“Exactly. You missed all the selfish teenage angst. Go do all that and get an education.”

“What if . . . what if that includes a guy asking me out?” I said it in tease, but afterwards it didn’t feel that way. I’d seriously not done any normal teenage living, and a handful of “dates” with Vance was all I had to go on.

He didn’t respond right away, perhaps thinking it through just as I had done. “Then say yes if he’s a nice guy.”

I have no idea how much that cost him to say, but I respected Vance for it and knew that answer gave away the extent of his love for me. It made me love him even more.

The year 1988 would always go down in my family history book as the year of accepting change. Of new beginnings.

The beginning of Pa’s diagnosis and treatment.

The beginning of my siblings’ lives being lived apart.

The beginning of college life for me.

Sure wasn’t easy, but nothing in life worth having ever is.

HEA: HEALING EVER AFTER

I regard the regal woman sitting before me in the wingback chair, wringing her manicured hands. Wearing a tailored outfit with her makeup and dark-gray hair flawless, the woman’s exterior is impeccably put together, yet her interior is falling apart. It never ceases to amaze me how easily we as a society have perfected the art of hiding our internal storms behind shiny facades.

“What will people think of me?” Sylvia looks away from me and busies her hands with checking each button on her blouse to make sure they are in line. She repeats this three times, always ending on an odd number.

“If you choose to share, they will know you are brave. But, Sylvia, it really doesn’t matter what others think. Your worth won’t be found in someone else’s opinion of you.”

“Yes, but what about first impressions?”

“First impressions can be important, but they can also be misleading.” I place the pen in my grasp on my desk. “Tell me, what impression do you have of me?”

Sylvia is a new patient who drives from two counties over just so she won’t be seen entering a psychiatrist’s office. A matriarch in her town and obsessed with keeping up appearances, Sylvia battles OCD behind closed doors, but recently her compulsions have reached the point where she’s unable to control them on her own.

She gives me a once-over, much as she did during the first session she had with me last month.

“You are a wise, perceptive person. Well-put-together . . .”

“Go on.” I tip my head and give her an encouraging smile.