Tessa's Escape to Athena's Ground Page 2

  Tessa was afraid, deep fear that made her hands shake during the day and her heart pound in the middle of the night. She thought of that classic Dylan Thomas poem, the one about going gentle into that goodnight, and it terrified her; it’s what she had tried to do when she swallowed those pills, and worse, what she might still be capable of.

  “We all think our own stuff is unique,” Shawntay said. “We think it’s horrifying. Understandable by very few. Impossible to fix unless led by the most exceptional. What aren’t you telling me about your stuff that keeps me from finding a good therapist for you?”

  Tessa paused. She’d not been asked that before, and it was a fair question. But to answer it meant giving Shawntay a cold hard look into her shame. Could she do it?

  Tessa took a deep breath, and Shawntay remained silent. After a moment, Tessa spoke. She began with Mark, her first and only love. The man she’d met as a boy in high school, the boy she’d followed to college, the man she’d married two weeks after graduation. Their marriage wasn’t perfect, she knew, and she shared that with Shawntay. But she loved Mark and Mark had loved her. Tessa had always been an introvert, both socially and sexually. Mark had coaxed her and coached her, in both arenas, and he was the only thing she knew.

  “Mark quit on me, Shawntay,” Tessa said, surprised by the anger in her voice.

  “We’ve talked about this before, Tessa. Mark died on you and that’s not the same thing.”

  “It was to me! He shouldn’t have been in that Fiat.”

  “Because he went on a business trip without you? How realistic, how fair, is that Tessa?” Shawntay’s tone was scalding water, blanching the skin off Tessa’s reserve.

  “The Milan police found him crushed in a sports car. The driver was a local woman.”

  “Oh come on, Tessa. You just finished telling me that Mark loved you. Because he died in a car with a woman while on a business trip you’re…”

  “It was a sports car, Shawntay. Mark was the passenger. I found online pictures of the local woman. She was a gorgeous, sexy woman.” Tessa was under a full head of steam and she wasn’t going to stop until she’d said it. All of it. “The police report said the Fiat rounded a curve too fast and the driver hadn’t slowed down because she’d probably taken her eyes off the road and, when or if she did see the problem, she couldn’t have braked effectively because her ankles were constrained.” Tessa took a breath and forced herself to say the next words. “Shawntay, her right ankle was twisted up in her underwear, which was found wrapped around both ankles.”

  Shawntay gasped softly. Apparently, like Tessa, she hadn’t seen that coming. Tessa had never put words to this story, at least not outside of her own head, but Shawntay needed to know what Tessa hadn’t shared, and this was a huge part of it.

  “The coroner’s report said the driver had been pinned at impact; she died slightly facing the passenger’s seat, with her hips tipped in an upward angle and her knees facing opposite directions. She was naked from the waist down and missing her bra, which was found in the back seat. My husband’s skull was crushed at impact by the steering wheel. Think about that, Shawntay. Why was the driver’s naked, open legs turned toward the passenger and where would Mark’s head have been for it to be crushed by the steering wheel?”

  “Oh, honey,” Shawntay said.

  “Yeah. The woman lost control of the car because she was letting Mark do what I never would. And my husband, the love of my life, died with his head between some Italian slut’s legs. It would make a great Woody Allen movie if it wasn’t so horrible.”

  Tessa started to sob, and Shawntay made little “I know” noises until Tessa stopped.

  “I did grief counseling after Mark died,” Tessa said minutes later. “You know that. But I never could bring myself to tell the therapist exactly why that Fiat ran off the road. So we never got through the complexity of my feelings about Mark.”

  “And that’s what’s been eating at you all this time?”

  “That, and the rape.”

  “What!”

  “Another little thing I never told anyone. Eighteen months after I lost Mark, my therapist—who didn’t know the whole picture, pressured me to start seeing people. To be fair, he wasn’t suggesting I get emotionally involved, or even sexually active. He just thought I shouldn’t be so isolated, and I couldn’t disagree. I was a junior in high school the last time I went on a ‘first date’ and honestly, I didn’t know how to even begin. So when a friend of a friend set up a blind date I figured why not.”

  Tessa told Shawntay about Kent, the good-looking six-footer with broad shoulders and an athletic build. Kent was handsome, in a rugged way, but he was also well-spoken, well-educated and nicely employed. “We went out several times, everything was fine,” Tessa said. “A little hand holding. A PG-13 good night kiss. Innocent stuff.”

  “Until?”

  “We went out to eat one night and then to a movie. When we got out of the theater it was pouring rain. It took a while to snag a cab and neither of us had an umbrella. We were both drenched by the time we got to my place. I invited Kent up, to dry off a bit, and I was going to loan him a rain slicker for his trip home.”

  “But something went wrong.”

  “Yes. I sent Kent into my bathroom to towel off. When he came out, he was wearing my oversized spa robe. I hadn’t meant for him to take off his clothes but, since he apparently had, I offered to pop them in the dryer. He gathered them from the bathroom and followed me to my little laundry room, off the kitchen. He stood behind me while I put his clothes in the drier and when I turned around, he wasn’t wearing my robe. I was shocked. I said the first thing that came into my mind, which was something like, what do you think you’re doing. He laughed, pointed to his erection and said, ‘that’s what I’m doing.’ I told him most definitely not and turned my back to retrieve his clothes from the drier.”

  Tessa’s voice started to shake, and snot begin to dribble from her nose. “I was bent over, reaching for his clothes when Kent slammed me against the drier. I yelped, and Kent put his big hand over my mouth. He kept saying that quiet girls like me couldn’t ask for it, even when they wanted it. He said he could tell I wanted it. I tried to wiggle away from him. I tried to scream. I didn’t do either very well.”

  Tessa stopped, even though there was more to tell. Shawntay give her a long moment, and remained silent until Tessa continued.

  “I was still wearing the dress I’d worn to the movies. It was wet, and sticking to my backside. Kent said something about getting me out of my wet things so I wouldn’t catch a cold. Then he laughed, like he’d said something funny. He lifted me up a couple of inches, bent me over the top of the drier, and pinned me face down. He pulled my dress up and ripped my panties off. I could feel his erection against my backside, but when he used force to remove my underwear, I could feel it throbbing. Shawntay, he got off on violence, so I stopped fighting.” Tessa stopped talking. She felt frozen, as if she was once again pressed face down on her drier, waiting for something awful to rip her world even further apart.

  “Tessa?” Shawntay gently prodded.

  “He raped me.” Tessa began to cry again, but she spoke between sobs. “It felt like a knife, inside, and he kept at it and at it. He pushed into me so hard he knocked the drier all the way against the wall. As soon as he came, he pulled his clothes out of the drier, put them on and left.”

  “And you never reported him?”

  “That’s the thing I’m truly ashamed of,” Tessa said. “I should have called the cops. But I was so humiliated. I scrubbed myself with soap and water as soon as he left. And I stopped seeing men.” Tessa thought about David, and made a small correction. “At least face-to-face.”

  -4-

  Tessa,

  I’ll be in New York for business next week. How about meeting someplace for a drink? Wine. Coffee. Gatorade…whatever. I really enjoy our email chats and would love to meet the person behind the computer. What do you say?

 
David

  PS: no pressure : - )

  Tessa read the email a second time. If the mouse in her hand had been an animate object instead of plastic and microchips, it’d be dead now, strangled by the white-knuckle grip of the very nervous woman holding it.

  Since meeting men in the ‘real world’ was way out of Tessa’s comfort zone, and walling herself away like a celibate nun was incredibly lonely, Tessa dipped her toe in the brave world of online “dating.” In the last six months she “met” a lot of men and like Goldilocks, had little success until she found David, who seemed to be ‘just right.’ He was smart and funny and the perfect blend of interest without pressure. They had mutual interests in movies, books, and travel. Wouldn’t it be great if we met in Rome, David had once said. Trevi Fountain, Tessa replied, though even as her fingers typed, her head told her she’d never have the nerve to follow through.

  Tessa smiled, thinking of the ways that David seemed perfect, from little things like a shared distaste for cauliflower, to big things, like their take on politics. They had their differences, of course, but those, too, made Tessa smile. Tessa had tried to convince David that her alma mater, Northwestern University, was an athletic powerhouse with many conference titles under their belt. David countered that the measure of true college athletics was America’s Passion: football. And on that score, Northwestern had one of the worst collegiate records. His alma mater, on the other hand, was a football powerhouse, boasting a glowing record and an impressive list of superstars.

  Like OJ Simpson, Tessa had countered, grinning mischievously as she typed her reply.

  Touché, David had responded almost immediately, though he later asserted it was unfair to judge a century old football program on one bad apple.

  Tessa reread David’s latest email. Another read-through and she’d have it memorized, word for word. After her last phone follow up, Tessa had begged Shawntay to act as her therapist.

  “Oh no,” she’d said. “I’m not qualified. But stay with me, girl. I will find you the right person.”

  “Half mother and half drill sergeant,” Tessa had told her. “I need tough love. Someone like you.”

  Shawntay had promised to explore “less traditional” therapy, if that’s what Tessa wanted.

  As Tessa stared at David’s invitation to meet, she wished she had a therapist. She needed that combination of insight and tough love to get her head straight. And she desperately wanted her head straight before she screwed things up with David.

  David,

  I’d love to meet you. Unfortunately, I’ll be out of town most of next week, she lied. Please, please say you’ll give me a rain check.

  Tessa

  PS: pressure for a rain check : - )

  ***

  Tessa was finishing a sketch when the call from Shawntay came.

  “Sorry to bother you during work hours. Can you talk?”

  “Just a minute.”

  Tessa shut her office door and took a seat behind the smooth, mahogany desk she and Mark had picked out five years ago. She pushed aside fabric swatches and design images that had consumed her only moments ago. She shifted her focus to the phone in her hand. Shawntay respected Tessa’s concern about privacy at work. She wouldn’t have called the office if it wasn’t important. “Okay. What’s up?”

  “Can you meet with me after work tonight? I have a resource you might want to consider, but it’ll take some explaining.”

  Tessa bit her lip. A referral that requires explanation? Trying for lightness she didn’t feel, Tessa said, “I suppose Season Seven of NCIS can wait.”

  “Seven?” Slight pause. “Tony faces the screwed up relationship he has with Senior, Gibbs faces his former mother-in-law and the rift between them over the death of Shannon and Kelly, and Vance faces the strange relationship he has with an old nemesis, who happens to be an assassin.” Shawntay took a breath, then added, “See, Tessa, even fictional people have relationship issues. We need to get together to talk about addressing yours.”

  Tessa couldn’t help herself. Despite the knot that was forming in her stomach, she smiled. They agreed to meet at Poppy’s, a mom and pop diner seven or eight blocks from Tessa’s office. It served tall, thick milkshakes to customers seated in tall, thickly upholstered booths, which made it a great place for private conversation and a bad place to diet.

  Tessa hung up and refocused on sketches and swatches. At 5:00, she turned off her computer and slid her sketch pad into her top desk drawer. It looked exactly the same as it had before Shawntay’s phone call.

  Shawntay was waiting in a back booth by the time Tessa arrived. “I took the liberty,” she said, pointing to the milkshakes in the center of the table. “They just got here, so your timing is perfect.”

  Tessa smiled. “Which one is mine?”

  “I only ordered flavors I like, so either one is fine by me.”

  Tessa slid onto the booth bench and pulled the chocolate shake in front of her. Shawntay smiled and reached for the Oreo Cookies and Cream. “Ah, a traditionalist, you are. One of these days you’ll have to step outside the box.” Shawntay took a long sip, and then another.

  “You can never have too much chocolate,” Tessa countered, and took a petite sip of her shake. Her stomach was dancing the Cha Cha, and Tessa didn’t want to see what cha-chocolate looked like. She’d finish the shake when her belly was more stable.

  “So tell me about a possible referral,” Tessa said.

  Shawntay blotted her lips with a paper napkin. “It’s not a referral, Tessa, because it’s waaaay out of the box. I can’t put my seal of approval on it and I’m also not sure it’s a good match for you. But since more traditional therapists weren’t working out, I thought maybe you should know about it.” She shrugged her shoulders.

  Tessa eyed the traditional chocolate shake in front of her, and wondered if Shawntay’s choice of milkshakes had been some kind of a test. If it had, Tessa feared she’d already flunked.

  Bull by the horns, Tessa thought. She said a two-word silent prayer to the God she wasn’t sure she still believed in, and then repeated the prayer—now a plea: “Help me.”

  Shawntay’s dark brown eyes softened. “Tell me something, Tessa. The personalities of the two therapists I referred you to, were they cold? Hard to relate to?”

  Tessa thought a minute. “No, not really. They both seemed capable and willing to listen to me, to help me.”

  “Were they assholes?”

  Tessa opened her mouth, not sure if she was about to laugh with abandon or gasp primly. It ended up a laugh, but her cheeks flushed pink.

  “Well?” Shawntay said.

  “No. They both seemed like decent, capable people. After a couple sessions, neither of them made me feel like opening up. I knew it would be a waste of money, and worse, a waste of my time.”

  “Kind of like your grief counselor. Before.”

  “Yes. Though he did help me with some of my issues, I never let him in far enough to deal with the serious stuff.”

  Shawntay nodded, and took another sip of her milkshake. “Ever have anything other than chocolate?”

  “Sure,” Tessa said. “Vanilla. Once in a while, strawberry.”

  “Would you feel unacceptably uncomfortable if you were pressured into Oreo Cookies and Cream? Or Peanut Butter Banana?”

  The milkshakes were a test, and the sinking feeling in Tessa’s stomach told her she’d blown this ‘out of the box’ chance. Tessa thought about losing David, and all Davids after him, forever and ever. “If a Peanut Butter Banana milkshake is the path to finding peace and happiness, I’d drink one every day for the rest of my life.”

  Shawntay studied Tessa’s face. “Alright then, let’s talk milkshakes.”

  -5-

  “I’ve heard about an institute that works only with women,” Shawntay said. “The institute doesn’t advertise, and it costs an arm, a leg and your first born child. It doesn’t take insurance and doesn’t accept new clients, except by referral. And I
’d lose my job if I actually referred you to them, because my boss isn’t fond of this kind of therapy.”

  Tessa was curious. What could be so revolutionary?

  “From what I could find out,” Shawntay said, “their therapists are extremely well-trained, but they aren’t approved by the ABPN. In fact, they aren’t approved by anyone, except the women they’ve helped.”

  Shawntay paused. When Tessa didn’t flinch, she continued. She told Tessa she had learned about the institute from two different women. Both credited it with turning their lives around and then quickly added that the institute’s methods were far from traditional, very ‘intimate’ and, one said, more than a little ‘scary.’

  “Scary?”

  “Actually, she said it was very scary. Wanna forget it now?”

  Tessa shook her head ‘no’ so hard she nearly dislocated her neck.

  “Alright then. You ready to hear more about Athena’s Ground?”

  “Athena was the Greek goddess of wisdom,” Tessa said, feeling a little less queasy. How scary could a Peanut Butter Banana milkshake be if its goal was to lead you to wisdom?

  Shawntay leaned forward and lowered her voice. As she spoke, Tessa felt the blood rushing to her face, setting her cheeks on fire. Her hands began to sweat and she held her chocolate milkshake, hoping the coolness of the glass would calm her racing heart. It didn’t.

  “So, now that you’ve heard the details,” Shawntay said, after a thorough description of Athena’s Ground therapy, “would you like the name of another traditional therapist? I brought one with me.”

  Tessa was pretty sure of two things. First, she could not do the things Athena’s Ground would require; hell, she could barely even stand to hear about them. But worse, by a long shot, was the second thing she knew: she would not find a path to wellness with a traditional therapist, no matter how many association letters they had after their name. Between her grief counselor and the two traditional therapists Shawntay had referred her to, Tessa had been to the plate three times and struck out each time. She had a choice: she would do the undoable or she would end up in the ER again. And next time, there would be no Maria-looking-for-her-wallet to save her.