Greta had never experienced such compassion before. The crushing, overpowering, sensation of it stunned her. All the barriers she’d erected, shoring up hate and resentment toward her peers, began to crumble and her keening scared even her. How could she cry so loudly and for so long in front of a virtual stranger? Who knew that when she broke, she’d lose it completely?
All she knew was that strong arms held and rocked her, while gentle hands stroked her head and patted her back. The beautiful smell of a feminine body lotion teased, and strangely, brought her back to her senses.
“I’m sor-ry. I didn’t mean to carry on so.”
“Lord love ya, don’t apologize. I think you’ve stored a lot of sorrow and it needed to be released. Hopefully you’ve emptied some of that justifiable anger for Cassie Edwards along with it.”
“What do you know about…? You read that part?”
“I’m sorry. I was trying to find a name and the words grabbed my eyes. From your description, I admit, I disliked the girl immensely. I suppose we’ll just have to show her that you are worthy of being alive, won’t we? You just have to promise to follow my guidelines, right?”
“I don’t wish to be pushy, but can you tell me exactly what to do. You see, I need to be prepared. I don’t want to screw this up. So whatever directions you give me, I will listen.”
Prepared for this sort of an outcome, Remi handed her several sheets of paper and some advice. “Read these lists. If you need help with anything, let me know. Take the rest of the day to think about the coming month and get mentally prepared. It won’t be easy, love. But then, nothing worthwhile ever is. Tomorrow, if you’re still committed, we’ll go shopping for our meal ingredients for the coming week. We’ll also have our first cooking class by preparing some special dinners and lunches that we can freeze. Does that sound all right to you?”
Too overcome to speak, Greta nodded her confirmation, snatched her papers off the table and rushed to the door. She couldn’t wait to get alone so she could hug herself, do a happy dance and smile until her face hurt.
“Greta, you forgot this.” Remi called to stop her and waved the journal, the book where she’d poured out her heart and asked for help from the only person she thought might still be listening. Seems he’d heard her.
“You keep it. I don’t think I’ll be needing it anymore. In fact, I got a new one for Christmas and I believe I’ll start writing in it tonight.” Greta smiled her delight and loved that Remi pounded the air with her fist and responded with “Good girl! We’ll show all those resident bitches, won’t we?”
Greta floated home and let herself into the apartment without stopping to say anything at all. Instead, she rushed to her room and closed the door, so hugging herself wouldn’t raise any eyebrows or cause any comments.
She collapsed backwards on the bed, stared at the ceiling and tried to figure out how she was feeling. Ecstatic! Shocked! Scared! Surging to her feet, she hurried to the desk for her journal and favorite pen. Then sitting crossed-legged in her chair, she began to write.
After working for almost an hour, the closest she could come to describing her wretched existence was the explanation she wrote on the first page of her newly started Book of Hope.
Journal, if I were to take all the days of my past few years—thinking in terms of tortuous, grey, foggy and stormy weather—and then make the sun burst through in a glorious pattern of warm brilliance. Place a magnificent rainbow across the golden horizon—that might come close to how I feel. I’m happy!