"Wait, Krissy's depressed?" I panic.
"As I said, it's mild, just a hormonal imbalance. It happens sometimes, and she'll be fine. You'll just want to be as sensitive as you can be."
That didn't happen with Ryan, she was fine. That was traumatic enough but she didn't wind up with depression. "I have been sensitive," I insist. "I've been sensitive every goddamn second since she woke up. I'm a master at walking on eggshells, checked my flaming temper, well beyond your clinical recommendations, mind you. I've become a bloody saint for her. And now she's depressed?" I'm flabbergasted.
"It isn't your fault, Edward. It's quite common, and coupled with the stress of her memory loss... let's just say it's very confusing for her. She's handling things better than anyone could have anticipated, given the circumstances."
"Why hasn't she remembered more? And why those triggers? Peanut butter and a fucking tie?"
"It's hard to say. Every head trauma is different, every amnesiac episode is unique. It may continue to return in fragments until there are enough pieces that the entire picture comes into view. Or the pieces may remain disjointed, and she'll remember the flashes but not the connecting memories. You should be prepared for her to never fully remember, but that's a worst-case scenario. We really don't know what will happen. The thought is unsettling for you I'm sure, and I sincerely hope that isn't the case. But in the event that it is, how do you feel you should prepare?"
"Prepare?" I'm floored. What I just heard was that Flynn's given up on Krissy's recovery, though my sometimes... okay, rarely... rational side reminds me that he presented all the options and I've latched onto the worst one, as usual. "How am I to prepare for the woman I love to never remember me? I'm better now because of her, because of who she was to me. I can't live indefinitely without my Krissy."
"She's still your Krissy, Edward," he lectures, ever so calmly. "To deny this is disrespectful to her, don't you think?"
"But she's not..."
"She is." Flynn has never interrupted me before. I blink at him, dazed. "She's exactly the same; she hasn't become a different person. She's still your wife. She cares deeply for you. It's true that she's unaware of how you two began, and that's going to be a very difficult conversation for both of you, but remember that she trusted you then, implicitly. She'll be all right. You ought to talk through it with her. We can have a joint session, if she's agreeable."
Flynn has this uncanny ability to pick up on my biggest insecurities and lay them out, like a road map, even if all I've done is skirt the main issue. "Don't fucking do that," I hiss.
"You're here for exactly this, Edward. I'm not going to soft-pedal over the one issue that's weighing on you today." The corner of his mouth twitches up.
I hate that he's right. And I'm grateful that he knows what he knows. At the moment, he's all I have. "I fucking hate this."
"I know. How shall we proceed?"
He's asking me? My stomach twitches, the bile churning. How the fuck should I know what to do? I pay him to tell me what I should do.
"Inner monologue doesn't help anything, Edward."
"Shit." I stand, pacing to the corner, turning, and pacing back to the opposite wall. I run my index finger across my bottom lip and back. My hand is shaking, I'm not sure why. My conscience is screaming at me, but I can't hear what it's saying for the blood pounding in my ears. My other hand, fingers curled into a ball at my side, is shaking as well, nails biting into the palm. I breathe deeply to quell the rising panic. It catches me by surprise, this state of alarm, and I can't rise above in time to squash or, at the very least, cover it.
A choked sob bubbles up in my throat. No! I won't lose it. Not even in front of Flynn, he hasn't seen this in our sessions for a long time. I'm better. I am. This frightened little sot isn't me anymore. I bring my hands up to cover my face, to shield myself until I can get it together, but wetness touches my fingers. Fuck. The sob escapes, and another. My body has betrayed me to a series of tremors, and my legs no longer support me. My back finds the wall and I slide down, coming to rest on the carpeted floor. Where the fuck is this coming from? I was fine a minute ago. Well, not fine, but in control. What the fuck? What is this?
"Hey." Flynn is closer. He's come to join the sob fest. "Arms around yourself, Edward."
I instantly drop my knees to sit cross-legged and my arms come around to hug myself. It looks ridiculous. I marvel offhand that I obeyed so quickly. My breathing slows, eyes open, and through the blurring tears I see him sitting before me, mirroring my position. A tissue box rests between us.
"Take your time."
I will my breathing to slow further, resisting the urge to wipe my face just yet. Amidst the confusion and emotional turmoil, there's an unexpected edge of humiliation and gratitude. If I had to have a breakdown, I'd rather it happened here. I don't know how long I sit there exactly, and he doesn't push me. He just waits. I know what he wants.
"I want my wife back, the way she was. I want her healthy, and for her to love our son. I want her to want me again. I want the last two months to have been no more than a horrible nightmare. I want that fucker who caused this to burn in Hell for all eternity..." the anger rolls off me, and then a bitter stab takes its place. "I want my daughter." I ramble off everything I can think of that I want, regardless whether anything can be done. Some desires are impossible, but they're there anyway, and Flynn tells me they're just as important. How, I'm not always sure. "I don't want her to hate me for the things I've done. I'm so afraid."
I can hear Flynn's breathing match my own. I think it's on purpose. "That's right." He holds out the tissue box, and I rip a few, more forcefully than necessary, from it.
"I know what you're going to say," I mumble, exhausted.
"Oh?" Flynn cocks his head to the side.
"And what do you think you should do about those things?" I mock his voice, raising it to a higher key.
Flynn chuckles. "And?"
I sigh. "I don't know. This is why I come to you."
He nods. "That's still difficult for you to admit." He stands, holding out a hand to me. I'm feeling thoroughly patronized, but I take it anyway. He pulls me to my feet. I return to the couch, blowing my nose.
To my surprise, he sits down next to me. "Are you up for a few suggestions?"
I nod. I'll take anything. I'm reaching the end of my fuse, and I don't want to be around Krissy when I get there.
"You're actually doing all the right things," he says. "I know you're used to getting faster results when you work harder. Unfortunately with people, it doesn't always work that way. Krissy feels how much you care. She's doing much better than any of us expected, the depression aside. Just keep supporting her, and let whatever happens, happen."
"That's it?" My eyes are wide.
"That's it. You can't force it."
I heave a sigh. "I know."
He's quiet for a moment. "How are you handling your needs?" he asks carefully.
I snort. "I'm handling them. Exercise and whatnot." Oh please, let's not get into this.
"Nothing wrong with whatnot. It's perfectly natural." He shifts. Oh yes, the good psychiatrist is uncomfortable discussing what I do with my body parts as well. Good, he ought not have brought it up. "And one more thing, before we're done."
I relax. Flynn's closing remarks are typically bolstering; reinforcement of ideas and affirmations. I toss the bunched-up tissues in the trash.
"You should visit your daughter."
I freeze. "Excuse me?"
"Your mother tells me you haven't been back since she was laid to rest." He hands me my jacket. "Bring her flowers. Talk to her. Tell her everything. What you told Ryan about her had to have come from some deep-rooted belief. It won't solve things, surely, but it'll help you sort through what you're feeling."
I can't. "All right."
"Good. We'll reconvene in a few days."
~oOo~
Fucking Flynn. He expects the impossible. It's a shame his office is in the city..
. the jogs to and from sessions were monumental in helping me sort through our discussions, and now, I have to bottle it up on the drive home, especially when I'm not driving myself. My stomach has yet to un-knot. I hate this. It's unbearable. I need to get out.
"Pull over."
I escape into the unseasonably chilled afternoon air, let the cold pierce my lungs and still my soul. I close my eyes, leaning back against the car door. Fuck. The guilt has crept in unbidden. I straighten and tap the window, instructing Taylor to stay put. My legs carry me forward. The air is penetrating, but my jacket is folded across the backseat of the SUV. Doesn't matter. The cold is all that's holding me together.
"Pink and green hydrangeas." The teenage, pierced and tattooed salesgirl looks frightened, exchanging a glance with the elderly florist, who gives her the "whatever he wants" instructive stare. With shaking, black-painted fingers, she ties a generous bunch with raffia, and I throw down a few twenties.
"Llandover." Taylor nods and pulls the vehicle into traffic. I hold the stems with tender fingers, careful not to let the blossoms bruise.
I step out of the car outside the carved oak gate, donning my jacket. "Take a turn around the block, Taylor."
"Yes, Sir." There's sympathy in his voice, but henceforth maintains a respectful silence.
I'd originally bought this parcel of land a few years ago to honor my grandparents, my mother's family, who'd inspired my ecological sensibilities. It was meant to be a "back to the earth" resting place for them, when the time came. It couldn't be a further sight from those ridiculously commercialized and absurdly visible concrete memorial parks littering the freeway, with their manicured lawns and fake neon bouquets upon tacky metal-plaqued headstones. I never imagined when I bought this beautiful, natural place that its first resident would be my infant daughter.
Leaves had settled over the mossy ground, dampness and detritus marrying in an essence of woods and of leaves, of life's eternal circle. The single plot within the grounds is not immune to nature's processes. Groundcover has begun to encroach, as was encouraged, and the fresh earth has settled away.
"Phoebe Kristina King." I caress the name, expertly scripted into the small marble garden stone. Below is a single date, the worst day of my life. But there's more... and I immediately sense my mother's loving interference. "Always wanted, always loved, and always will be."
Oh, I remember those words. I said them as I held my child for the first time... and for the last time. A lump rises in my throat, and I drop to my knees, placing the flowers I brought for her next to her name. "You'd be here by now... I'd be holding you in my arms this minute. I'm sorry, little one. So sorry that I couldn't protect you. I failed you."
I sniffle, blinking to compose myself, though no one is around to watch me blubber like a fool. This is my daughter, damn it... and if I'm going to talk to her, I'd better damn well show some decorum. It's the least she deserves. I sit back, arms wrapped around my grass-stained knees, and I start talking.
"A friend said I should talk to you... I know you can't hear me, but I'm going to talk anyway, all right?" I pause as an unusually warm breeze flutters briefly through. "I don't know where to start," I sigh. "I'm so lost without you. Your mom... she's gone from me as well... she's been my lifeline since we met, and now she's lost. I don't know how to find her, to help her find her way back. She doesn't know me, the real me. I can't tell her the rest. She'd leave us for sure. Maybe I'm being ridiculous to think she won't have the same reaction to the truth as before, but things aren't as they were then. I've changed, and she's still weak and unsure. I'm a lucky bastard that she's chosen to come home, but it's so difficult and frustrating, and..." a sob comes unbidden into my throat, and I swallow it down, tears stinging my eyes again. Why am I telling my daughter this? Oh fuck it, I'm telling myself. "And she doesn't want me, not the way I need her to."
If I know Flynn, and I'd better after seven years or so... he's be emphasizing the word 'yet' on the end of that last statement. And he'd have a point; I'm the most impatient person I know. When things don't go smoothly I get frustrated, angry even, and then I'm impossible to be around. The most patience I've ever had, I've had with my family, with Krissy and Ryan. And it would have grown with a daughter in my life, I'm sure of it.
"I've been letting the company stagnate; it's so unimportant to me now... but I have to go back, I have to support my family. The last thing I worked on before all this... happened... was a gift for you, to ensure you had the best of everything, all your life. And now..." I raise my eyes to the sky, not sure what to say. "I just can't bear to see anything that has to do with that... I'm sure Ros can handle what to do with it, but... I don't know if I can bring myself to talk about it. I can't have a breakdown over business issues. I've been working mostly from home; I went out of the country for just less than a week and spent every day panicking that anything could happen to your mom or your brother while I was away, and that I was too far away to stop it. I've become so irrational, I can't stand to be away from them for any length of time," I ramble.
"And then there's you... I haven't been back here for you. And I'm sorry... so sorry, my dear, sweet child. I'd give it all... every asset I hold, my own life... to see you, for your mother to hold you, even once. I love you, Phoebe. You're forever in my heart."
The strange warm breeze blows through again, lifting me from my sadness, and I hear the light hum of the SUV's engine in the distance. I should be getting back to my family. I stand, brushing remnants of the forest floor from my trousers. I blow a kiss over my daughter's resting place.
"I'll visit more, I promise. And as soon as your mother is ready, I'll bring her to say hello. You won't be forgotten." I'm not sure how I tear myself away, but my legs carry me from this place. I pause before the gate to compose myself, retrieving a handkerchief. I won't allow myself to be seen this way by anyone, even Taylor, though I'm sure he understands.
Taylor readjusts the rearview mirror. "Home, Sir?"
"Please."
The Blackberry zaps against my thigh. I heave a sigh and retrieve it.
"King."
"I have the information you wanted, Sir," Welch's disembodied voice comes through the earpiece.
"And?"
"Mr. Steele began bankruptcy proceedings four days ago, over a carpentry shop in his name just outside Montesano. He's been in the red for quite some time. Looks like your father is taking point on the paperwork, but without his firm's stamp on it. Appears to be under the table. Want me to get the numbers? Might raise some flags."
"Yes. Tomorrow." I have no more words.
"I'll get right on it."
I press the end button and roll my eyes back, willing them to dry and brighten. It's not a long drive but they do feel a bit less puffy by the time the driveway is under us. I do a quick check in the side mirror for good measure, though.
"Krissy?" I call from the front door, sliding off my jacket.
Gail pokes her head out of the kitchen. She holds a finger to her lips and pads softly toward me. "Your son and Mrs. King are napping in the master bedroom," she whispers.
"How is she?" I keep my voice low.
Gail sighs. "Well, Dr. Treveylan stayed a while this morning. She didn't see a reason to take Krissy in for a checkup, but Krissy's been pretty tired all day. I think Ryan's been homing in on her ups and downs. He snuck in there an hour ago when he was supposed to be napping in his room. I peeked in about twenty minutes ago. He's curled up right next to her." She looks torn, like she ought to be ashamed of intruding upon our private chamber, but in our son's best interest, I'm glad she did.
"I appreciate it. I'll go check on them," I say. Gail holds out her hands and I pass my jacket to her. "What time will dinner be ready?"
"Is six thirty all right? The roast needs a bit more time."
"That will be fine."
Ryan is indeed curled into Krissy's side, both are peacefully oblivious to my presence, and so I leave them that way, closing the double doors wi
th a soft click. I really have no aim, no destination, so I begin to wander, in body and mind. The house isn't big enough to get lost in, and I don't really want to end up in the solitude of the finished basement, though the door handle is within my grasp, and our wedding video is perversely tempting. I pass it by. The piano looms from the corner of the parlor. I'm not sure it's a good idea; I'd rather not wake my family, as the acoustics of the room are the reason it was placed there. Oh, fuck it. I need the outlet. I pull the sliding pocket doors closed and lower the piano lid. There are so many things tugging on my heart, and even more numerous screaming in my head… only the music can help to suck all that poison away. My shaking fingers find the right keys, and a slow, somber theme rises not from the instrument, but from within, channeled through the strings. After a time my shoulders relax, the trembling in my hands ceases and my eyes drift closed. I am lost in the colorful strain, my soul taking over where my mind and body often fail. This saves me, from myself.
I end one song and begin another. I haven't bothered to turn on any lights, and so as the sun sets, these east-facing windows darken and I'm thrown into the shadows. How appropriately it illustrates the piece. My eyes close again. My fingers could carry me anywhere, and I'd go, if only it would save me from facing reality, if only for a short while. A low rumble accompanies the next sequence of chords, and as I realize it's not distant thunder but the opening of the pocket doors, my eyes fly open, and everything happens at once.
Krissy, wrapped in her lilac silk robe, locks eyes with me. I'm about to smile at her, in hope that she'll come sit by me as she always has, but that was before. She hasn't heard me play yet, not since… has it really been so long since my fingers touched these keys? Her face changes, her pupils dilate. Her left hand grips the wall, and she sways.
"Krissy!" I'm on my feet in a second, but my mind is screaming again. She's going to fall. She's going to fall before I can catch her. I move like lightning as Krissy sinks to the ground, and it's happening in slow motion. The floor is hardwood. She's going to hit her head again. She's going to break. I'm going to lose her. No, no, no, nononono…
The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel Page 14