Taken (25 page)

He was glad he had a run scheduled for today. Maybe after five miles he’d have his mind wrapped around the conversation they’d just had.
Maybe make it ten miles.
The woman so easily tied him in a knot.

He should buy her a camera. That thought came out of left field as he cleared the table and put away the lunch items. He pondered the idea while he went to change clothes. Those five items deeply mattered to her. It was time he put a good camera in her hands. He’d concentrate on that idea for a bit, as it was a lot more manageable than the discussion they’d just finished. Maybe the camera shop would have a decent used one in a newer model so she wouldn’t balk at accepting the gift. He found his keys, confirmed he had his phone, and went to join Paul and Bryce.

S
hannon played a Y, completing the word
yellow
. “Tell Paul I’m ready to take him to see the farm.”

Matthew looked up from the Scrabble board. She’d been playing in silence for the last half hour, had said very little over dinner. Tired, quiet, on the edge of subdued—he’d expected as much after an afternoon of shopping, and on the heels of all that had unfolded during the last week. He wasn’t unduly worried at the emotions he was picking up from her. “Tomorrow?” he asked.

She nodded.

She’d managed to get the board into a very unwieldy layout. All he could do was play the simple word
fun.
“Do you want to see your parents after that? Jeffery thinks it’s time. They both want to see you.”

“He told me. They weren’t ready for it last week, and it turns out I’m not ready for it now. Maybe something at Jeffery’s this Friday or Saturday evening. If we run out of things to say, we can always talk about my niece.”

Her fears for the reunion physically hurt to hear. “The
evening will be fine after the first few minutes. Your parents are truly overjoyed to have you back, Shannon.”

“I know, and I’m sure it’ll be welcoming smiles and hugs, followed by polite conversation with everyone trying to ignore the underlying awkwardness. I just need a few more days. If my mom asks for my forgiveness I’m going to have a difficult time replying. And what do you think, do I call him ‘Dad’ or use his first name?”

Matthew briefly closed his eyes. “Dad,” he counseled softly. “Nothing in this changes the heart of the matter. He’s been your father since the day you were born.” He placed letters on the board to extend a word to
joyful
. “Give him a chance to show he wants the relationship with you that you’ve always had. Hold that door open for him,” he encouraged.

“And Mom?”

“She’s still your mother. You need her, Shannon, no matter how deep the hurt is right now. Show her grace, make it easy on her. She needs her daughter back. She’s mourned for you, missed you every day, every hour, for eleven years.”

Shannon didn’t answer him. She played
time
, then arranged the letters for
throw
on her next turn.

Matthew shifted the subject slightly. “So it’s a visit to the farm tomorrow, see your parents Friday or Saturday night, have Jeffery make the news public the following Monday?”

She nodded. “He’ll have to by then, if not before. Once cops enter the farm, word will get back to the group, they’ll scatter, and the only way Paul will be able to track them down is to make their photos public nationwide.”

“Adam York can release the photos in connection with the abducted children who have been returned home, buy us a few more days before the reporters make the connection between the abductions, the farm, and you,” Matthew suggested.

She shrugged. “Whatever seems best. It would be good if the next week could end it. The farm, meeting my parents, making the news public, giving Paul what I can remember about the other stash sites. I’ll still need to show you their place out East, and there will be some sites I’ll have to visit to see what I can remember about the precise locations. But otherwise my initial list will be finished. It would be seriously helpful to me to get this over with.”

Matthew considered that an exquisite understatement. He extended a word to play
halftone
. A year from now, her life would likely be depositions and trials. “I’ve got a few things on my list for you to consider. Choosing a doctor you’d like to help you process everything. You need a valid driver’s license. Do you want to be known as Shannon Bliss or switch to another name that might not attract attention? This would be the right time to decide that.”

“I hadn’t thought about it.” She played
falling
. “Charlotte obviously decided changing her name made sense.”

“It’s something to consider. I don’t know that it’s realistic to keep you entirely out of the public eye, given your brother may be in the governor’s office. You’ll just be setting up reporters to watch him until he leads them to you, regardless of the name you’re using.”

“I’ll talk to Jeffery about what makes the most sense. I won’t be seen in public until after the election—that much I’ve decided.”

“For the next five months until the vote, that would be wise,” Matthew agreed. “Any plans with Charlotte? You were talking with her by phone earlier.”

“She has coffee Saturday mornings with Ellie and Rachel, Bryce’s mom and sister. She invited me to join them.”

“You’ll enjoy that.”

Shannon half smiled. “I’ll have to start a social calendar. Was that your doing?”

He didn’t have to ask what she meant. “No. Charlotte’s invitation didn’t originate with me.”

“It’s awkward, figuring out who to trust.”

“You don’t have to decide that right away, Shannon. Simply observe, try out some low-key interactions, and determine whom you’re comfortable with. And if you’re overly cautious for the next few years, you don’t need to apologize. People will understand.”

“I’ve decided I like Charlotte.”

“I’m glad.” She was in the early stages of making new friends, which was one of his hopes for her. Once she spoke with her parents, finished talking with the FBI, and the news became public, her focus would need to shift to working with a doctor and getting whole again, physically and emotionally. The last big question would then come into play: where did she want to settle down to start her new life? He thought maybe somewhere in Wisconsin or Indiana. A few hours outside of Chicago would be ideal—close enough that John could help her with security matters, where she could still be with family for an evening or a weekend, but still be outside the reach of the Chicago press. The national press interest in her would continue throughout the first year, but after that it would start to settle down. He’d help her look at some towns in the Upper Midwest when she was ready.

The letters left in the Scrabble box lid were down to less than a dozen. He took three more to fill his tray.

“Do you have someone in mind for a counselor?” Shannon asked.

He considered his word options, rearranged letters on the tray. “Rachel suggested a friend of hers, Sandy Post, and Bryce gave me the same name. She works primarily with women veterans who have seen combat. She sees a few patients in the Chicago area, and could meet you for a walk one morning. Afterward you could both decide if it feels like a good fit. Rachel mentioned she’s a bit . . . unorthodox in her style, but that’s why she likes her.”

“How so?”

“She’ll train and run a marathon with one patient, design and landscape a flower garden with another, take a Spanish class with a third. She’s not one for appointments in an office if there’s another way to accomplish her goal. She wants to get inside your head, your heart. And she’s going to stay on mission until she’s done that, until she’s figured out where your perceptions of yourself and the world are affecting your mental health.”

“She’s a Christian?”

“Yes. If you aren’t comfortable praying aloud with someone, you’ll have an interesting time adapting to her help. She’s as likely to address a question to God
about
you as she is to ask
you
the question.”

The thought seemed to intrigue Shannon. “A nice way to keep a conversation honest. ‘God, is she lying to herself or to me with that answer?’” Shannon smiled. “I’d be willing to meet her for a walk, maybe next week, after the conversation with my parents. One thing at a time is about all I want to handle right now.”

Matthew nodded. “It’s going to help you—having a professional in the mix.”

“Do you think I should let her read the diaries?”

He hesitated before he answered. “I don’t know. I think it
might be better if you talked about matters first, let her see how the memories of events are playing out for you now. But if you can’t talk about a subject, then yes, giving her the appropriate diary would be better than her not knowing.”

“I’m doing a good job coping right now by simply accepting it happened, and then moving on.”

“You are,” Matthew agreed. “But you’re still in survival mode. Do you realize that? It’s useful for me to see it, because the pace you’re moving through all the details would be trouble for you otherwise. But there will be a day you’re past this initial unpacking of events, and then that survival mode is going to begin to ease. It needs to. You’ll be able to grieve about what you lost over the last eleven years, and you’ll feel a natural sadness begin to swell.”

“I’ve already grieved, Matthew.”

He didn’t think she had even begun that process, but he only said, “You’ll grieve some more, Shannon. And those days too will pass. A good life is going to form over the next years, and I’m looking forward to seeing how that happens for you.”

“You’re expecting me to be fragile, like your daughter. I’m not like that, Matthew.”

He gave her a searching look. “Becky had a period where she was truly fragile, but that’s different than what I see in you.
Fragile
implies being unable to handle something, of cracking when the pressure and stress arrive. I agree you’re not fragile right now. You’re extraordinarily strong in some ways because it’s necessary. But grief isn’t fragile. It comes along with strength, facing the losses in life, the reality of what you won’t have back, then turning to the future to create what can be built. Grief is part of accepting what was; it’s what takes the sharp edges off your history. It’s emotion and it’s reality. It’s mostly not hiding,
letting your mind present what needs processing and dealing with all the implications of those memories.”

She was listening, toying with the final letter on her tray.

The game was finished, but he didn’t move to total the score or put away the pieces, but instead looked at her and carefully selected his words. “You survived by hiding, Shannon. It’s still how you cope when events or situations hurt you,” he said gently. “I’m glad it’s a strong instinct because it’s getting you through this. But it’s a defense. Grieving is about letting down that shield, not having to keep that defensive wall in place. When you can lower it and not get overwhelmed by the memories, you’ll know your healing is mostly complete, you’ll have ‘rubbed off the jagged edges’ of your history, as you described it, and be ready to move on.”

She thoughtfully began storing letters in the box. “Not sharing something is not the same as not being aware of it. I’m not hiding from myself.”

He thought maybe she was right, and yet . . . not. “You’ve learned to endure, to live strong in spite of all that’s been thrown at you. That’s powerful and good. Maybe what I’m trying to express is that I think you’ve dealt with matters by a sequence that was basically ‘It happened, it was horrible, it’s over, move on,’ and your emotions learned to function that way as well. But that was a learned pattern. Freedom is going to shift your emotions to something that’s more . . .
expansive
is maybe the word I want. You’ll
feel
things with larger and wider emotional swings again, because now you have the freedom to experience those normal emotions. It’s going to be a good thing.”

“You don’t think I have that now?” she asked, looking curiously at him over a handful of letters.

He realized she didn’t see it yet and simply looked at her for
a long moment, pondering how to present it. Finally he said, “I think you have a shadow of it, but not the substance, and I’d hate for you to misjudge which you have. I’m hoping, praying, that the wall you’ve had to put in place around yourself and your emotions will come down. That there will be more of
you
appearing. Wider emotional swings both up and down. More energy. Dreams for your life. Things you want. Desires of the heart. And, yes, also a deeper sadness. Grief. All of it. That’s life, and the more of it you are
feeling
, the closer you are to being whole again.”

“That’s what healing will look like,” she said, thoughtful.

He nodded. “Mostly. It will be the ability to see the world around you as it exists, both good and bad. It will be having a life that isn’t being steered by the past, where it doesn’t feel like the past is a daily anchor weighing on your thoughts, or on your impressions of places and people. Healing will be the capacity and the ability to love family and care about friends. It will be about having dreams for yourself and the confidence to work toward them. Healing in part is being able to
feel
you are free of the past.”

Shannon dropped the last letters in and slid the lid onto the Scrabble box. “Was Becky able to make that transition?”

“It took five years before I could look across the breakfast table and see my daughter as she should be, not my daughter with a painful memory or two still lingering there with her.”

“It was her concept of herself which got shattered.”

“Yes.”

“I’m different from Becky in one key respect, I think. When I described myself as a cactus, Matthew, able to handle a tough environment, it was because I made a decision early on. I looked at that group and decided it was possible to get inside their
logic and work the angles, and it provided a way to survive. I began proactively living inside that bubble they put me in, not just responding to it. I accomplished something in captivity during those eleven years. That internal ‘me’ survived. I was never passive about what was going on. If anything, my sense of who I am is stronger today because of what happened. They couldn’t get to the core of me. Yes, I have hard things to work through, but I’m not as injured as you might think. I’m like a beat-up old car that’s won a few stock-car races. I need some dents hammered out. But the guts are still running fine.”

Matthew had to laugh at the imagery. Yet again Shannon surprised him with her inner strength. “Maybe you’re right, Shannon. I do love that visual. I’m going to be pleasantly surprised to find out I haven’t understood how far along you are in this process, that it’s going to be a shorter journey for you than I expect. I’d love for that to be true. Just give room for some caution about how long it might take.”