She paused.
"You're not shocked, are you?" she asked me. "Anyone can have these sort of problems, and lots of people see therapists these days."
"No," I said. "You know that as a child and even a teenager, I was in therapy, too."
"Yes, I do know that, and that was why I thought you and I would get along so well. We both know what it means to place all your trust in someone, someone who is really a stranger. Because of what I see in you, I have no problem placing my trust in you. You are a very sincere person and I know you mean it when you say you won't hold any of this against me, even the flirting."
"Thank you," I said, and she smiled.
"Yes, that's what I hoped to hear. You are a wise young lady. We're going to be great friends, forever and ever." She reached over the table to take my hand into hers, squeezed gently, and then, as if she had said nothing, began to talk about a couple to our right, complaining about the way the man was looking at every other woman but the woman he was with.
"They always think the grass is greener somewhere else. Men," she said disdainfully.
Knowing all this about her now actually made me appreciate her behavior more. I would never have guessed this was a woman in therapy for insecurity when it came to men, and I was sure no man, not even Basil, would be able to guess it.
However, these complications and
contradictions left me reeling inside. She wanted men to appreciate her, but she was so distrustful and even hateful at times toward them.
"You see," she continued, "the way a man treats you can make you feel insecure about yourself. That's why it's so important to understand their motives and to be strong yourself. I won't let that happen to you. I won't," she vowed. "That's why I don't mind telling you all my secrets, and why I hope and pray you'll tell me yours as well."
I smiled and nodded, but I couldn't help wondering if her revelations brought us closer, as she had hoped, or drove us further apart. I wasn't sure about the answer myself. An my heart I knew that it would take some time to find out.
Neither of us ate very much, and I was happy when she suggested it was time to go home. Wade would be home from his meeting, she told me, and we left.
Once we were in her car and on our way, she reviewed the men she had attracted in the bar, predicting what each one would be like as a husband. It was as if all the things she had told me about herself, her therapy, her insecurity, were put into a trunk and buried under old furniture in some attic. She was back to being the Ami I had first met.
When we got home, she had an entirely different story about the restaurant to tell Wade. Then she started to tease him about his meeting, just the way she teased men at the bar.
"Did you all talk about your newest nuts? What's new in bolts?"
He turned beet red in front of me, and Ami laughed. It occurred to me then that she had married Wade precisely because he was so inexperienced when it came to women and sex, and so very shy himself. He was no threat to her. How different it was when she confronted Basil. She needed therapy almost for that alone, I thought.
Wade and I finally got into a conversation about the required reading I had to do in English class. He took me into his library to give me a book he thought I would enjoy, and Ami grew bored. When she went up to the bedroom to go to sleep, Wade soon followed. I started to read the book he had given me. Before I knew it, I'd been sitting there nearly half an hour. I got myself something cold to drink and started up.
Once again, when I reached the upstairs hallway, I heard Ami whimpering. I was sure of it. Wade sounded angry, however, and I distinctly heard him say, "You're not trying."
In response, Ami continued to sob.
Suddenly, I did catch a movement in the shadows down the hallway near the bedroom Basil used. I held my breath as a figure stepped forward. It wasn't Noble.
It was Mrs. Cukor.
The surprise stopped my heart. She started toward me, and I turned quickly and went into my bedroom, closing the door behind me and waiting there. What was she doing in the shadows? Would she tell Wade and Ami that I had been eavesdropping at their bedroom door?
If she walked past my bedroom, she did it on air, I thought. I didn't hear a footstep. After a few more mo ments, I went into the bathroom and prepared for bed. It was very hard to fall asleep; I tossed and turned, listening every moment for the sound of someone at the door. Finally, out of near exhaustion, I sank into a deep sleep.
Trevor called me first thing in the morning the following day, and we talked for almost an hour. He threatened to sneak onto the property and climb up the wall to my room after my piano lesson, and he made it sound so possible that I had trouble concentrating when my piano teacher arrived. Apparently, Mrs. Cukor did not report me to either Wade or Ami. Neither asked me about my listening at their bedroom door.
Ami sat watching me take my first piano lesson, and Wade stopped in to listen and observe as well. Afterward, Ami had Mrs. McAlister serve tea and cakes.
I liked my teacher. He said that he could tell immediately if a prospective student had any potential, and he assured both Ami and me that I did.
"She has a musical ear," he said.
"She might have inherited it," Ami said, looking my way and winking.
"Quite possible," Mr. LaRuffa told her, and we scheduled two lessons a week, one always being on Saturday night. He wondered about that himself. "Surely a young lady this pretty will have dates and parties."