Chapter 16
The Grind had cozy nooks streamed with scents of strawberries, oranges, raspberries, and blueberries.
Sharon placed her mixed berry drink on the hardwood table. Her thoughts drifted from Cindy to Laif. She had been getting used to talking with him about the girl’s plight and actually enjoyed his company.
She wondered whether he could be the one she’d been waiting for all her life. She only wanted to get married once. It was an exceptionally special experience which she didn’t want to waste with the wrong man, do in a flippant manner, or attempt at an immature age.
All her friends had married too young, and she believed most would grow apart from their husbands as they neared their thirties.
Sadly, but true, half of all marriages now end in divorce. Half! Those were poor odds. If a man ever divorced her, she would give up on men altogether. Forever.
She sipped her drink and thought of the flower garden she was developing in the small backyard of her apartment. She had planted a variety of seeds — lilies, roses, sunflowers, daisies, and California poppies. None of them had grown. The best they could do was reach towards the sky with dry stems, nothing budding. She wondered if she was this way as well, destined to live her life alone, no beauty reaching outward to attract other elements of nature.
She started when Laif sat down opposite her. His hair was messy curls. He wore a short-sleeved, tan shirt that was buttoned irregularly so that one collar was higher than the other. “Time is running out.”
Stunned by his appearance, feeling like she was imagining him there, she couldn’t speak at first. Then she asked, “Where have you been?”
“I just missed you at the child empathy building—”
“How did you know I was here?”
“—so I followed you here.”
Saturday night, she had told him of the appointment. She was silent. She felt a bit irritated that he had left her and now just popped back. She wanted him around but consistently, not popping in and out whenever he wanted. She needed help though. Now she was the one who felt like a failure. Her visit with Cindy had offered nothing.
He said, “I feel I need to explain a little.”
She nodded.
A blender began whirling behind the counter.
“I’ve had some failures the last couple of days. The Brewsters, the suicidal girl, my personal life too. The last long-term relationship I had, I was eighteen. After high school, I started my path of truth telling, and it scared her off. Since then, getting close to women has been … difficult.” He held his head in his hands and messed with his hair.
She wasn’t sure she understood. She blinked several times and leaned on her elbows.
“They were all weighing on me. All at once. I’m sorry.”
She held his hand.
“But I did have some success. I saved a woman from rape yesterday.”
She squeezed his hand and smiled a little.
“That’s why I left you. I sensed I had to. If I went back into the living room and explained, I would have missed the rapist. As it was, I just barely crossed paths with him.”
A knot stuck in her throat. She felt selfish for wanting him around so much. He was important to others as well. Perhaps he was more important to others than to herself. She swallowed hard and managed to say, “That’s great.”
“Are you upset?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “I was … I just feel ... like a failure now.” She told him about her visit with Cindy and how the girl clammed up.
“We can’t force her be open.”
“But I’m supposed to help children talk. That’s what I thought I was good at.”
“You’ll have your chance again. It’s not over yet.”
She nodded. Just like Laif, she had succeeded with other children, and the struggle to save Cindy wasn’t over. She reached over and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt to fix it so it wasn’t uneven. But she hesitated when she saw his chest. Really, did this need to be hidden? Quickly breathing again, she buttoned it up right.
“Thanks.” He looked out the window.
“What’s the matter?”
“We must act fast. Every hour that passes, Cindy’s potential to help people drops. I feel something … bad.”
“What do you mean?”
The room was stuffed with more conversations than it could hold. He leaned closer. “There’re trying to turn her against good.”
“Her parents?”
“Yes.”
“How come we’re running out of time?”
“They’re succeeding. I can feel it. Her soul diminishes.”
“Why would they want to do that?”
“So they can control her. If she is weak, she is controllable.”
Sharon felt sick. Of course, she had seen this time and time again in her profession, but she hadn’t recognized it explicitly as evil. Almost all forms of abuse are about control and keeping victims weak. “What will she be like if they turn her?”
“She’ll grow up like them. Essentially powerless in her soul, so needing to control others to feel powerful, to feel complete. Exerting unfair influence over others would manifest in all parts of her life—her work, her relationships, her children. This transfer of sickness, modern-day psychologists have termed the cycle of abuse.”
“Let’s go then. Let’s stop this cycle dead in its tracks.”
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Something, really dark … the worst I’ve ever felt.”
“What?”
“It’s coming.”
“What is?”
Laif shivered. “I don’t know.”