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Daughters Of The American Evolution - Rebecca, Ch. 01

Stories from one front of the global war.

"Amy, do you ever have...problems, with Karen? You know, getting in with a bad crowd, or the wrong kind of boyfriend - that kind of thing?" Rebecca picked up her glass of chablis, her hand shaking slightly. She nervously brushed back her short pixie cut black hair from her forehead.

Amy noticed Rebecca's worried expression, and her physical upset. She touched Rebecca's arm sympathetically.

"Is Lauren in trouble?" she asked, her forehead furrowed, blonde bangs bouncing slightly. "She's such a sweet girl, I'd have trouble visualizing that," she said.

"Well....she has a new boyfriend, and frankly, he gives off a bad vibe, at least to me. I've tried talking to her about it, but she won't listen. She's 'in love.' You know how girls are at eighteen." Rebecca's expression had lost none of its worry.

Amy snorted. "Do I ever! I went through something similar last year, when Karen was Lauren's age." She paused. "There are...ways, ways to take her mind off outside influences that you don't approve of - we found one, and we're both really happy with the results. But it takes dedication, it's not a 'black box' solution."

"'Black box'?" Rebecca asked.

"Well, you have to work with your daughter. Today's environment where every individual is isolated from every other - have you heard of groups of kids going out together, and they all sit there texting each other? I mean..."

"Yes!" Rebecca exclaimed. "I've seen Lauren do that with her old set of friends - I thought it was so weird."

"I'll admit we're probably out of it - I'm not telling tales out of school, but I'm 39 and holding, so..."

Rebecca laughed. "Honey, I started 'holding' years ago. So, tell me more about what you and Mike did..."

Amy's face showed no reaction at the mention of her husband. "Mike? Actually, I handled it by myself. I can't reveal the methods, I was asked to sign an agreement. But I CAN tell you where we went, and where we got guidance that I personally believe to be excellent, and that I KNOW solved our interaction problems. And I can guarantee that Karen would agree wholeheartedly. Where before we were going in two different directions, now we do virtually everything together."

"Yes, I want to know! What's the secret? How much does it cost?" Rebecca's face and tone reflected her anxiety.

"Now, see, you're looking for a 'black box,'" Amy pointed out to her life long friend and neighbor.

Their families were nearly identical in makeup, both upper middle class, white suburban Dublin, Ohio families, Rebecca's husband Sam and Amy's husband Mike were in similar lines of work, the families were blessed with a daughter each, and the girls, like the mothers, were about the same ages. Naturally, the two women would often compare how each family was doing, since they were so similar.

"You want to know, 'how much can I pay and get this fixed,'" Amy continued.

"It's more than that...anyway, the group we went to is called 'Family Interactions Therapists', or FIT. I really encourage you to check them out....and if you do, I want to hear ALL about it." She wrote down the web site address for Rebecca, and gave her friend a warm smile, then patted Rebecca's knee.

"Look, I've got to go," Amy concluded. "Karen and I are going shopping - for some 'intimate underthings' for her - can you believe it? Before, she'd never have asked for my help, and frankly, I'd have been too embarrassed to talk about it. But now.....we're at least best friends!" Amy's smile was radiant. Rebecca was impressed.

"I'll check it out," she promised. "Thank you SO much for your help!"

"Think nothing of it," Amy said. "I only hope it can do for you and Lauren, what it did for our family, Karen and I." The two women hugged, and as Amy drove off, Rebecca rushed to the family computer. Entering the URL for FIT that Amy had given her, Rebecca looked the site over.

"Hmm, it doesn't really give many clues to what they do," she mused to herself. "But all the mothers and daughters....they look happy."" She was referring to the numerous pictures of mother and daughter couples, and other groupings of females, what looked like sisters, in all sorts of everyday situations, almost always smiling, but even more importantly, looking at each other, and talking to each other.

Rebecca certainly didn't miss that particular point of the computer presentation. "I miss talking to Lauren," she said out loud, looking around as though someone might have overheard her, and giggling at her action. "Silly me," she said, shaking her head.

She clicked on the 'Contact Us for Further Information' button, submitting her email address. Then a thought occurred to her. "Google!" she said. "I'd better google them to see if there's any complaints." She did the search, entering the group's name. Only a few links came up, and none of them seemed to actually be concerned with this particular antalya escort group, other than the link that Amy had given to her. That seemed odd, but Rebecca dismissed any concerns.

She went to finish up the breakfast dishes, putting them in the dishwasher, then came back and checked her email, and found a reply from the group, with a phone number and an address in Columbus, near her town of Dublin. She called the number, and it was answered by a pleasant-sounding female voice.

The woman informed her that there would be an initial interview, and that it might require all day. The woman then asked for some basic information, ie, name address, and other 'non-confidential' data.

"Do you want me to bring my daughter?" Rebecca asked. "I mean, it's about us, not just me," she said, uncertain now that she was making the correct choice. Still, Amy had been high on the group....

"You are absolutely correct that the process is about 'us,' and not just 'you' or 'her,' the woman smoothly assured her. "But in order for our system to be successful, the mother must buy into it one hundred percent first. While I hope that you will certainly be evaluating us, we will also be evaluating you, as to whether we are willing to accept you as a client."

"Oh," Rebecca said, nonplussed. "Well, that makes pretty good sense," she thought. After thinking about it a minute, she decided to go ahead with an appointment.

A week later she found herself at the door of a small, beautifully restored twostory house in the German Village section of Columbus. The door was an arched design of spanish cedar, with a top three quarters of clear glass, with an etched design that looked like silhouettes of women at play and at rest, and side lights wider than any she'd ever seen before. The net effect was of an open, airy and light entrance to the house, with a beautifully wrought door floating ethereally in its center.

"Can this be right?" she thought to herself, then saw the small brass plaque by the door, advertising it as 'Family Interactions Therapists, Inc.'' She rang the button, tuned, musical bells signaling her presence to those inside. In a moment, a young woman of about twenty opened the door, smiling at Rebecca as she did so.

"You must be Mrs. Harrison," she said. "Please, come in." She stood aside as Rebecca entered. Rebecca was immediately impressed by the interior. A limestone entryway gave way after five feet, to a warmly finished and gleaming oak floor, with small, exquisite throw rugs artfully placed. Themed art hung on the wall of the wide entry, and on into the building, showing works of classical art featuring women and girls, alone and in couples.

"My name is Julia, I'm the receptionist here. Oh, and welcome to FIT!"" The girl's youthful enthusiasm seemed a sweet counter point to the elegance of the offices.

"Thank you. This is so beautiful," Rebecca breathed. "But your services MUST be very expensive..." she said, doubt creeping in. She would do anything to restore her relationship with Lauren, but there were limits to how much she could spend, even if the Harrisons were relatively affluent.

Julia laughed, a musical tinkle, charming and soft. "Oh, you may be surprised. I shouldn't tell you, but FIT has quite a large charitable foundation behind it." She led Rebecca upstairs, up a (naturally) beautiful staircase, and showed her into a small office on the second floor.

Surprisingly, there were no bookcases, file cabinets or other big pieces of office furniture, only a Louis XV bureau desk in the center of the room, and two chairs. The walls consisted of raised panel, lightly stained wainscoting, and six blank wall panels about two feet high by three feet wide. They were placed two per wall other than the entrance wall, set just above the wainscoting, slightly above her seated eye height, and alternating with more classical art on the same theme as those pictures downstairs.

"Mrs. Livingston will be right with you," she said, leading Rebecca to one of the two light colored Hancock