by Cat Mann
****
Ari took me back to my physician, Dr. Phillips, the next day for a checkup. The doctor tried to prescribe some meds for my post-traumatic stress and I declined. I told him I was doing fine and that there was no need for me to be on any prescriptions. Ari kept his jaw clenched through the whole visit. We walked through the hospital in silence and then out to the parking lot. Once we were in the car, he slammed his door shut.
“Why did you do that?” he barked.
“Do what?”
“Lie!!”
I blanched.
“I didn’t lie.”
“There. You did it again. Stop lying, Ava. You aren’t doing fine. You do need help.”
I was saved by a call coming in on Ari’s phone. He shifted in his car seat and retrieved his cell from his jeans pocket. I stole a glance at the caller id display but the number was not one that I recognized. Ari gave me a sideways glance, then accepted the call.
“This is Ari.” He answered in a clipped tone.
“Hello, Mr. Alexander. This is Jane Wilcox with The….” I heard the woman on the other line say before I lost interest and stared out the window as we turned right onto the I-5 south ramp towards home.
Because my kidnapping had been all over the news and had involved a seriously wanted fugitive, Ari and I received requests for my exclusive account almost daily from various news stations and reporters across the country. Obviously, I wasn’t going to talk to a bunch of strangers on television or in print, especially if I couldn’t even talk with my own husband about what had happened. Each time we were presented with a new offer, Ari would release the same statement: “Ava is an incredibly private person and wishes to remain that way. She is working through her experiences at home, in the arms of her loved ones. She wishes to thank all of those who supported and prayed for her.”