by Potter, LR
“Tell me a little about what you remember growing up.”
Tate moved her eyes back to the window and began reciting the familiar story once more. “I was Patanga Moon back then. We moved around a lot, usually in the middle of the night. I didn’t realize it at the time, but as I got older, I could see that we lived in filth. The house was always a mess and in chaos. My sisters and I shared a mattress on the floor, usually without sheets. Sometimes there was food in the house and sometimes my stomach hurt from not having any. I mostly remember feeling unsure of my place, like I really didn’t belong there.” Tate gave a small laugh. “From the time I was small to this day, I have a dream about an angel with blonde hair who holds my hands and swings me round and round. My make-believe mother, I call her. There was song from a long time ago that she’d sing, but I can’t remember it now. I’m sure it was something I heard in school and incorporated into my dream… I wish I could remember it…” She stopped in thought before continuing, “Oh well, it doesn’t matter.”
“It’s a natural protective mechanism, especially in small children, for the brain to manufacture fantasies of what we perceive to be our ideations of normalcy. It’s a coping mechanism.”
Tate simply nodded, she’d heard all this numerous times.
“Let’s talk about what happened when you turned thirteen.”
Tate twisted her lips and cleared her throat. She hated this part. “My father got hooked up with an illegal company online which promoted the selling of young girls and boys. Apparently, there’s a lot of money to be made for young, untouched, blonde girls.” With a small laugh, she said, “It was more money if the girl was blonde with blue eyes, but such was the misfortune of my father for me to have brown eyes.”
Tate paused, inhaled deeply, and dropped the pitch of her voice. “On my thirteenth birthday, my mother and father took me to a hotel, dressed me in a sheer negligee, and a man, who called himself Mr. Smith, came to the hotel to look over the merchandise, as it were. I think there must have been an issue with the amount, because Mr. Smith wanted to think about it. I remember driving home, trying to understand what was happening – not believing it, really. My parents were going to sell me to this man and allow him to do whatever he wanted to me. I couldn’t understand, my mind couldn’t take it, so I shut down. I knew the instant it happened inside, even at thirteen. The next night, my parents took me back to the hotel for another meeting with a different man. This time, I didn’t ask the man’s name; I just got dressed as before and stood there. I didn’t care. It, or nothing, mattered. I had no power, no way to fight back. I was only thirteen.”
Tate once more cleared her throat. “A different man came in with my dad, but he was different from Mr. Smith. We didn’t know it at the time, but the man was a police detective who was heading up a sting operation on human trafficking involving children. Once my dad made an offer, the man – who I now know as Alan Tracey – called in his team with the intent of arresting my parents. My mother, hearing the commotion from the next room, came in with a gun and shot one of the officers. They returned fire and killed her. In the commotion, my father attacked one of the men who shot my mother. He now is doing thirty-to-life for killing that officer.” As an afterthought, Tate added, “I guess he did love my mother after all.”
Dr. Randall said softly, “Tate, that isn’t love.”
With an indifferent shrug, Tate said, “No, I guess it isn’t.”
“What happened next?”
Tate placed her hands underneath her thighs to hide their trembling. She really hated this part. “The police detective from the raid, Alan Tracey, and his wife, Beth, petitioned the court to award them custody of me, as I had no living relatives – other than my sisters, whom they couldn’t locate. So, I went to live with Alan and Beth and… their son, Nick.”
After a long pause, Dr. Randall asked, “What happened after that?”
Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she continued. “It was a hard adjustment from the very beginning. While it made no sense, even to me, I missed my family and my old life – the life I was used to. To protect me, the Traceys enrolled me in their son’s school. The thought process being it was better if no one knew about what had almost happened to me. Alan and Beth convinced me to change my name in order to offer me another layer of anonymity, as there’d been such an enormous amount of press about me and my parents. Because I wanted to fit into their family unit, I agreed. Between the three of us, we came up with Tate Morgan, as Tate was Beth’s maiden name, and Morgan was Alan’s middle name.”
Tate took a steadying breath. “Things smoothed out, and for a while, things were good. But Alan and Beth hadn’t taken into account the raging hormones of a sixteen-year-old boy, the jealousy of an only child, or that the child had a cruel, mean streak a mile wide.”
Tate paused, licked her lips, and exhaled deeply before continuing. “Nick was nice at first and even introduced me to some of his friends. I began to rebuild my life and was mostly happy. The sheets on my bed were washed once a week, my clothes were always clean, and there was always food on the table. I never knew people actually lived that way.”
Clearing her throat once more, Tate rolled her head to ease the tension in her neck. “It was shortly after my fourteenth birthday that things began to change. Nick’s interest in me altered somewhat. It was as if something flipped in him. He became aggressive and abusive in a way. He always tried to sit next to me and touch me – never inappropriately, but it made me feel awkward. I was afraid to say anything to Alan and Beth. They’d been so great and I figured that was the price. Nothing in life was free, my father had always said. It was the night of Alan and Beth’s wedding anniversary. They were going out, which left me and Nick home alone. When they left, I went to my bedroom to work on a school project. Nick knocked and came in carrying a glass of orange soda.”
Tate paused as she thought about the soda. “I’ll never forget that. I don’t think I’ve drank orange soda since that night.” With a small shake of her head, she continued. “Well anyway, he was nice and said I’d been working so hard and could probably use a drink. I tried to understand his motive, but I didn’t see any harm – I mean, it was just orange soda, right? I was just so stupid.”
Tate shook her head at herself again. “I thanked him for the drink and he came in and we started talking about my project, and he even offered ways to improve it. Not long after, my head started to get fuzzy and woozy. I remember how my parents acted when they drank, and it reminded me of that. I remember Nick being so concerned and told me to lie down, maybe that would make me feel better, he’d said. Again, I was stupid.”
Dr. Randall interrupted her story. “Tate, you were not stupid. We are made to trust what we see. It is only with experience that we learn how to better judge people’s true motives.”
When Tate didn’t respond, Dr. Randall said, “Please continue.”
“I don’t really know what happened next, exactly. I only remember bits and pieces – mainly, him pinning my shoulders to the bed. My next clear memories were waking up, naked in my bed on top of bloody sheets, with Alan and Beth in the room. Beth was screaming at me. She said I was a tramp – no-good white trash. She wanted to know who I’d been with, so I told them. She really exploded after that. She said I came from squalor and would never know how to live like decent people. She demanded I be sent away. I don’t think Alan was in full agreement, but eventually I was placed into the foster care system. A few days later, I learned Nick had videotaped what he’d done that night and sent it to several of his friends. It was all over school within days. I eventually had to leave that school.”
“I can see why you would have nightmares, Tate. That’s a lot for a young girl to go through, especially at that time of your life. What happens in your nightmares?” Dr. Randall asked.
Tate shifted agitatedly in her seat. “It’s not one thing; it’s like a collage of all of those things. Sometimes Mr. Smith is there, running the video camera. Sometimes
it’s my father offering me the orange soda. Sometimes I’m on a pool table and my angel is trying to pull me up to save me, but my father and Nick are holding my feet tightly to the surface of the table. It’s not what’s in the dreams, it’s the intense feelings of fear and dread that frightens me. It makes me feel unsafe and insecure. It makes me feel… helpless; like I’m thirteen all over again.”
“Tate, when we’re young, we start out as blank slates, and over time we begin to build a foundation of who we are and what we will become. When your foundation isn’t formed properly, by either not feeling loved, by feelings of neglect, or by suffering abuse, it is natural for you, as an individual, to feel ‘unsettled.’ Just like a house whose foundation isn’t set properly, that foundation will eventually cause the house to crumble. We need to find ways to fortify your foundation.”
“Okay, what do you suggest?” Tate asked almost with a smirk as she’d heard this all before.
Dr. Randall leaned her head back against her chair and contemplated Tate before answering. “Tate, I’d be willing to bet there isn’t one person whom you trust, is there?”
Tate eyes blinked rapidly while she thought, but then slowly shook her head.
“Do you know the purpose of a foundation? It’s to help you stand, even when bad things happen. Because, I hate to tell you this, but bad things will happen again. Life is unpredictable and forever changing. So you can either learn to adapt to those changes and live a full life connected to others, or you can stay as you are: rigid and unbending – never giving people a chance to live in your world. And while it might seem safer, it’s a lonely world when you push everyone away. My grandmother had a saying: Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. People are multifaceted, containing both good and bad qualities. If you push them all aside because of the bad things, you’ll never get an opportunity to see the good. You need to open yourself up more. You need to experience the wondrous things life has to offer. You need to let the past go – learn from it surely; know there are truly horrible people out there. But there are some really wonderful ones, also. I think your subconscious is trying to tell you that you’re missing that connection to others. So, we can do one of two things, or maybe both for a while. You can either force yourself to build trust with others, or we can put you back on the medication you were on previously. Or as I said, we can try a little of both. The decision is yours.”
“I don’t want to take any more pills,” Tate muttered as she mulled over the doctor’s words.
“Okay, over the next couple weeks, I want you look for the good things you see in people, then look for the bad things. Place the two, side and side, and see which prevails – the good or the bad. There are none of us perfect, Tate, not even you. Surely you know better than anyone that everybody deserves a chance. Give them that chance. You’ll not be disappointed, I promise.” Glancing at her watch, Dr. Randall said, “It looks like our time is up. Can you come back in two weeks at the same time?”
Tate hesitated, but slowly nodded her head.
“Good, good. I’ll expect a full report. It’s been a privilege to meet you, Tate Morgan. I’ll see you two weeks.”
Tate thought about the doctor’s words as she lay on her bed, waiting for her shift to start. She thought back at the people she’d trusted: her parents, her sisters, Alan and Beth – even Nick. They’d all nearly destroyed her – some by their actions and some by their inactions. She thought about Toby and Markus, her last foster parents. They’d never hurt or disappointed her because she’d never given them the opportunity in the year she’d lived with them. Could she actually open up enough to let someone in? Sadly, she shook her head. It looked like she was going to have to be happy leaving the bathroom light on.
§§§
She was with a table when Jace walked into the nightclub. She frowned as her heart began to beat a little faster and her palms grew sweaty. He’d not called her as he’d promised. That was definitely going in the bad column, she thought. He grinned at her and began making his way to her, but was waylaid by someone in the band. With a small wave, he turned and followed his fellow band member onto the dais, and that was the last she saw of him until the band began to play.
As he had every night since beginning with the band, towards the end of set, Jace sat on a barstool and sang a ballad. This time, it was actually a country song he’d adapted to his own style, originally sung by Rascal Flatts, What Hurts the Most. Tate stopped in the middle of her service with her tray held against her chest as it seared with pent-up emotion. What hurts the most is being so close – and having so much to say – and watching you walk away – and never knowing what could have been – and not seeing that loving you is what I was trying to do. His smooth, easy voice seemed to vibrate against the walls. This man could really, really hurt her – if she let him, she thought.
When the first set ended, she stood at the bar, waiting for Thor to complete her order, when she heard Jace behind her. “What does a guy have to do to get a drink?” he teased.
She stiffened automatically and thought, Tread carefully. She straightened the lime green Zeal’s T-shirt worn for Saturday nights and forced a laugh. “I think you’ve already done it with that voice of yours. Just sit back, my friend. I have a feeling the drinks are about to come flying at you.”
“Like the one you sent flying at me? I don’t think my head can take it.”
“Uh, no. All your fans are salivating with the need to obtain your attention,” she jested.
“I only care about your attention,” he said, tugging on her curl ponytail.
Tate couldn’t stop the leap her heart gave at his words. Here was this sexy, gorgeous man – a doctor no less – and he said he wanted her attention… yet, he hadn’t called. She turned her body and head slightly in order to look at him. When she did, she saw his attention had been captured by a dark-haired beauty. She had one hand wrapped around his bicep, while the other stroked his arm – her long, red-lacquered fingernails looking like daggers. His head was bent and he was laughing as she whispered something in his ear. Tate had no doubt as to the inappropriateness of whatever the dark-haired woman was suggesting.
Tate shook her head at herself. She knew better. This was why, if she were going to date, she’d not date a guy in the band. Her jealous, insecure heart couldn’t take the constant barrage of females turned on by a guy who could sing and/or play an instrument. Turning back around, she saw Thor patiently watching her. She realized her drink order was now on her tray. With a small smile of apology, she reached into her apron for her bank and paid for the drinks. Taking a shot of Fireball, a cinnamon-flavored whiskey, from her tray, she spun and tapped the good doctor on his arm to gain his attention. When he looked up from his sultry beauty, she handed him the drink.
“From your fans,” Tate murmured before grabbing her tray and moving past him.
As she moved away, she heard him call after her. “What? Wait. Tate, wait.” But she continued on her way. She was at work and was too busy to get wrapped up in the comings and goings of Dr. Jace Staton.
For the rest of the night, she again carefully avoided Jace; which wasn’t hard, as he was continuously surrounded by throngs of women. She’d gotten about halfway through her shift when she noticed a new group enter the nightclub; among them was the guy she’d nicknamed ‘Blondie’ from before. Plastering a fake smile on her lips, she approached the table.
“Hi, welcome to Zeal’s. My name is Tate and I’ll be your server this evening. What can I get you gentlemen from the bar?” she said, parroting her usual greeting.
Blondie turned his head back to the group. “See, guys, I wasn’t lying. Isn’t she the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen?”
Internally, Tate rolled her eyes at the college boy’s words. She’d heard this all before. She’d learned a long time ago not to have her head turned at the ramblings of drinking college boys. With a strained smile, she thanked him for his compliment. She wasn’t stupid. She worked for tips and this w
as all just part of it. After asking again for their order, and checking their IDs, she hurried off to collect the two pitchers of beer and plastic glasses.
Her shift crept slowly and by Last Call, Tate’s head pounded with the strain of maintaining a close surveillance of Jace’s whereabouts, while not drawing attention to the fact that that was what she was doing. Blondie’s group was always a huge cause for her headache. Blondie once again didn’t understand her subtle – and sometimes less than subtle – hints to keep his hand off her butt. She’d served the group numerous pitchers of beer, but had slowed her service down to them in the familiar tactic of slow-walking their orders.
As she approached their table to encourage them to leave, she grimaced.
“Okay, guys, time to go. Would you like for me to call you a taxi?” she asked.
She purposefully stood on the opposite side of the table from Blondie. He gave her a sloppy smile and shook his head.
“Nope, we walked,” he slurred. “Hey, I have a fantastic idea, why don’t you come with us to our place? With you, we could really get this party started,” he said while tapping out a drum roll on the table.
With a strained smile, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but my husband and child are expecting me right after work. Thanks for the offer, though,” she lied. “We’re locking the doors in five minutes, so please finish up.” She gave them another small smile and turned away from their table.
As the tables cleared, she and the other waitresses went behind them, clearing and wiping the tables down. She worked quickly and gave a sigh of relief when Blondie and his group left the bar. As she’d swept the floors the night before, she was free to go once the chairs were all up. Without acknowledging anyone and giving them an opportunity to stop her progress, she grabbed her keys and left out the front in order to avoid those sitting at the bar – including the luscious Dr. Staton. She wasn’t surprised to see him surrounded by Sabrina and Megan, two of her fellow waitresses. She wondered why he’d lingered at the bar as he’d been surrounded by panting females for most of the night. She’d assumed he’d have taken the offer of one of those in his fan club – particularly his dark-haired vixen with the red fingernails.
