Love in the Vineyard (Tavonesi #7)(14)

Disorientation.

That was what the social worker had called it when she’d tried to help Natasha just after Tyler was born. An automatic, involuntary response to confusion with symbols and words. The severity of her disorientation varied day by day, minute by minute. On a good day she could make out phrases, sometimes do simple math. On a bad day, nothing registered. On those days, she’d learned to be very clever at making sure no one would notice her struggle, that no one would guess about her disability. So they wouldn’t judge her. Or worse, pity her. Judgment she’d learned to handle, but pity?

She took a breath and tried to clear her mind. The more she stressed, the faster the symbols and words would scramble.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

With an inhale, she relaxed her forehead and tried to follow the path of her breath, tried to practice the exercise the trauma counselor had taught her that could sometimes calm her racing, warring thoughts.

But her thoughts wouldn’t calm.

Today wasn’t one of the good days, one of those days that normal people took for granted. A day when simple tasks like reading and writing would be easy.

She’d have to ask for help with the forms.

And she’d run off from the party the night before still wearing the man’s jacket. She’d have to find a way to return it.

Worse, she’d forgotten her cape. Her throat tightened as she visualized slinking back to the scene of the party to retrieve it.

But what nagged at her was that Tyler had gone off with a friend from school to play ball at a park two blocks from Inspire.

She unplugged the cheap cellphone from its charging cord.

She shouldn’t worry so much about Tyler. The neighborhood surrounding Inspire was safe. No gangs.

But maybe that was what mothers, real mothers, did—worried about the safety and happiness of their children. Had her mother worried over her in those brief five years they’d had together? Her foster parents sure couldn’t have cared less what she’d done or where she went off to. All they cared about were the checks that came in every month from social services.

She folded the velvet gown and mask. And then gathered up the man’s jacket. She held the soft wool to her face and inhaled. His scent, along with her memories of the evening, flooded her.

She recalled the lively energy of the party, the beautiful costumes and more beautiful people, the dances. The man.

A sigh escaped her as she folded the jacket and stacked it on top of the gown Mary had loaned her. It had been a wondrous, beautiful night. A night she would remember. And she’d best leave it at that. If the man called, she’d tell him she was too busy to go to a garden.

But he wouldn’t call. In the light of day, he probably felt as foolish as she did.

With a last glance out the window toward the park, she pocketed the phone, gathered up the costume bits and the insurance papers, and made her way to Mary’s office.

Saturday was a busy day at Inspire. On Saturdays there were classes and workshops. Soon she’d have to face faking her way through one of them, as every “guest” was required to take at least one class a week. Natasha dreaded it with all her heart.

A woman Natasha hadn’t yet met exited Mary’s office with a smile on her face. How could the woman be so darned cheery? They were living in a homeless shelter, for goodness’ sake. But then, maybe Natasha was the one who needed an attitude adjustment. The shelter was clean, comfortable and in a good location. And temporary, Natasha reminded herself of Mary’s very clear terms of residency.

Mary looked up from her desk as Natasha entered her tiny office. A calico cat curled near her keyboard opened its eyes, blinked at Natasha and then snuggled its nose back under a paw.

“And how did our countess fare at the ball?” Mary asked with a broad smile.

To her astonishment, Natasha found herself relating all the details of the evening, including the man’s invitation for a date.

“I’m afraid I left the cape at the party. I’m really sorry, I—”

“No need to fuss. I have to go that way this afternoon anyway. I’ll pick up the cape.” Mary unfolded the jacket and looked at the tag woven into it. “This jacket is from the same rental shop as the costume I rented. I can return it when I return the gown and mask.” Her lips quirked into a smile. “Now about this man you met—was he nice?”

“I guess so. I mean, yes, he was very nice. Foreign. With formal manners.”

“He sounds intriguing. Maybe you should consider taking him up on a date.”

“I’m not ready.”

Mary crossed her arms. “How long has it been since you went on a date?”

“A while.”

Mary waited.

“Okay, years,” Natasha admitted. “And my last experiment with dating was a disaster. They all have been. I don’t need a man in my life. Tyler and I do just fine as we are.”

Mary eased out from behind her desk.

“You’ll set yourself up for another disaster if you ignore the urge to relate. Human beings are meant to relate. You’ll never learn to trust again if you don’t flex that muscle—if you don’t try.” She flitted her hands through the air. “Thousands of helping hands are waiting to help you, Natasha, but you have to make an effort. To trust that there’s a compassionate force guiding you.”

A snort escaped Natasha. Then her cheeks flamed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t have a very positive outlook right now.”