GROWING PAINS
*April - November 2015*
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.
- Shakespeare
"You seem pensive today."
"Just thinking," Vicky answered. Her voice held no particularinflection; she was simply imparting a bit of information.
The young man who strolled beside her holding her hand stopped."Ninny," he chided gently. His voice was inflected with anupper-class British accent. "That's what pensive means."
Charmed, she smiled at him. "I know."
"Thought you would," he said placidly. "So what are you thinkingabout?"
"My family."
"Your... oh, that's right. Today's an American holiday, isn'tit?"
"It's called Thanksgiving," Vicky informed him. "It's atraditional family holiday."
"American turkeys," her young man added. "I've read about it. Somesort of fowl, isn't it?"
"Don't be flip, Dylan," she warned.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound that way," he assured herquickly, solemnly.
"I know you didn't. It's just..."
"Just what?"
"I can't help remembering what it's like. We have traditions. Wealways go to be with my father's family and friends; everyone dressesup, and there's this huge feast, with turkeys and hams and pies andeverything. And the older people tell stories, and somebody alwaysplays music." In her mind's eye, she could almost see them. "They'llbe sitting down to eat in a few hours, and I can't help wishing I wasthere, too."
"Now I feel like the ninny," Dylan said gravely, his brow furrowedin concern. "I wish you'd told me before about this holiday. We couldhave done something to celebrate; gone to dinner, perhaps. I'vealready promised my grandmother, but..."
Vicky smiled. "You're sweet, Dylan, but there's no need todisappoint your grandmother. And you've already made my day special.We're walking together along a lazy country lane; it's a gorgeousfall day - warm, but with just that little nip to remind you thatwinter's coming..."
His smile was touched with relief. "You find joy in the simplestthings," he said admiringly. "I wish I could do that." He sighed."Anyway, I've got tickets for that play you wanted to see next week.We'll have dinner first and call it our own holiday. Meanwhile..."Grasping her hands, he drew her toward him, kissing her gently."Happy Thanksgiving, Victoria."
She kissed him back, enjoying the affectionate contact. "Thankyou, Dylan," she whispered.
"Won't you be lonely this evening, though?" he inquiredsolicitously.
She shook her head. "No. My mother will call me, and probably mybrothers..." Pulling out of his hold, she tugged at his hand, urginghim to continue on their walk. "Don't feel sorry for me, Dylan. I'mthe one who wanted to come to England. I've only myself to blame ifI'm alone sometimes."
"You Americans are a strange lot," he observed. "You've travelledthirty-five hundred miles to get away from your family, and yet Iknow you're fond of them. I hear it in your voice when you talk aboutthem."
"I guess it seems pretty strange to you," Vicky agreed amiably. "Ijust needed some space, that's all. My family's great, especially myparents, but I just had to get away from my father."
"Why?"
"I don't know how to explain it. He's really understanding; healways listens, and I know he loves me. But I'm his only daughter,and the youngest, and..." She let her voice trail away and Dylannodded sympathetically.
"I see. Maybe by the time you're home again, he'll see how grownup you are."
"Maybe," she agreed dubiously. Wrapping an arm around his waist,she rested her head on his shoulder and their walk continued incongenial silence.
Today it seemed Vicky couldn't help thinking of home, and thoughtsof home naturally led to the circumstances that brought her toEngland.
It was really the bond between her and her father that caused allthe trouble, she mused silently. Her father had the ability to blockout his emotions so she couldn't feel them, and Vicky had believedshe'd mastered the skill as well. The memory of her very first kiss,however, and the icy shock-wave of reaction from her father, cut offa split-second too late, could still make her blush two years later.But she'd been practicing and was absolutely certain Vincent didn'tfeel it when she kissed her boyfriend anymore...
* * * *
Ready for bed, Catherine was at her dressing table, brushing herhair. Behind her, Vincent sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off hisboots. She smiled at his reflection in the mirror. "Listen."
He lifted his head, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "To what?"
"To the silence."
His expression was one of tender amusement. "Yes," he agreed."Weekends are peaceful now that the children are older. Speaking ofthe children, where are they tonight?"
"Evan and Carey went to a movie, and Vicky's out with..." In themirror, she saw him suddenly go rigid, and whirled in alarm. His eyeswere distant and glazed. There was no response when she called hisname. Dropping the brush, she went to him, touching his face.
"Vincent, what is it? What's wrong?"
He gave a long, violent shudder and made an inarticulatesound.
"Vincent, what's wrong?" She almost shouted her alarm, shakinghim.
"Wait," he managed, gasping. "Wait." Sinking down, he wrapped hisarms around her waist; one hand grasped her arm. She cradled hishead, ignoring the discomfort the strength of his grip wascausing.
All he seemed to want from her was strength, and she gave itwillingly, holding him as tightly as she could, kissing the top ofhis head where strands of silver now threaded through the gold. Atlast his crushing hold eased and the tight, keening noise he'd beenmaking stopped. He sagged in her arms, the odd tension draining awaywhile she continued to hold him, stroking his hair.
"What was it, Vincent?" she asked again, when he seemed more ableto speak. "You frightened me."
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his breathing ragged. "Icouldn't..."
"Was it Vicky?" Fear for their daughter made her grip his armhard. "Is she all right?"
"Yes... with Sean, I think," he said, too carefully.
Comprehension broke over Catherine like an icy wave. "Oh, my God."She understood it all now... Vincent's distress, his physicalresponse, his need for her strength... "Oh, my God."
Distress of another kind enveloped him. "Catherine, she's soyoung... too young. Only seventeen..."
"Not so terribly young," she murmured, trying to comfort him."She's old enough..." Other thoughts were crowding out any concernfor their daughter's youth. "Does she know?"
"No. I was able to block it, I think."
"Vincent, we have to tell her. She has to know..."
* * * *
Vicky beat her midnight curfew by a minute and a half and came upthe stairs singing. Lights beyond the open door of the master bedroommeant somebody was still awake, so she tapped on it and breezed in."Hi, Mom, I'm home, safe and sound." Without waiting for a reply, shebounced to sit cross-legged on the foot of the bed.
"So I see," Catherine replied carefully, marking her place andsetting her book aside. "Did you have a good time?"
"Yeah..." Vicky drew out the word, smiling dreamily. "Sean's sospecial."
"Yes, he's a very nice boy," Catherine agreed. She was looking foran opening into what was going to be a very tricky conversation, andVicky gave it to her.
"Where's Daddy?" she asked. "I can't feel him."
Briefly irritated, Catherine wondered how the child could be soobtuse before remembering her own youth, all those eons ago, and theall-encompassing glory of first love.
"He's not here," she said gently. "We thought it best if he stayedaway right now... he's blocking you."
For a moment, Vicky stared in bewilderment. Then, flushingscarlet, she clapped a horrified hand over her mouth. "No. Oh, no! Inever thought..."
Embarrassed, she jumped to her feet, taking refuge in physicalaction. "I never felt him!" she cried in denial. "He wasn't there! Iwould have felt him!"
"He blocked his feelings from you, as he's doing now. He tried toblock yours, Vicky, but he couldn't."
"Oh, no," Vicky whispered. "He felt it all?"
"All," Catherine confirmed compassionately.
"How could he do that to me?" Vicky said suddenly, humiliationturning to anger. "How could he spy on me like that?"
"He had no choice, Victoria!" Catherine's tone was sharp, butVicky was too furious to listen.
"All my life he's spied on me!" she shouted. "I can never doanything without him knowing! I hate it!" Whirling, she stormedout.
Alarmed, Catherine followed. In her fury, Vicky wasn't hard totrace; the sound of her footsteps sounded clearly as she pounded downthe main stairs and back to the kitchen, where more stairs led to thebasement. At the top of the basement stairs, Catherine paused.
Vicky was clearly going Below, probably to confront her father.What ensued between them would not be easy, but it was unlikely thatCatherine's presence would help; this was something Vincent and Vickywould have to come to terms with together.
Catherine climbed the stairs slowly, sinking down on the edge ofthe bed. Pushing up the sleeve of her robe, she bent to inspect thefour small, triangular wounds spaced about an inch apart along thesoft skin on the inside of her upper arm. There would be bruisesthere tomorrow; clear evidence of the distress Vincent had endured.He never even knew he had hurt her.
Heart aching for the pain she knew he and Vicky were suffering,Catherine curled up under the covers, aware that it would be a longtime before Vincent joined her this night, if at all.
* * * *
"How could you!" Vicky stormed into her father's chamber Below infull fury. "How could you do that to me?"
"Victoria, please..." Vincent's voice was calm and rational, butVicky didn't want to be soothed.
"I can't do anything!" she raged. "Everything I do, everything Ithink or feel, you're there. And I hate it!"
"Please sit down."
"I don't want to sit down! I want you to stop! I want you to stopknowing what I'm doing, and I know you can't! It's not fair!"
"No. Life often isn't," Vincent asserted gently.
"It's a curse, Daddy! I don't want to be empathic. I don't want toknow what you're feeling, or what Mom's feeling, or what Carey'sfeeling, or anyone! I don't want it anymore! Tell me how to make itgo away!"
"You know I can't do that. Victoria, what you and I share issometimes difficult to bear, but it is a gift, not a curse."
"It's not. There's nothing good about it; it's a violation..."
"Sometimes," Vincent agreed. "It's a gift that carries with itgreat responsibility..."
"I don't want to be responsible! I want to be like everyoneelse!"
"Sometimes what you want isn't possible, Victoria," he remindedher gently, and she wondered guiltily if he had ever raged, wantingto be like everyone else.
Her wrath ebbed, leaving mortification in its place. "Oh, Daddy,"she whispered, suddenly close to tears. "I don't know what todo."
He rose then, moving around the table to take her gently in hisarms. "I'm sorry, Belle," he whispered. "I would have given almostanything not to have been there, with you, tonight. Just... becareful with your heart. I don't want you hurt."
* * * *
Catherine was still awake when Vincent came to join her in theirbed. "Is she...?"
"She'll be all right," Vincent said heavily. "She's upset andangry... with me, with fate..."
"She's young, Vincent. She wants life to be perfect and it hurtsto find out it can't always be that way."
Vincent didn't reply; Catherine could hear the sound of his evenbreathing. "Vincent?"
"I'm here." He reached for her hand in the darkness."Catherine..."
She waited.
"How old were you... when..." His voice faltered. It was aquestion he had never before asked.
"I was nineteen," she answered quietly.
"Did you love him?"
"I thought I did."
"Later... were there regrets?"
She could sense the distress behind his hesitant queries; Vicky'stroubles had always affected him intensely and Catherine understoodhis need to put their daughter's experience into some kind ofperspective. "Not then; not for a long time," she answered softly,turning her head to look at his profile, silhouetted in the dim glowfrom the french doors beyond. "Not until I found you, Vincent. It'sthe one thing I wished I could have given you..."
"It doesn't matter. It never did." He rolled over, wrapping hisarms around her, burying his face in her hair. "I love you,Catherine."
She held him, wishing she could give him peace. "I know."
* * * *
A few days later, Vicky sat morosely on the front steps. The sunhad set but the streetlights hadn't yet come on, and the gatheringgloom suited her mood perfectly. She half-heard the click of heels onthe sidewalk, but didn't really notice her mother's approach untilCatherine began to climb the steps.
"Hi."
"Hi," Vicky answered, not looking up.
"We haven't seen much of you the past few days," Catherineventured.
Vicky waved her hand in a half-hearted gesture. "I've been around.At Cassie's, and I've been going on some long walks. Thinking."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"All right." Catherine seemed unruffled by the terse rebuff,sitting down and arranging herself as comfortably as possible on thecold cement steps. "I'm glad this day is over," she saidconversationally. "Joe was a bear this morning. One of the internsaccidentally dumped a computer file, and for some reason there was nobackup. The case goes to trial in two weeks and the whole thing hasto be reconstructed from notes and memory."
"That's too bad," Vicky replied absently.
"I talked to Jenny today; she might come to dinner next week,if..."
"Don't!" Vicky interrupted, almost savagely. "I know what you'redoing."
Catherine paused. "What am I doing?"
"You're trying to make me think that what's happened doesn'tmatter; that everything is normal. And it's not!"
"I'm trying to let you know I care about you, honey," Catherinecorrected gently. "I'm trying to be sure you know I'm here if youneed me."
"Oh, Mom, I know you're there! You always are. I just..." Sheshrugged and looked away.
"Vicky, about the other night..." Catherine began,tentatively.
Vicky tensed. "What?"
"I think it's past time you and I had a talk..."
"Mom, I know all about the birds and the bees," Vicky saidstiffly.
"What about birth control?" Catherine asked softly.
Vicky recoiled as if she'd been struck. "God, Mom, I'm not totallyirresponsible!"
"I know that," Catherine said gently. "I also know how easy it isto get caught up in feelings, and how easy it is for things tohappen."
Vicky gave her mother a sharp glance. "We were careful, okay?" shesaid finally, uncomfortably. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Sure we can. But couldn't we go inside?"
"Daddy's in there," Vicky said forlornly.
"And right now he makes you feel uncomfortable," Catherineobserved.
"They all do," Vicky lamented. "Jacob and Carey know something'swrong; even Evan sees it. I know they mean well; they just want tohelp, but I want to be left alone!"
"Does that go for me, too?" Catherine asked quietly.
Vicky shook her head quickly. "No. Don't go yet. Sometimes I thinkyou're the only one I can talk to."
"That's not true, Vicky. Your father loves you very much and istrying very hard to understand your side of this. You can talk tohim, too."
"I can't. Not now. He knows it, too. It's too hard - tooembarrassing." Vicky felt curiously isolated for the first time inher life; her father had placed a rigid block on his emotions,effectively cutting her off from him. She knew he did it out ofkindness but it left her feeling oddly disconnected.
"Then talk to me," Catherine urged. "I'm listening."
"I want to; I just don't think you can understand..."
"Why not?"
"Because... because you're married! You're a mother!"
"And I'm old," Catherine added gravely. "I know. But I wasseventeen once. Don't think I can't remember how it felt. Have youseen Sean?"
Vicky shook her head. "Not really. At school, in the halls... Idon't know what to say to him. He wouldn't understand... And I can'tbe alone with him, not now."
Catherine nodded sympathetically. "Yes, I imagine it's difficult."She smiled suddenly.
"What?" Vicky demanded, sensing... almost amusement, incredible asit seemed.
"I'm sorry, I just thought of something."
"What?" Vicky demanded again. "Tell me!"
Catherine's smile widened. "I'm not sure I can."
"Come on, Mom. I could use a laugh about now."
"I don't know if you'll laugh, but..." Catherine paused, gatheringher thoughts. "There used to be a saying, back in the nineties,'paybacks are hell.'"
"Paybacks? You mean me? What did I do?"
"My darling daughter, did you ever wonder why your father learnedto block you so completely?"
Vicky's eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "You mean..."
Catherine nodded. "There are things one cannot do with one'seighteen-month-old child empathically eavesdropping..."
* * * *
Head flung back in passion, Catherine offered her throat forVincent's eager kisses, her hands touching and caressing hisshoulders and back. Suddenly, he raised his head and stiffened, hiseyes wide and unfocused.
"Vincent?"
With a groan, he rolled away from her to lie on his back, one armflung over his eyes. Catherine rolled with him, bracing herself on anelbow to look down on him in concern.
"Vincent, what's wrong?"
"That child," he grated, between clenched teeth.
"What child?" Catherine asked in bewilderment.
As if on cue, a rhythmic thumping started in the nursery,accompanied by a sing-song chant. "Dad-dee, Dad-dee!"
Catherine looked toward the sound and back at Vincent. "Vicky?"She didn't get the connection.
Still speaking through gritted teeth, Vincent explained. "She isfeeling what I'm feeling... everything I'm feeling."
Partly in relief that it wasn't something serious and partly overthe absurdity of the situation, Catherine began to grin. Vincentglared at her balefully and she collapsed on her pillow,laughing.
"I fail to see the humor in this," he said stiffly. Sensing hisdispleasure, Vicky's happy chant deteriorated into a tearful plea andhe rose, picking his nightshirt up from the floor.
His affronted dignity sent an unrepentant Catherine into a freshwave of mirth and she pulled the covers over her head to avoid hiscold stare.
"Oh, god," he heard her gasp from under the sheets, "there goes mylove life!"
When he came back from the nursery with Vicky in his arms,Catherine had outwardly regained her composure, sitting with herknees drawn up under her chin. She reached for their tearful childand he deposited the small figure into her arms.
Always most sensitive to whoever held her, Vicky's mood changedimmediately and she patted her mother's cheek playfully. That wasenough to shatter Catherine's fragile control and she once againdissolved into laughter. Vicky laughed with her, and the two of themrolled helplessly on the bed while Vincent glared.
Two weeks later, it had ceased to be funny.
"What are we going to do, Vincent?" Catherine asked infrustration. "It's only going to get worse as she gets older, and I'mtoo young to give up sex forever."
With time, Vincent had regained both his perspective and his senseof humor. "No one is requiring you to," he said, too reasonably. "Shecan't feel you."
Catherine punched him on the arm. "But you can," she said wryly."Besides," she added, settling comfortably, if chastely, against hisshoulder, "my standards are quite exacting. I doubt I could findanother man who could meet them."
She rubbed her hand across his chest. "I mean it, Vincent. Whatare we going to do?"
He sighed. "I've been giving it some thought," he saidquietly.
"And?" she prodded.
"Do you remember when Winslow died?"
"How could I forget?" she answered quietly. "He gave his lifetrying to save me."
"Yes. Do you remember why Pascal and Winslow were with me?"
"Because you couldn't feel where I was," she replied promptly. "Ihad blocked you..."
"Precisely."
She lifted herself on an elbow and frowned down at him. "ButVincent, I did that by not allowing myself to feel anything thatwould draw you."
"I know that," he replied reasonably.
"Well, doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose? I mean, if youdon't allow yourself to feel anything, what's the point?"
He laughed, quietly. "We'll have to hope that I can learn tocontrol the block," he said. "I'll have to learn to shut her outwithout affecting what I feel, and I'll have to teach myself to do itautomatically, without thought."
"What if you can't?"
He smiled. "How does celibacy sound?"
"We'll send her to live in China first," Catherine replied, onlyhalf kidding.
It had taken weeks of trial and error, compounded by severalfrustrating false victories, but he had done it. He tried to explainthe process to Catherine, but even Vincent wasn't certain how heisolated his feelings from their daughter while still experiencingthem himself.
Vincent knew he had finally succeeded on the day he lost histemper in a council meeting, slamming an angry palm against the tabletop in his fury. Vicky, playing quietly on the other side of thechamber, had never even looked up. In celebration, he had literallyswept Catherine off her feet that night and carried her off tobed.
* * * *
"So you see, honey, there is a solution for this; you're justgoing to have to work on it," Catherine finished.
"I don't know if I have that much patience," Vicky murmured,startled by her mother's unexpected candor.
"Tell me about it," Catherine said sardonically. Immediatelyapologetic, she covered Vicky's hand with her own. "I'm sorry. I justwant you to understand that this situation with Sean isn't going tosolve itself. You're going to have to work on it."
Vicky hesitated, groping for words. "But if we go out, he's goingto think... he's going to expect... and I can't even tell him why Ican't."
"Maybe you could tell him you need some time to think," Catherinesuggested.
Vicky shook her head doubtfully.
"Vicky, if he cares for you the way you think he does, the way Iknow you want him to, he'll put your interests first, ahead of hisown."
"The way Daddy does with you."
"And the way I do with him," Catherine said. "But Sean's young,honey, and I think you need to be prepared if he isn't asunderstanding as you'd like him to be. I don't want to see youhurt."
"Be careful with my heart," Vicky said dully, knowing it was toolate to be careful.
"That sounds like good advice," Catherine said cautiously.
"Daddy gave it to me," Vicky said, choking on a sudden sob.Turning swiftly, she put her head in her mother's lap and cried. Herheart was already breaking.
When she finally got up the courage to talk to him, Sean was asgentle and supportive as Vicky could have hoped. "When you're ready,"he said gravely, kissing her forehead.
It was hard, though, not to kiss, not to touch, so they indulged,planning to stop in time. Neither could foresee just how difficult itwould be to pull back from the brink, but this time Vicky could feelwhen control of her emotional block began to slip and pulledaway.
"Don't, Vic," Sean murmured, reaching for her, nuzzling her ear."Don't stop. You're so beautiful."
"We have to, Sean. You promised." She could sense his bewildermentas he struggled to understand. "Please."
Pulling away, he ran a hand through his tousled hair, breathinghard. Watching him, Vicky felt small and insignificant. "I just don'tunderstand," he said roughly. "Last week..."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"It's okay," he said automatically, but she could tell his heartwasn't in it. Underneath, he was seething with frustration, and aftera few minutes, he stood and offered her his hand. "Come on. I'dbetter take you home."
Silently, Vicky let him walk her home. On the steps, he bent togive her a perfunctory kiss, and she clutched his hands. "Don't goaway mad," she pleaded.
"I'm not mad."
Her empathic sense knew better. "Yes, you are. I'm sorry, Sean.Just be patient with me? Please?"
He smiled slowly and pressed his forehead to hers. "Anything foryou, Vicky. Anything."
"Time, Sean. Just a little time." *Please*, she begged silently.*Let me learn this fast*.
Sean kissed her goodnight, and she wrapped her arms around
his neck, holding tight. Unexpectedly, passion flared again, butwhen Sean tried to deepen the kiss, she stiffened in his arms.
"Damn it, Vicky," he growled, stepping back. "This is making mecrazy."
She was fumbling for the right words when a childish, sing-songchant interrupted.
"Sean and Vicky, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g..."
Sean turned. "Shut up, Evan, or I'll pound you into the dirt."
Evan and Carey, just back from a movie, stood on the sidewalkgrinning. It was unlikely that Sean could pound six-foot five, twohundred and thirty pound Evan into anything, but since the boys werefriends, it didn't matter. Sean started down the steps, pausing togive Evan a friendly punch.
"'Night, Vicky," he called. He didn't look back.
Bleakly, Vicky watched him go, ignoring the other boys coming upthe steps. Evan eased past her with only a mocking grin, but Careypaused, his dark eyes solemn.
"Is everything okay with you and Sean?"
His earnest compassion was the final straw. "No," she whispered,choking back a sob. "Nothing's okay anymore." Pushing past a startledEvan, she fled to the refuge of her room.
* * * *
The answer, when it came, literally fell into Vicky's lap onemorning.
"The packet I've just passed out should be taken home anddiscussed with your parents. Those of you who are interested in theprogram can fill out the application, have one of your parents signit, and return it to the office by next Friday." Vicky barely heardher homeroom teacher speaking as she studied the glossy pamphlet fromthe envelope on her desk. A few days later, after careful thought,she approached her mother gingerly.
"Mom, can I show you something?"
Catherine looked up from her desk. "Sure, honey. What is it?"
Vicky held out the pamphlet; Catherine picked it up slowly,reading.
"An exchange student? To England?"
"It would be really educational, Mom," Vicky said rapidly. "Icould go see Stonehenge, and Buckingham Palace, and the Tower ofLondon. I could go to Stratford-on-Avon, to see where Shakespearelived - and Big Ben, and Parliament..."
Her mother was silent, studying the brochure.
"You went to Europe when you were young," she pleaded. "You saidyou'd never forget it. I'd go to an English school, live in anEnglish home..."
"And what about Sean?"
Vicky bowed her head. "Things aren't going so well for me andSean," she whispered. "I thought I loved him; maybe I still do; but Ithink it would be good for us to be apart for a while."
"I'm sorry." Vicky felt Catherine's hand on her hair. "I know ithurts."
"There's something else, too... it's Carey."
For once, her mother actually looked surprised. "Carey?"
"I can feel him, Mom. It scares me."
"I don't understand. Do you mean you feel Carey the way you cansense your father?"
Vicky shook her head. "No. It's different."
There was a pause. "The way your father can sense me?"
Startled, Vicky shook her head. "No!" She surprised even herselfwith the vehemence of her reply and felt her mother gazing at herdubiously.
"Can you tell me what's different?"
Vicky sighed. "No. But it is... It's just something that'shappening. I just want to go to England."
"To get away from your father," Catherine murmured.
Vicky blinked, ducking her head. "Is it that obvious?"
"Vicky, the two of you spend half your time avoiding one another.I'd have to be blind not to see it..."
Vicky sank into a chair. "I love Daddy, Mom. You know I do. Butit's so hard..."
"I know, honey. I've been remembering my father when I was yourage, and trying to imagine how I'd have reacted if he knew what I wasfeeling." She gave a small laugh. "It was hard enough when I wastwenty-nine, and had a very protective friend playing emotionalvoyeur in my life."
Vicky looked up. "But that was different. That was Daddy."
"Yes, sweetheart, but he started out as my friend. There weredifficult times for both of us before we truly found each other."
"I never knew that. I thought you saw each other and just fell inlove."
"Love's rarely that simple," Catherine answered softly. "We didlove each other, but it took a long time to find our way."
"Did you ever go away?"
Catherine's voice was very low. "Yes."
"Did it help?"
There was a pause. "Yes."
Vicky squeezed her hands together. "Will you talk to Daddy?" Shenodded toward the brochure.
Catherine came back from her memories and smiled. "Yes, honey.I'll talk to him."
Vicky never knew what form of persuasion her mother had used. Herfather hadn't acceded easily, but he had, finally, given hisreluctant approval and in June she'd travelled to England. At first,she'd been horribly lonely; she'd never been so far from home andfamily. But, as she'd hoped, the life-long connection with Vincentwas severed by distance. For the first time in her life, she was freeof emotional links.
In the beginning, she and Sean exchanged letters, but as thesummer wore on, the flow of trans-Atlantic mail dwindled and finallydried up. It hurt, but by then she had met Dylan, an English boy wholived near the family Vicky was staying with, and he helped make upfor a great deal. By autumn she had settled comfortably into her newlife.
* * * *
26 November 2015Dear Daddy,
Even though it's not Thanksgiving here, I know it is back home, and everything I do seems to remind me of it. Oh, how I wish I could taste William's turkey and dressing! Thinking of you, all together, makes me realize how very much I miss all of you - even Evan.
I don't want you to think I'm not happy here; I am. Everyone has been kind to me, trying to make me feel welcome; it just isn't home. But in spite of that, it's a wonderful experience and something I'll never forget.
I've learned so much from this. So many things that once seemed important are becoming almost inconsequential, and things I had taken for granted have taken on so much more substance. Maybe it's a matter of perspective; I like to think I'm finally growing up.
And maybe that's something I couldn't have done at home. I know it can't have been easy for you to let me go, but I thank you for finding the strength to do so.
Why does growing up have to be so difficult? It would be so much easier to fall asleep one night as a child and wake the next morning as an adult. Why does it have to be so painful? If only someone could find a way to bottle maturity, wisdom, and experience; you could have it whenever you needed it, instead of learning things the hard way.
I'm not sure I'll ever understand it all, especially our gift, but I am beginning to find the truth in what you've told me. I feel like the Little Prince, when he speaks of his flower. 'I was too young to know how to love her...' But I'm growing up now, and I think I'm learning to accept the responsibility. Anyway, I'm trying.
Thank you, Daddy, for everything. I love you.
Belle
THE END