by Britney King
Both men stared at her.
“I’m going to do this cold turkey.”
Dr. Martin stared down at the floor before meeting her eye again. “That really isn’t advisable. Detoxing off of opiates is no walk in the park.”
“Jessica,” Myles pleaded his voice low.
“Look, I said I’m going cold turkey, and I’ve made my mind up! Maybe you don’t agree… but here’s the thing, Dr. Martin, I want to know what it feels like. I want to understand the feelings… I’ve avoided feeling for a long time now, maybe my whole life. I want to feel all of them, particularly the pain, and I want to know what it feels like to know the range of them. I want to understand that it’s not that bad—that I can handle it. Because the thing is... if I can’t… if I can’t learn to deal… then this was all for nothing, and I’ll just end up using again.”
Dr. Martin adjusted his glasses. He removed them and wiped them down and put them back on his face. “All right, then I guess this is settled.” He stood and eyed the two of them, his expression stern. “But you have my number if you change your mind. Please call me, anytime.”
Myles showed the doctor out and Jess headed straight for bed. He was angry with her, she knew.
She put on one of Spencer’s old t-shirts and crawled into the big oversized bed. Feeling too bad to sleep, she picked up the notebook and read for a bit, then took a break to hide underneath the covers, curl up in a ball, gripping her head, and waiting out the pain.
When she found it was bearable again, she pulled the covers back and read a little more. Sometime later, Myles came in and climbed in bed. “Do you want some company?” he whispered. Jess nodded and felt him scoot in behind her, gently wrapping his arms around her.
“I’m really, really proud of you,” he assured her quietly. And somewhere between the warmth of his arms, the pain, and the words she’d just read, she found the strength that kept her from crawling out of that bed and out of her own skin. As the hours went by, it was taking everything she had not to beg Myles to pick up the phone and call that doctor back and tell him to fix the problem—all of the problems—which she’d created.
Hi,
Tonight has not been a good night. I can’t sleep so I thought I would write to you instead. I guess, in a way, it helps me not feel so alone. Like maybe, you’re out there somewhere thinking of me, too.
Anyway, about my night… to start from the beginning, most nights ever since the accident, Kit Cat cries for Mom at bedtime. She’s only seven so I get it. It’s tough for a seven-year-old when your mom’s not around and your dad hardly ever comes home from work. So, at bedtime, I go in and I rub her back to help her fall asleep, because she only wants Mom, and if she can’t have Mom (because she’s in the hospital), then I’m the next best thing. Some nights though, I’m so tired that I end up falling asleep too, and then I don’t sleep well because I wind up all scrunched up in Cat’s little girly bed.
Tonight, Kit Cat (I have to stop calling her this ASAP, I’m too old for it now, I know, but she likes it so I try to make her happy anyhow)—tonight she woke up screaming and crying that her legs were hurting. So, I tried to calm her down and I rubbed her back but nothing was helping and she just kept crying. First, I went to find Serena (she’s our Nanny even though I’m too old for a Nanny too, but I guess my mom thinks otherwise), but Serena doesn’t like to be woken up she says, so she just yells at me to go back to bed and says that Catherine will be fine, even though she hasn’t been the one listening to her cry for the past twenty minutes, and even though I know that she won’t be fine. What she needs right now is Mom. But Mom isn’t here. Obviously.
So, I go in search of the next best thing I can find that isn’t Mom and clearly isn’t Serena—someone, anyone to make the crying stop, but when I open the door to my parents’ bedroom to ask my dad to come and help Cat, I find him standing naked in front of his computer.
And trust me... you DO NOT want to know what he was doing or what I saw on the screen.
Why anyone would want to look at that, I have no idea.
Grown up’s are so strange.
I think I should tell my mom…
JSC
Hi,
Thankfully, today wasn’t so bad. We went to see my mom in the hospital. Mom’s friend, Addison and her husband, William picked us up and took us there even though Dad said we couldn’t go.
I like them—Addison and William, that is. They seem so normal, unlike my family with their weird late night habits and all. Sometimes, I dream about what it would be like to be their kid. But I know that would make my mom sad so I usually catch myself. No use wanting what you can’t have, as my dad likes to say.
Speaking of my dad, I wanted to tell my mom about him and that man on the computer screen but her friends were there—and I didn’t think it was appropriate to say in front of them, so I went for Plan B and gave her the note I’d written it in—just in case I chickened out.
Which I totally did.
JSC
Hi,
I’ve learned a lot since I last wrote to you…
So, I decided to tell my friend Sophie (you remember I wrote about her before, she’s the one whose parents are divorced) about my dad and what I saw him doing. Since my mom never said anything, she’s in a lot of pain with the surgery she had and all, I probably shouldn’t have made it worse I realized. But she never mentioned it. It was probably embarrassing for her, too.
I was really worried because I was afraid that my dad would say something weird—that he might try to talk to me about it. But he never did. Grown-ups are so good at pretending things never happened, even though we all know that they did. I hope I’m not like that when I grow up.
Anyway, sorry I keep getting off track, there’s a lot going on these days… but back to Sophie. So, yeah, I told Sophie what happened. And you know what Sophie said? She said my dad is probably gay. Sophie knows about a lot of things, which surprises me. Sometimes I have to use Google just to bring myself up to speed, which I like because I’ve never met anyone smarter than Sophie. Once I asked her where she got her information from because I thought maybe it might be Google, too. And sometimes even Google is wrong. She says she’s an old soul mostly because her parents are open and they taught her not to judge others. But also, because she’s lived other lives and has experienced many things. I think this is why I like her so much. Being with Sophie is never boring.
But the things is, I knew what gay meant and there is no way that my dad could be gay—so I told her that she was crazy (which doesn’t mean not smart, it just means wrong) and now she won’t talk to me.
Then, because I wanted to prove her wrong, I went on my dad’s computer and I looked at his search history just so I could tell her that what I saw with the men was a mistake. But I actually found out that Sophie isn’t crazy. I also found out that Dad spends a lot of money on what Google informed me was internet porn, which happens to be so gross that I couldn’t even look at it.
Dad always says to Mom that if you don’t want the worms, you shouldn’t have opened the can and he was right.
This, I’m sure mom would want to know.
But now, not only is Sophie NOT crazy, but she’s not talking to me either.
And I have way more problems than I had before I opened my big mouth.
JSC
Jess struggled, fading in and out. She was awake, but it was so dark that she had no idea what time it was, how long she’d been there, or even what day it was. She had no perception of time at all. She merely tossed and turned while her head pounded and her body ached. She slept restlessly, if you could call what she was doing sleep at all, and this time, she awoke tangled in soaked wet sheets, the sweat dripping off her.
The pain was too much to bear, but all Jess could focus on were the words she’d read screaming inside her head. They played over and over, taunting her, reminding her of all that she’d missed and the myriad of ways in which she’d gone wrong. Hoping for relief, she reached for M
yles only to find his side of the bed empty. And in that moment, realized that she was truly all alone. She wanted to get up, to run, and to scream, to tell them it was all a trap—that she wanted out of this. That she would do anything to make it stop. But there was no one there to listen. Just her and pain and the prison of her own mind, which held her captive. She was stuck there with only the bitter taste of regret to keep her company.
Chapter Eighteen
Jess spent the first five days at the beach cottage in complete and utter hell. In the end, cold turkey was modified just a bit when she finally agreed to let Myles give her Zofran for the vomiting, Imodium for the diarrhea, and Tylenol for the aches.
When Jess wasn’t vomiting or sitting on the toilet, or falling in and out of restless—not quite sleep, she let Myles immerse her in the jetted Jacuzzi tub to ease the pain of it all and take her mind off things. There were so many times during those five days she wanted to give up, to throw in the towel. There were even a few times she welcomed death, anything to make her feel relief from the misery that engulfed her. Anything to make her feel better. But she hung on, knowing there was only one way to get back home where she was desperately needed.
During the worst of it, she clearly remembered Myles telling her repeatedly that she was going to be fine, she would get through this, and that the only way out—was through. There were times where the process reminded her of being in labor, only this time, with no epidural and no baby at the end.
In any case, Myles was an excellent caretaker. He made sure the doctor was there every day, and he had done a ton of research on the different vitamins she should take to help her body through the process, and had even come up with his own concoction. He spoon-fed, or more honestly, force fed her Jell-O and saw to it that the saline solution the doctor was giving her via IV was changed out at the appropriate times. He gave her reports of the children’s day and conversed with Addison and her mother daily. Jess found it both easy and hard to be so dependent on someone. It made her uneasy. But it also solidified their friendship in many ways. When one could see you at your worst and still stick around, well, there was something to be said for that.
Thankfully, by day six, she was feeling a little better. The nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea had subsided, and the muscle aches were less achy and the feeling that bugs were crawling all over her entire body had finally petered out. She still felt bad, but at least it was now less bad than before. The detoxification process was an awakening of sorts, she realized. She found that everything was more intense, including her anxiety. She spoke with the children for the first time on day six and assured them, especially her son, that she was getting better and that she would be home soon. But she didn’t address the journal. She decided she would save that for a time when they could discuss it in person, and Jess was well aware that consulting a child psychiatrist would be in everyone’s best interest.
Jess seemed down after speaking with the children so Myles suggested that she get up and go sit on the porch in the sunlight-- that it would do her some good. Jess agreed but lasted all of five minutes before the bright light was just too much.
Upon coming back inside, Jess noticed Myles had moved her set up, everything she’d had at her bedside, from the bedroom to the living room where he’d opened all of the windows. She glared at him disapprovingly. “I just want to go back to bed.”
He shook his head and pointed toward the couch. “The bedroom is for sleeping only from now on. It’s time to get up. I know you don’t feel good, but you can’t hide out in bed all day.”
Jess plopped down on the sofa and curled into a ball. “I’m not hiding.”
Myles retreated to the kitchen and began banging around. “So, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you... back in Austin, when I got bored at night in my room, I always ended up reading some of your writing. It helped me sleep and passed the time when I couldn’t,” he called out, his tone a little too chipper, especially for Myles.
Jess pinched the bridge of her nose. Good God.
He leaned over the counter and peeked around into the living room. “It’s really good. That’s why I put that stipulation in the contract about you writing in order to keep me hanging around.”
“My writing was supposed to be private,” she fumed.
He appeared around the corner holding a kettle in one hand. “Tea?”
Jess frowned. “So you aren’t even going to apologize for invading my privacy?”
“No,” he said and walked back into the kitchen where there was only more shuffling and banging. When it stopped, he lowered his tone. “Anyway, I put your laptop there beside the couch. And a pen and paper, in case you prefer that.”
“Wonderful.”
Myles reappeared then with two mugs of tea, one in each hand. He placed one in front of Jess, sat down on the loveseat opposite her, and propped his feet up. “It appears your son has the same talent that you do.”
Jess sat straight up and glared at him, all the blood suddenly rushing to her head. “Oh, my God! You read that, too? What the hell?”
He waved her off, though he could clearly see how angry she was by the color in her cheeks. It had been too long since her face had any color in it. “It’s no big deal, really. You’re both really very talented. It’s not like it was a chore or anything.”
“I don’t even know what to say to that,” Jess said before she laid her head against the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling.
“I think you should finish the book. And wow. I had no idea… about your friends, I mean... I’m rarely shocked and well, you’re good. Very good.” He chuckled before continuing. “And I sort of need to know what happens next.”
Jess didn’t speak for a long time. It was easier to pretend she hadn’t heard him.
Finally, Myles stood. “Plus, if you must know… it was what I read that kept me around in the beginning. I fell in love with you through your words first. I’d read something and then the next morning, I’d come around the bend and up toward the main house, and there you’d be. It was eerie, like somehow I already knew you. Then, later, when I realized you were an addict, it didn’t matter so much because I knew deep down who the person inside really was. What she was capable of. And I can’t wait to see her again. That’s why I want you to write and that is why I put it in the contract. So that you can see yourself as I see you.”
Jess swallowed. “You’re mistaken. You don’t actually love me.”
Myles cocked his head to the side, feigning ignorance. “Oh?”
“You love the person I once might’ve been. I think my son nailed me for who I am.”
Myles walked to the window and stared out. He remained quiet for a while until the right words came to mind. “We see what we want to see, Jessica.”
Two days later, Jess had an idea. Her son had communicated with her through his writing and she decided that maybe it was time that she returned the gesture. First, she set up an email account in Jonathan’s name. Second, she called Dean with the login and password information and instructed him to give it to him when he arrived home from school.
Then she wrote.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Let’s start from the beginning…
Dear Jonathan,
I’m not sure that writing you is the best course of action to take, given the importance and the gravity of the situation. But then again, I considered that you’re twelve now and maybe twelve-year-old boys don’t want to discuss these things face to face with their mother, and until you give me the go ahead, I will write to you about them instead. That said, I want you to know that from this day forward, I am here for anything and everything you want to talk about. On occasion, I may be distracted, but if you tell me ‘hey, mom, this is important,’ I promise you I will drop everything just to listen to what you’re saying.
I want to apologize for everything that I have put you through. I know you have h
ad to be a very tough, grown-up child for far longer than was fair. You have taken on so much responsibility, Jonathan, and I realize I am at fault for that. I have failed you in so many ways, but if you hear anything I say, I want you to hear this: I love you and even though I have done a really poor job of showing it recently, this has nothing to do with you or who you are. I am so proud of you. You have stepped up and cared for your sister and yourself in ways that you shouldn’t have had to do. And for this, I am so very sorry. I promise to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I don’t mean that in all of the ways you probably think—being that you’re a twelve-year-old. There will still be times when you hate me because I am a mother and it is a part of my job to see that you are cared for and safe—even if we don’t agree that those things have the same meaning. But at least, you will hate me for a different reason than you hate me for now.
And I promise to do my very best to keep in mind that you are smart, and talented, and independent, and wise beyond your years.
Lastly, when can I meet this Sophie? She sounds like such a lovely girl. And please, Jonathan, tell her that she is not crazy. This is a conversation for another time but never again tell a woman she is crazy. It never ends well. :)
Yes, your father is gay. And he is figuring out his place in the world now that he is finally free to be who he really is. And even though this means that the two of us will no longer be married, I still love him very much, and we are still your parents, together or apart. He loves you very much. I hope you know this. The thing is, son, sometimes in being who we really are, we end up letting others down. So, while I know you are let down and probably confused about this, you must see the good in your father and know this isn’t a choice he made lightly, if it were one he made at all. You see, either we are truly our authentic selves or we end up hiding and cover it up with things to push the truth down. And sometimes, as in my case, those things aren’t good and sometimes, as in your Dad’s case, they are actually fine, but it’s the lies that make them bad, not the situation itself. That’s exactly why I am here and why I’ve let you down.