Part 4
She dreams that night, more than one time, and all of them are dreams of Alabama. In the first dream, she's nine years old and she's home sick. She can feel, in the dream, the sticky crust of fever radiating from her forehead clear across her flushed, sweaty eyes. She can feel Momma's boozy breath as she peers down at her, concerned, but not knowing quite what to do with it. Then she hears a knock at her bedroom door, and Momma rises saying 'that'll be the doctor.' And then Momma opens the door, and it's the man from the line-up, and he's dressed up like a doctor and grinning triumphantly...
Then she's sixteen, and she's at Holcomb Creek behind the bandstand near the school. She spent much of her youth there; it was an easy place to lose her brothers, and the boys she met instead were interesting, and interested. She's there, in the dream, with the youngest Holcomb brother- she forgets his name, they'll all so similar, in name as in everything- and he's leaning in to kiss her, and the hem of her dress is trailing in the muddy water of the creek, and her face is just a tiny bit sunburned because it's summer, and she's young and she's beautiful and she thinks she's in love. And she closes her eyes as he leans in to kiss her, and when she feels his lips descending, she opens them again. And it isn't the Holcomb brother anymore, it's him, it's him...
She wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing, sheets sticking to her as she kicks and tries to free her limbs. Cooper is at once alert, and attentive.
"Hey, babe."
"Coop."
"You want to talk about it?"
"I told you, Coop. Told you I didn't want to see his face."
"I know you did. So, do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Well, it's almost five a.m. We have to be up in an hour anyway, if we want to make our flight. We could just, I don't know, call it a night, I guess. I could make you some breakfast. French toast, maybe."
"I can make my own damn food."
"I know you can. I'm only saying, I could make some." He keeps his voice gentle and his movements slow and obvious as he reaches over, pulls her arm close, starts gently palpating the skin from the elbow downward. The cast may be off, but the arm still needs babying, and he's under orders to check it daily and be watchful for signs that something isn't setting right. It's the only intimate contact she has allowed him since...since IT happened, and she suspects he's milking it a little. But she submits, as she has for every indignity...
"Okay," she finally says. "Make the French toast if you want to." And then, to punish him a little, because she's grouchy and she's nervous and can't stand being that way-and he's right here, touching her- she adds "And I'm gonna need help with this luggage business. Can't carry 'em yet."
"On it, my lady. First shower goes to you. When you come out, I'll have breakfast waiting."
The shower revives her a little, and she comes out with the edge smoothed off her nerves a little, and feeling contrite.
"Thanks," she says. She sits down, studies the plate, can't quite bring herself to meet his eyes.
"My pleasure. Anything else I can get you?"
She sighs. "Coop, I'm sorry. I'm not the the greatest patient in the world."
"Most doctors aren't."
"I know. But most of them are maybe better at this whole sharing thing. I'm trying, I am. But this is all...it's pushing me. In ways I'm not used to being pushed."
"It's okay, Charlotte. You don't need to apologize."
"Maybe I do. Some things may take time we don't want to wait for. Some things may be harder than is fair, for you also. And I'm not gonna always say I'm sorry, because when I get scared my instinct's gonna be to hide, or to lash out on you, just because you're there and you're seeing it. And that ain't fair, but it's gonna happen just the same."
He kisses the top of her head as he walks past her, toward the bathroom. "I love you. And I'm here."
This is not an entirely satisfactory answer. But she suspects this is going to be a hard enough day, when all is said and done, that it's not worth pushing right now. She lets him have his shower, and she eats his breakfast. But there's a part of her that's raised its hackles, ready for a fight already.
The line-ups are horrendous. They get to the airport and see the signs about enhanced security, and with a sick feeling, she realizes why. Those scanners she read about. The ones that can see under your clothes...
Cooper looks ill as he takes in the scene. "Oh, babe," he says quietly. "I didn't even think about this..."
She is resolute. She'll white-knuckle this, as she has every other invasion. Pete, with the bandages. Addison, with the hands. Callie, with the scalpel. Invasions, all of them. And she got through it just fine. Unpleasant, and not her choosing. But she got through it...
"No," Cooper says. "I know what you're thinking, and no."
"What?"
"You're just gonna grit your teeth and suffer through it, aren't you?"
"Have I got any kind of choice?"
"You know, it's okay to be uncomfortable. It's okay to SAY you are."
"What would I want to do that for?"
"Cause maybe it would make that racing heart of yours slow down a little? Realizing that I know you're anxious, and I'm here for you?"
But she's tired of hearing it. "You keep saying that," she snits. "Like it means something. You're here with me. And?"
"And it does mean something. I'm not just here with you, Char. I'm here for you. For whatever you need."
"Right now, I need you to carry the bag for me. Because I can't use my arm."
He sighs. "You know that's not what I meant."
"Best I can do right now. I'm a little busy, Coop. Trying not to think too hard about a bunch of horny redneck boys sitting in a room somewhere and ogling me in the name of national security..."
"Oh, believe me, I get that. Can I ask you? Just this one time?"
She stops, feels her fingers clenching. "Fine. One time."
"Are you okay?"
"Not really. But holding. Let's just get through this. I'll hold."
And she does. She almost does. Until she comes through the scanner and there is uniformed giant on the other side, waving her over like he's some kind of traffic cop. Secondary screening, he says. She's been randomly selected. She has time to register, before she feels her heart go fast on her, the irony that this latest violation is happening in the name of her own security.
She's sitting in a curtained area, head between her knees, trying to breathe a little while Cooper argues with a taser-toting supervisor who's glaring at her like she's a wet dog. She can't make out the low whispers. But as the blood rushes to her head and she tries to block out the noise a little, she's dimly aware of beefy fingers pointing from Cooper, to her, then back to Cooper again. At last, he comes over, kneels down beside her.
"I am so, so sorry," he says.
She takes a deep breath, centers herself. At last. "Coop."
"I told them to do it on me instead," he says. "They said they couldn't do it."
She sighs, lifts up her head, the newly found calm evaporating. "Bottom line this for me, Coop. What do I have to do?"
"Well, they won't go actually under your clothes," he says. "But Char, they're going to touch you on top of them, in some pretty delicate places. It's called an enhanced pat-down. They'll go...with their hands..."
She blinks, tries to process this. "This is America," she finally says.
"Uh huh."
"Did you...did you tell them something? About...Coop, do they know? You can tell them. I give consent for that. Coop, if it'll get me out of this, I give consent..."
Then there is another face, a woman's face, and she's wearing a uniform and she's wearing gloves and she nods to Cooper to move aside and then kneels down in his place beside her.
"Hey, hon."
She looks over the strangers face, to Cooper, and he shakes his head, tries not to look defeated. But the woman gives him an encouraging smile, then turns back to her.
"I'm Jessie. I work with the TSA and I am going to be with you today for this."
But a part of her still hasn't accepted that this is happening, and she doesn't answer.
"I'm also a volunteer with the rape crisis centre," the woman says. "And I couldn't help but notice that word you used just now. It has me wondering, if I might presume to ask...how long has it been? Look, I want to make this as gentle as I can. So if you've...if you want to tell me, it'll help me to know if this is going to be a triggering thing."
Hell yes, it's going to be a triggering thing. There are places she hasn't even let Cooper touch yet. But hearing that word, triggering, reminds her. This is going to be a stress response, and she has strategies for dealing with those. It's a test, like Violet says. This woman can call it whatever she wants- a pat-down, a screening- but for her, it won't be any of those things. It will be a stress response, and she has a safe place for that...
She hears Cooper's voice. "Her arm is still broken."
Jessie looks at her again, than him. "What?"
"The cast came off yesterday. But it's still broken, from when she...you asked how long it's been. And her arm is still broken. That's how long."
"Well, shit," Jessie says.
"Yeah," Cooper says. "That about covers it."
"This is my job. I have to do this. It's my job."
"Then do it," she says. She stands, looks around for the designated spot. "Do it and be done so I can stop thinking about this."
And the gloves make a snapping sound as the TSA agent adjusts them on her fingers. She sees the flickery spots of light rush past her eyes, and at last reaches her threshold. She disassociates. Her brain- and body- go numb, and she shuts herself down completely.
Next thing she knows, she's on a gurney and Cooper is beside her, holding her hand and squeezing it gently while he looks at her.
"Char? You there, babe?"
There's a crowd of faces, and she tries to breathe. It still feels fast...
"Uh uh," Cooper chides her. "Let's not do that again. You're here, Charlotte. You're right here with me, and it's okay..."
There's a cuff on her wrist, and she struggles instinctively. Cooper hushes her again. "It's a blood pressure monitor. Charlotte, you're okay."
Then, to one of the faces, he says "She's coming around, I think. Can you take that off? She has a bit of a trigger with having her hands restrained."
The cuff comes off. "You should have gotten a letter," a man's voice says.
"Didn't think of it. Didn't know we'd have to go through this."
"I'll write you one," the voice says. "Spare you this, coming home. She okay?"
"I think she's listening, but she's pretending not to cause she doesn't want to talk right now," Coop says. "Are we clear to leave, when she's ready? She passed the screening..."
"Buddy, if you want to fly with her like this, that's on you. I'll write you the letter, and they won't screen her again. But my opinion, she needs rest. And medication."
That, at last, rouses her all the way back. "No drugs," she says. "Coop, no drugs, no drugs..."
"Hey," he grins. "Hey, you're back!"
"Huh. What the hell happened?"
"You scared the heck out of the TSA is what happened. They tried to give you a pat-down and as soon as they touched you, you went all limp and glassy-eyed, and wouldn't answer. We're in the airport infirmary right now, and Dr. Meyer here has just gotten off the phone with Violet and is now writing us a letter so this doesn't happen again."
"Did they finish it?" she asks. "The screening, did they finish it?"
"Well, you kinda fainted on them, so no. Even they draw the line at groping unconscious people. But you did get a sort of a pat-down here, while Dr. Meyer examined you."
She supposes she's fine with that. That's following standard first aid protocol, which is another kettle of fish altogether from the other thing.
"Violet's gonna be pissed at me," she says after a moment.
"Why do you say that?"
"Supposed to be a test, this whole thing. Seems I flunked it."
"I don't know. You're telling me this. So, that's progress over last time."
"Fair enough."
"And I don't think it's a test that's necessarily over after just one question. You get me?"
She hadn't considered that, and she should have. She's still off her game. "Coop?"
"Yeah, babe."
"Gonna need some gum for the airplane. My ears pop something fierce."
He takes the hint. Enough talking. He hefts their bags, and they are on their way.