The plastic pages stuck together at the front of the album where a few photos of my early life lay, gummy but dried adhesive peeking from the corners. Three pictures of me with Mom and Dad. Judging by the fashion in the photos, I must have been about six. My long hair was pulled into pigtails, and Dad’s huge yet artificial grin consumed his face. Mom, well, she looked like she always did—the proverbial deer caught in a car’s headlights. As if she was afraid the person manipulating the camera would somehow, in the act of taking the picture, also capture the reality that loomed behind the lens. What was that reality then? Was she happy?
Moving onto a later photo of the family showed nothing had changed: Mom’s face held that same expression. I hadn’t recognized it when I was younger, but with the wisdom of time and photographic evidence, it was clear my mother might never have been happy in her marriage to my father. That she might have needed to change, or at least be flexible, and because she hadn’t, happiness had been intangible. Dad had tried to make Mom happy: coming home early to help make dinner and taking care of me on the weekends. He told Mom to go out, get a job or go to school, whatever she wanted, to “do something for you, Marjorie,” and she never did. She’d conjure a plethora of excuses for why her life was the way it was, but none of the reasons made sense. Mom was the master of placing responsibility on another person’s shoulders: it was always someone else’s fault. And the fact that she wasn’t happy? That specific problem she had attributed to my dad.
A trap like that was a place I didn’t want to fall into. If my life was screwed up, it was my fault and only my fault. After all, I’d agreed to our living situation. But shaking the anger toward Theo that had ignited from our morning argument seemed almost impossible.
A couple of pages forward in the album brought me to a more recent photo of Dad and me. Charlie and Delia peeked out from behind my back, while Dad’s hand rested on my newly pregnant belly. It had been taken before Dad cut the ties to my mother for good. He made sure Mom was financially stable and she received the house in the settlement, his final selfless acts in taking care of a woman who thought of him as selfish. Dad looked restful and happy in the picture, full of warmth and love, pride shining from his eyes. “I wish you were here, Dad,” I whispered to myself. He’d died the year before, right after Lexie had been born.
While it had taken Dad a long time, in the end, he’d admitted the truth: his personal happiness was important, and something he had to think about. Unfortunately, that meant leaving Mom. Would I have to do the same thing? Would I be able to place my personal happiness above all else? Dad’s situation was so different from mine, wasn’t it?
The hum of the copier across the hall and the trill of the secretary’s phone interrupted my thoughts and prompted me to move to the next pages in line—a few pictures of Theo and me. Both of us on the volleyball court, our faces flushed from having played one another in one-hundred-degree heat and humidity. On the swing of his front porch, our legs extended in front of us, beers in hand. We’d been dating over a year by the point those pictures had been taken, and the vivid memories from that night stood out. That evening, I’d decided Theo Lancaster was the boy I was going to marry; I was sure of it.
That thought amused me now. The certainty and depth of my love. What about Theo had made me so secure in my feelings for him? Something about him had made me believe we’d make it. Forever. What had happened to make my love waver?
My intercom buzzed and broke me out of my reverie, ushering me back to the present and the urgency of work. The intercom button yielded against the tip of my finger.
“Hi, Sadie,” said Jackie. “How are you this morning?”
If she only knew. “I’m great. Something you need?”
“I wanted to say thank you again for this weekend. I can’t tell you how much we appreciated your help. I hope it wasn’t awkward with Andrew there.”
Jackie hadn’t heard yet that Andrew and Grocery Store Man were one and the same. How would Jackie react to the news? The admission would shock her.
“That’s what friends are for. If you need me to do it again, don’t hesitate to ask. But I might like to be on baby duty myself next time.” Flying solo would be easier on my heart.
“Oh. Did something happen? Pete spends more time with Andrew than I do, but he seems like he’s a great person. We hadn’t planned on having two people there, but it was late when Pete told me he’d asked Andrew too. Was Andrew difficult to talk to? Didn’t he help you?”
“Oh no, nothing like that.” The burden squatting on my shoulders needed to be released. Jackie was my friend and would do anything to help me. “I thought you might want to know that Andrew...” Under the desk, I wiggled my foot, nervous about my next words.
“Yes?” Jackie’s impatience boomed over the intercom. “He’s what? Boring? Rude? A real piece of work? I would bet that.” Jackie’s throaty laugh echoed over the speaker. “Several of the characters Pete hangs out with, well, they can be quite a handful—”
“No. Andrew MacKinnon is Grocery Store Man, Jackie.”
The clang of an object, like something dropping onto Jackie’s desk, sounded.
“Shit. Stay put. You hear me?” she said. “I’m heading over.”
Chapter 12: Sadie
Jackie walked into my office with such swiftness I thought she’d trip over herself in the process of trying to get through the narrow doorway.
“Oh. My. God.” Her face painted a picture full of shock and delight all rolled into one. “Andrew MacKinnon? Are you serious?” She shut the door behind her before stepping toward my desk. Jackie’s entire person sparkled with intense interest under the fluorescent lighting of my office.
“Yep. And why don’t you sit?” I gestured toward the chair.
“Why don’t I, indeed? This could take a while.” Jackie smoothed her skirt over her knees after she sat and then leaned back in the chair. “Do tell, girl, do tell.” A mischievous smile leapt across Jackie’s face, which deepened her dimples. “Andrew MacKinnon?” Jackie asked again. “Andrew?”
Suddenly, my office felt too warm, but Jackie deserved the truth, starting with my morning argument with Theo. My friend listened, her emotions flickering across her face, until she interrupted me with a question.
“Is Theo okay? How’s he doing?”
“He’s pretty closed up about everything, and if I don’t go with him to the doctor, if Brooke takes him, he doesn’t tell me all that much.”
“So...what about this argument? Where did it come from?”
Theo and I weren’t the type of couple who normally quarreled, but since the realization of his symptoms and the increase in chronic stress, we spent more time at war with one another than in the past. At one of Theo’s visits I had attended, the doctor said something about Theo’s behavior that stuck with me.
“Remember,” she said. “Sometimes the PTSD will do all the talking.” The phrase hadn’t made sense at the time. “Everything he perceives is real to him,” she had continued. “Theo’s hurting, and he doesn’t comprehend what to do with that hurt. His life is uncertain right now, and that’s a tough issue to come to terms with.”
Tough issues? No shit—we all had those. Then and now.
A response to Jackie soon surfaced, and I revealed to her the details surrounding my situation with Andrew: being torn in two, how I’d spoken to Kate, and the overwhelming thought I was floundering. And as that last thought spent time in my mind, it morphed into a new realization: maybe Theo floundered as well, in a place he knew he’d never find purchase. The doctor had said it: Theo’s life was chock full of uncertainty, and by default, uncertainty affected me. Meeting Andrew added more chaos to the mix, and if I reacted to it, Theo would, also by default, be affected. The push and p
ull, the interconnectedness we shared. Were we both at fault for the increase in arguments?
“So, you’re in over your head? Well go ahead. I’m no professional, but I am an excellent listener.” Jackie’s warm smile melted my heart. She was a dear friend, someone to confide in, someone to accept help from. Now was the time.
“Jackie, I’m not sure where to start.” My office window beckoned to me. Concentrating on the beauty of the day outside the glass might help everything on the inside of that window fall into place. It wouldn’t—it couldn’t—but I could hope.
“Well then, let me see if I have this right. You like Andrew? And he seems to like you.”
She was right, and she knew as much. I knew as much. My response to him was apparent: the butterflies, the energy, the impulsive flirting.
“Hear me out, dear friend, when I say you don’t need to jump off the deep end on this one,” she said.
I swiveled my chair back to face Jackie.
“You can be attracted to someone and not act on it. You can be attracted to someone while you’re living with your soon-to-be ex-husband, although you need to make that decision soon. Sever the ties or don’t, but you need to get out of this state of limbo.”
Jackie was right. The thought of spending time in a whirlwind of confusion didn’t appeal to me.
She went on. “Cut yourself some slack here. You have a lot on your plate, girl. Kids, work, Theo. Maybe consider Andrew a new...acquaintance?”
“Or not,” I said.
“Or not?”
A hum began in my ears at the thought of Andrew. “I don’t know if I can.” My admission hung between us, but Jackie held enough emotional intelligence to read between the lines. At least the courage to admit one of my weaknesses had arisen, although it was probably written all over my face.
“Oh...okay. But one more question.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you love Theo?”
What a simple—and at the same time complex—question, and one I’d already answered when I filed for divorce. Filling Jackie in on that painful detail was easy, talking about being in love versus loving someone. Even the thought made tears imminent, and I reached for the tissue holder on my desk.
“It’s all so complicated.”
“That it is, my friend,” Jackie whispered. She leaned toward me and patted my hand. It was a gesture I would only accept from someone like her. “It’s okay.”
Despite everything I was going through at that moment, I had a friend like Jackie. A thought that made me ask, what or who did Theo have? He couldn’t even count on one of the supposedly dependable people in his life—me. Being more sympathetic toward Theo and what he was experiencing should take a higher spot on my priority list.
“No, it’s not, Jackie. It’s not okay, and I need to figure out how to make it all okay. If I want to pursue Andrew, then I need to be up-front with Theo, and he needs to sign those papers. But I need to find the Sadie I once knew too. I need to clean my life up, to clean up me.”
Heat flared on my face and neck, and I placed my head in my hands, embarrassed at the melodramatic revelation. How had my life gotten like this? Prior to this conundrum, I’d taken things in stride, adjusting to what was thrown at me and making decisions based on what was right. And somehow, things changed without my realizing it.
“And Andrew?” Jackie said as she leaned in over the desk.
“What about him?”
“Does he factor into this at all?” Jackie’s voice was so quiet, I almost didn’t hear her.
Her question hit me hard. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll figure that out as I go along.”
“And I’ll be here to support you.” Jackie stood up, walked around the desk, and wrapped her arms around me. She held tight, as if she was trying to transfer positive energy to me. What gifts—her warmth, friendship, and love?
“You should be a therapist, Jackie,” I said as I wiped the tears from my lashes with my overused tissue.
A huge grin broke out across her face as she pulled away from me. “The bill will be in tomorrow’s mail.” Jackie moved toward the door before turning back. “By the way—and I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I’d like to be honest with you—Andrew left his card for you on his way out earlier. I haven’t said anything about you and your situation, but he told me to tell you his cell number is on the bottom of the card. ‘Feel free to contact him,’ he said.”
Jackie winked and walked out of my office.
Chapter 13: Sadie
Once Jackie left my office, I had plenty of time to contemplate my life. My mind first jumped to the idea of Andrew’s business card, complete with cell phone number, but it didn’t stay there. Thoughts of Theo and the PTSD that had so changed our lives gripped me by the shoulders and wouldn’t let go.
Theo before PTSD and Theo after PTSD were antitheses of one another. He’d always been driven—at work and at play—but once he’d been diagnosed, the smiling, chipper, hands-on dad we knew and loved melted away like the spring snow. Gone were the days of impromptu hikes at Cranberry Hill and time spent wrapped in each other’s arms. He no longer sat in the recliner, child in lap and book in hand, nor did he sneak up on me while I was cooking, whisper sweet nothings in my ear, and trail his hand down my spine. Instead, we’d become intent on figuring out our individual lives, not our collective one.
“PTSD can manifest differently for each person,” the doctor had said when we’d spoken about what life would be like. “Yes, you’ll feel different, and you’ll be frustrated a lot, and you might have an anger like you’ve never experienced before, but you can’t let this beat you. Not yet. You’ve got a lot of life left to live.”
During the days following the diagnosis, Theo and I did all the things we thought we should. We researched everything about living with PTSD. We hired Brooke to sit with Charlie and Delia, who were eight and five at the time, so we’d be able to head to appointments sans children. We sat through lectures, videos, and chats with counselors, all to understand the intricacies of PTSD. Of course, Theo knew and understood more of the details of it, having been in the military, but it was something he never thought he’d experience.
“It’s all too much!” he said after he’d read yet another statistics-filled report. “Give me something I can work with!” he yelled. “I don’t want data!”
With a vengeance, I set about trying to find something he wanted, something useful. For several days, and with Kate and Jackie’s remote help, I spent time in my office, looking into online information from respected veterans’ clinics and psychiatric journals; culling lists of what the professionals suggested someone with PTSD should do; and comparing lists of what someone living with a person with PTSD should do. Enormous amounts of coffee accompanied me as I scrambled to get work done between journal articles. Jackie covered for me when naps trumped everything else, and I brought more work and journal articles home, hoping I’d find something, anything, Theo found helpful.
The doctor had other ideas.
“You need a personal connection, and I have just the couple. You’ll love them. They have bright personalities and are generous with their time. They’re both busy, but I’d bet my last dollar they’d be willing to speak with you and Theo.”
“I’m not sure,” Theo had said, passing a hand in front of his face, the hand that would cover up the doubt in his eyes.
“We should try. What is your day-to-day life going to be like? How long will you be living like this? Does it kick you in the gut, every day, or is there a way to live happily? And what about the kids?”
“Call them, Sadie, Theo. Call these people.” The look on the doctor’s face urged me to make the right choice
. “And if you can’t do that right now, then watch this video,” the doctor said. “Their community has rallied around them, and you’ll get a good sense of who Rick and Laura are. More importantly, you’ll understand the sort of people you and Theo could be.”
Up until that moment, the information I’d gotten regarding Rick and Laura Sullivan didn’t help me much with anything on the PTSD front, so I was hoping the video would paint a picture of who they were. Time seemed to stand still as the opening scenes of the video burst forth. In front of my laptop computer, I sat, mesmerized by the voice of a man living with what my love had.
Rick and Laura had been high school sweethearts who had gotten engaged and married while in college. They both went on to become successful lawyers with three handsome sons and a life to envy. But Rick had served three tours, and when he’d been discharged, Laura knew something had happened. Instead of letting PTSD own him, Rick had taken the diagnosis in stride and sought help. It had taken time and patience—something Theo was short on—but eventually, Rick healed. Part of that healing resulted in a program he’d started for veterans.
The Sullivans were malleable and optimistic, encouraging, and enthusiastic, characteristics I hoped we’d emulate. On the video, Rick said that before his tour of duty, he’d been living the life he wanted. But since the emergence of his PTSD symptoms, everything had changed. He had to adjust, go forward in life while grappling with the condition.
Inspired and frankly, enamored, by these people, a flood of relief hit me when their voices rang out on the other end of the phone one afternoon. After an introduction, I told them why I was calling. Rick had said they would either speak with us over the phone or meet up with the both of us. I chose the latter.
“Of course,” Laura said. “Send us a list of dates and we can figure something out.”
And Laura stood behind her words. Within a day, I had sent them dates and we coordinated a time to make the 200-mile trek to their home. Brooke agreed to take care of the children for the day, and Theo and I hopped into the car and set out for the highway. The miles clicked by, and as we approached their subdivision, a sense of warmth and longing overtook my thoughts. The tree-lined street reminded me of our place in Kettering, and when we pulled up to the colonial style home, complete with a six-panel door and dried flower arrangement adorning the front, I bit back my laughter.
Rewrite the Stars Page 9