Mary’s arm circle her and she stiffened. She felt uncomfortable in the embrace. She saw the little her again. This time she was lying stiffly on the floor in her parents’ bedroom. She had just started having the nightmares. She was experiencing a terror that only someone living in a war zone could know. She lay small and helpless as it took over. Her terror was a living thing and it breathed in darkness and held her frozen in its grip. It entered her mind where it shredded her sanity and force fed paranoia. Lyndsey could feel the cold blackness and shivered. She had been so little and so alone. Tears fell from her eyes and mingled with Mary’s. The warmth from Mary’s arms diminishing the cold, the blackness fading. The image of the little girl curled stiffly on the floor, trying to find a whisper of comfort as she lay next to the only hope she’d left. Her mother.

Lyndsey’s throat clogged as the tears increased. Years of pain escaped her heart as they formed into the tears being shed from her body. Mary rocked her as her mother couldn’t. She whispered soothing words in her ear. For just a moment, she felt loved and basked in its glow. They rocked together, slowly, each taking comfort from the other. They shared something now, a connection of some kind. Lyndsey began to feel awkward again and pulled free of Mary’s arms. This was all very new and very strange. She felt overwhelmed and raw with everything that had just taken place.

Mary smiled at her, one of warmth and understanding. She stood and said, “Thank you for sharing that with me. It was such a privilege to hear you speak. I hope I can hear more.”

“I’m still not sure I’ll be here when you get back,” Lyndsey informed her. “But thank you, I appreciate you listening to me.”

“Remember, Lyndsey, hold onto the cross.” Mary smiled again.

“I don’t believe in God, Mary.”

“I know you don’t. But maybe you can learn to believe in love.”

With that, Mary left the room.