Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tessa
I gasp for breath as the ice water covers my body.
“Easy,” Ben says. “Regulate everything, Tessa. You can do it.”
For some reason, it’s important to me to show him that I can do this. Still, I’m not quite sure why he wants me to. But I trust him. I trust him enough to know that he thinks this will be good for me.
I gasp in another breath.
Then I hold it, force myself to hold it and breathe out slowly.
He said it was all in the breathing. I close my eyes, concentrate on my breathing.
My fingers feel…strange. The chill increases when I wiggle them, so I hold them still.
I’m not aware of anything else in my body, other than the fact that I’m freezing. So I breathe.
In, out, in, out.
Keeping my eyes closed, my breath steady.
Surely a minute has passed.
But Spencer said he would let me know when a minute had—
“That’s one minute, ma’am. You’re doing great.”
One minute down, two to go.
And then no more thoughts.
I breathe, I breathe, I breathe…
I resist the urge to wiggle my fingers and toes, knowing now that it will increase the chill.
And I breathe, I breathe, I breathe…
In, out, in, out, eyes closed, nothing before me.
Nothing in my mind except breathing…
Breathing…
Breathing…
All thoughts, both good and bad, wiped clean away until my brain is a stark chasm of nothingness.
“And that’s three minutes,” Spencer says.
My eyes pop open, and my body pops up out of the water.
Spencer places a warm towel around my shoulders, and I hold it to me.
Warmth.
It’s grand. But it will take more than a warm towel to ease the chill.
Still…
I feel…
Invigorated, almost, but not the way the Falls invigorated me.
No, this is different. This was almost…
Relaxing.
Ben is still wrapped in his towel and sitting on an outdoor sofa. He pats the seat next to him.
I sit.
Oddly, my teeth aren’t chattering. Probably because it’s so warm here in Jamaica.
“What did you think?” Ben asks.
I shake my head at him.
I’m not ready to talk yet.
I’m not ready to talk because I don’t know how to describe what I just went through.
My mind… It was blank. All I thought about was breathing. Easing the chill.
I wait a few more moments until the warmth has eased the biting freeze.
“I think…I liked it.”
A smile spreads across his gorgeous face. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“It was… My mind was a complete blank, Ben.” A tear rolls down my cheek as a swarm of emotion surges through me. “And my God… I don’t think my mind has been a complete blank for a long time.”
He smiles and wipes the tear away with his finger. “That’s why I suggested it. It’s forced meditation, Tessa. Your friends and your therapist can tell you all day not to think about something, and it’s been my experience that only makes you think about it more.”
I can’t help a slight chuckle as I sniffle. “That is exactly how it is.”
“But when you’re in a cold plunge, all you’re thinking about is warmth. In order to get through it, you have to regulate your breathing, close your eyes, and concentrate. When you’re trying to get warm, forcing yourself to regulate your breathing, nothing else can get into your head.”
I look at him, then—really look at him. Beyond his handsome face and jovial personality. And inside of him I see something else.
He does this for a reason, too.
Perhaps everyone has demons of their own.
I smile at him. “When can I do it again?”
“Once a day is enough,” he says.
“You did it twice today.”
“I did, but only for a fraction of the time I normally do, and only to show you how to do it.”
He’s right. This isn’t something you can just subject your body to constantly. But now that I know it can keep my mind blank, I want it again. And again.
“Once you’re used to it, you can work up to five minutes. Maybe even ten. But only once a day.”
“But we leave tomorrow.”
“Tell you what.” He grabs my hand. “You and I will have a date for a cold plunge at this time tomorrow morning. Before we get on the plane. Then, when we get back to Boston, you can come to my place and do one every day if you’d like.”
“You have your own cold plunge?”
“I do. Braden lives in a penthouse, but I’m more of a suburb guy. Now, anyway. I have a house. I only recently moved there. I have my own swimming pool, my own cold plunge, and a full-time trainer who’s also a massage therapist.”
I roll my eyes. “Must be nice.”
“I won’t lie to you. It is. I grew up in poverty, Tessa.”
Shock runs through me, and not from the cold plunge. “Poverty? I knew you had a modest upbringing, but…”
“Braden and I don’t talk about it a lot, and he’s managed to keep the gossip rags from getting the whole story. I’m sure he’s told Skye, and Skye probably felt it was told to her in confidence, which is why you don’t know. My father used to be an alcoholic, and then there was a fire.”
“Yeah, Skye told me about the fire.”
“We lost everything, and my mother had to take Braden and me to a food bank to get food.”
My heart bleeds for him in that moment. In my mind’s eye, I see Ben as a beautiful little boy, hanging onto his mother’s hand as she peruses the shelves at a food bank.
“I had a humble upbringing myself,” she says, “but nothing like that. We always had good food on the table, warm clothes on our backs. Shelter over our heads. And there was always a little extra.”
“You have a sister, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Eva. She’s two years younger than I am. She just finished college. It was her and my parents, and also my grandmother.”
“Right.” He smiles. “Teresa Maria. How did you come to be called Tessa?”
“From my father. He called my grandmother Teresa, so he called me Tessa to differentiate.”
“You have an interesting look on your face,” he says, “when you mention your grandmother. Just like when you told me about her before.”
“Did I?”
“Yes… Those are happy memories for you.”
“They are. My grandmother was my safe place back then. She still is, even though she’s been gone for years. We had a connection that I don’t share with either of my parents.”
“I can see it when you talk about her.” He looks away, staring out to sea. “I never knew any of my grandparents.”
“Really?” I ask.
He nods. “They were all dead by the time I was born. Braden met some of them, but he was too young to remember.”
That makes sense, of course. If Ben’s grandparents had been alive, they probably would’ve been able to help the family keep them from living in poverty. That’s what families do—help one another.
“Tell me more about your grandmother,” he says.
It’s funny. I don’t talk about her that much. Even though she’s such an integral part of me, I almost feel like talking about her would somehow taint my memory of her. I told Ben about her while we were sitting at the bar at Union Oyster House, and for some reason, I want to open up to him.
“She was an icon. I already told you about her altar, how she burned candles and incense when she prayed to the saints.”
My therapist and I have talked about religion, about whether trying to get back into it would help me. We ultimately decided that it probably wouldn’t because I left that part of my life behind with eyes wide open.
“Her altar, candles, and incense fascinated me when I was a kid. By the time I was nine or ten, I respected her very much, but I was no longer as fascinated by her candles and incense.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I was older, I guess. I had just had my first communion, and—”
I stop abruptly.
My first communion.
That white dress. Those white panties.
God, I hate white panties. And I hardly ever wear white. Is this why?
And that bartender…
Images long buried flood my brain.
A white dress. White panties.
And an altar boy.
An altar boy with sandy brown hair and light brown eyes.
…
Fifteen Years Earlier…
“You look like a princess, little one,” Nana says.
My communion dress was made special by a seamstress. She took measurements and everything. It’s soft and shiny. Mommy says it’s made of satin. It’s the brightest white because white symbolizes purity.
“What’s purity?” I ask Nana.
“It means you are a good girl, Tessa. It means your soul is pure.”
I’m still not sure I understand, but I love the dress. It has fancy lace around the neckline and the hem, and the sleeves are short. I hate long sleeves. They make me itch. But my favorite part is the big bow in the back. I keep turning and turning in front of Nana’s big mirror, trying to see it.
Nana smiles at me. “You’re such a pretty girl, my Teresa Maria. You will break so many hearts one day.”
“I don’t want to break anyone’s heart, Nana.”
“Oh, but you will.”
“What if someone breaks my heart?” I ask.
“Whoever does that will have your nana to deal with.” She grabs my hand. “It’s time to go to church.”
I had to go to class to get ready for my first communion, where I learned all about the communion wafer and the wine and what they mean.
The church isn’t far from our house, and we get there quickly. It’s an old building made of gray stone. I told Nana once that I thought it looked like a castle, and she said that, in a way, it was.
Mommy takes me to the sacristy where the church ladies are preparing for the Mass. The other children who will get their first communion today are already there. There are four boys and three girls. My dress is the prettiest, I think.
She kisses my cheek. “Be a good girl, Tessa. This is such a happy occasion for all of us.”
Eva tugs on Mommy’s hand. “Why can’t I have first communion today?”
“You’re not old enough yet, bunny,” Mommy says. “Let’s go.” She leads Eva out of the sacristy, looking over her shoulder and smiling at me.
Father Sam isn’t here yet, but the church ladies smile at all of us and then leave the sacristy one by one with the altar scarves. Nana told me once that they’re called liturgical clothes. They’re always different colors.
The other kids and I are alone until an altar boy enters.
I don’t know his name—I think it begins with a D, but I’m not sure—but he’s tall with light brown hair, and his voice makes funny squeaks when he talks. I’m sitting by myself when he comes over to me.
“That’s a pretty white dress,” he says. “Come with me. Father Sam needs to talk to you.”
“He does? Does he need to talk to all of us?” I glance at the others.
“He already talked to them. Come with me.”
I swallow. “Mommy told me to stay here and wait for Father Sam.”
“Father Sam will be here in a minute. He asked me to come and get you.”
“Just me?”
“Just you.”
I shrug. “Okay.”
He takes my hand—his is clammy—and leads me to a small room—it’s one of the Sunday school rooms, but there’s no Sunday school because Mass is about to start.
“That’s a pretty white dress,” he says again.
I swallow. Something doesn’t feel right. “Thank you.”
“What are you wearing underneath it?” he asks.
“Underwear.”
“Can I see your underwear?”
What a weird question. “I’m not supposed to show anyone my underwear.”
“You have to if you want to get your first communion.”
No one said anything about that. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Father Sam would tell you, but he’s not here yet.”
I like Father Sam. He always shakes my hand like I’m one of the grownups.
“Okay.” I lift my dress up, showing him my white panties.
“I have to touch your panties.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s part of what I do as an altar boy. Father Sam tells me I have to check the panties of all the little girls getting their first communion. It’s part of the service.”
My fingers twitch, and my tummy feels funny. I want to pull my dress back down. “No one told me about that part.”
“That’s because it’s a secret. Didn’t your grandmother tell you?”
“Why would she tell me if it’s a secret?”
The altar boy gets a weird look on his face. Like he’s a dog growling or something. “Your grandmother’s a witch, Tessa. You know that, don’t you?”
“She is not.” I stomp my foot and let go of my dress, letting the satin fall back over me.
“She is. All those candles and incense she uses. It’s part of her witchcraft.”
“Witches are mean and wear pointy hats.” I gulp, and I feel like crying. “Nana’s not a witch. You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” He reaches toward me.
I back away.
“I have to check your panties, Tessa. Father Sam won’t give you first communion if I don’t.”
I bite my lip.
“You’re so pretty, Tessa,” he says.
I like being called pretty. Mommy and Da say I’m pretty. Nana says I’m beautiful. But this is the first time someone other than a member of my family has said I’m pretty.
I like it. It makes me feel nice.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Let me check your panties, and then you’ll be ready for first communion.”
I look around. “Where are the other girls? Are you going to check their panties?”
“I already did. You’re the last one.”
Did he? He must have done that before I got to the sacristy.
“Good girl. You stand still.”
I obey him. He’s older than I am, and I do want to have my first communion. So he’ll check my panties, and then I’ll go back to the sacristy and wait for Father Sam.
He comes toward me. “Hold up your dress again.”
I do, covering my face with the skirt and squeezing my eyes shut. This is obviously something I have to do, so why does it feel all kinds of wrong?
He touches his finger to my panties and then slides his hand underneath. “Good. Now, whatever you do, don’t make any noise. This is very important.”
“Why would I make any noise?”
“Because sometimes it hurts when I check panties. But it’s all part of the process of your first communion. This is a secret between you and me and God. He’ll never forgive you if you tell, and you won’t get your first communion.”
“And Father Sam?”
“Yes, he knows, but you can’t tell him. You can’t tell anyone, or you can’t have your first communion. Do you understand?”
“Okay.”
He slides his fingers underneath my panties and then between my legs.
And then he—
I gasp. Something is inside me. Inside a place I don’t understand. And it hurts. It hurts so bad. It feels like he’s cutting me with a sharp knife.
But I don’t dare scream.
I don’t dare say anything.
I want my first communion.
When he’s finally done, it still hurts. “Take off your panties now.”
“What?” I want to sob. Cry out. Beg him not to hurt me again.
“God needs your panties so you can have your first communion. Father Sam asked me to tell you.”
He yanks the panties down, and I step out of them, staring at my shiny white shoes.
“Put your dress down now,” he says. “And remember, this is a secret. This is a secret between you and me and God. He’ll never forgive you if you tell, and you won’t get your first communion. So pretend it didn’t happen. In fact, say it now, Tessa. Say this didn’t happen.”
“This didn’t happen,” I gulp out.
“Good. Now run back to the sacristy, and wait for Father Sam.”
…
This is a secret between you and me and God. He’ll never forgive you if you tell, and you won’t get your first communion.
The words plummet back into my mind as if they were uttered yesterday instead of fifteen years ago.
How did I forget?
How?
This didn’t happen.
I remember my first communion. I remember taking the wafer, the wine—which tasted awful—and then turning around and seeing Mommy, Da, Nana, and Eva all watching me.
I remember all of that, so why didn’t I remember that damned altar boy?
“Tessa?” Ben says. “Are you okay? You’re shaking—are you not warming up?”
I swallow back the memory, rub my arms against the chills that aren’t from the cold plunge.
I can’t answer him. All I do is swallow and nod.
Once I’m warm, I excuse myself.