The Stranger in the Mirror(67)

Cassandra looks at me. “How could I forget that she has a milk allergy?”

“You didn’t know, honey. She just recently developed an intolerance. You were in the hospital at the time, and then, of course, she was with my father. It’s my fault for forgetting to tell you.”

“Oh,” she says. “I just feel so strange. Like I’m walking around in a cloud half the time.”

I put my arms around her and pull her toward me. “It’s okay, my love. It’s probably just the meds, which can make you feel a bit fuzzy at first. You’ll get used to it.”

I have her on a combination of Tofranil and Halcion. I can’t depend on the hypnosis alone to ensure she doesn’t remember who she really is. I have to keep a close eye on her and watch the interactions and side effects for any signs of tremors, but so far, the drugs are keeping her just confused enough to depend solely on me. It’s my hope that over time I can wean her off them, once I’m confident that the rewiring in her brain is permanent. But as I know all too well, the brain is a most unpredictable organ.

She leans her head on my shoulder. “I just want to feel good again, to feel like myself.”

I lift her chin and touch my lips to hers. “It will get better. And in the meantime, you can lean on me. I’ll always take care of you.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she whispers.

I smile. “Fortunately, you’ll never have to find out.”





??54??

Julian




“I don’t want to wear a jacket. It will hide my Belle shirt,” Valentina tells me, her arms crossed across her chest in defiance.

“Sweetie, it’s cool today, and we’ll be outside,” I tell her. “You can take it off when we have lunch.”

“No!” She stomps a foot.

Cassandra comes out of the kitchen and kneels down next to her. “That’s your favorite princess shirt, isn’t it?”

Valentina’s eyes are large, and she nods solemnly, but her arms are still crossed.

“Hmm, let me think. What if we put a snuggly turtleneck under it, and that way everyone would still be able to see you’re wearing Belle?”

Valentina smiles. “Okay, Mommy!”

I walk over and give Cassandra a kiss. “You’re so good with her,” I whisper, feeling vindicated. I made the right choice. It’s been a little over four months since Cassandra was reborn, and things are going wonderfully. My concerns about her and Valentina bonding have been largely unfounded. With the exception of a few meltdowns on Valentina’s part when Cassandra didn’t remember a favorite story or foods she hates, the transition has been smooth. I’ve had to have a few more sessions with Valentina, but I’m confident that from here on out, things will develop naturally.

When we arrive at Belkin Farm to go apple picking, it’s still early, and we get a parking space right up front. Valentina runs ahead of us to a stand selling apple cider and doughnuts.

“Can I have a doughnut?” she asks.

“You just had breakfast, sweetie.”

“Please, Daddy.”

I relent and buy one for each of us, since it’s a special day. We walk down the field and look at the signs for the apples, discussing which area we want to start in.

Cassandra pulls out her cell phone and snaps a few pictures of Valentina. When she’s finished, she starts typing something on her phone.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She looks up. “Just posting this one to Facebook. She looks so cute.”

I grab the phone from her hand, and she looks at me in shock. “Cassandra, are you crazy? Do you know how many pedophiles scan social media for pictures of children? I don’t want any photographs of her anywhere on the internet.”

Her eyes well up. “I didn’t realize that. I’m sorry.”

“What’s a ped-phile?” Valentina asks.

“A bad man, sweetie. Forget the word,” I say, so angry I’m struggling to keep my voice even. I hand the phone back. “I didn’t know you had a Facebook account. Are you on any other social media?”

She shakes her head no. “Just Facebook.”

“We’ll talk more about it later.” I need some time to figure out how to handle this. “Come on, let’s go pick some apples,” I say cheerily, trying to salvage the day. Cassandra smiles at me, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

After we finish, I put the apples in the car and slip an arm around her. “Where would you like to go for lunch? Your choice.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.” She’s clearly still feeling hurt.

“Well, what are you in the mood for?”

“I guess some soup might be nice.”

“How about the Chowder House, then?” I know it’s one of her favorites.

She nods, a bit more warmly. “Okay.”

“Let’s go then. Nothing better than lunch with my favorite girls.”

*

Cassandra’s upstairs, putting Valentina to bed. I pour two glasses of cabernet and wait. Things are back on an even keel, but I’m still disturbed by the thought of her posting things on Facebook. Every time I think I’ve covered all my bases, something new crops up.