Mirror of My Soul

her, a set similar to ones he’d seen in Marguerite’s shop.
“She still has the cups and the doll you gave her.”
“I know. I saw them when she opened Tea Leaves.”
“So you’ve stayed in touch.”
“I’ve kept track of her.” Komal crossed her ankles, pressed her hands together in her lap. “When she opened the teahouse, I went to see her. I introduced myself to the hostess as an old friend, asked if Marguerite might have a moment to come out and share a cup with me, my treat, to congratulate her on her success. I remember the hostess was so nice, said she was sure Marguerite would be pleased to see me.”
Tyler watched the woman recall the situation, a shadow crossing her face. “I was given the best tea on the house, an excellent scone. The hostess was solicitous to my every need. At length she told me that Marguerite was so happy I’d come by but she was very busy today. She apologized on her behalf and said the house would pick up the tab. The hostess was embarrassed I could tell, so I reassured her with my politeness, my understanding and thanks. I sat there for a half hour drinking tea, studied the beautiful haven she’d created, walked the grounds. Then I left her a note on my napkin, that I wished her all the blessings of the world, for she’d earned them all. Throughout my visit, I could sense she was watching me somehow.”
“She has a two-way mirror, the Victorian mirror over the mantel. At least it’s there now.”
She nodded. “It’s not unusual for victims of trauma to eschew contact with any memory they have of it. But looking that place told me how carefully she’d constructed her sanctuary, to the point I expect she’s obsessive-compulsive about certain aspects of her life, the ones that help keep that brick wall in place.”
“And would she be that way about romantic, sexual relationships?”
Komal shook her head. “Mr. Winterman, a serious obsessive-compulsive cannot
control the dynamics of a relationship. If I’m correct, I doubt she can sustain any interpersonal relationship, romantic or otherwise. She would compartmentalize any relationship she has.
“Now, on the other hand…” She held up a hand when he would have spoken,
protested. “Marguerite is extremely strong. Neither of her parents showed a propensity for handling extreme trauma well. She went through more than either of them, at their hands, and she coped.”
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Joey W. Hill
“I’ve seen her interact with her neighbors, her customers. Her staff. They all love her.”
“Yes, let’s look at that. Where did she build her shop? She built it in a neighborhood where she essentially has no peers, culturally, socio-economically. She can once again keep them at arm’s length. The fact she does give to others suggests to me it’s a way she can connect without risk. But if a person tries to push past a certain boundary she will retreat, shut them off. I suspect you got in because you were somehow part of the ritualized environment she created, so you were already inside the boundary. She didn’t expect you to break out of your role, seek something more personal, so you took her off guard. I also suspect you’ve been frustrated by the fact that she rejects what she cannot keep within boundaries. And you need to consider carefully that may be the safest thing for her survival.”
His expression darkened. “You can’t believe that’s any way for a person to live.”
“That’s a very male reaction to a problem.” But her voice was kind, softening the accusation. She opened a candy dish, took out a lemon drop, offered him one. Recovered the dish when he shook his head. “I’ve done this a long time. Enough to know that people do the best they can. And it’s important for those who love them to understand what their best is, because you can break them by forcing them to your best, or what you think their best should be. Mental handicaps are no different from physical ones in that regard.
“She’s a contributing member of society, but I suspect she’s chillingly rational about what she is and isn’t capable of. She’s created a very carefully crafted environment, which is what people with serious mental issues do. If you start disrupting that, you may think you’re breaking through, but she may be literally breaking into pieces, shattering.”
Tyler could not ignore the image that rose in his mind of Marguerite’s wild eyes, the rage of an animal taking her as she attacked him. The report Dan had given him of what had happened with Tim.
“She’s stronger than you think.”
“No, Mr. Winterman. I know she’s very strong. Strong enough to kill to survive. To destroy herself to protect others.”
She turned the lemon drop in her fingers over and over, the powdered sugar
coating dusting her fingertips.
“I’m going to tell you about Marguerite’s father. Not because I think you should be privy to such information without her consent, but because I believe you when you say you’re in love with her. But before I share, you’re going to give me something you don’t want to offer. An even trade, a surety if you will. Will you agree?”
He inclined his head but even so he wasn’t ready for what she asked, a woman old enough to be his mother, surrounded by the trappings of a modest, conservatively lived life.
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Mirror of My Soul
“You and Marguerite obviously are having a sexual relationship. Based on my
knowledge of her, there is almost no way short of a miracle that she can handle sex in a traditional way. Her history makes her a likely candidate to be a Dominatrix. But you don’t strike me as a sexual submissive. And I would think that may be one of the strongest conflicts you have physically. Would that be accurate?”
It was difficult, but looking at it through her eyes, Tyler knew it was quid pro quo.
He gave a curt nod. “I’m a sexual Dominant. You’re