For Her Own Good

by Parker, Tamsen

  So I drift through picking up a pregnancy test and wander back to my apartment. Everything is surreal under the streetlamps. People are going about their business as if everything is fine, totally fine, and the earth is not flailing on its axis. So one woman said something in a bathroom. That doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. If wishes were fishes and all that. But this is not a wish I’ve ever had. Ever.

  I’ve certainly worried about getting pregnant, but never had I thought beyond that. The outcome always seemed obvious: I would end it because I can’t have children. I can maintain my own very small life—anything beyond that is too much. Plus, I hate the idea of knowingly passing on the kind of suffering I’ve endured to someone else who had absolutely no say in the matter. Yes, I’m okay now, but it wasn’t easy to get here, and who knows if I’m going to stay this way? What happens if I have more in common with my mother than I think? There have been so many days when I wish I’d never been born and I don’t want to put anyone else through that.

  Except…

  Things wouldn’t be the same for a baby of Lowry’s as they’d been for me. If he wanted to be a father, for us to be a family, and I could survive the pregnancy? I’d never let myself think about it, but now that I have—and wasn’t that a terrible idea?—it’s maybe something that I want. That I covet. There’s no point in even dwelling on the possibility, though. I don’t know if I’m pregnant. If I am, there’s no saying that I’ll be able to carry a baby to term. My depression could rear its ugly head violently and to save my own life, I’d have to end it. Jesus, I don’t need to be considering how to terminate a pregnancy I don’t even know is real yet. I need to clear my mind of all of it—because I’ve always been so good at letting shit go. For fuck’s sake.

  I’ve made it back to my apartment, into the bathroom and the thought of being like my mother… It sends a chill down my spine and I have to turn away from the mirror where all I’d see is reminders that I’m her daughter.

  Chapter 33

  Lowry

  I wasn’t expecting to see Star tonight, but I wasn’t sad when she texted.

  Are you still awake? Are you too tired to come over?

  Sweet girl.

  Yes, I’m awake. And I’m never too tired to come see you.

  Which is true. The idea of seeing her buoys me, wakes me up. Even if I were exhausted, I would find the wherewithal to make the trip to her apartment. And here I am. I knock on her door and then there’s a grand shuffle before she’s standing before me.

  In her sloth pajamas, hair disheveled, she’s the one who looks exhausted. Eyes red, face drawn and pale, she looks as though she’s been crying. I know she had some sort of meeting about Patrick Enterprises tonight but she hadn’t said what exactly it was and I hadn’t pried. I’d hoped whatever it was would make her feel better, more settled—instead I find her like this.

  I barely open my arms before she’s walking into my embrace, burrowing her head into my chest and hugging me tightly.

  “Oh, Star, sweetheart…”

  I’m hit with a wave of bewilderment, sympathy, and a good heap of inadequacy. Why is she so upset? What can I do? Why don’t I have the answers already? I’m supposed to care for her and I’ve failed.

  I wrap myself around her as well as I can, an arm at her waist, a hand cradling the back of her head, and I wish I had more limbs or other ways to hold her closer, shelter her. I’ve got the urge to demand who hurt her so I can go fight them, but that’s not what she needs. She can fight people herself. I’m just the lucky bastard who gets to hold her after she does.

  “Think we could go inside and do this? I don’t mind standing on your threshold, but I thought you might like a bit more privacy.”

  She nods into my chest and it’s adorably pathetic. She’s not kick-ass, professional Starla right now, she’s sweet, lost, overwhelmed Starla who really needs her daddy. Okay. I can do that. To prove it—to her as well as myself—I pick her up and get a startled laugh for my trouble, as well as a crackle in my knees.

  I kick the door closed behind us and bring her over to the couch, get her settled on my lap, and she’s still clinging to me. All I want is to pull it out of her, what’s happened, how I can help, but I don’t want to pry too hard and crack her open.

  “Little girl, do you want to tell me what’s happened, or do you just want hugs?”

  “Just hugs right now. Please, Daddy.”

  She’s not crying, but she doesn’t sound too far off and it breaks my heart. But I can cuddle her, cradle her, give her comfort until she’s ready to hand me more than that.

  “Okay. You’re okay.”

  After a few minutes, she sniffles and looks up at me.

  “I had a meeting tonight.”

  “I know.”

  “About my father’s company.”

  It’s her company, but I suspect owning it in that way might overwhelm her, so sure, yes, her father’s company.

  “Mmm.” I hum my agreement because I remember but I don’t want to be obtrusive.

  “With Jerome Garrett. Do you know who he is?”

  “The name’s familiar, but I can’t say why.”

  Although now it’s seared into my brain as someone who’s made Starla unhappy.

  “He’s the head of Garrett Industries, which has been Patrick Enterprises’ biggest competitor for as long as I can remember. My father hated Jerome Garrett. Like, a lot. Thought of him as his nemesis.”

  Interesting she met with him then. And what for?

  “Anyway, I had dinner with him and I…I think I’m going to sell him enough of my shares of my father’s company that Jerome will effectively be in charge. And I’ll maintain enough that if we vote as a bloc, no one can override us.”

  She makes a sad little squeaky noise that sounds like she’s trying so hard not to cry.

  “I’m not sure why that’s so upsetting? Can you explain it to me? Is he bullying you into this? Trying to take advantage? Blackmailing you? Whatever it is, you can tell me, and I’ll do my best to help you work it out. Or just listen. Whatever you need.”

  Starla shakes her head, still looking miserable. I know she’s not keen on selling the business, but if she’s planning to, I’d think she’d make wise decisions about what to do with it because that’s who she is. What about this Garrett fellow has her in such a state?

  “No, he’s not doing any of that. I…I actually like him. I don’t agree with him on everything, but on the whole I think he’ll be a good shepherd for Patrick Enterprises, and he’ll treat our employees fairly and help the company flourish.”

  “Starla, love, you’re going to have to help me out here because Scotsmen—skulls like boulders, ye see? I’m still not sure why this is a problem.”

  I get a smile out of her which I almost always do when I turn up my brogue, but then she’s back to looking gutted.

  “Because I feel like I’m betraying my father. I won’t be able to stand it if I lose control or ruin this thing he worked so hard to build. I feel like I’m a failure for not being able to take the helm myself and I just want to do one thing—one fucking thing—right. The only time I can remember him being happy with me was after he’d started to think I could take over from him one day. I’ve been so anxious that I’ve been getting sick and I—”

  Her chin trembles and I can see the tears brimming on her bottom lashes. One blink and they could overflow. I knew she’d been worried and overstressed, but I didn’t know it had gotten so bad. I want to scold her for not telling me sooner, but I’m also well-aware I’ve been earning back her trust, and I should be grateful she’s telling me at all.

  Those hazel eyes of hers are wide and pleading, almost as if she has something else to confess. No, confess isn’t the right word as I don’t think she’s done anything that could be considered “bad.” And so what if she had? It would likely be something minor that she can’t stop fixating on and perhaps offering to spank her as punishment would help her let it go.

  She r
olls her lips between her teeth and there are very few things she could ask me for that I wouldn’t give her. Almost nothing, come to that.

  “It’s been a long time since I felt broken, but this is making me believe it. Maybe because I’m only a couple of weeks away from my ECT and all of this is happening when I’m on the downslope. Whatever it is, it’s reminding me of how I was always too much for my father, how I always need too much, and I…I’m a grown goddamn woman. I am a capable human being but I can’t do this. It’s too much and I hate myself for it being too much. What is wrong with me? Why am I like this? Why are you here?”

  She’s crying now, voice ragged and tear-choked. It’s as though someone’s scraping their nails over my heart, ripping it to shreds. I’ve seen her like this before and it hurt me just as much then, but I wasn’t in a position to take her in my arms and hold her close. At least I can do that. I’m not sure which part of me will be most helpful now, whether she wants her daddy, Lowry the relatively sensible man, or Doctor Campbell who can put into effect all the things I know about depression and anxiety—hers in particular. And whether what she wants would line up with what she actually needs, because God knows those aren’t always the same thing.

  “You’re not broken, Star. Not any more than someone who needs glasses because they’re nearsighted, not any more than a person who needs chemo because they’ve got cancer, not any more than someone who broke their leg on the ski slope. I think you’re right that it’s not helping that you’re at the two-thirds mark of your ECT cycle. That’s probably letting your depression yell at you a lot louder and enabling this anxiety to hit you harder than it would right after a treatment. You’ll feel better in a couple of weeks; you know you will. If you don’t think you can wait that long, call Doctor Gendron. We can get her on the phone right now if you like.”

  Course I don’t know whether Starla’s discussed our relationship with Lacey, but it doesn’t matter now, does it? I’d do anything to help her, even if it’s incurring Lacey’s not inconsiderable wrath. Starla comes first.

  This seems like a good time to give her my vote of confidence in her abilities instead of simply letting her spill her guts like at her father’s house. I believe in her and would trust her with my life. I have no doubt she’ll make good choices when it comes to Patrick Enterprises.

  “I can’t say I know much about business—you’re the expert on that of the two of us, for sure—but I do know you. You’re intelligent and conscientious, and you have good enough sense to surround yourself with people who are the same and who can give you good advice. If you think selling some of your shares to this Garrett fellow is your best choice, then it’s probably true. Your father wasn’t right about everything, you know.”

  I have a long list of things he was wrong about or could have done better, frankly. Which I ought to crumple and toss in my mental rubbish bin because he’s gone now.

  “I’m here because I care about you, very much, and you’re absolutely brilliant. I feel fortunate to be here. I hurt when you’re hurting, but that’s not your fault, and I think we’ve pretty well seen that wherever you are is where I’d most like to be.”

  * * *

  Starla

  He’s the sweetest. The steadiest. And so very smart. It’s almost enough to make me believe him.

  That’s part of why depression is shitty, and I know that. But at the moment it’s not enough. My rational brain is not enough to overcome that god-awful, lying part of my brain that says I am worthless, unlovable, and that I should quit taking up space. That I am a failure and I’ve disappointed everyone who’s been there for me like Lowry and Doctor Gendron and my father and Holden and the list goes on… All of those people are waiting for a chance to escape, a chance to get the hell away from this black hole of a girl who needs to much, who sucks all the fun and energy and pleasure out of the world.

  I’d convinced myself earlier that perhaps this was okay. That I was at least making a solid decision, if not one that was perfect or that I was thrilled about. Not the worst.

  And then seeing that little “YES” show up on that godforsaken pregnancy test and the one after that… I started to spiral. Hard and fast, and this is yet another thing I can’t face because I can’t handle it. I am weak and horrible and stupid, and how much more like my mother can I be, really?

  I’d been a teenager when I found out my mother had killed herself. It was several years earlier that I’d done the math on my parents’ wedding anniversary and my birthday, and since I wasn’t a preemie in the NICU, yeah, they weren’t married. Which fundamentally, who cares? What is the big fucking deal about children being born to parents who aren’t married? Isn’t all that matters is that they have a family who loves them and is able to raise them?

  Sure, but when your father is one of the richest men in New England, and your mother is a gorgeous but mentally unstable woman who doesn’t come from money and she happens to get knocked up? I’d like to think my parents were in love, that I was a product of love and not lust, but I don’t remember them. I don’t remember her, really. My father could have lied to me all this time about how much he loved my mother because he didn’t want me to feel bad that he only married her because he’s a stand-up guy and that’s what good men are supposed to do when they get a woman pregnant.

  I don’t want Lowry to propose because I’m pregnant. I don’t want him to stay with me if I’m pregnant because he feels obligated to. How much more can I heap on this man and not expect him to break? I am such a fucking burden it makes me want to…

  No, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill myself. I don’t, I really don’t. I would tell anyone having the same thoughts as I am that it will get better. And I believe that with every atom of my rational brain. Too bad the goddamn depression monster is screaming over all of that. Which is why I couldn’t, just couldn’t, tell Lowry about her.

  It doesn’t make any sense at all, I know, and knowing me I’m probably wrong, but from the second I saw those three goddamn letters, I’ve thought this baby is a girl. Not even thought. Known. I can’t explain it, it’s not rational, but really, how much of what I think is? It’s made me less likely to think about terminating this pregnancy for any reason except if my own mental health is circling the toilet, which might mean that neither of us would survive and what the hell good would that do anyone?

  All of this adds up to me desperately wanting to tell Lowry about the baby, but also being absolutely terrified to. What would be worse, if he stayed or if he left? If he stays, will I always worry that it’s because of the baby and he feels trapped? That wouldn’t do anything to improve my mental health. What if that’s why my mother killed herself? It’s not as though I can ask her what the final straw was. And fuck all, what if it was me? Not good, not good at all.

  And if he left…

  Well, I know precisely what that’s like. I’d be devastated. I don’t think I could live through that again. Not after all this. Not after he gained my trust, coaxed me into handing over the deepest, most vulnerable parts of myself, letting me believe he valued and adored them. This meltdown is probably making him think twice about being with me. And adding a baby—a squalling package of need who’s likely to grow up like me? No, I can’t tell him. Can’t. Yes, he’ll find out eventually, but I don’t need to tell him yet. Not yet. I’ll get through this Garrett acquisition and be a slightly smaller disaster and then tell him. We can be rational people and discuss this rationally. And if he leaves…

  I don’t honestly know.

  “Star?”

  Right. I’ve been sitting here, lost in my dark thoughts. The least I can do is say something, anything.

  “Yeah?”

  “I hate to do this, but I need to use the bathroom. I won’t be long, promise. Can I get you something while I’m up? Tea? Whisky? Tuna and Doritos or some other vile concoction? Anything?”

  The idea of one of Lowry’s hot toddies makes my brain happy but my stomach miserable. Though I do appreci
ate having a few moments to collect myself, to strengthen my resolve, basically get any of my shit together at all.

  “Tea, please.”

  “Course. I’ll be right back, love.”

  Love. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice the absence of that word when he was telling me why he was here. Would it have made a difference if he’d said it? I can’t imagine it would’ve had much of an effect, but the lack certainly didn’t ease any of my doubts.

  And so I’ll sit here with my asshole depression brain shouting lies I can’t silence, the rational part of my mind being cowed by anxiety, and hell, fucking hell, doubting everything in the world as the man I love walks away from me.

  Chapter 34

  Starla

  “Thank you for squeezing me in, I know you’re busy.”

  “Thank you for calling. I’d always rather have you call than not, you know that.”

  I do. Makes it a titch easier to do the thing, but not a ton. Which is why I look down at my nails—still with their fancy paint job from my meeting with Garrett—instead of volunteering more to Doctor Gendron about why precisely I’m here.

  “So, what’s up?”

  She’s so good about giving me an extra prod when I need it.

  “I told you about the anxiety on the phone. It’s maybe the worst I’ve ever had, and you know that’s not nothing. And I feel like with all the shit that’s going on with my father’s company—”