by Dale Mayer
As she had explained to him, “You’re part of my past now. And I’m ready to leave all that garbage behind.”
Not nice.
To find he’d been part of the ‘garbage’ hurt. But it wasn’t the same thing as to find his love unrequited. Because he hadn’t really loved her in the first place. There was an attraction for sure and he’d cared for her a lot. More, he’d been content. Hadn’t cared to get married as he’d seen no need. That meant a further commitment that wasn’t required – wasn’t wanted, he realized now.
His fault. He hadn’t looked at his motives. Or hers. They hadn’t discussed why the marriage. They hadn’t really done anything but take the step she felt she needed to “feel secure.” That she didn’t miss out on something she thought was important until she was married.
Now he understood it. Even though it had been painful, he learned to look at relationships differently. He’d been avoiding anyone in therapy so to avoid a second scenario like his wife.
And he hadn’t come to the workshop to do anything other than take notes for his paper.
And while he hadn’t been looking, Paris had shown up.
And blown him away.
Therapy might not be done for her and she might need help again in the future, but her self-awareness was amazing. It was clear to her why she should do something and why she couldn’t do something.
He couldn’t argue with that.
She was doing the best she could.
Chapter 31
The afternoon was traumatic. Paris watched one woman break down completely and require help to leave the room. She felt close to tears many times as they dealt with the term dreams. Dreams they held and dreams they felt they could never have.
And how to modify those dreams to be something they could have.
By the time Jenna called the end of the day, there was a film of sweat over Paris’s skin and her eyes burned with unshed tears. The emotional workout had been harder than anything she’d expected to have. Just the thought of packing up her stuff and making her way to her room made her want to just roll over and die.
Weaver stepped in front of her.
Gazing up at him, she was not ready or willing to stand up. And realized he looked about the same. She held out a hand and he clasped it, helping her up. “I think the rooms are too far away,” she murmured.
He nodded. “Today they are.”
But his voice was gritty, strained.
“Hard afternoon for you too, huh?”
Wide-eyed and serious, his head drooped, and damn if there wasn’t a brightness to his eyes she’d not seen before. She squeezed his hand in commiseration and grabbed her purse. “I’m ready.”
After leading her out into the lobby, he stopped and said, “Which way?”
“Outside,” she said suddenly. “Fresh air and flowers. Sunshine and new growth.”
Gaze brightening, he nodded. Together they walked out into the sunshine, the hustle and bustle of the busy city streets. The sheer normality of their surroundings.
Not talking, they walked, automatically heading to the water and the boats they’d seen earlier. It was a ten-minute walk, but its curative effects were wonderful. She could feel the constriction around her chest easing and the bands knotting her stomach breaking up. By the time they found a bench to sit on and watch the world on the water, she could breathe normally.
“How does she do that?” she asked in a low voice. “This is the last full day and there were so many things happening, so many people breaking down. Stuff coming up for everyone. I’ve never been through anything so intense.”
“And that’s still going to continue. Tonight, overnight, and all day tomorrow. I don’t know if they are all like this but with this level of intensity, it’s no wonder her workshops get such wonderful results.”
“It’s not what I expected when I started a few days ago,” she murmured. She wasn’t even sure what had happened today. Lots of father stuff. Stuff about value. Having value. Deserving to be valued. Lots of emotional letting go of the bonds she’d carried for so long. “The stuff we do and did, the stuff we believed, a lot of it is so stupid.”
“Only now that you can look back and see what it’s like as an adult,” Weaver said. “As a child, a teen, it’s impossible. We absorb the environment around us. We learn from those abusing us. We grow based on everything – one direction or another.”
Quietly contemplative, Paris sat for a moment then said, “Do you know my father told me I was the reason my mother left? And I believed him? Didn’t think I was worthy of love. Didn’t think I could be a mother because my mother had walked out on us, so what if I did the same? Figured that if I had been a ‘good girl,’ my father would forgive me for forcing her to leave and he’d love me too.”
Weaver growled by her side. “That’s what I mean. A child just wants to be loved, and they are so open to all influences. It’s amazing that any of us can make it through childhood with our sanity intact.”
That made her smile. “Maybe that’s why so many of us are screwed up.”
“You’re not screwed up,” he said instantly. “You’re busy trying to unscrew all the twists and turns and emotional blackmail your father put you through. Not your fault.”
“No, maybe not, but I still don’t feel quite normal.”
“There is no normal for anyone. That’s a myth.” He smiled down at her. “The trick is to find a normal that suits you.”
She liked the sound of that. “You’d make a great psychologist. I’m glad you’ve gone in that direction.”
“Ha.” The sound he made had a little humor behind it, but was sadder. She turned to look at him. “I mean it. You’re a great listener and you understand how all this works. You will be great.”
He didn’t look convinced. “I don’t think I’m ready. I still have so much of my own crap to deal with. And I am affected by the growth of those around me.”
Her gaze widened. “Why are either of those impediments?”
“They just are.” He shrugged.
“No, that’s your insecurity talking. Sure, you might not be ready to do this full-time today, or tomorrow even. Maybe you need to go back to school or do a practicum.” She threw an arm out wide. “I don’t know how this works, but it seems to me you’d be a natural. I think that’s why Jenna was willing to help you with your paper. She saw the potential in you as well.”
He studied her closely, as if wondering if her words had merit. “I doubt it, but thanks. And there isn’t going to be a paper on the workshop. I couldn’t do it. I became too attached to what was happening.”
“What? But that was important to you.”
“Jenna seemed to think publications would help me, so maybe she’s willing to consider a different topic.”
“But I thought that’s why you came here this week.”
“It was, but it’s not why I stayed.” He twisted on the bench seat until he could look at her. “I stayed because of you.”
“I like the sound of that.” She smiled at him. “And I’m glad you stayed, but I wish you’d been able to do the paper too.”
“I needed something else from this week, and that was of more value.”
“Maybe, but it seems like a waste to miss out on publishing credits.”
He shrugged. “Maybe, but right now my mind is overwhelmed, and when I’m learning and growing as much as I am, it’s hard to be detached.”
“So leave it a week and write up something. It will be more personal. It will be your own story and referenced to those of us who were here – without names or personal information – but still valid.”
The rhythmic lapping of the water drew her gaze, then he said, “We’ll see. Today isn’t over yet. And could still be difficult.”
“I know. I have my session with Jenna tonight.”
“So do I.”
“What time?”
“Six-thirty.”
“Oh, I’m at seven-thirty. I’d rather be earlier,” she sa
id, staring out across the water. It was glassy and calm with nary a breeze. So different from the last time she watched the boats fight against the waves. Now in contrast, sailboats lulled in the ocean, not moving, just sitting there.
She wondered at their sluggish movements. They must have motors onboard to be able to get home in weather like this. Otherwise they were stuck.
Kinda like she’d been on the first day of the course. Weaver had been her engine. He’d gotten her moving in all kinds of directions.
“We could switch if you want. Just show up with me at my time and we’ll ask her.” There was an odd tone in his voice. She stared at him, but he was staring moodily across the water at the same floating sailboat she had been watching earlier.
“Sure, that sounds good.” And it did. She wanted it over with so she could go to her room and know this tough day was over. Being peeled from the inside out was brutal.
It hurt to have an open, constantly oozing type of wound. Then you actually gave permission for someone like Jenna to go in there and scrape out a little more. Talk about pain.
“So, food first then?” she asked, wondering if she was even hungry. If she really wanted to be bothered. She was just so tired. And with more to come, she knew the tears would flow. Her stomach always ached then.
“Afterward,” he said. “That afternoon ran really late today. It’s already six o’clock. We’ve been sitting here like zombies for forty minutes already.”
“Zombies – good term.” And it made sense to eat afterward. She was a little worried about him though. There was something else bothering him and he seemed really depressed. She reached out and held his hand. “Thanks for being there today.”
It crossed her mind to bring up Delaney, but at the same time she didn’t. Why ruin the moment? And they were both so tired that if things got out of hand, they’d say things they would both regret. Not a good scenario. Get through tonight. Then tomorrow was the project. A project they hadn’t done. She hadn’t even done today’s homework. She was pretty sure Weaver was in the same boat. They’d been a little too preoccupied last night to even consider homework. Now the project faced them. And she had no idea what to do about that. She kept hoping for a miracle. Some insight that would give them a quick and easy answer.
The sailboat was still wallowing on the horizon. Like she’d been doing. And like her, until that wind came along, it wasn’t going anywhere.
She sighed.
Turning her into him for a hug, he asked, “You okay?”
She nodded. “I will be. I just want tonight over with.”
“Me too. Let’s head back. I could use another coffee.”
She laughed. “We drink too much of that stuff.”
“True, but it keeps me going. Especially now.”
Slowly, as neither had the energy to move quickly, they made their way back to the hotel. At the restaurant, she took a look at the food behind the counter and realized she’d had enough muffins for the day. Likely for the week. They took their coffees and meandered through the hotel until they came to the small room Jenna had been using for her one-on-one sessions.
They were early. The room was empty.
“I’m so tired I just want to sleep,” she said, collapsing into a chair.
“Understandable.” There was a pause then he said, “Given last night and everything else going on around here, it’s amazing you are still functioning.”
“True enough,” she said, wondering about the sensibility of her upcoming session. “I wonder if I should try to cancel Jenna’s session.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m so tired. Because my defenses are down. Because she’s likely to see way more than I want her to see.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
A laugh burbled out. “Maybe, but I still have to be strong enough to deal with the aftermath.”
“True.” He gave a sad sigh. “Oh so true. And tonight being the last night, it’s likely to be harder than ever.”
“Exactly.”
There was a commotion at the door. She turned, noticing that Weaver stared straight ahead, a grim look on his face.
And watched Jenna walk in.
With Constable Delaney.
She gasped in shock and turned to face Weaver, pleading for help. But he closed his eyes and slumped into his chair.
Shit.
He already knew.
She’d been ambushed.
Betrayed.
*
He wasn’t ready for this. Finally, he had found something precious and he was going to lose it. Why him? Why couldn’t they have done this without him? He’d only agreed to bring her here. If she wanted to walk, they had to let her walk. Was she ready? He doubted it. But he was going to be there for her regardless. If she’d let him.
He figured she’d turn, slap him, and walk away.
And he’d lose her.
Why would she trust him after this?
He stood up and faced the other two. He nodded a greeting.
“She gets to leave if she wants to,” he said in a hard voice. Yet contradicting his own words, he held Paris’s hand in a tight grip. She tried to tug her hand free. He wouldn’t let her. Her touch was essential. He needed the contact, even if she was unwilling. He heard her gasp and felt her shock but didn’t dare look at her. Desperately, he willed her to have the strength to do this. And yet if she couldn’t, he wanted her to have the opportunity to walk out.
Jenna walked forward, a lovely smile on her beautiful face. “Hi, Paris.”
Paris shook her head and shuffled backward a half step. Weaver felt the movement.
He looked down at her, seeing the shakes already racking her body, and said, “This has to be her choice.”
Chapter 32
Jenna said in a quiet voice, “Sometimes there is more than one person who needs healing in a certain situation.”
Paris froze. Weaver’s hand gripped hers securely. She didn’t think she could run if she tried. Had he set her up? He’d had some part in it. Is that why he’d looked so defeated? So tired?
She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to face him. Hell, she didn’t want to face any of them.
But as Jenna talked, Paris realized that although the panic was at her throat and her breath refused to cooperate, her hand was gripping Weaver’s as hard as his was gripping hers. She was holding on to him. Her rock.
But what if he had set her up?
It should matter.
Then Jenna’s words hit home. Slowly, she raised her head to stare at her. She knew she looked confused and terrified. There was no way she didn’t, but Jenna, outside of the very gentleness in her voice, didn’t seem to care.
“And sometimes, crossing that barrier can be the hardest thing we’ve ever done,” Jenna said. “For both parties.”
Paris shook her head. What was she talking about? There weren’t two parties involved. There was just her…
She dared not look at the constable.
“Constable Delaney needs to talk to you. You need to talk to him. I’m here to facilitate that conversation if both parties are willing to let it happen. I’m not here to force it. This has to be your choice.”
Tears welled up in Paris’s eyes. How was any of this a choice?
“Just remember,” Jenna said. “You are loved, and people want to see you through this. No matter how hard it can be.”
“Hard,” Paris cried. “Do you know how hard this is?” She still refused to look at the constable.
“No, I don’t. And I can’t until you tell me.” Jenna was so comfortable, so calm, coming from such a heart position, it was damn hard to get mad at her for being the guardian angel of their souls whether Paris liked it or not.
“I’m sorry.” That muttered, almost gruff voice came from the doorway, slightly behind Jenna. A voice from her past.
Sorry? She was so confused. Why was he sorry? Why was he even here? He was stalking
her. Surely he should be in trouble for that. But no, the cops got away with murder. At that thought, her shoulders slumped and she collapsed to the chair, her hand still clutching Weaver’s. No, she’d been the one to get away with murder.
The voice continued. “Years ago when I met you, I’d just joined the team and was actually brand new to your case. The rest of the team would have been better off talking to you. I know that now. Back then, I didn’t. I wasn’t used to talking to traumatized teens. Hadn’t expected to see what I saw.”
Her shoulders and chest seemed to sink in on themselves and her eyes closed tightly as memories pulled her back in time. A time when life hadn’t held rainbows or unicorns. There’d only been pain and darkness.
“I said some things I shouldn’t have.”
He stopped for a moment, and then said. “In another circumstance the words might have been appropriate, but I read you wrong. I read the situation wrong.” He took a deep breath and said, “For that, I’m sorry.”
“What did you say?” Weaver asked in a hard voice.
The constable hesitated, then said, “I warned her not to do it again. That she’d liked it too much and it would become something she craved.”
“It?”
“It’s not my tale to tell,” Delaney said. “I’d hoped to see that she’d become a wonderful adult and human being, that she’d moved past my words without a problem. But when I realized that she wouldn’t see me, or acknowledge me, and worse, she ran from me – I knew my own fears had been correct.”
For the first time, Paris turned to face him. The man who’d given her nightmares. The man who’d made her afraid of the one thing she’d never been afraid of before – herself.
“Paris?” Weaver asked in a hard voice. There was no arguing with that tone. He wanted to know what was going on, and he wanted to know now.
“I killed my father,” she said.
She waited a beat, but there was only silence from Weaver. Silence from the other two. In a dull voice, she continued, “He beat me every day of my life. Sometimes for fun, sometimes because he was bored. Sometimes because he loved to hear me scream. And often to just punish my brother.” She heard Weaver’s subdued groan, but she was staring at the squiggly random pattern on the floor as her whole life had been a seemingly random pattern.