Sitting in the seat, I bring my knees up, wrap my arms around my calves, and lean my head on my knees. I watch as they continue to dance. It’s hypnotic and reassuring. They’re beautiful, and so reliable.
Slowly, my eyes close as I watch them.
A deep calmness envelops me. The stars are my safe place. My happiness.
But Mrs. Richards’s eyes… I know they’re familiar, but I wish I knew why.
One day soon, I’m sure I’ll figure it out.
“Dad?” I ask as I make a coffee for him.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He turns on the tablet and flicks through something.
“I had another dream last night.”
“What kind of dream?” he asks without looking up at me. Placing the coffee cup on the table, I sit opposite him and wait until he’s lowered the tablet. He picks his coffee up and takes a sip. After a few mouthfuls of coffee, he notices my silence. I haven’t responded to him. “Sorry, I was reading the news. Tell me about this dream.”
“It’s kind of like the others I’ve had. But this time it was a bit different. I was in the water calling to a little girl on the shore line, who was waving to me as if she knew me. She called me ‘Mommy.’ Then a woman in a white dress, all wet, was lying on the shore, and I became the little girl. You picked me up and moved me. The woman didn’t look like Mrs. Richards, but I can’t remember what she looked like either. She’s foggy and hazy. She told me to be a good girl, and she told you to love me forever. Then I woke up.”
Dad’s eyes have widened and his mouth is in a perfect O shape. “Sweetheart,” he croaks.
“What is it, Dad?” I can see how he’s struggling to tell me something. “Dad…” I push. “What is it?”
“Do you still have the name and number of that psychologist?” he asks.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Please, we need to make an appointment with her. These dreams are worrying me.”
“I’m not crazy,” I shoot back at him. The hairs on my arms stand to attention as my anger climbs to scorching level within a few seconds.
“I’m not saying you’re crazy. Why have you got it in your head that you’re crazy? You’re not! Jesus, Ivy.” He stands from the table and takes his mug over to the sink. He swigs back the scolding hot coffee as if it’s nothing but cold water. “If you don’t make that appointment, I’m going to. And you’re going.” His anger tells me he’s hiding something.
Every time I’ve had a drowning dream, his reactions were peculiar.
“Dad,” I say as I stand and head toward him. “I don’t need a psychologist, I just need some time.”
“Really? You think you don’t need help? Maybe you don’t.” He stretches out his arms on the kitchen counter and arches his back.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re not the only one who’s having to work through things, Ivy. I can’t stand what happened, and I’m absolutely petrified that every time you step outside this house, I’m never going to see you again. Or worse still…” his voice trails smaller.
“What?” I ask.
Dad lets out a pained rumble which travels from deep inside his chest. “Don’t you get it?” Turning his head, I see the tears forming in his eyes.
His vulnerability wrecks me. I’ve never seen my Dad cry other than when Mom died. He’s such a strong man. He walks with his head held high, and his chest puffed out. He’s the proudest man I’ve ever known. Proud of himself. And definitely proud of me.
“With what happened, and what you did to yourself… I’m afraid,” he admits to me in a voice that cracks.
The words are raw. They cut sharper than any blade I’ve used on myself.
“Dad,” I whisper as I step closer to him. He straightens and I can’t help but throw myself into his arms. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I say as I hug him tightly. He’s afraid that one day he’ll find his daughter dead. I get it.
“Please, Ivy. Make that appointment. I need this as much as you do. I’m barely hanging on, and I can’t keep living a life where I’m afraid all the time.”
“I will,” I promise him.
I can’t keep hurting Dad. I can’t. He’s my rock. He’s the man I know will always have my back, regardless of what I go through. He’s the first person by my side the moment I need him. I can’t put him through living in fear anymore.
It’s not fair to him.
And now that I know how much pain I’m causing him, I can’t continue.
“I promise,” I say again.
“Thank you.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“With all my heart,” Dad whispers. I’ve never doubted Dad’s love for me, but this, it feels different. It means so much more than it ever has before.
I did make an appointment with the psychologist, and today’s our first appointment. Dad’s coming with me, because the appointment I made is our initial consultation. Dad wants to get counseling too.
It’s been a week since he broke down. I’ve tried talking to him about it, but Dad shuts down and won’t say much about the situation. I suspect his quiet demeanor today has a lot to do with the fact that we’re heading to the psychologist’s office. The woman’s name is Elizabeth, and gauging by what I’ve read about her online, she specializes in trauma and comes highly recommended.
I’m nervous.
What if she can see through me, and knows I’m a cutter?
I haven’t cut since the day of the shooting, but it doesn’t mean Azael is never going to return and try to mess with me again. He’s already tried it. But I was strong and fought him off. I suppose if everything in my life was smooth sailing, then my demon would have no reason to return.
But he’s there.
I know he is.
He’s like a professional boxer, staying back, ready for the moment when I’m at my weakest to strike. God, I hate him so much.
Dad drives in silence, but he nods his head from time to time like he’s having a conversation with himself. His hard-forward stare warns me not to ask him anything. I suppose I’ll find out why he’s so uptight when we get to the psychologist’s office.
We pull up outside a very ordinary, well-maintained house. The lawns are manicured, and the house looks unassuming. There’s no big flashing sign proclaiming what goes on here.
“You okay?” Dad asks.
“Yeah,” I answer, but he’s distracted and I don’t think he heard my response.
Strangely, even though I’m nervous, I’m calm. Maybe even relieved. This isn’t as bad as I was expecting.
But seriously, what was I expecting? Men standing outside the door waiting for me with special white coats?
“Are you okay?” I ask Dad.
He stares ahead at the house as we walk toward it together. He doesn’t respond.
There’s a small plaque on the wall by the front door that lists three names, and under each person’s name is the acronym indicating their qualifications. None of it makes sense to me.
We open the door, and we’re immediately greeted by a young woman sitting behind the reception desk.
“Hello.” She smiles and looks to me, then Dad.
Dad gives her all our details, and she asks us to fill in some paperwork.
Normal stuff, age, occupation, insurance plan, all the things I’d expect they need to know. When we finish the paperwork, I stand and give it to the woman then go to sit next to Dad.
His shoulders are tight, and his left leg is bouncing. He’s worse than I am, and that surprises me.
The waiting room is empty of other people. And this gives me an opportunity to look around. In the corner, there’s a basket with toys, and behind it there’s a small bookshelf with a variety of books for different reading levels but all aimed toward kids. The walls are hung with generic, though calming, prints of flowers and trees.
As I’m looking around, a woman with wild, curly hair and a long blue dress stands in front of me. She’s maybe in her fifties, the gray str
eaks and wrinkles all giveaways of her age and experience.
“Hello. Ivy and Stephen?” she asks with a genuinely warm smile.
“Hello.” I stand, and Dad follows.
“Hello.” Dad holds his hand out to shake hers. He looks uncomfortable.
“Would you both like to come into my office?” she speaks softly, but confidently. Elizabeth turns and we both follow her.
She gestures us into a room, where she waits until we’re inside before she closes the door. The room is cozy. The walls are painted a pale yellow, and the furniture is clean and inviting.
“Please, take a seat,” she gestures toward the oversized chairs on the other side of an office chair and desk. Dad fidgets, and her eyes go directly to him. “Stephen, are you nervous?” she asks.
Dad runs his hands down the front of his jeans. His jaw stiffens as he looks at her, then gives me a quick sideways glance. “You have no idea,” he finally responds to her question.
“Tell me, Ivy, how are you?” Her question catches me off guard. For some reason, I thought we were going to start with Dad. But Elizabeth has turned her attention to me.
“I’m okay.”
Elizabeth smiles. “What are you only okay about?”
Instantly, my mind starts trying to make up something, but she’s caught me unaware, again. I don’t think I’m going to be able to hide anything from her. Pursing my lips together, I try to formulate a tangible response. But the longer I take, the more it looks like I’m lying to her. “I’m only okay about a few things.”
Elizabeth leans over and takes a note pad from her desk, and a pen. “Then tell me what you’re more than okay with?”
“You want me to tell you about myself?”
“I want you to tell me what you want to tell me.”
I crack a smile. That’s a load of shit and we both know it. “Ivy was in the class where that boy came in and shot his teacher,” Dad spills before I can say anything.
Elizabeth looks at me, her face remains calm. “Tell me about it,” she says, directing her question to me.
I swallow the lump that’s collected at the base of my throat. “What do you want to know? Didn’t you read about it?” My question comes out snappy, but it’s not how I meant it. “I’m sorry,” I immediately apologize.
“Yes, I did read about it. But reading about it, and hearing about it from a person who was there, are two totally different things.”
“Why are they different?”
“Because stories can become blurred when passed from one person to the next, and they can be misinterpreted once the press gets involved. So, I want to hear from you.”
Cold chills run down my spine, causing me to shiver. Being forced to relive that day isn’t something I was expecting so early on. I thought we might get to this in a few weeks. Not in the first session.
But if we can talk about this, then maybe I can avoid telling her about my demon. I know she’ll know I’m lying when we get to that part. And I don’t want Dad in the room for that. Hell, I don’t want him anywhere near here when she figures it out.
“I was in class. Tyler came in and killed Mrs. Richards and himself. There’s not much else.”
She looks to me, her eyes silently questioning me. “Not much else?” I shake my head. “Stephen, tell me how you heard about what happened.”
“I was at work…” Dad starts, and I sit back into my chair, just listening to Dad’s recollection. “One of the guys at work heard something on the radio about a shooting at the high school and called me over to hear what was happening.” I turn to Dad. I never thought to ask him how he heard about the shooting. “I dropped everything I was doing, and listened to the radio. The whole factory stopped. No one said anything. It was like a ghost town; you could hear a pin drop.”
Turning my head, I watch as Dad stares at nothing, but recollects this painful memory.
“My heart stopped. I knew Ivy was at school, and I had no idea if it was someone on a killing spree. My knees went weak, and I collapsed to the floor. All I could think was that if I lost Ivy, my life would not be worth living.”
“You love her,” Elizabeth says.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her. Nothing.”
“Dad…” I whisper as I wipe at my tear-filled eyes.
“The news was reporting that there were casualties. They wouldn’t say much at all, except a gunman had stormed the school. I sat on that floor and made a plan for my own death if Ivy was…” He can’t say the word. “The radio went silent for a moment, it was the longest moment in history. It felt like that one moment was a decade in length. I jumped up off the floor, and ran for my car. I didn’t say anything to anyone. I simply ran. I had to get to her. I didn’t want my baby being alone. Not for one moment.”
“What did you think when you were driving over to the school?”
“I don’t remember how I got there, or even what route I took to get there. I don’t recall stopping at traffic lights or even what speed I was doing. I just knew I had to get to her.” Dad turns to me, his own eyes shimmering with tears. “I couldn’t leave you alone. I just couldn’t. No matter what happened, I needed to hold you so you knew you were never alone.” A tear falls from his eye and he wipes it with the back of his hand.
“Dad,” I choke back the sorrow wanting to escape.
“I got to the school, and there were people everywhere. I had to park nearly a block away and run. I ran like my life depended on it, and it did.” He clutches my hand and squeezes it. “I didn’t see her right away, and my heart was breaking with every second that passed that I couldn’t find her. I felt like I’d failed.”
“But you didn’t,” I say.
“I couldn’t keep you safe. My only job and I couldn’t do it.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I kept thinking, what if I took a personal day at work and we went to the lake. Or we went to the movies. You wouldn’t have been there, and you wouldn’t have been in danger.”
“Dad, that’s not how life works. You can’t protect me from things like this.”
“It’s my damn job, Ivy. I have to protect you. I have to. I made a promise to your…” Dad stops talking.
My body shivers. “You made a promise to who? Mom?”
Dad stands and walks to the window. It’s a large window overlooking a courtyard with several benches surrounding a huge tree in the center of it. Standing, I look over toward Dad.
“She made me promise that whatever I do, I’d love you and protect you. And I love you more than my own life, Ivy. But I couldn’t protect you. Not against something like this. Which means I failed you and I failed your mother.”
“Dad, when did you promise Mom you’d protect me?”
Dad rakes his hand through his hair. He takes several breaths before he places his forehead to the window pane and closes his eyes. “The day she died,” he whispers.
Dad told me Mom was caught in a riptide at the beach and drowned. That’s all I’ve ever known. But now, this doesn’t make sense. “Dad, how could you have talked to Mom, when she drowned?”
My stomach stirs as I hold my breath. I walk over to him and put my hand on his back.
“Your mother was the most beautiful woman I ever met,” Dad says as he turns to stare at me. “You look exactly like her.” He smiles, and gently reaches to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. “She could walk into a room, and stop conversation. Her hair was long, and her eyes were the most beautiful shade of brown I’ve ever seen. Much like yours. Hers sparkled like she was hiding the best secret in the world.”
“Why haven’t you ever told me this before?”
“I couldn’t.” He turns, taking a step backward and leaning against the wall. “I had promised your mother that I’d never tell you about…” his voice trails as his gaze reflects his distance.
“Tell me what?” I step closer, and now there’s an urgency to my words.
Dad shakes his head; more tears fall from h
is eyes. “Tell you why your mom drowned.”
“You told me she got caught in a riptide.”
“She made me promise I wouldn’t tell. That’s why I made up the story about the riptide and the beach. She never wanted you to think she didn’t love you. She did, so much. Her heart was so big, and all she ever wanted was to be a good mother to you.”
“Dad… I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“When we married, she wanted a baby right away. She couldn’t wait to start a family, and I loved her so much that all I wanted was to make her happy. We started trying for you the night we were married. By the time we had our first-year anniversary, we were already pregnant.” He smiles warmly. “We were so happy. She was always rubbing her belly and singing to you. And I loved seeing her happy.”
“Dad.” I stand beside him and place my hand on his forearm. He slowly glances down then lifts his gaze to me. “Please, I want to know.”
“Then she had you, and you were more perfect than a snowflake. You bought us so much happiness. You slept perfectly for us from the moment we brought you home. You were the baby everyone hopes for.” I smile at Dad’s fond memories of me. “It was the best times of our lives.”
“Why have you hidden this from me?”
“Because those moments in time didn’t last. Your Mom was sick. She had always been sick.”
“Sick? Like how?”
“She suffered from a lot of mental health issues. She went through times of depression, and she was schizophrenic.”
I breathe heavily. My head is spinning. I stagger back a few steps and sit in the seat Dad was in. My heart leaps back and forth, threatening to escape my chest. A rash of goosebumps rise on my skin, and suddenly my messed-up head becomes even more frantic. “Mom had mental health issues?” I ask in a small voice.
“She had them from a young adult. She told me about it all from the moment we met. She begged me to turn and walk away from her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave a person whose heart was so big that she was willing to sacrifice our relationship just so she wouldn’t hurt me. She begged me, Ivy. We fought over it. She even disappeared to her grandparents’ house in Kansas so I wouldn’t find her. But my life wasn’t worth living without her. She was a spark so bright, and so powerful that I knew I had to take the good with the bad. Marriage isn’t smooth sailing; it’s hard work every single day.”
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