by Ronica Black
“Come here. I’ll help you wrap up these canvases for the show.”
She was always so helpful when Johnnie needed it. According to Gail, that was her showing love. Johnnie rose, defeated, and began wrapping the canvases she was going to display. When they got to Elaine’s, Johnnie stared, lost in her gaze.
“Please tell me you’re selling those or getting rid of them.”
“Neither,” Johnnie said. “But I am showing them.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No.” Johnnie wrapped them carefully. Gail huffed next to her and began throwing stuff around rather than placing it nicely back in place.
“I won’t have her in the loft,” Gail said.
Johnnie continued wrapping. “It’s not your loft.”
“Johnnie,” she said, hands on hips. “Don’t you care how I feel?”
Johnnie thought about it a moment. “No. I only care how I feel right now. I know that sounds selfish and unlike me, but it’s where I’m at.”
Gail stared at her, shocked. She dropped her hands in disbelief. “I don’t need this shit, Johnnie.”
“I don’t either. If you can’t handle it, you can go. I would understand.”
Gail remained still. Then she approached and held Johnnie’s hands. “We’ll do whatever you need.” She embraced her, but the hug was stiff. Johnnie could never melt into her form like she could Jolene or Eddie or anyone else who offered a loving hug.
They continued to wrap and pack up the canvases. Johnnie didn’t bother thinking about whether Gail meant her words or not. She knew she was only biding her time. Using Johnnie. But again, Johnnie just couldn’t find the energy to care. Maybe Gail was the only kind of person she deserved. Maybe a person like Elaine couldn’t love her. Maybe she just wasn’t good enough.
She was too sensitive and too anxious. She over thought and felt people. She was so different and she’d stuck out like a sore thumb in her family. Just as she did in society and in relationships like this.
Maybe Gail was what she was only ever going to get. She might as well accept it.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Elaine crossed her legs and then crossed them again the other way nervously. She shifted in the chair. The office was so nicely decorated she half expected Dr. Hannibal Lecter to walk in buttoning an Italian suit. At this point, she’d settle for Hannibal the Cannibal in order to just get it over with. He would let her live, wouldn’t he?
The door opened, and a woman in her sixties entered, wearing jeans and a sweater and white Chucks. She smiled and eased into her chair across from Elaine.
“Hello,” she said.
Elaine felt at ease. “Hello.”
“You’re Elaine, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Susan Redmond. But please call me Susan.”
She smiled again, crossed her legs, and reached for her notes and a nice fountain pen. Elaine relaxed and took in the Tiffany lamps and the comfortable but imported furniture. Elaine realized she had some work to do on her own office.
“Do you mind if I call you Elaine?”
“No, of course not.”
“Tell me, Elaine, why are you here today?”
Elaine found herself shrugging. “I don’t really know. I’ve just been told I need to come.”
She flipped through some papers. “Ah, Dr. Klein. Love her. She says you’re having trouble sleeping and that you’ve just recovered from heart valve surgery.”
“That’s right,” Elaine said, smoothing down her skirt.
“That sounds pretty heavy,” she said. “How are you feeling right now, physically?”
Elaine readied herself to exaggerate. She straightened her shoulders. “I’m—”
But Susan’s look was so soft, so understanding.
“I’m exhausted.”
Susan studied her a moment. “Thank you for the honesty. Is it important for you to always appear strong?”
Elaine blinked, surprised. “Yes, yes, it is.”
“Since when? Can you remember when that started?”
Elaine blinked again, taken aback by the quick insight. “I guess I was a child. Ten, eleven maybe.”
“Can you remember why?”
Elaine closed her eyes. “My father. He was a tough love sort of man. He told me to never show weakness. That the world would eat me up.”
“Tell me about him. Was your relationship good?”
“For the most part. I know now that he did things that weren’t right, but on the other hand, he did things that were really great. He was just a man.”
“How was his treatment of you?”
“Well, that was often confusing. I never knew when he was going to be upset with me or not. Or for what reason. He’d just stop talking and start avoiding. He would lie when I asked if he was upset with me. Many times it hurt me deeply and confused me. I felt like I was always walking on tiptoes around him, never knowing what would set off a silent mood.”
“You didn’t feel unconditional love?”
“No. If he was happy with me, I was on top of the world. He would joke around, do really nice things, very thoughtful things. But if he wasn’t pleased with me, it was ice. Just total ice.”
“So you were always trying to please?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“Yes. Two sisters. One of them half.”
“How did he treat them?”
“I guess you’d have to ask them. I do know that he favored his biological daughter.”
“Why? What makes you say that?”
Elaine pushed out a breath. “I was an overachiever, always trying for his approval, his attention. With his daughter, I felt like I had to downplay that. He—did things. Said things. For example, he asked me if I would give her some of my trophies.”
Susan’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Did he say why?”
“Because she wanted to pretend she had earned them. To make her feel better.”
“She wasn’t athletic?”
“No. So he always compensated for that by saying how she was the smart one.”
“And you weren’t?”
“I was. He just always said I wasn’t. I wanted to be a doctor. He said I wasn’t smart enough, but she was. He didn’t believe it until we both took our SATs. After that, he didn’t say it again.”
“Did your mother know any of this was going on?”
“No. These were things he said not to tell Mom.”
She wrote and looked at her with concern. “Were there lots of things he said to keep from your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Anything inappropriate?”
“No. And honestly, once I reached college, I stopped caring how he felt about me. It was just too exhausting, and I had learned it wasn’t healthy. So I let it go.”
“But you still feel you have to exert a certain stature.”
“Absolutely. I feel like I still have to prove I really am the best.”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
Elaine paused. “I—I don’t know.”
“Yourself?”
“I guess, yes.”
“Can you accept that you are the best? Will you ever believe it?”
Elaine thought for a panicked moment. Was she the best? Was she strong? Capable? Deserving of everything she had earned herself? Or was she just not quite good enough, only there to give what she earned to someone else?
“I don’t know.”
“You are good enough, Elaine.” She smiled. “Those trophies were yours, the grades were yours. Your talent…it is all you. I’m sorry you were never given approval or told how fantastic you really are.”
Elaine found tears forming. “It’s silly really. I wasn’t abused. Mistreated.”
“Emotional abuse is a tricky subject, as I’m sure you know.”
She nodded. Fought tears.
“Think about that for some time,” she said. “Now, tell me about your health. Are you d
isabled in any way?”
“No, I just have to take it easy for a while.”
“Good.”
“And your heart feels okay?”
Elaine wanted to shatter, to show her the shattered pieces of her heart. “Physically, yes.”
“But emotionally we’re struggling aren’t we?”
Elaine could only nod.
“Can you tell me what has you crying?”
“Just realizing things I’ve never thought of.”
“Ah.” She again looked at her notes. “Dr. Klein says you’re having trouble sleeping.”
Elaine wiped a stray tear. “Yes.”
“What keeps you up?”
They sat in silence for a long moment while Elaine composed herself. Who was she kidding? She’d convinced herself she could walk in here and give her answers, thank her for the advice, and then walk out unfazed. But here she was not even ten minutes in and she was on the brink of falling apart.
“It’s a lot of things,” she finally said. “Mainly my wife.”
“Oh, you’re married?” She smiled and made a note.
“No, my wife, Barb, passed five years ago.”
Susan’s face clouded, and she passed her some tissue. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
Elaine nodded and took the tissue but swallowed down the tears. “It was sudden. An accident.”
Susan wrote some more in her notes. “Tell me, Elaine, where are you in the process of grief?”
Elaine wasn’t sure how to answer because she wasn’t sure where she was at. “I have no anger, but I still have a hard time accepting that she’s gone. And I—I feel like whatever I do in my life still affects her somehow.”
“So you’re feeling guilt?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me why? What is it that has you feeling guilty?”
Elaine bit her lower lip for strength. And then something miraculous happened. She thought of Johnnie and she smiled, despite the deep sorrow. “I’ve met someone and I am developing feelings for her.”
Susan smiled. “That’s a wonderful feeling. Are you allowing yourself to enjoy it at all?”
“Sometimes. Honestly when it happens I don’t even think about it. I’m just so—overcome.”
“That’s sounds beautiful.”
Elaine smiled. “It is. But as soon as she’s gone I think of Barb and the whole cycle starts over again.”
“Have you been intimate with anyone since Barb?”
Elaine looked down at her hands. “I have, yes.”
“And how did that go?”
“Fine, actually. They were strangers, one night stands.”
“You had no feelings for them.”
“Other than physical attraction, no.”
“But this new woman, I’m sorry, what’s her name?”
“Johnnie.”
“Johnnie, you care about her, like you did Barb.”
“Yes.” She stared at the wall, her emotion climbing up her throat again. “It—feels—the attraction I mean, feels stronger than it did with Barb.”
Susan relaxed her hand and looked at her softly. “You know that’s perfectly normal. We feel differently about each person we meet. You being strongly attracted to Johnnie does not mean you love or loved Barb any less.”
Elaine sucked in a shaky breath. Hearing it aloud nearly knocked her over. Michael had told her the same thing, and she knew it in her head. But she just couldn’t allow it to seep into her heart.
“Can you accept that, Elaine?”
Elaine covered her mouth. “I’m trying.”
“Take deep breaths.”
Elaine did as instructed. She kept replaying her words. “I don’t love her any less. She’s still my Barb.”
“Yes, and she always will be.” Susan shifted in her chair. “Does Johnnie know about Barb?”
“Yes.”
“Is she understanding?”
Elaine grew quiet. “I’ve pushed her away. Told her it was because I wasn’t over Barb.”
Susan looked at her in thought. “How did she take it?”
“Not good. She tried to talk sense into me.”
“Do you feel like you’re not ready?”
“I think—I think I’m just scared.”
“Of what?”
She thought deep, dug it out. Cried before she could talk. “Of loving that hard again and losing.”
Susan soothed her as she cried. When she finished, she allowed her some time to compose herself.
“These are all perfectly normal feelings, Elaine. You’re beating yourself up for no reason. Everyone has to grieve, even someone like you, who strives for strength and perfection. These thoughts, feelings, it’s the process.”
Elaine gave an exhausted laugh. “When is it going to end?”
“When you let it.”
“When I let it?”
“Right now you’re fighting it. Let these feelings and thoughts come. Feel them. Experience them. Don’t drown them out with meaningless sex or alcohol or anything else.”
Elaine laughed again. “Feel. That’s what I tell my clients.”
“You’re a smart lady. You know this. It’s just difficult to see when the client is you.”
Susan made some more notes. “You say here in your forms that you don’t run a typical practice. What do you mean by that?”
Elaine cleared her throat. “I’m a creative coach of sorts. A creative practitioner. I help people find their inner strength, creativity, and ambition.”
“Interesting.”
“It is. It’s very rewarding.”
“Why the secrecy? You didn’t put a name for your practice.”
Elaine sat straighter. “We offer unique techniques to help the person grow. Sometimes it can be intimate in nature.”
“Sex?”
“Sometimes sexual, yes. It depends upon the client. But as a rule, we do not touch our clients.”
“You guide.”
“Yes.”
“Do you enjoy your job?”
“Very much so. I love helping people discover their inner desires, talents, feelings.”
“I take it you are successful?”
“We are.”
“You need stimulation and visual results in order to feel that you’ve done a good job.”
“Yes.”
“A typical practice would bore you.”
“It did, yes.”
“This Johnnie, how did you meet her? Was she originally a one-night stand?”
Elaine stared at her, having no idea what to say. “She actually was a client.” Her chest tightened at the judgment she feared might come.
“Oh?”
“Yes, she’s an artist.”
“She good?”
“Very.”
Susan smiled. “And you ended things because of your feelings?”
“Yes.”
“How did that feel?”
Elaine relaxed a little. “Awful. She’s so talented and I know I can help her so much more. But the feelings, they were mutual. It wasn’t right.”
“Can’t you still help her? Just not in a doctor client atmosphere?”
“I suppose I could. But—”
“You’ve told her no because of Barb.”
Elaine nodded.
“Elaine, tell me, at night when you can’t sleep what are you thinking about?”
“Barb. My empty bed. My empty house. Johnnie. Guilt. Loneliness. Longing for both Barb and Johnnie.”
“Do you take anything? To help you sleep?”
“No. I’ve tried. It didn’t help.”
“What about drinking?”
Elaine closed her eyes. “I do do that, yes.”
“Do you get drunk?”
“Yes.”
“Do you sleep?”
“Eventually. But fitfully.”
Susan made more notes. “Are you currently able to work?”
“I do, but I’ve cut back on clients.”
“Would
you like to get back to work?”
“Yes, very much.”
She rose from her chair and walked behind her desk. “I think you’d benefit from a low dose of antidepressant and something for anxiety to help you sleep.”
Elaine thought about arguing. Susan watched her.
“Will you give it a shot?”
Elaine felt the heaviness of her eyes, the fatigue in her limbs. Her chest still burned from surfaced emotion. Eventually, she nodded.
“In the meantime,” Susan said, “have people over to your home. You might even want to invite Johnnie. See how it feels.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I mean—”
Susan held up a hand. “When you feel ready.”
Elaine nodded.
Susan sat and typed on her laptop. She asked for Elaine’s pharmacy information, sent the prescriptions, and then folded her hands and looked at her.
“Cut back on the drinking,” she said. “Can you handle that?”
“I suppose I have no choice.”
“Not if you want to feel better.”
“I want to see you in two weeks. And please call if you have any questions or problems before then.”
Elaine rose and Susan came to shake her hand. She took her hand in both of hers. “I lost my husband eight years ago,” she said. “The pain never goes away, but it does soften.”
“Thank you.”
Susan smiled, saw her out, and Elaine left the office with a lot on her mind. Mainly, Johnnie.
Chapter Forty
The night was black, hazed so that the streetlights looked like smudges of light. Johnnie had hit just about every cheap pay-by-the-week motel there was in her area. She’d been driving for two hours, crying, angry and confused. Her father had just run her out of her business, and her parents had put her on the street. Gail wouldn’t answer her phone, but she had a new lover and wouldn’t give Johnnie the time of day. Johnnie knew this, but she kept trying to reach her, desperate.
Being on the street with agoraphobia was a nightmare she couldn’t form into words. People morphed into demons, lights turned to strange orbs of evil. She jerked when horns honked. She had trouble breathing when stopped at a stoplight. And when she pulled over at a motel, it took her twenty minutes to work up enough nerve to go inside and ask about a vacancy.