Kathy

by T. L. Haddix

  Chapter Six

  The following Monday, Charles had some time on his hands after a cancellation in court. Since curiosity and concern were eating him alive in turns, and since he was only two blocks away from the department store where Eliza worked, he decided to walk over and check on things. He found Eliza in the women’s department.

  She smiled when she saw him. “Charles, hello! What brings you in today?”

  “I was passing by and thought of you,” he said as he accepted her hand for a warm squeeze. “I wanted to see how things are, how Kathy’s doing.”

  Eliza sighed, folding her hands on the metal bar that formed the round clothing rack whose contents she’d been rearranging. “She’s holding her own, I suppose. She’s been at the clinic since Friday. I can’t thank you enough for that referral. Dr. Milton really seems to care, and she’s very sharp. I think she might be able to help Kathy.”

  Charles shook his head and played with one of the small purses on top of the rack. “I was glad to help, to be able to give the recommendation. Like I told you when I called, she did wonders for my sister, and she’s not your typical headshrinker.”

  Eliza patted his hand again. “I’m glad. Kathy wasn’t thrilled to have to stay, but Dr. Milton put her at ease as well as anyone could. The doctor wants me to come in once a week or so and see someone too. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “She tends to believe that if the whole family is treated, the patient sees better results. I saw one of her colleagues a time or two myself after Daphne started going,” he admitted softly. “I went at first for my sister, but I did learn a lot.”

  “Then I suppose I can’t argue, can I?” Eliza winked at him, though her expression remained solemn. “I think we have a long, hard road ahead of us, one that’s different from any journey we’ve made so far. With any luck, she’ll come home tomorrow.”

  Charles smiled. “That’s when the real work will begin. There’s a lot more to therapy than most people think. It’s ridiculously simple and yet complex at the same time.” He looked around and sighed. “I suppose I’d best let you get back to work. I just wanted to check in.”

  To his surprise, Eliza hugged him. “Stop by any time. Thank you again for everything you’ve done.”

  “You’re very welcome. I’m happy to have been able to do it. I know what Kathy went through was tragic, but I hate to see her give up on living. Not if there’s any way she can be helped.”

  As he walked back to his office, he pondered what he’d told Eliza. He did hate to see Kathy waste away with grief. What he was having a hard time figuring out was why exactly helping her felt like such a personal mission. Was it because he’d lost his father to suicide? Was it simply that she was young and his sympathy had been struck?

  He didn’t think so. Charles would have helped the family however he could regardless of what his motivations were. But the fact was he was fascinated by Kathy, had been since the first time he’d met her a few months back. They’d not exchanged more than a handful of words in all that time and had in fact talked more during the hour or so last week than the total sum of three or four conversations combined over dinners.

  The time didn’t matter. He was smitten, intrigued. He’d taken one look at Kathy, with her solemn quietness, her dark-fire hair that only shone red in the sunlight, her brilliant blue eyes, and he’d been trapped. She was a mystery. He could sense the depth in her, the buried curiosity fighting to escape the protective shield she’d encased herself in. He wanted to cast that shield aside with an almost desperate need.

  He’d never have acted on his desires while Kathy was in such a terrible state, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t have a quiet hope deep inside that someday she’d heal enough to get rid of the shadows haunting her. If that happened, maybe he’d get a chance to get to know the real Kathy Browning and see if he’d been right about who he thought she was.

  Chapter Seven

  Therapy, Kathy found, was a lot like having a tooth pulled. It hurt, it was violent, the reason it was necessary was agonizing to deal with, and there was always relief when it was over.

  In other words, she hated it.

  “I want to see you twice a week, every week. No exceptions. If you’re not on the metaphorical couch, one of us had better be in the hospital.” Dr. Milton was very matter-of-fact, very firm in her directions. They were in the hospital room just before discharge, Eliza waiting in the hall to take Kathy home. “I’ll do my job, and you will do yours. It’s going to take a lot of work, a lot of painful restructuring, but we will get you through this.”

  “So you think you can just make all the pain go away?” Kathy said. “Say a few words over me, dope me up on pills, and I’ll be all shiny and new again?”

  “You’ll only ever be shiny and new again if you choose that path,” Dr. Milton said in the blunt, soft tone Kathy’d come to think of as her “harsh truth” voice. “I think you’ll more likely be scarred and sad to some degree for the rest of your life, and I can’t imagine that you wouldn’t be given what happened. That’s perfectly normal. Forgetting what you’ve been through would mean throwing away a good chunk of yourself, and it wouldn’t be psychologically healthy. No, my goal with therapy and medication is to get you to a point where you can coexist with the memories. They won’t go away, but they won’t have to define you anymore unless you let them. Then it will be up to you to decide whether you’re defined by those memories and the terrible things that happened or if they’re just a part—a big part perhaps—of who Kathy Browning is.”

  “They’re all I am, maybe all I ever was from the day I was born,” Kathy muttered through the tears that seemed all-too-eager to pop up without warning these days. “How can I even dream of being someone else? Something else? I as much as signed my children’s death warrants. I condemned a decent man to death, hung this burden of shame over my family’s head. Shouldn’t I have to pay for that?”

  Dr. Milton handed her a tissue. “That’s a discussion that belongs between you and God for the most part. I don’t think you carry as much weight as you think you do, but you aren’t ready to hear that you’re not the person most responsible for what happened. I hope someday you will be. That’s all I want the chance to do—get you to the point where you can make the decision rationally. Right now, you’re hurting too much to see the truth for yourself.”

  Exhausted, Kathy slumped back in the chair beside the bed. “I’ll do whatever I can to make it stop hurting so much. This is the path least likely to break my family’s heart. So I guess I’m in.”

  Two weeks after seeing Dr. Milton for the first time, she was still adjusting to the new reality treatment had thrust upon her. After that initial five-night stay in the hospital, she’d been discharged with instructions to take new medications, orders to destroy her old medications, and a staggering treatment regimen she was expected to follow to the letter. That included eating three meals every day at precise times, walking outside for at least twenty minutes unless there was an absolute deluge, and keeping a journal of her feelings and moods and thoughts.

  For someone who’d avoided thinking deeply about any feelings other than anger or despair for several years, the task was daunting.

  “I don’t like this medicine you have me on,” she told Dr. Milton in therapy one morning. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

  A concerned frown creased the doctor’s face. “How do you mean?”

  Kathy crossed her legs, her non-grounded foot tapping an anxious rhythm in the air. She stared out the window at the garden beyond and searched for words. “I feel like I’m on a big glass platform that’s miles and miles thick. It goes on forever into space, and there’s nothing there for me to grab on to so I don’t just float away. All the feelings I used to have—the anger and the depression, I guess—they’re all trapped below the glass. I can’t get down to them where I’m safe no matter how hard I try. I’m no
t happy, but I feel disconnected from myself, as though the despair I was existing in is somehow distant now. I don’t like that.”

  Dr. Milton set her notepad aside and leaned forward. “You’ve gotten used to being depressed. It’s as much a chemical imbalance in your brain as it is an emotional condition. So it’s perfectly normal for you to miss that familiarity. That’s a positive sign, believe it or not, as it means the medicine is working on the chemical side of things. That makes it much easier for us to do our jobs.”

  “I’ll have to take your word on that.” Kathy thought that sounded like a lot of mumbo jumbo, but somewhere deep inside, a tiny voice whispered that maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was legitimate.

  Dr. Milton sat back. “How are you sleeping?”

  Kathy shrugged. “Better, I guess. I’m getting up easier in the mornings, and I’m not tossing and turning all night. I still feel exhausted though, like I could sleep forever. And no, that isn’t a veiled threat to kill myself. I literally feel like I could sleep from now until the end of time and not get enough rest.”

  “But you’re resisting the naps?” Dr. Milton asked casually.

  “Mostly. I only took two this week.”

  A pleased smile spread across the older woman’s face. “That’s excellent progress. How have you been passing the time?”

  “Cleaning, cooking, doing the laundry. I worked out in the yard a little, just dug around in the dirt. Pulled some weeds from around Mama’s garden. Nothing special. And I’ve read every magazine we have in the house twice.”

  “What about books?”

  Kathy felt her cheeks heat. “I can’t really sit still long enough to read a whole book.”

  Dr. Milton tapped her pen against her cheek. “Is that new? Or have you always had that problem?”

  Of all the things to be embarrassed about… “It’s worse now, but I’ve never been much for books and reading. I always found the books we had to read in school boring. My sister, Sarah, on the other hand, well… she’s a librarian when she’s not off work having babies. And her husband’s a writer.” Kathy heard a hint of bitterness in her voice.

  “Do you resent her for having babies?”

  Kathy’s throat tightened, and she clasped her hands in her lap more firmly. “I try not to. I love Sarah, and she’s really been there for me since the accident.” She preferred that term to describe the murders. “Even though she’s in Kentucky, she’s not forgotten about me. We write each other pretty often, and she and Owen come down regularly enough.”

  Dr. Milton persisted softly. “But?”

  “But she has something I’ll never have again, and that hurts. Not that she has it but that I don’t.” Kathy’s breath shuddered out of her body in choppy gusts. “God forgive me, I’m not sure I ever wanted it. I got pregnant by accident, and I didn’t really have a say in the whole thing.”

  “And does that make you feel guilty?”

  “Yes!” she shouted. “Yes, it makes me feel guilty! How in the hell could it not? Do you know how many times I wished I’d never had Moira? Or the baby? I didn’t plan on getting pregnant with him either. Surely not by a man who wasn’t my husband. But I did, and I was stuck, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Anything I would have done about it. And I loved my children, but God Almighty, I hated being tied down to them, to the damned men who created them.” Sobs rose up and choked off her words.

  Dr. Milton remained calm and quiet, letting the storm pass. She handed Kathy the box of tissues and waited.

  “How long have you needed to let that out?” she asked a few minutes later.

  Kathy gave a sad laugh. “Forever. You aren’t going to judge me, say I’m a slut, an ugly fallen woman who’s stone-cold inside?” she asked with a bitterness that was directed more at herself than anyone. She was half-afraid to look at Dr. Milton.

  “I’m not here to pass judgment on you. I’m here to provide you with an unbiased sounding board. To provide guidance where it’s needed and offer you the chance to talk about anything and everything, no matter how ‘ugly’ you think it makes you. For the record, it doesn’t. Admitting that just means you’re finally being honest with yourself, which also makes this process easier.”

  “Easier… that’s not a word I’d use to describe this.” Kathy gestured around the room. “So what now?”

  Dr. Milton glanced discreetly at her watch. “Do you want to continue talking, or do you want to end the session here?”

  Since she felt about as energetic as a wrung-out dishcloth, the decision was easy. “I’d like to go home. I’m afraid I might break your rules and take a nap when I get there though.”

  The doctor smiled. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. You know we discussed that there’d be times you’d need more rest than others, and that’s perfectly normal and acceptable.”

  After confirming the time for their next appointment, Dr. Milton walked Kathy to the back door that led into a small garden off a side street, a measure of privacy she offered her clients who might find leaving by the front after a session too stressful.

  “I’d like to suggest that you pick up a book or two and try to read them. Not the dry stuff they force on us in school,” Dr. Milton said with a wink, “but something fun and light and juicy. Or dark and mysterious. Science fiction or fantasy or even a romance.”

  Kathy wasn’t too keen on the idea, but she nodded anyhow. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You might surprise yourself. I’ll see you soon.”

  As she headed for the bus stop, Kathy tried not to think of anything, particularly what she had said in the therapy session. Instead, she pondered Dr. Milton’s suggestion about the books. “Maybe I’ll write Sarah, see what she thinks.”

  She considered asking her mother, but Eliza’s taste in reading was too similar to that of Kathy’s high school English teachers’. Sarah was definitely the better choice. Yes, as soon as she’d rested, she’d sit down and pen a letter. As Kathy got on the bus and paid her fare, she imagined what her sister’s response might be, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled. Maybe it was a rueful smile, and maybe there was a good deal of mocking humor directed at herself behind it, but Kathy figured it was a place to start.

  Chapter Eight

  Sarah Campbell sank onto the glider on the front porch with a tired sigh. Even though she was mostly resting these days, both on doctor’s orders and under the strict supervision of her overly concerned husband, being eight months pregnant with twins was exhausting. As much as she’d have liked to take a walk across the kitchen garden to the farmhouse beyond, where the noise of hammers and saws sounded, she knew she’d get a stern look from Owen. He was already worried enough about her even though she’d had a textbook pregnancy. So she’d stay put.

  Besides, he’d be back soon. He’d taken their two-year-old son, John, with him so she could take a short nap, and there were too many dangers for Mr. Curiosity in the house they were remodeling for Owen to keep him there long.

  Sure enough, no more than five minutes later, the two of them emerged from the farmhouse’s back door and headed toward her.

  John dashed along as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him, holding up his hand. “Mama! Look!” He handed her a small block of wood that had marks all over it from having been repeatedly banged with a hammer. “I made it.”

  “Oh, that’s beautiful, sweetheart. What is it?”

  He giggled at her. “A wall. Bye-bye.” And as quickly as he’d run up to her, he went on into the house.

  Owen grinned as he came up on the porch. “Your son is quite the carpenter, Mrs. Campbell. You should have seen him banging around on that block.” He swooped down for a kiss, letting his hand rest on her belly. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. You’ll note that I managed to curb my curiosity and stay put.” She touched his cheek. “How are things coming?�
��

  “Very well. They’ll be finishing tomorrow, then it’s just clean up and moving in. Not a minute to spare either, I’m guessing.” His eyes softened as one of the babies kicked against his hand. With a sigh, he stood to glance inside and check on John. “Did they let you sleep?”

  “They did—well enough anyhow.”

  He pulled an envelope from his back pocket and handed it to her. “We went down to the post office while you were sleeping. This came.”

  Sarah immediately recognized the handwriting. “Kathy. Oh, I hope it’s good news.” She slid her finger under the corner of the flap and started tearing.

  “John David, don’t you dare!” Owen grimaced and hurried inside. His voice echoed back out to Sarah, his tone a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Boy, you are just determined to get into everything, aren’t you?”

  Chuckling, Sarah nodded as John squealed in protest. “Oh, he absolutely is, Daddy, and don’t you forget it,” she murmured as she unfolded her sister’s letter.

  It was only the third missive she’d received from Kathy in the last month or so, and it was somewhat thicker than the last two. Sarah hoped that was a good sign. She’d been scared to death for Kathy ever since learning about her attempted suicide. If she hadn’t been so hugely pregnant, she’d have gone to Georgia to be with her.

  Dear Sarah,

  Happy Independence Day! By my reckoning, it’ll be the Fourth or so before you get this. I hope you and Owen have a good holiday. Are Jack and Gilly planning to come up and watch fireworks with you? I hear she’s doing better with the morning sickness now.

  Mama and I might go down and watch the parade the city puts on. I believe Nancy’s said something about a barbeque at their house, which I won’t attend. I’m not quite up to that sort of socializing, and Nancy’s still angry at me for the day on the beach. But I might not mind watching the show from one of the windows at the department store. Mama can get us into one of the rooms near Roy’s office, overlooking the street, so it will be private.