by Tia Louise
Clearing my throat, I do my best to swallow the pain in my chest. “Sawyer’s gone.”
It’s the most I can get out without breaking down.
Her smile fades, and she puts an arm around me. “Gone?”
“He packed a big suitcase and went to Nashville. He said he has friends there.”
She appears confused. “Is he coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
Her lips press into a frown, and she leads me to sit on the edge of her bed. “This isn’t the first time he’s shut you out.”
“It’s the last time.” I inhale a shaky breath. “He said it’s over.”
Mrs. Irene puts her arms around me. “You’re going to survive this.”
I don’t even try to stop my tears. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
Holding me, she rocks side to side. I hold her arm and listen to the sound of her humming. It’s a song I don’t know, soft and sad.
After a few minutes, I have to get up and find a box of tissues. “My face is a mess.”
She studies me, waiting as I blow my nose. “I’ve never asked you this, and I want you to think about it before you answer.”
Cleaning my eyes, I nod. “Okay.”
“You’ve known Sawyer a long time, since you were a little girl.” She waits, and I nod. Then I realize she can’t see me nodding. “That’s right.”
“Are you sure you’re in love with the man he is now, or are you in love with what you want him to be?”
It’s not a question I was expecting, and my obliterated heart flares with defensiveness. “I’m in love with Sawyer always. I’ve known him my whole life, and every year my love has grown stronger.”
She closes her eyes and lifts her chin as if she’s hearing voices from beyond. “Your aura is so blue today.” Her eyes flutter open to the ceiling, and concern lines her face. “You’re a wonderful friend, a passionate lover, but you need to take care of yourself. Come to me.”
She holds out a hand, and I go to where she’s sitting.
“You’re a jewel, Melinda Claire. Why do you feel you don’t deserve to be treated as one?”
“I do…” My voice is small, sad. “Sawyer can treat me that way.”
“But he doesn’t.” Her warm smile is not making me feel better.
“He does. He’s always been quiet.”
Releasing my hands, she lowers her gaze back to somewhere in my vicinity. “I want you to listen to me.” She looks at me like the school teacher she used to be. “Sawyer LaGrange is a man just like any other man. He’ll rise to whatever level you expect from him. You’re beautiful and strong, but you’ve given him all the power. I want you to go out there and find out who you are without him in your life. The day you put your head on your pillow knowing you don’t need him is the day he’ll come back to you.”
I don’t have an answer for this. It actually sounds like something Oprah would say. “I’m just so tired, Mrs. Irene. I don’t think I can do it.”
“You can and you will.” She’s so certain.
I wish I felt as certain as she does. “Deacon says I should go to Dallas and start my design business.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
“It wouldn’t be permanent. I’d stay with William until I had a good enough client base to bring home.” Exhaling a sad little laugh, I shake my head. “I never thought I’d want to live here. Now, with you and my family, my friends… I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
Even if Sawyer doesn’t want me, it’s my home.
“This is a good course of action. It’s exactly what you need to do.” Her chin lifts and her blue eyes glow. “Get away for a while, and when I see you again, you’ll be better.”
I stand at my window looking out at the night sky. I’m so tired. I’m sad and depressed and not sure I have what it takes to make this move.
Sawyer wanted to be an owl. I wanted to be the moon. Tonight a full moon is out, and I imagine the owls coming from their nests. Wishes don’t always come true, it seems.
Before I left the nursing home, I gave them my notice. When I got home, I talked Ma and told her my plan. She was resistant at first, but when I said Deacon had helped me make it, she eased up a bit. She liked that it was only temporary—at least that’s what I’m saying. Who knows what the future might bring?
Walking from my window, I sit at my small desk. In the drawer is an old notebook, and I manage to find a ball point pen that writes. Deacon said to write things down. Sliding my hand across the blank page, I think about what I want to say.
Dear Sawyer,
Do you remember our first time? I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I’d loved you for years, but you said I was too young. Even back then, you told me to find someone else.
I tried. Honestly, I did.
When you came back, I gave you the space you needed. I thought it was because you wanted to be sure. I made so many excuses for you.
Now you’re gone, and I feel like my life is over. I don’t even want to go on. It’s unhealthy and wrong, but it’s true.
Mrs. Irene says I have to find out who I am without you. I think she means it’s time to grow up. So maybe my life has ended… the baby girl part.
You went away to find yourself. Now I’m doing the same. Maybe we’ll find a way back to each other. Maybe we won’t.
Either way, I’ll never forget who I was with you. I was the moon, and you were my owl. I was the anchor, and you were my ship. I’d like to think I kept you safe, but maybe I held you down or kept you from flying away.
No matter what, I love you. I still dream of a life with you. It’s a life where if I’m your anchor, it’s because you want to stay near me.
You always held my hand, since that day in the field. Now it’s time I held my own hand.
I don’t expect to get over you. No one could talk me out of loving you—not even you. So while this is goodbye, I’ll always love you, Sawyer LaGrange.
Forever,
Melinda
Drops of water hit the page, bubbling in spots of ink. My tears won’t stop. Going to my bed, I lie on my side, holding my knees to my chest. I cry for myself, but I also cry for him. I know him, but I don’t understand why he won’t let us help him.
Closing my eyes, the tears wash down my cheeks, and I pray for him. I pray he’ll find the healing he needs. I pray I’ll find the strength I need. In two weeks, I’m packing my bags and going to Dallas. I’m going to dry my eyes and follow my plan. I’ll stand on my own feet, holding my own hand, and I’ll learn to live without him.
24
Sawyer
“Step one is admitting you have the feelings, opening the door.” Dr. Charlotte Curtis has a straight, dark-brown bob laced with gray around her part. “Step two is deciding how we’re going to address it.”
She doesn’t smile, which I like. She wears very small, round glasses over her dark eyes, and she studies me with pursed lips like I’m a bug under a microscope. To be honest, I find it much preferable to the therapist I was assigned when we first returned—a perky blonde bubbling with optimism.
I don’t feel optimistic.
A fountain sits on a credenza behind her desk, and it makes a rippling noise. I let the calming sound fill the silence as I think about her statements.
“I don’t want the meds.” I’ve read about the drugs commonly prescribed for PTSD, and I don’t like the side effects.
She nods, making a note on a yellow legal pad on her desk. “There’s some very strong research supporting meditation as an alternative to psychotropic drugs for PTSD.”
“Meditation… that’s just thinking.” I nod, liking this idea. “I do that a lot already.”
“Actually, meditation is not thinking. It’s the opposite.” She meets my gaze. “Meditation is clearing your mind so you achieve an emotionally calm state. Thoughts might come, but you create distance from them, like watching clouds go by.”
I sit back in my chair thinking about this
. “A calm state.”
Her smile is reassuring. “It’s not as easy as it sounds, but I have several programs I can recommend for you to try…”
This is good.
“Do you have any questions for me? Anything you want to know?”
“Yes.”
Her brow furrows, and she leans forward expectantly.
I ask the question perplexing me most. “Why now?”
“You mean why is this condition manifesting now?”
“Exactly. Why not sooner? Why not right when I got home?”
“Any number of reasons.” She shrugs, lifting her heavy black pen and turning it in her fingers. “Perhaps an event triggered it, a dramatic change in your life, a new baby—”
“It didn’t happen when Dove was born.” My brain kicks into gear, cycling through everything she’s saying and trying to find a match.
“Dove is your daughter?”
“My niece. My sister’s daughter…” I don’t want to go into all of Noel’s personal business, so I keep it brief. “Basically, I helped raise her as a baby.”
“Good to know.” She nods, making a note on her pad. “Or it could be a new relationship triggered it…”
Anger rises in my chest. “So you’re saying good things, happy events led to this? To me being a threat to my family?”
“Of course.” Dr. Curtis is undeterred by my tone. “If you think about it, when something happy occurs, you relax internally, the tight control you’ve held over your emotions is disabled. You can’t select which emotions will slip through. They all come to the surface when you cease to suppress them.”
My jaw tightens as I think about this. It makes sense, but I don’t like it. “How long?”
“How long… will it last?” I nod, and she exhales.
Her resigned expression is not encouraging.
I meet her eyes, ready for my sentence. “Forever?”
“Not necessarily.” She rises, walking to the wall of windows behind her. “You don’t want medication, which is fine. How soon can you start the meditation practice?”
“I’ll start today.”
She turns and picks up the slip of paper. “It won’t be as easy as you think.”
“You have no idea how hard I work.”
“This isn’t just work. This is the fight of your life.”
“I’m ready.” If it means I have a chance at a normal life, a chance at being the man Mindy deserves, it’s worth it.
I might not have said it, but Taron was right. Mindy is my reason to fight.
“What did you think of her?” Patton is across a small table from me in a rooftop bar. I think the name of this place is AJ’s.
He’s wearing a charcoal suit—probably Armani, and his dark hair is longer than when we were in the service, still neat, but falling over his forehead. His presence is commanding, which is why they always made him the leader of our band of Marines. We’re pretty equally matched, but Patton has those dark eyes that nail you in place.
“Dr. Curtis?” I tilt my tumbler of whiskey side to side, thinking of my afternoon session. “She’s a ball buster.”
He leans back and laughs. “I love that old broad.”
“She didn’t look that old to me.” I lift the glass taking a sip.
“She’s probably sixty.” He’s drinking vodka, and I cut my eyes at him. “Did you see her?”
“Of course.” He leans back. “It was a condition of our release. We all suffered trauma.”
“Did they tell you anything specific?” If only one of us was told the same thing as I was, I could believe I’m not alone.
Something like, if Patton can beat this, so can I, which I know is childish, but I need that sliver of hope.
“Not really. Psychological trauma takes different forms, depending on your background.” He lifts the tumbler and takes a sip, watching me over the rim. “What did they tell you?”
My grip tightens on the crystal, and I think about how much information I want to share. As always, not much. “The usual PTSD shit.”
“It must be pretty bad to haul your ass to the city.”
“The usual PTSD shit can be pretty damn disruptive.” Looking into my glass, I almost ordered tequila… until I remembered her. “It ruined everything.”
He’s quiet a minute, studying me. When I glance up, I see he’s grinning. “What’s her name?” I’m irritated he read me like a book, but he smooths my ruffled feathers. “Go on and confess. We’ve all found the one by now. Who’s your reason to fight?”
“Melinda… Mindy.” Pain blooms in my chest just saying her name, remembering her beautiful green eyes full of tears.
“Do you love her?”
I hesitate. I couldn’t say it to her before I left. Now she’s a million miles away. “Yes.”
“Then you’d better man up. You’ll lose her if you don’t get your shit together.”
“I probably already have.” Breathing through the pain, I take another drink. “That’s why I’m here, to see if I can beat this.”
“Of course, you can. You’re strong, and I’m right here with you. Like always.”
Our eyes meet, and as much as we might butt heads, I’ve always appreciated him having my back.
“Now that we’re on the same page…” He nods, and tilts his glass side to side. “Are you looking for work while you’re in town? Or are you just doing therapy?”
My brow furrows, and I think about this. “It’s possible I could be here a while. What did you have in mind?”
“Actually… I need someone right now. It’s perfect for contract work if you’re interested. The pay’s good.”
“You’ve already put me up in a penthouse.” The apartment’s so damn nice, I’m a little afraid to touch anything. “I’ll work for rent.”
“I’m paying you. I need the tax write off.” He stands, fishing in his pocket and tosses several bills on the table.
Shaking my head, I decide I’m not in the mood to fight. “What’s the work?”
“Inspecting rental properties before and after the lessees take possession. Make sure everything’s clean, nothing’s damaged or left behind, check for safety issues… Sound okay?”
It actually sounds kind of perfect. “When do I start?”
“Come to the office tomorrow and we’ll get you set up.”
He clasps my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, brother.”
Patton’s friendship is a constant, and it helps me feel a little less like I’m pushing a bolder up a hill.
Time passes slowly. Every week, I meet with Dr. Curtis to talk, which is hard for me, but she gets it. She doesn’t push, but I push. Mindy is my motivation. When I force myself to be different, to tell this doctor my feelings and answer every question she asks, it’s Mindy’s face I see. I see her crystal tears, and they ache in my chest.
I’m doing this for her.
Days I’m not meeting with the doc, I inspect Patton’s properties. It’s pretty mundane work, going to empty buildings, walking around, taking pictures. He and I meet up as much as we can, but Patton has his own family now. I’m alone most evenings.
I check in with Noel, I watch the fishing channel, and I think of Mindy.
Mindy…
I never said much, but just being with her made me happy. She’d put her hand in mine and tell me about her day. She’d laugh and push her pretty hair behind her ear, and I’d listen to the sound of her voice, the highs and the lows, the music of her soothed me.
Now it’s silence.
“Tell me the first thoughts that come to your mind.” Dr. Curtis is in a chair, and I’m sitting on the couch.
We’re experimenting with a treatment called brainspotting. In our first session, she held a pointer in different locations in the air. I followed it with my eyes and told her the place where I felt the most anxiety.
Now I’m focused on the pointer in that spot, and I’m supposed to say whatever comes into my mind. She says it promotes deep healing in the
brain. I’m skeptical, but like always, I’ll try anything if it helps me get home.
I’m wearing headphones playing instrumental music over the sounds of the sea, waves crashing. The music reminds me of the parts in movies where the hero comes home from battle and the sunrise is golden and everyone is smiling.
I stare at the pointer in the air and start to speak. “I didn’t come home a hero. We were sent home after everything went wrong.”
She doesn’t answer, and I keep going.
“I didn’t do anything I expected I would. I went to serve and protect. I went to travel and see other countries. We never made it out of Mexico, and when we got back, we left a dead girl behind.”
Shame and guilt bubble up in my chest. I don’t want to go back to this place, and I glance at Dr. Curtis’s face. She gives me a calm smile, and I take a deep breath, returning my gaze to the tip of the pointer.
The music plays and minutes pass. I listen, trying to relax my mind, trying to go back there, to the place we need to explore. Dr. Curtis says if I can do this, face these memories, it can be a powerful healing tool.
I can do this.
I follow the violins rising and falling over the call of seagulls. I listen to the waves… They remind me of being lost at sea. I think of holding Mindy’s hand. Mindy’s hand in mine, palm against palm…
“I should’ve stayed home that morning. If I hadn’t gone fishing, I would’ve been there to stop him. I could’ve kept him from going up that hill. I could’ve kept everything from falling apart…” Crushing pain fills my lungs. It’s difficult to breathe. “I failed both times. I wasn’t there when they needed me and someone died…”
I can’t go farther.
The music ends.
“You did good.” Dr. Curtis lowers the pointer. “Go home and rest. We’ll start there tomorrow.”
Heaviness follows me home. After my prescribed, nightly meditation, I go to bed with memories thick in my mind. My longing for Mindy is constant, but tonight is different. Tonight, I’m digging deep into my past, unearthing experiences I’ve always controlled, wounds I always suppressed.