Evelyn, Part 3

Chapter 4: Evelyn, Part 3

Surprisingly, the next morning I awoke refreshed, and I didn't even realize I had fallen asleep. One minute I had been in absolute suffering, and the next I woke comforted by the pleasant morning air. My door had been left open, ushering in all the cold from the rest of the drafty farm house, no doubt from William checking on me sometime in the middle of the night. My head no longer hurt, and all of me felt normal again, like nothing happened. Thank God that was over! I sat up and stretched before getting out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a nice long hot shower. The hot water felt wonderful on my skin, and I reveled in the warmth. When I got out and dressed for the day, I went downstairs and brought the ice pack and water glass with me to put away.

William was in the kitchen making breakfast. "Morning, are you feeling better?" He smiled at me from the counter as he shook the hair on his forehead off to the side. Though cut short in the back, he kept the front slightly longer. The bright morning light gave me a good look at his smile and other features which were like mine but masculine, and he looked older in the face than he used to. His kind eyes never changed.

"Yes, thankfully," I replied.

"Well good. Are you hungry?"

"That depends, what are you making?" I said with a smirk. At this point I was so hungry I didn't really care what it was he was making, but I enjoyed the conversation. Whatever it was smelled good anyway.

"You don't have to eat it, but I did make extra just in case." He turned around with a huge plate of pancakes and placed them on the table where I sat.

"Oh, you're amazing!"

He chuckled. "Thanks. Are you sure you're feeling all better? Your eyes look kind of swollen," he said, bending down to look closely at my face. Self-conscious, I gently tapped under my eyes. They did seem a little swollen, but it wasn't bad, and well-expected from all of the crying.

"We should go see a doctor later about this just to see if it's something serious, or if you just need to add some caffeine to your diet," he said decisively as he walked back towards the kitchen.

"I just want to stay home this weekend. I'll drink some caffeine if that will make you worry less, William," I said, hoping he'd just be happy for today and not bother me about it any further.

"Evey, you don't want that to happen again, do you? It looked awful, I almost cried for you!"

I sighed. "I didn't say I wouldn't go to the doctor, just not today. I really want to relax. I'll go in a couple of days to see if they can tell me anything as to what that was, why it was caused, and how to prevent it again, okay? It's not an emergency, so there's no reason to go to the ER, all right?"

He sat down and put the syrup on the table. "All right, but next time I see that happen I'm taking you in immediately, okay? Sometimes migraines can be a serious thing," he said, then poured too much syrup on top of too many pancakes.

I briefly wrinkled my nose in disgust, then gave him a small smile. "Sounds good. Thanks for the pancakes, they look delicious. But . . ." I got up and ran to the kitchen, hoping my food wouldn't get cold, and then quickly came back with a jar and butter knife from the cabinet. "Peanut butter is what's missing here!" I said, displaying it in front of him. He shook his head and chuckled at my silliness. After applying everything just so, I started eating my deliciously slathered, heavenly cakes.

"By the way, don't forget to mention it to Dr. Laura today, okay?" William said, pausing his breakfast.

Like I could leave that out, it only stole a year of my life. "Yeah, yeah," I said, waving my free hand as I took a bite of syrupy pancake. He kept eyeing me. "I promise!" I said between thick chews. He seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to his food. William always seemed to think he needed to annoy me to ensure I'd keep my word. I frowned as I thought about the upcoming afternoon session.

Later that morning I went back up to my bedroom to actually put my books away this time, carefully, and I pulled out the newest print edition of Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt. I made a habit of buying one of every edition, even the foreign language ones. After, I found I couldn't pick between reading a historical fiction novel or a classic first. I enjoyed a variety of books, but I loved historical fiction the best because they seemed to open a door to the past, and unlike the future, the past is a place we can never be sure of. I would eventually know what's going to happen to the end of my days, but the past often remained a mystery. Sometimes it could be incredibly unpleasant to read about, but history still fascinated me.

I finally settled on a novel, and carefully put it on my nightstand. Then, as I did at the bookstore yesterday, I double inspected each book for perfection before placing them in an orderly fashion on my equally pristine bookshelf. When it came to the last one, I started to read the prologue, and when I turned a few pages past it, an invading dirt smudge became visible on the top corner where cringeworthy people dog-eared their place instead of using a suitable bookmark. I felt panic start to rise, but to keep it at bay I told myself I would just exchange it later today. My hands felt filthy because of the damaged book, so I went to the bathroom to scrub and wash them twice before I could feel better about it, though I knew from experience it would still haunt me no matter how much I tried to ignore it. Due to the double attack of strange and potentially damaging experiences yesterday, my stress level was high, and now my OCD was getting worse again. I would have a lot to discuss today, and I frowned at the thought of my counseling session.

I didn't grow up with obsessive compulsive disorder. For me, it wasn't hereditary but developed as a way of dealing with the loss of my parents. I had a severe case of it at onset, and that, plus William's growing concerns, forced me to seek counseling for help from a professional. Now, years later, my OCD had a tendency to get better or worse depending on the level of my stress. Frowning still, I went to my desk where I set the plastic bag I'd kept from the bookstore and replaced the book which was forever destroyed in my eyes, and then made my way out of the room. I bid William goodbye with a passing wave before I left the house. Stepping outside and taking in cold, brief breaths of air was unusually refreshing, but I wasn't bundled up warm enough to remain standing in the winter temperatures for long. I hurried along to my car and started the drive to my appointment.