“What do you mean?”
“Well, you're working on being Nancy, and we've been trying to adjust to giving up pieces of that Nancy as we go along. Maybe you ought to just stand back and look at the whole canvas. For instance, did you like your walk before?”
Nancy looked puzzled as she thought about it. This was a whole new idea, and something they had never discussed in the four months she'd been seeing Faye. “I don't know, Faye. I never thought about my walk.”
“Well, let's think about it. What about your voice? Have you ever considered a voice coach? You have a marvelous voice, smooth and soft Maybe with a little coaching you could make more of it. Why don't we play with what you've got and really make the most of it? Peter is. Why don't you?”
Nancy's face lit up at the idea, and she began to catch some of Faye's excitement. “I could develop all kinds of new sides to myself, couldn't I? Play the piano … a new walk …. I could even change my name.”
“Well, let's not leap into any of this. You don't want to feel you've lost yourself. You want to feel you've added to yourself. But let's think about all this. I have a feeling it's going to take us in some very interesting directions.”
“I want a new voice.” Nancy sat back and giggled. “Like this.” She lowered her voice by several octaves, and Faye laughed.
“If you do enough of that, Peter may have to give you a beard.”
“Terrific.” They were suddenly in a holiday mood, and Nancy got up and began to prance around the room. At times like that, Faye remembered how young she really was. Twenty-three now. Her birthday had come and gone, and she was growing up in ways many people never had to. But beneath the surface, she was still a very young girl.
“You know, I do want you to be aware of one thing though, Nancy.” She sounded more serious now.
“And what's that?”
“I think you should understand why you're so willing to try out a new you. It's not unusual for orphans, as you were, to feel unsure of their identities. You're not certain what your parents were like, and as a result, you feel as though a piece of you is missing, a link to reality. So it's a lot easier for you to give up parts of the person you once were than it would be for someone who retained very dear images of her parents—and all the responsibilities that entails. In some ways it may make things simpler for you.”
Nancy was silent, and Faye smiled at her as she sank back into the cozy chair near the fire. It was a wonderful room to see patients in: it set everyone instantly at ease. She had put her grandmother's Persian carpets to good use in the room, which also boasted splendid paneling and old brass sconces. The fireplace was also trimmed in brass, the curtains were old and lacy, there were walls of books, tiny paintings tucked away in unexpected corners, and everywhere was a profusion of leafy ferns. It looked like the home of an interesting woman, and that was exactly the effect Faye wanted. “Okay, it's take you some time to think about that. For the moment, there's another serious subject we have to get into. What about the holidays?”
“What about them?” Nancy's eyes closed like two doors, and the laughter of moments before was now completely gone. Faye had known it would be this way, which was why the subject had to be broached.
“How do you feel about the holidays? Are you scared?”
“No.” Nancy's face was immobile, as Faye watched.
“Sad?”
“No.”
“Okay, no more guessing games, Nancy. Suppose you tell me. What do you feel?”
“You want to know what I feel?” Nancy suddenly looked straight back at her, dead in the eye. “You want to know?” She stood up and strode across the room and then back again. “I feel pissed.”
“Pissed?”
“Very pissed. Superpissed. Royally pissed.”
“At whom?”
Nancy sank into the chair again and looked into the fire. This time when she spoke her voice was soft and sad. “At Michael. I thought he'd have found me by now. It's been over seven months. I thought he'd have been here.” She closed her eyes to keep back the tears.
“Who else are you mad at? Yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“For making the deal with Marion Hillyard in the first place. I hate her guts, but I hate mine worse. I sold out.”
“Did you?”
“I think so. And all for a new chin.” She spoke with contempt where moments before there had been pride. But they were delving deeper now.
“I don't agree with you, Nancy. You didn't do it for a new chin. You did it for a new life. Is that so wrong at your age? What would you think of someone else who did the same thing?”
“I don't know. Maybe I'd think they were stupid. Maybe I'd understand.”
“You know, a few minutes ago we were talking about a new life. New voice, new walk, new face, new name. Everything is new, except one thing.” Nancy waited, not wanting to hear her say it. “Michael. What about thinking of a new life without him? Do you ever think about that?”
“No.” But her eyes filled with tears, and they both knew she was lying.
“Never?”
“I never think of other men. But sometimes I think about not having Michael.”
“And how do you feel?”
“Like I wish I were dead.” But she didn't really mean that, and they both knew it.
“But you don't have Michael now. And it's not so bad, is it?” Nancy only shrugged in answer, and then Faye spoke again, her voice infinitely soft “Maybe you need to do some real thinking about all that, Nancy.”
“You don't think he's coming back to me, do you?” She was angry again. This time at Faye, because there was no one else to be angry at.
“I don't know, Nancy. No one knows the answer to that except Michael.”
“Yeah. The son of a bitch.” She got up and paced the room again, and then like a windup toy winding down, the fury of her pacing slowed, until she finally stood in front of the fire, with tears rolling down her face and her hands clenched on the screen in front of the fire. “Oh Faye, I'm so scared.”
“Of what?” The voice was soft behind her.
“Of being alone. Of not being me anymore. Of … I wonder if I've done a terrible thing that I'll be punished for. I gave up love for my face.”
“But you thought you'd already lost everything. You can't blame yourself for the choice you made, and in the end you may be glad.”
“Yeah … maybe …” There were fresh sobs from the fireplace, and Faye watched the slim shoulders shake. “You know, I'm scared of the holidays too. It's worse than being back at the orphanage. This time there's no one. Lily and Gretchen left last month, and you're going skiing. Peter's going to Europe for a week, and …” She couldn't stop the tears. But these were the realities of her life now. She had to face them. Faye shouldn't be made to feel guilty for leaving, nor should Peter: they had their own lives, as well as their time with her.
“Maybe it's time you got out and made some friends.”
“Like this?” She turned to face Faye again and pulled off the soft brown hat, revealing a great deal of bandaging. “How can I go out and meet anyone like this? I'd scare them to death. Look guys, it's Dracula!”
“It isn't frightening looking, Nancy, and in time it'll be gone. It's not permanent. They're only bandages. People would understand.”
“Maybe so.” But she wasn't ready to believe that. Anyway, I don't need friends. I keep busy with my camera.” Peter's gift had been a godsend.
“I know. I saw your last batch of prints at Peter's the other day. He's so proud of them he shows them to everyone. It's beautiful work, Nancy.”
“Thank you.” Some of the anger drained out of her with the talk of her work. “Oh Faye…” She sat back in the chair again and stretched her legs. “What am I going to do with my life?”
That's what we're working on figuring out, isn't it? And in the meantime, why don't you think about some of what we talked about today? The voice coach, music lessons—something to amuse you, and all part of the person you'll become.”