Dear Evie: The Lost Memories of a Lost Child Read Online Free PDF Page A

daily basis.
     
    “See, Kat, I was right, and you were worried for nothing,” Jason had bragged.
     
    I hated to admit he was right; but, after all, the dreams had stopped and Gracie was happy, so I had to give him that one.
     
    Jason had moved back into our room, and we had enjoyed our share of victory sex. He said it was victory sex because I had won out over the nightmares.
     
    “Can’t call it make up sex because we didn’t fight,” Jason concluded.
     
    I had missed our time together, and I had to admit it was nice to have him beside me again. Despite my unexplained hang-ups about intimacy, I loved lying close to him and just being together. When we were alone in our own secure little world that never went beyond our queen-size bed, I was free to love him. Now maybe I could just concentrate on remembering my childhood. Filling in the blanks was my new goal. I couldn’t help but wonder if the past held the key to why I feared intimacy.
     
    In an effort to find some answers, I went to see my mom and dad to try and get more information about my childhood visits with Dr. Anna.
     
    “Why exactly did I need to see her, and why don’t I remember it?” I grilled.
     
    My mother seemed hesitant to talk about it. She just kept telling me I needed to let the doctor help me remember the things that happened before I came to live with them.
     
    “Mom, I know you remember more than you are telling me. For one thing, you always start cleaning like a crazy person and avoid looking at me when you are trying to keep from talking about something. That’s how I always knew if I was about to get a really great gift on my birthday. You avoided me as much as possible, and the kitchen literally shined like a diamond.”
     
    I grinned and gave her my most persuasive plea, and then stuck my lower lip out in my best pouty face. “Please, Mommy,” I whined.
     
    She stopped and stared into the sink for a few minutes. Finally, she spoke in a quiet tone without looking up.
     
    “Like I told you the other day, we were so thrilled when you came to live with us, sweet girl. We had always wanted children, and Bill and I knew the minute we saw you so tiny and frail in that hospital bed that you were our little girl.”
     
    She turned to look at me. The smile on her face was forced, and her eyes were sad, as if she were begging for understanding.
     
    “The doctors told us you would need a lot of help adjusting and asked if we were up to the challenge.” She released a breathy laugh. “You were in a state of shock. You would not speak to anyone except for this one nurse you seemed to trust. You would just sit and stare out into space as if trying to figure it all out. When you were ready to leave the hospital, they assigned you to us as a foster child and told us you needed to see a psychiatrist weekly for a while. They gave us Dr. Martin’s number and said she was one of the best children’s psychiatrists in the state.”
     
    She is a children’s psychiatrist? Why would she agree to see me now if she only works with children? I would have to add that to my growing list of questions.
     
    “Katie, you seemed so fragile when you came to us. It took us days to get you out of your room. You seemed to feel safe in your bed with the covers tucked in around you. In the beginning, I would bring your food to you on a tray. I would sit on the edge of your bed and talk a blue streak as you ate.”
     
    She took my hand to her mouth, and then held it against her cheek. I could see that her eyes were wet, but she held back the tears.
     
    “You slowly started to open up and talk to me. Eventually you were ready to leave the security of your room, but the bathroom continued to be an issue for you for a long time. You almost seemed afraid that something was in there. You were adamant that the door be locked and no one should dare enter.”
     
    Well, apparently that hang up about the bathroom went farther back than I had