep,” he said, as if answering the unvoiced question on my face. “Food missing… strange noises in the attic… she should have covered her tracks better.” He smiled slyly and slipped the bug into his pocket, as he started towards me again. “Let's see, now how did that go? Oh yes:

'You're the one that put the lighter fluid on the charcoal and stuck the match, so don't be complaining about the fire',” he said, in a high-pitched tone of voice, apparently mocking Sara.

“Oh God,” I gasped, realizing he had indeed heard us.

“Yes, quite a tape I have in my study. Hot stuff, little Princess. Frankly, I didn't know you had it in you.”

I suddenly felt very sick, knowing he had listened to us making love. “That was a…

a sick thing to do,” I hissed, taking one excruciatingly slow backwards step at a time down the end of the bed, towards the bathroom. “Placing a bug in my room as if you were some sorta spy.”

“I had to find out what you were up to. I got more than I bargained for, I'll grant you.” That devilish grin was back. “Too bad it wasn't a video camera. I could let you watch yourself on TV. How would you like that, hmm?” Both eyebrows arched suggestively. “Watching yourself and your whore fuck each other's brains out, hmm? Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me, Princess, you prefer to call it making love, don't you?”

I did feel sick now. “Brandon, stop this!” I pleaded, as he kept moving closer, the look in his eyes becoming more frightening with each step. I didn't dare turn my back on him in order to run for the door, because I knew he'd be on top of me before I could get the door closed. “I don't know what you're so upset about… we're leavin', like I said. I mean… you heard that too, right? You'll get your money back for all of this, I promise.

Matter of fact, I'll… I'll write you a check, right now. And I'll… I'll sign over my interest in the company… I don't want anything to do with it.” I was saying anything that came into my head. All of which I was willing to do at that point to get away from him. “It'll all be yours. Just… just go downstairs and draw up the paperwork and I'll sign it, I promise.

And then I'll be outta here and outta your life. You'll never have to lay eyes on me again.”

“No, Princess, that's not exactly what I had in mind. You see, you don't need to sign anything over to me, cause you're not going anywhere.”

His statement hadn't even registered in my brain when he lunged for me. I screamed and stumbled backwards. His arms wrapped around me tightly, pinning mine to my sides, before I could even voice another protest.

“It didn't have to be this way, Princess,” he said, staring down at me. He didn't look so angry now, only determined. “I gave you ample chances to accept my offer. It could've been so wonderful.” He leaned over as if to kiss me and I turned my head away. “I had such grand plans for the two of us.” He rubbed his face against the side of mine. “But you just wouldn't listen. Why wouldn't you listen?” His voice had taken on a softer tone now.

“All I ever wanted was to love you. Take care of you… keep you here with me. I would've given you everything. Everything your heart desired.” His lips pressed against the side of my neck and his hold loosened somewhat.

I found myself able to move my right arm and jabbed the head of my cane into his groin.

“Oof!” he gasped, his grip loosening even more. I tried to pull away. “Oh no… No, you don't.” He spun me around, so that my back was to him now and he tightened his grip.

“Ung!” he groaned, “You're a little fighter, aren't you?”

“Lemme go!” I growled.

“Never!” he hissed in my ear. “You're not going anywhere, Princess!” He jerked me off my feet and turned around, starting back towards the bed. “No one's ever gonna leave me again!”

It finally registered in my brain that he was planning to kill me! For a fleeting moment, I couldn't accept this as being real. Brandon, kill me? Why? It doesn't make sense. Brandon's not a killer. And then it hit me, full in the face: Vivian died here -a supposed suicide; my mother and father had left here hurriedly, leaving things behind…!

“No one's ever gonna leave me again!” he'd just said. Adrenaline surged through my body. I kicked and screamed and somehow managed to hit him in the shin.

“Ow-w!” he cried out, then shoved me onto the bed, face first. His body weight crashed down on me, knocking the wind out of my sails. “And give me that thing,” he growled, his voice sounding like a 45 record being played at 78 speed for several moments. He stripped the cane from my grasp. “I thought you'd be pretty sleepy by now.

But obviously… I didn't use enough tonight for what little you drank.”

I heard the cane slam against the wall behind us. And strangely enough, under the circumstances, I worried about it being broken, because it was something Sara had given me.

“I don't like… fighting, ya know,” he continued, as I struggled against him, while he scrambled to get my arms over my head. “No, never have liked it.” He grunted, holding me down with his body as he tied my wrists together with the phone cord. “I much prefer my women quiet and subdued.” He grabbed hold of my legs and flipped me over on my back. I tried to kick out at him, but he was too strong. He moved quickly between my legs now, making them useless as weapons. “Last night I did it right, though” he went on, using his body weight once again to hold me down. “You didn't fight me at all.”

My heart sank to my feet at the thought of him doing anything to me.

"You must have known," he said, unbuckling his belt. "You bled like a true virgin.

So, I guess she didn't do much damage, did she?" He smirked.

I suddenly felt faint at the thought of him taking advantage of me while I slept. Had this been the only time?

"Just for the record, you would've enjoyed it. I did." He chuckled. "But tonight you'll get to savor it. Oh yes, every precious moment, Princess, 'cause it's just you and me in this big ol' empty house," he added, as he unzipped his fly.

I put all my strength into bringing my arms forward and ramming them upside his head. He grimaced, but quickly had control of me again.

"Damn, you're a little fighter," he growled, as he reached down and pulled his belt off with one hand, then looped it through the telephone cord around my wrists. "Fix you,"

he said, with a grunt, as he buckled the belt around the closest bedpost.

"Why... are you doing this?" I asked, close to tears. I was still having a hard time accepting this behavior from him. For someone who wanted to be a psychologist, why had I not seen this coming?

"Why?” he mimicked, as he grabbed my blouse and ripped it open, buttons springing loose and dropping onto the bedspread. "'Cause it's pretty obvious now that you're no better than that whore you spread your legs for. I tried to reason with you.

Make you see the error of your ways, but… no-o, you insist on being a… pervert! And so, if you can spread your legs for her, you can damn well do it for me.” He reached down to the waistband of my jeans. “Tsk-tsk, pants are not very becoming on you, Princess. These are men's clothes." He popped the fabric off the button and snatched the zipper down. Then he reached around me and grabbed the jeans from behind, raking his fingernails over my skin, in an attempt to pull them down. "Damn these are tight, aren't they?" He snatched downward, his fingernails clawing my backside, as he freed them from my hips, taking my underwear with them.

I screamed, though it was a feeble attempt and sounded more like a squawk. I was helpless and I knew it. He had complete control and all I could do was watch, as he lifted my bra and pulled it up over my breasts.

"Oh yes, you are beautiful,” he declared, licking his lips. “Just like your mother."

I did manage to get out a scream this time, realizing he had probably done this same thing to her. He quickly covered my mouth with his own, applying pressure to the cut where he had hit me. He stuck his tongue so far down my throat I thought I would gag on it. I clamped down on it with my teeth.

"Ow-w-w!” he exclaimed and pulled back. “God…damn you… you little queer!" He grabbed his mouth. His hand came away with a spot of blood on it. “You'll pay for this!”

He backhanded me across the face. Pain shot through my skull. "Like it rough, huh?

Okay, I'll give you rough." He grabbed hold of my breast and squeezed the nipple. I screamed as stinging sensations shot through my body. He quickly covered the throbbing nub with his mouth and squeezed it between his teeth. I screamed again in sheer agony.

I'd never felt such excruciating pain in my life.

I felt him fumbling with his pants now, his breathing increasing, as if he were enjoying this. I prayed I would faint or something… anything so I wouldn't have to consciously endure what I knew was about to happen.

"Leave her alone, you bloody bastard!" exclaimed an angry voice behind him.

His head came up quickly and he turned, looking over his shoulder. "What the hell are you doing here? You're in jail.”

“Am I now?” Sara retorted. “I don't think so,” she taunted, as she moved into the room slowly. Her hair was in disarray, white shirt speckled with dirt, black jeans smeared with red mud on one side, her feet dirty and bare.

He glanced at the bathroom door behind her, then towards the sitting room door, which was still closed. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“I once lived here, Father,” she answered snidely. “Oh, how soon they forget.” She slowly circled the bed, with her right hand behind her back. It was obvious she had something to use as a weapon, but what?

“I'm not your father, you whore!” he growled, starting to straighten up.

“Stop right there!” she exclaimed, producing a small caliber silver pistol from behind her back. “Or I'll blow your fuckin' head off. I swear to God!”

He glanced from the gun to her. “You wouldn't dare,” he hissed.

“Oh wouldn't I? I'm crazy remember? Spent three years on a nut ward.”

His eyes grew wide. “No… no, it can't be. They said… there was no way you could've…” He paused, glancing down at me, disbelief written across his features. He obviously had not listened to the entire tape recording. “I heard you two discussing something, but... I didn't understand…” His gaze flew back to Sara, looking her over from head to toe and then concentrating solely on her face. Disbelief was giving way to shock. “The face is different… the hair… eyes…but, they were blue… Why…?” His facial expression changed dramatically. “Why didn't you come back home?" he whined, sounding like a parent now, whose child had ran away from home. “Where the hell have you been all this time?” Shocked parent was turning to angry parent. “And why did you deceive me like this?”

“Come home?” she scoffed. “To what? So you could do this to me?”

He gazed down at me. “Sara, would you at least let him move enough to get off me?” I requested.

"Uh, yeah. Get up,” she growled, aiming the gun at his head. “And if you make one false move, I'll put a bullet through your fuckin' head so fast you won't know what hit you." He pushed himself up off the bed and grabbed his pants. "No, let'em drop," she said, motioning with the gun.

"What?" he asked, incredulously.

"You heard me, let'em drop to the floor!" she ordered. He reluctantly let go of his pants and started to cross his arms. "Oh no, let's see your equipment. What you wanted to use on her. Pull those boxer shorts down!” She motioned with the gun.

“Oh, so that's what this is all about? You wanted to join the fun?” he goaded, obviously stalling.

“Fuck you!” she retorted. “Pull'em down, now!” The gun was leveled at his groin area and he reluctantly complied. “Hmph. That's the ugliest damn thing I ever seen,” she commented. He quickly covered himself with one hand, utilizing the tail of his shirt.

“And the smallest,” she added. “Whatsamatta, guns don't excite you?" He gritted his teeth and growled, but seemed to have lost some of his bravado. "Come on, motherfucker," she taunted, "Gimme an excuse to send you straight to hell!"

"Sara, please," I mumbled.

"Shut up, Faith. This is between me and…” She paused for several heartbeats just staring at him. “Mister Rock-hard, wasn't it?” His eyes widened, answering for him. “Oh yeah, I remember the story now. Didn't think I would, did ya?” She was obviously answering the unvoiced question on his face. “Oh yes, Mister Rockhard and his motorcar… how could I possibly forget?” The anger in her voice intensified with each word. “Mr. Rockhard needs to find a garage in which to park his motorcar and… mine's the best garage in town, itn't that the way it went? Fuck you, ya slimy bastard, I oughta blow you to hell and..."

"Sara, please!"

Brandon glanced down at me. "You should listen to your cous..." He stopped in mid-sentence, his gaze alighting on my right arm. His brow contorted into a frown, as he stared at it. I had no idea what he was looking at. Bruises, perhaps? Was he suddenly feeling remorse?

"Take your ass over there to that chair, slow and easy," Sara ordered, causing his attention to shift. He looked from her to me. "Do it!" she reiterated, motioning to the chair by the window. "Oh no, you don't,” she added, when he moved to pull his pants up.

“Leave'em just like that."

"I can't walk like this," he whined, covering his genitals again.

"That's the whole point, asshole! You didn't think I really wanted to see that thing, did you?" she scoffed, and let out a cynical chuckle. “Knowing you, you probably did, though.” Her upper lip curled in disgust, eyebrows drawn together, as she waved the gun towards the chair again. “What is that anyway, a birth defect or something?”

Brandon grumbled something that sounded like “botched circumcision” as he shuffled over to the chair, resembling a beaten man. Although I hadn't seen what they were referring to –nor did I care to- for a fleeting moment, I felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

Sara turned and glanced down at me. "Oh my God, you sick bastard. You just had to hit her, didn'chu? Ooo, I oughta waste your ass right here and now!"

"Sara please, get me loose," I said, trying to distract her, before she put a bullet in him and ruined both our lives.

She turned back to me still holding the gun on him. "I'm sorry it took so long." She glanced back at him, as her left hand worked on the telephone cord. He sat down in the chair and she turned back to me. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart, look at your poor lip," she said, loosening the bonds.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. "Sara!"

"Sit your fucking ass down, pervert!" she exclaimed, pointing the gun at his head.

"That's the pot calling the kettle black," he said, easing back down in the chair.

"Look at you. You fucked your own cousin."

"Have I now?" she asked, as she untied my wrists. "Then I've got nothing to lose by wasting you, do I?" She paused, as I sat up on the bed. "Get outta here, Faith. Go on downstairs and wait for me.”

" "I'm not leaving this room without you," I countered, moving across the bed towards her.

""Touching," Brandon mumbled.

"Fuck you!" Sara hissed.

"Look who's talking about fucking," he said, rather calmly, as he stared at me.

"You're both... perverted whores."

"You have the audacity to call us perverts, when you raped your own daughter?”

"How did you...?" He glanced up at Sara and then down at me. His eyes darted back and forth wildly.

“Incest Brandon, that's what it's called. I wonder what your well-to-do friends will think of that, when it hits the papers."

"You have no proof!” he scoffed. “No one will ever believe you. I'll tell them it's all lies," he declared, seemingly trying to maintain his composure.

"Ah-h… but you won't be here," she said in a sinister voice. "Dead men tell no tales."

"You wouldn't." His eyes grew wide. I could tell he was uncertain. So was I.

"Oh, wouldn't I? According to the servants I killed my mother," she responded.

"And threatened to kill you. But obviously I never carried through on that, did I? Now well... I have a second chance, don't I?"

"You'd never get away with it, they'd catch you and fry you in the electric chair."

"They didn't fry me last time… when I killed my mother. So, what makes you think they'll do so this time, hmm? Especially with my history. No, I think I could get away with it again. It'd be worth spending a few more years in the nuthouse to get rid of you.”

She aimed the gun at his head.

"Sara, no!" I exclaimed, afraid she had regained her memory and was really going to kill him.

“Why the hell not, Faith?” she queried. “He was gonna kill you, wasn't he? And I've already murdered my mother, so why not my father, too? Hmm? Or…” She paused, her eyes lighting up. “…I could give those psychiatrists something to sink their teeth into.”

She lowered the gun, leveling it at his groin. “Take your weapon away from you, hmm?

That might be even better than killing you outright. Worked for that Bobbit woman, don't see why it wouldn't work for me. Only… I doubt they'd be able to find enough of yours to sew it back on.”

He swallowed hard, as she took a step towards him. "You didn't kill her," he murmured.

"What? What was that?" she questioned. “I don't think I heard you.”

“I said… you didn't kill your mother,” he answered, sounding as if someone had let all the air out of his balloon. He propped his elbows on his bare legs and hung his head.

“Oh really? Then how'd I get the gun in my hands, huh?” He offered no response.

“How?” she demanded.

“I… I panicked… put it there,” he mumbled

“You what?”

“Panicked… I was scared, alright!” he shouted.

“Because you killed her, didn'chu?” she shot back. “You killed her because she was leaving you for Tom Randall, right?” He looked up quickly, surprise written all over his face. “Oh, I know about Tom,” she continued, answering the unvoiced question on his face. “She was leaving you and taking me with her, because I'm not your daughter, I'm Tom's, right? She knew better than to trust you with a little girl, didn't she?” He just stared at the floor. “Didn't she?”

“She was… crazy. She… actually thought I'd let her leave here with my child,” he grumbled. “No one takes my child away from me,” he stated.

“You're saying I am your daughter?” Sara's voice held a note of disappointment.

“No, you're not my child,” he confirmed. “Jason's my only heir. And she thought she was going to take him away from me. No one takes… anything away from me,” he asserted I glanced up at Sara. “And so you killed her, didn'chu?” she accused. He shook his head.

“Didn'chu?!” she screamed and fired the gun at his feet. The sound was terribly loud. He cringed, covering his groin, I jumped, but Sara didn't seem to flinch. Instead she smiled!

"Alright, goddamn it. Yes, but… I didn't mean to,” he confessed. “It... it was an accident. I didn't mean for the gun to go off. You... you hit my hand and... it was a just a freak accident!" He placed his head in his hands, as if he were about to cry. “If only she'd never… pulled that gun on me…” He paused, shaking his head ruefully.

Sara glanced down at me briefly. “So, you were gonna frame me, weren't you?” she accused.

"I… I decided against it... later."

"When? After I threatened to kill your ass?"

“I couldn't bear to see you in jail.” he mumbled.

"How touching,” she said, mimicking him, previously. “Truth is: you decided against it, not to save me as you say, but to save your good name. A suicide was much less scandalous than a murder, wasn't it? And besides… if I was involved in the shooting and they questioned me long enough, I mighta told them the truth, right? And they mighta believed me. So what did you do to keep me quiet, Brandon?"

"You were in shock."

"Why did they keep me for three years, if it was only shock?"

"You wouldn't respond to treatment."

"Bullshit! What did you do keep me doped up with these?" she asked, as she produced a bottle of pills from the waistband of her jeans. "Tranquilizers aren't they, Brandon? No label… must pay some pharmacist a shit load a money to get you these without a prescription. And you've been giving them to her, haven't you?” She tossed them on the bed. “A little every night in a glass of milk, gradually getting her used to it, so she doesn't suspect anything and then... one night you up the dose and..." She snapped her fingers. "…she's out like a light and putty in your hands, right? What happened tonight? Was she too smart for you? Didn't drink what you gave her?" She paused as she aimed the gun at his head again and went back to her original question. "Why the hell did they keep me in the hospital so long, Brandon? Tell me, goddammit!"

“You… were suicidal. Every time they set a date for you to come home, you'd… try to kill yourself or… threaten to kill me.” “And we both know why I didn't wanna come back here, don't we?” she hissed, as she backed up towards the bed.

"Oh Sara," I said, as I put my arms around her waist. I knew he'd done the same thing to her that he said he'd done to me the previous night: violated me without my knowledge. I couldn't imagine how many times he might have done so to Ashley. To Sara.

“So how did I end up back here, hmm?” she further queried. “What? Did I suddenly have a change of heart? Hmm? And why don't I have memories of all this? Huh, why?

Tell me, dammit!”

“Shock treatments,” he answered.

“Oh no,” I gasped.

“Well, that explains a lot. Shock treatments, head injuries, amnesia… no wonder I have Swiss cheese for memories.” She sounded tired suddenly and reached back, putting her left arm around my shoulder. “You alright?” she inquired, softly.

“Yeah, I'm okay. Let's… let's just get outta here, okay,” I whined, laying my head against her body.

"You sick bitches!" Brandon shouted, as he got up from his chair. “I've had all I'm gonna take of this!”

“Oh, sit down asshole,” she grumbled. The gun in her hand was still pointed at him, but not at his head. Sara seemed to have lost some of her steam.

He glanced at the gun, as if sensing it no longer held any threat. "You gonna use that thing… go ahead. Shoot me, bitch!”

“Come on, Faith,” she said, offering me her arm, so I could get to my feet. “I think we got enough on Mr. Fancypants here that he won't be standing in our way anymore.”

“I'm calling the police," he stated, as he reached down, pulling up his pants.

“Don't bother, they're already on their way.”

“What?!” This seemed to surprise him. “We-ell… no one will believe a word of this anyway,” he grumbled. “I'm having both of you put in jail. Sodomy is still against the law in Georgia, or didn't you know that?” He was looking at me.

"Celia, you wanna step in here with that tape recorder," Sara requested. "Let's show Mister Fancypants just what kind of proof we have, hmm?"

Celia walked out of the bathroom with a small black rectangular box in her hand.

Brandon's mouth dropped open. “Celia! Why aren't you…?” He paused, his hand quickly moving to cover his groin, where his pants were still unzipped. “That's mine!” he stated, obviously referring to the tape recorder and seemingly trying to regain some sense of control and dignity in this situation. “You know you're fired, if you don't give me that, don'chu?” He discreetly zipped up his pants, while maintaining eye contact with her.

“You'll never be able to get work in any other fine home in this city. You'll be out on the streets… homeless… and at your age, Celia, you know you won't last a month.” I could hardly believe he was attempting to hold sway over her, after all he had admitted moments before.

“Sod you, ya bloody bastard!” Celia growled.

Sara turned and looked at her, as did I; for, neither one of us could believe the Celia we knew and loved had said this. Sensing Sara's lapse, Brandon made a mad dash for her.

“Miss Sara!” Celia called out, but it was too late.

Brandon plowed into her. They pushed me back on the bed, knocking the air out of my lungs. Sara squirmed and they rolled off me onto their sides, struggling for control of the gun. Brandon grabbed her by the throat with one hand and the gun went off between them. Sara flinched and gasped for breath. He continued choking her.

"Oh God!" I cried and looked up in time to see Celia bring my cane down across Brandon's head. There was a sickening thud and then he went limp, blood oozing from his temple.

"Sara... Sara?!" I rolled her over. The front of her shirt bore a large crimson stain.

Tears sprang from my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. "Oh God, no!" I blubbered.

"Faith," she said softly, reaching up and touching my face with her bloody hand.

TWENTY

We were sitting in the visitor's waiting room of the county hospital's intensive care unit, when I finally asked of my companion, “How did Sara find out that Brandon knew she was in the attic?”

Celia looked up at me, a sly smile forming on her face, which answered my question. “Uh-huh,” I acknowledged. “And need I ask how she got back in the house last night?”

“I doubt she ever left, 'mum.” She fidgeted with her hands in her lap, as if she found them quite interesting.

“You wanna elaborate on that for me,” I requested, when she offered nothing further.

“Well, 'mum.” She glanced up momentarily. “I 'spect she hid in the tunnel when the deputies wuz searching the house an' attic.”

“Deputies? I never heard anyone in the house.”

"They's very quiet. Mister Neilson didn't want 'em ta alert ya, 'mum. Said it would upset ya ta know she wuz lurking about."

"Uh-huh. And this tunnel?" I probed.

“Yes, 'mum. Underneath the house, there's a tunnel leading to the back gate, or so I wuz told.”

“Who told you that?”

“Miss Ashley.”

“So, Sara already knew about this?”

“No, 'mum, I had to show her.”

“And how do you get the tunnel?” I queried.

“There's an entrance in the hallway of the servant's quarters. That wuz another a'

Miss Ashley's hiding places.”

“I see.” My mind was a whirl with questions; switching tracks often. “And so… how come you didn't go see your friend, tonight?" I further probed. She cut her eyes over at me. "Brandon told me you had a friend."

"That's a bit of a long story, that is.”

I held out my hands palms up. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Wull… ya see, I wuz going out as usual, but… me ride didn't show up. So, I cum back in the house and called my friend. That's when I found out…” She paused and sighed. “Granddaughter, who wuz ta pick me up… she'd been trotted off ta jail.”

“Jail?” Celia merely nodded and hung her head as if embarrassed. “I hope she's not in any serious trouble.”

“Oh no, 'mum, mistake's all it wuz. She… happened to look like… sum'one they wuz looking for. She's home now, safe and sound.”

So that's who Celia was calling a while back, I thought, remembering her standing at a pay phone in the cafeteria area. “So… you were in the house the whole time?”

“Most a' the time, yes,'mum. I stayed in me room until… I heard you two quarreling an'… you storming up the stairs. That's when I knew for sure sum'thin' wuz bad wrong.”

“Knew for sure?”

“Yes, 'mum. I heard… himself fixing the drinks.” She nodded towards the hall and the room beyond, as if she didn't want to say Brandon's name. “Twuz no reason ta use a spoon for champagne, but… I know I heard him mixing sum'thin'. And later, I spied the spoon an' pill bottle. That's when I started thinking 'bout Miss Ashley and… your bed linens.”

“Excuse me? My bed linens?” I couldn't imagine what my sheets had to do with Ashley, unless she was referring to Sara. But what could that possibly have to do with Brandon and a pill bottle?

"Wull, yes, 'mum, when I changed your linens this morning... Wull, it's more like yesterdee now, itn't it?" she asked glancing down at her watch. "Anywho, when I gathered 'em up ta launder... his cologne wuz on 'em and... I didn't think that wuz right.

Then you being so dizzy an' all ... I happened to recall Miss Ashley wuz like that sum'times. An' those morning's, she wuz ill as a hornet, she wuz. Them's the times she'd hide from him."

I nodded in understanding. That explained Sara's foreboding concerning glasses of milk. And why Ashley hid from him in the attic and in the tunnel. “So, how did you find Sara and know to bring a tape recorder?”

"Well, 'mum… the recorder wuz easy. I seen it before. He uses it for recording notes ta himself, he duz. So, after you went tearing off upstairs, I went into his office and took it, thinking I'd carry it with me, when I checked on you… just in case sum'thin' happened, mind you. I mean, I watch the tellie, too, and I know how the bad ones always say ya can't prove nuthin'." She glanced back down at her hands, then up at me, as if questioning whether I wanted her to continue.

I nodded. “Go on.”

“Wull, the sitting room door wuz locked and… I didn't have a key ta your room with me, but I did have Miss Ashley's, so-o… I let ma'self in that way.” She glanced down at her hands again and clasped them together, then fidgeted in her seat. “I… I'm as sorry's I can be, 'mum, 'bout not coming in sooner, but…” She shook her head slowly back and forth. “I've never been much of a fighter. And I… I wuz scared of him, I wuz . I mean, I knew there wuz no one else about but me and you an'… I had nuthin' to… defend us with…”

“It's alright, Celia,” I interjected. “You don't have to apologize. I'm just glad you were there.”

“But, I'm ashamed, 'mum, cuz I wuzn't much help.”

“Yes, you were, you got most everything on tape, especially the last part, which was the most important anyway… to clear Sara.” I watched a nurse coming out of Brandon's room. She smiled sweetly and headed off down the hall. “So how did Sara get your gun?”

I asked quietly.

“Wull, like I said… I had nuthin' to defend us with, 'cept me gun that wuz downstairs. So, I left the tape recorder in the loo (bathroom), an' wuz headed down the hall when I met Miss Ash… I mean, Miss Sara… she wuz cumin' up the back stairs. So, I told her what wuz happening an'… where I wuz going…”

“So Sara went down and got your gun?” I finished for her.

She looked past me, as she nodded. "There's 'em two detectives again, 'mum. I… I think I'll go get sum'thin' ta drink, would you care for sum'thin'?"

"No, thank you, Celia. Oh, but… when you speak to your friend… tell him I'm sorry his granddaughter was arrested." Celia's mouth dropped open. She hadn't told me that the young woman had been taken to jail instead of Sara, but I'd put two and two together and come up with what I thought was four. At least it sounded quite plausible, since Brandon seemed certain Sara was in jail. “She looks a bit like Sara?” I queried.

“Dark hair, yes', 'mum. An' what with that fancy car of her's… Just had ta have one like Miss Ashley. She used ta look up ta her, she did.”

“Well, tell him… and her that I'm truly sorry for all the trouble we've caused. I'm sure after all this is over, I can… make some sort of… monetary restitution.” I knew I sounded like Brandon, but how else could I make up for such a thing?

“Yes, 'mum,” Celia said. I saw her get up, but my mind was on other things: mainly what those two cops, standing in the hall conversing, wanted now. They'd already questioned all of us –with the exception of Brandon- several times. They'd even come back to question Sara again, taking her down the hall only a short while ago. "My friend,"

Celia added, as she paused beside me. "…weren't no man, mum."

I turned and looked up at her. There was a smile on her face. “What Celia, I'm sorry…?” I thought from her smile that I had missed something.

"My friend… weren't no man, 'mum,” she whispered. “An' truth be told… 'twuz my granddaughter.”

It took me a moment to digest this new information. “Why, Celia, I didn't know you'd been married.” I was quite surprised.

“Never wuz.” She gazed down at me, the smile still in place, her head cocked to one side, as if she were trying to communicate more than she was willing to put into words. “An' I never had a sister, only bruthers," she added, then turned and walked away.

It took me a moment to put into context what she'd just told me. And then I couldn't help but smile, too. Celia had told me her own true story: she was the one who'd suffered the rape, then ran off to America. I could only assume she'd also bore a child from that assault and now had a granddaughter.

"What are you smiling about?” I flinched when Sara spoke. I hadn't noticed her coming down the hall, obviously being preoccupied with Celia. “Those detectives are gonna get the wrong idea," she added, slipping into the chair next to me.

The smile faded. "So, what did they say this time?"

"Still want to know about the gun."

"And?"

"Like I said, I found it in a trunk in the attic."

"Don't bullshit me, Sara. I know its Celia's. Why didn't you just tell 'em the truth?"

“And drag the ol' girl in deeper than she already is?” she whispered. “No way.

Besides, she'd already told me the damn thing wasn't registered. And that's why Tweedledee and Tweedledum are back.” She turned and smiled at the detectives as they approached.

"Any change in his condition, ma'am?" The taller one named Levi asked, looking at me.

I shook my head. "Not that I know of."

The two detectives looked at each other. "We might be wanting to talk to both of you again, so... don't leave town."

We both nodded, simultaneously. The shorter detective, Junior, looked us over carefully. Then glanced from me to Sara rather quickly, as he shook his head.

"Come on Junior," Levi said, "Ain't nothin' else here for us until Mr. Neilson comes around. We'll be in touch, ma'am and... uh... ma'am," he said, nodding to each of us.

Sara and I both nodded and watched them walk away. Junior glanced back about half way down the hall. He shook his head from side to side, then turned around and continued on his way. I knew the look he gave us had nothing to do with the case, as such. The tape recorder told it all, or almost all of it. There was a blank space when Celia moved from the sitting room into Ashley's old room, but she'd left the recorder running, so it was evident what she'd done. Then, there was Celia's testimony –a long time, devoted employee no less- the phone cord, the champagne, which was being tested, my face and the bruises on my arms. All the evidence added up to the fact that we were telling the truth.

What Junior was shaking his head about concerned the tape revealing that Sara and I were lovers and had once thought we were cousins. One was bad enough for poor Junior, but when he heard the cousin part, he started shaking his head. And he hadn't stopped in the four-hour time span in which they'd interrogated us. He would do it each time he saw us together. One time when he thought I wasn't listening, I overheard him tell another uniformed officer, "And they're both damn good looking, too. Ain't like no dyke I ever seen before." At that moment, I had wanted to say, “We all don't wear leather jackets and ride Harley Davidson's. But I'm thinking about getting me one of each so I'll be more easily recognized.”

"I think he's got a crush on you." Sara teased.

I swung my eyes in her direction, trying to avoid looking at the big red stain on her shirt, but failing miserably. "You were lucky. You don't know how I felt when I turned you over and saw... that."

"Took me a little while to realize it wasn't mine, too," she admitted.

"Why'd you flinch like that?"

"Scared the hell outta me. I mean… I knew one of us was probably shot and I assumed since he was still choking me, it must be me and I just hadn't felt any pain."

The light outside Brandon's room started flashing.

"Uh-oh," Sara said. "Those detectives might be back sooner than they expect. And this time they'll be investigating a homicide."

Several nurses came flying down the hall and disappeared into Brandon's room. The doctor was soon hot on their heels. A few seconds later, an intern came tearing down the hall with a crash cart -the machine I'd seen used on TV when some character's heart had stopped beating. I could almost imagine what the scene in his room must be like.

They stayed a good while, before the doctor finally came out. "Miss Neilson," she began, "your uncle has suffered a massive coronary. I wish I could tell you he will pull through, but honestly… I can't say that with any assurance. He's lost a lot of blood and...

Well, we thought we had him stabilized, until this…" She shook her head, as her eyes strayed over to Sara and she perused her attire. "He's asking for you, Miss Neilson," she said, glancing back at me. "The nurse will let you know when you can go in. But, I must ask that you not upset him. He seems upset enough as it is." Her eyes strayed back over to Sara. "You were lucky, Sara. That could have been you lying in there."

"I know."

"Let's just be thankful it isn't." She glanced over at me, nodded, then turned and walked away, her white lab coat fanning out behind her.

I cut my eyes over at Sara and found her already looking at me. "It was a long time ago, Faith," she explained. I continued to stare at her, my expression unchanged. "It was only a short fling and... she ended it. Is that what you wanna hear?"

"No, not unless it's the truth."

"Go ask her then."

"One of the few?" I inquired.

"No, actually, come to think of it, there were several who didn't fall madly in love with me."

I merely raised one eyebrow.

"'Scuse me, 'mum," said Celia, who had quietly rejoined us. "Wuz that Mr. Neilson's doctor, I saw just now?"

I nodded and glanced down at my hands intertwined in my lap. I knew this would not be good news to Celia, because she felt very guilty about hitting him over the head, when he had already been shot in the stomach. "Brandon's had a heart attack," I explained.

"Oh no, 'mum," she said, her hand going to her gaping mouth, as she backed up into the chair on the other side of me. "Will he...?" She let the question hang there.

"I don't know. But, I don't think the doctor is all that hopeful." I sounded crass even to my own ears.

"Oh, 'mum… I shouldna hit him so hard."

"He was choking me, Celia,” Sara spoke up. “And that's all you saw. How could you know which one of us was shot? Besides the head wound was minor. You merely saved me and him a lot more pain."

I was a bit shocked at Sara's bluntness. I thought she should have some feeling for him, but obviously, she didn't. Of course, I wasn't going to win any awards for Niece of the Year.

"Yes, 'mum," Celia finally agreed. "Oh, Master Jason, 'mum...?"

"Good Lord, Celia, I'd completely forgotten about him in all this..."

"I'll take care of it," she said, as she patted my arm, then got back up and left again.

I glanced over at Sara, who in turn was looking at me. "The old girl doesn't know it, but she may have saved my life.” She reached up and rubbed her bruised neck. “I don't think Brandon knew he was shot. Or at least, it didn't affect his strength right away.

'Cause he was still trying to get the gun and choking the shit outta me."

There was a long silence between us. Then I asked, "Sara, do you have your memory back?"

“Bits and pieces. They don't really mount up to much more than before." She sighed heavily.

"Then how did you know about all that stuff? I mean you asked some pretty pointed questions. It sounded as if…"

"I know. I did remember that one thing, about... Mr. Rockhard," she said, as she cleared her throat and frowned. “It just suddenly… leaped into my mind and… nearly blew me away, actually.”

"He really said that to you?" I asked, instead of the question on the end of my tongue: He raped you, too?

"I don't think he thought I'd remember after he doctored the milk. But..." She shook her head, as if removing the thoughts. "As for the rest... remember that diary? Well, on the back inside cover, there was a small rip in the fabric. Inside was a key. A key to one of the trunks in the attic."

"How'd you know that?"

"I didn't. I just took the key and tried it in the first available lock I saw, which was on this old trunk nearby. Convenient, huh?"

"Sounds like you made it up."

"But, I didn't. It really happened that way. You know they say life is sometimes stranger than fiction."

I nodded, thinking how our lives had seemingly been turned into fiction the past few hours. "So what did you find?"

"Another diary. The real one: no metaphors. That's where I got most of the story.

The part about my mother's death... well, I guessed at that. I mean… from what you told me, and what… I had written in the diary -which wasn't much more than fragmented memories, like my whole past is now- I put two and two together and… threw it at him to see what he'd toss back." She sighed heavily and crossed her arms over her stomach.

"Do you believe the part about you hitting the gun?"

She shrugged. "It would seem from that story about the baby bird that I felt responsible, somehow, but.... I dunno. I'm afraid, I never will know exactly what happened, unless he pulls through and… decides to spill his guts. And I'm sure it'll be a cold day in hell before he does that.” She paused for several moments. "I expect there're a lotta things I'll never really understand. Like… how did Tom find me after the accident?

How'd he get me to a hospital without anyone noticing? How'd he know to use Sara Bennington's name? How'd he... Oh damn, there's just so many things that..." She let the sentence hang there, as she shook her head sadly and ran her fingers through her hair.

I nodded in understanding, as the door to Brandon's room opened. “So where did you hide when the cops came looking for you?” I wanted to hear Sara's version of these events.

She sighed heavily, as if she were about to launch into a long spill.

"Miss Neilson?” called one of the nurses, as she made eye contact with me from the hallway. She waited until she got closer to finish. “Your father wants to see you.”

I glanced over at Sara, then back at the nurse. "He's my uncle," I corrected. "He was her father."

She looked from me to Sara, quite puzzled. "Oh, I'm sorry. Well, he's asking for his daughter, Faith. I thought you were Faith."

"I am, but I'm not his daughter. Sara is."

"Oh… well, perhaps he's asking for both of you, then."

"Not likely," Sara mumbled.

"Please, don't upset him," the nurse cautioned. "He's groggy and… maybe even a bit incoherent, but he's insisting on seeing you, so..."

"We understand," said Sara, as she helped me to my feet. "We'll just go along with whatever he says."

"That'll be fine. Now, stay only a few minutes. If you need me, I'll be right outside the door."

"Believe me, we'll stay no longer than we have to," Sara mumbled, as she escorted me across the hall.

Brandon was hooked up to a menagerie of different machines. The most prominent one had a monitor, which showed a beeping, flashing heart and the arcing blue line that moved to the rhythm of Brandon's heartbeat. How many times had I seen that blue line on TV, as it went flat when a character died? Yet, this was not the movies and Brandon was no actor who could get up out of bed when the scene was over.

I glanced over at Sara, who was watching me. "I doubt he'd want to see me," she whispered. "I'll stay here. Go on over."

"But she said he was asking for his daughter."

"I'm not his daughter, Faith. Now go on."

I frowned at her, as Brandon began mumbling, "Want... daughter... Faith," as if talking to someone else in the room.

I turned back to Sara. He wanted us both. She waved me on mouthing, "One at a time. Go on."

I proceeded over to his bedside. He was very pale and looked ten years older. It was hard to believe that this man had been the one to attack me only a mere 6 hours ago. He hardly looked strong enough to swat a fly.

"Nurse," he said, as he swallowed hard. "Please.... my daughter... Faith must..."

"I'm here, Brandon," I said softly.

His eyes fluttered open for only a brief moment, then he frowned and they fluttered open again. "Princess," he said. His eyes seemed to roll back in his head.

I gasped. I thought he was going to die right then and there. Then I realized the heart monitor wasn't flat lining. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Princess," he swallowed hard again and his tongue snaked out, languidly wetting his lips. I vividly remembered biting down on that tongue, which was almost gagging me, at the time. "So sorry... Princess. I... I didn't know... She never.... I swear... never knew…"

Never knew what? I wondered. I stared down at him waiting for more. What didn't he know? Did he even know what he was talking about?

"I... I don't understand," I finally said, realizing he wasn't going to say anything more.

"My daughter.... beautiful daugh-ter…"

"Sar… umm... Ashley's here, Brandon… do you want to..."

"No! Not mine!” he stated emphatically, as he shook his head back and forth and the line on the monitor began acting erratic. "Not mine... n-not mine!"

"Calm him down, Faith," Sara admonished. "Say anything, just calm him down."

"Brandon... Uncle Brandon... listen to me, it's… it's alright," I soothed, as I touched his arm. "It's alright... none of this matters.” I was lying through my teeth. “Just... You just get well and... we'll... have you back at Shady Grove in... no time."

I watched the line on the monitor, slowly return to normal, as did the sounds of the room. The rhythmic bip, bip, bip , the sighing of the IV machine and Brandon's raspy breathing created an off beat trio. The same type of trio I sensed had played in this room and others like it many times before, with the patient's heartbeat the conductor and composer.

"Faith... Princess...?"

"Yes, Brandon, I'm right here," I said, gently squeezing his right hand.

"I... I didn't know." He paused, as he reached over with his left hand and touched his right arm where the two IV tubes were taped together.

"What's wrong?" I asked, a bit concerned. "Is your IV…?”

"I swear..." he said, as he patted his arm.

"Brandon, I don't understand. Is something wrong with the IV in your arm?" His eyes grew wide as he kept tapping it. My first thought was something I'd heard on TV

about air bubbles in IV lines- straight to the heart… kills the patient. "Sara, get the nurse!"

"Princess... forgive… me.... God… forgive me," he said, in a whispery voice, as the heart monitor began its erratic display again.

The nurse came rushing in. "Please leave, Miss Neilson," she ordered.

"He... he has my hand," I explained, feeling the pain, as he seemingly gripped it with all the strength he had left. He continued staring at me with those wide, scary eyes. "He was hitting his arm near the IV. Could that...?"

She pushed me to one side, as she checked his IV, but Brandon held onto my hand.

"Please Miss Neilson," she said, having to go around me.

I propped my cane on the side of the bed and reached over to break his grip. He squeezed tighter and moaned. I looked up at him. What did he want from me? Did he want me to say I forgave him? How could I, after what he had done?

"Miss Neilson, I must insist..."

"I'm trying, but..." His grip suddenly relaxed and I took a step backwards, going with the momentum of my previous attempts to break loose. Sara was behind me in an instant.

The heart monitor flat lined. People dressed in white streamed through the door.

Sara and I were caught in the melee and forced into a corner. I was quite mesmerized by the whole scene unfolding before me, as they prepared to resuscitate him once again.

"Come with me, sweetheart," Sara said softly, when the path to the door was clear.

She led me out into the hall. "What was all that about?" she asked.

"I... I don't know. Maybe... maybe he was delirious, but... my god he was still strong, right up until..." I couldn't finish.

I shook my head sadly. I had wanted to hurt him with words and make him bleed inside, just as I had, over his cruel words to me. I had never wished him dead, though.

Yet, on Nov 14, 1993, Brandon Jason Neilson passed from this earthly realm, leaving Jason with only a cousin and a half sister for family.

It was no easy task breaking all this news to Jason, but actually it took only an hour to tell it and assuage his few questions. Strangely enough, he accepted it all, seemingly as a matter of course. The only parts which seemed to disturb him were finding out Sara was his sister Ashley -he had felt something for her, but not recognized her as such- and Brandon's attempt to rape me. (No one but Celia and myself knew about the previous night and neither of us had any proof, so it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Especially in lieu of how I knew Sara would feel about this.)

Returning from the funeral, which of course was held at Shady Grove -Brandon interred in the family cemetery- I was holding Jason's hand, while he stared out the window. So far, I hadn't seen him shed one tear over his father's death. I could only assume he shed plenty when he was alone.

As we neared the mansion, Jason patted my arm and then removed his hand from mine. He opened the door for me, like a true gentleman, while Sara eased out the other side, preferring to open her own door. I put my cane in my left hand and reached up to wipe my eyes, as Jason closed the door. I saw his gaze lingering on my arm and a puzzled look come over his face.

"What's wrong?" I inquired, switching the cane back to my right hand.

"Is that a birthmark on the back of your arm?"

I smiled. He was the first one to recognize it for what it was. Most people assumed it to be a bruise. "Yes, it is."

"Can I see it?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Sure." I changed hands again with the cane, then bent my right arm at the elbow and turned it slightly, so he could get a better look. The mark wasn't that noticeable.

"Funny, I have one just like that," he said, as he started to roll up his sleeve, but found he couldn't, because of his jacket. "Oh well, I can't show you now, but... Father always said it came from the Wyndam side of the family." He frowned and shrugged, as if dismissing this line of thought. He glanced up at Sara, who was extending her arm to me for support, even though I didn't really need it. "I'll still think of you as... my sister...

even though I know you don't remember me," he said and I saw tears well up in his eyes for the first time. "I know you can't stay, but... I sure wish you would." With that said, he took off around the front of the car and flew up the steps into the house.

Sara turned to me. "You told him we were moving to Columbus?"

"He asked where we'd be living. I told him he could come stay with us during holidays and summer vacation.”

“What did he say?”

“Seemed to like the idea. I'll have to talk it over with the lawyer, since he'll be his guardian now.”

Sara merely grunted. We'd already asked about Sara possibly proving she was Ashley in order to be Jason's guardian, but the lawyer had made it plain Brandon's will was specific concerning the lawyer filling these shoes. This particular lawyer evidently did not care to forego monetary gain in lieu of Jason's desires or possible welfare.

“He also... knows," I added, to head off any worries she might have about him coming to stay with us.

"Knows what?" she asked, with a frown.

"His room overlooks the pool."

"Oh, you mean... he saw me and you...?"

"Um-hmm."

"And he never said a word?"

"He said it made me happy, so he wasn't about to ruin it for me. He knew Brandon would go through the roof."

"Thoughtful kid," she said, as we started up the steps. "Wish I could remember him, but... Oh well, maybe one day.” She paused briefly. “What was that about your birthmark?"

"Oh, he has one like it. He said Brandon told him it came from his mother."

"Not my mother?" She frowned.

"No, of course not, silly. Brandon's mother.”

“That's a relief. For a moment there I thought you were gonna tell me we're sisters.”

We both snickered at the absurdity of that thought. "So, your grandmother had the same birthmark, hmm?"

"Well no, Brandon's mother, she was a Wyndam. Ya see Brandon and my father had different...." I stopped in mid sentence, as the reality of Jason's innocent remark finally hit home like a ton of bricks. "Oh God!" My legs started to tremble.

"Faith... what's wrong?" Sara asked, grabbing me around the waist.

The scene in Brandon's hospital room played out before my eyes. Brandon saying: "I didn't know... I swear… I never knew." He'd been tapping his arm, obviously trying to tell me something. Then came the scene in my bedroom that fateful night when he had been staring at my arm.

"Oh no. Oh God, no!" I hissed, the world starting to spin before my eyes.

"Faith, what the hell is it?" Sara demanded.

I swallowed hard, feeling my knees start to buckle. "Brandon... Oh god, Sara…” I could hardly force the words out. “He was… my father!" The world around me faded from view.

The End