Page 80 of Her Hidden Smile

“I can’t wait to see you. I love you.”

“I love you too.” he replied.

We hung up and then I went back to my desk. It might be a Saturday, but there was always work to be done. I needed to check up on the Luxton donation. We’d gotten partial payment, and now I wanted to track what we’d done with it, and how we were going to communicate it back to Chuck and his team.

“Where’s Lisa?”

I whirled around in my office chair and saw a man I didn’t recognize. He was holding a dagger in his hand. His hair was greasy and he had a scraggly beard. He was standing right in front of me.

How had he gotten into my house?

“Who are you?” I squeaked out the question.

“Where’s Lisa? It’s almost lunch time. This is when she comes over.”

“Who are you?” I asked again.

In a flash one of his hands were gripping the left armrest of my chair and he had the dagger pointed under my chin. “Where the fuck is Lisa, you dumb bitch?”

“She’s not here,” I whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He pressed the knife closer to my chin, but he didn’t break the skin. “I know she’s not here. I asked you where the fuck she was.”

I gasped in a deep breath. Then I tried to take in another, but it wasn’t there. I couldn’t breathe. There was no air.

“Don’t fucking mess with me. Don’t play games. Tell me where Lisa is.”

My mouth was open like a goldfish, sucking in and out, but there was no air. I shook my head. I knew the knife was going to cut my throat. I was going to die. This crazy man, who was in my home, was going to kill me.

“Fuck!”

I looked at his face. Spots were blinking in front of him. It was getting darker and darker.

It was so good seeing Mom and Dad. How many times had I sat with them at this kitchen table and told them exactly what was going on in my life and had their full attention? Too many times to count.

It wasn’t until I was in my late twenties that I realized how amazing that was, considering the fact they had sixteen other kids in their lives. That was what was so remarkable about Christos and Sharon Drakos. They made each and every one of us feel like we were special. Like we were the center of their universe. I could only pray that I would be half as good of a parent as they were.

“She sounds remarkable,” Dad said, as he twirled his bottle of beer.

“She is. The problem is, she doesn’t see it. I think if she did, she might be able to leave her house.” I picked at the label on my beer.

“I don’t know, Honey. Have you done research on agoraphobia?”

“Really, Sharon?” my dad looked at my mom with a raised eyebrow. She blushed.

“Sorry, Renzo. I forgot who I was talking to. Of course you’ve done your research.”

“Yeah, it’s not genetic or biological, so that’s good,” I said. “From what I’ve read, her case is trauma-related that turned into psychological issues and were exacerbated by her environment in the hospital, then school and all that time living with her aunt and uncle who had the emotional capacity of ice cubes.”

“Okay, so you know the cause,” my dad said. “What’s the cure?”

I grinned. “Like I said, she needs to see herself for who she really is. She has great self-esteem when it comes to her job. Hell, she’s a ballbuster.”

My mother laughed. I knew she’d like hearing that.

“They say cognitive-behavioral therapy is the best way to go. It would help her to identify and challenge negative thought patterns and confront her fears through exposure. To tell you the truth, she’s doing that almost every day. Her scars were big ones. I could see the wonder in her eyes when she realized they really weren’t the end of the world.”

“You helped her see that, didn’t you?” Mom asked as she covered my hand.