Without You Here

by Ashby, Carter

  "I want you to wake up and be my dad again. I lost my mom and it hurt so badly. I miss her so much. And here you want to take my father away, too. It's not fair to me...it's not fair to any of us!"

  Wyatt leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his forehead resting on his palms. "I didn't pull the goddamn trigger," he said quietly.

  "Yeah, but the fact that you keep saying that says you wanted to."

  "No. I didn't want to. That's the whole fucking problem. The last time I pulled the trigger and the gun jammed, I wanted to die. This time, I just thought it was the only...I don't know...decent thing to do. Only I was a coward and couldn't do it and here we are."

  Wyatt waited a moment for Blake to respond. But the room had gotten really quiet. He looked up and around. Ettie had her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her vivacious smile was gone. Liza had two tears trickling down her face.

  "Last time?" This came from Cecily.

  "What?" Wyatt asked.

  "You said last time. This has happened before?"

  Wyatt leaned back and stared at the floor in front of him. He couldn't believe he'd said that out loud. This whole thing was humiliating. If he'd ever had a shot with Ettie, it was gone, now.

  "When was last time?" Blake asked.

  Wyatt leveled him with his gaze. "I'm not talking about that with you. Not with any of you. I don't know what the fuck you all are trying to accomplish, but this is over. Ettie, you go on home, honey. You didn't need to come down for this."

  She lifted her pretty brown eyes. But she didn't get up and leave.

  "Wyatt, baby," Liza said, in her cool, soothing voice, "this isn't just about last weekend. This is about the past two years. You're hanging on to Amberlee in a way that's unhealthy. You carry around that list she made and you let it get in the way of living your own life. You drink sporadically. Therefore you work sporadically. Did you know your father hired on another hand last month? Even with the new guy, they're struggling to get all the work handled without you."

  Wyatt looked up, then. "We don't have the income to hire on another hand. You gotta talk to me about this shit, Dad. It's my damn farm."

  "You haven't been here. We've had to work around the fact that we can't depend on you anymore."

  "Can't depend on me?"

  "That's right, Wyatt. We can't depend on you."

  Wyatt gaped at him, hurt by the words. He looked to the couch where his brother and sisters sat. Cecily had silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Diane was rubbing Stan's arm, comforting him. He looked miserable. "Say something, Stan. Everyone else has."

  Stan hit him with his hard stare, though there was sadness there. "Wyatt, you...." he stopped. Regrouped. "You're depressed."

  Wyatt laughed. "I'm sure as hell getting there."

  "Look," Stan said, "I know the word gets overused. I'm guilty, myself, of not taking it seriously. But it's a real thing. And it's obviously not something you can conquer alone."

  Wyatt was still laughing. "Seriously? You're seriously all here to tell me you think I'm fucking depressed? This is ridiculous. And a waste of your time. Mom, let's make breakfast...or dinner or whatever, okay? Let's just eat and go outside and enjoy the day—“

  "Diane has a friend from college," Liza said, "who is a very good psychiatrist. Allan Richards. We've spoken to him and he agrees that based on your behavior, there's cause to consider a diagnosis of depression."

  Wyatt jumped to his feet. "It's not depression to miss your wife! It's not depression to try and honor her memory! Loving my soul mate is not a fucking disease!"

  "She's dead, Dad!" Blake was on his feet. "She's dead and you still talk about her like she's here. You watch home videos of her and fall asleep with them on so you can hear her voice. The house is absolutely unchanged. You do things you hate doing just because she wanted them done. You're a complete wreck and I'm so sick and scared watching you get worse."

  "There's nothing...nothing that can be done to make this pain go away!" Wyatt pressed his hand to his chest. "This is what happens when you lose someone. No doctor can fix this." He took a moment. Breathed.

  Diane stood and put her hand on Blake's shoulder. "That's not true, Wyatt. A doctor can help you handle the pain in such a way that it doesn't paralyze you. That's what you've been since she got sick. You've been paralyzed. Not a one of us in this room can recognize you anymore."

  He fell back onto his chair, stared at the space in front of him, and shook his head.

  Liza stood and retrieved the remote control from the coffee table. "Did you watch the Christmas video, Wyatt?" she asked. "The one when Blake was three?"

  "I've seen it before," he said. It had been years. Around the time of Amberlee's first diagnosis. She'd been watching home movies and when he'd seen that one, he'd told her he wanted to throw it out. But she'd insisted on keeping it. He didn't really remember what the fight had been about, just that it had made him really sad to watch it.

  "Did you watch it last weekend when Blake set it out for you?"

  He shrugged, defeated. "I don't want to see it, Mom. Not in front of you guys."

  She turned on the television and pushed play. Wyatt watched as a young version of himself played with his son. As his young wife lay on the couch, listless and miserable. As he argued with her and begged her to get help.

  Amberlee looked up from her hands, then. "Therapy? You think I'm crazy?"

  "I think you're depressed and I think I've run out of ideas how to help, baby. Let's give it a try."

  "No. No way. God, Wyatt, am I really that bad? Am I really so bad you think I need to see a shrink?"

  He leaned in and kissed her. "It's Christmas morning. And you're on the couch crying instead of holding your son. Just let that sink in."

  "I'm nothing!" she shouted. "I'm not even a woman anymore! How. The fuck. Do you expect me to be happy. It's Christmas, so what? Merry fucking Christmas, Wyatt! Another year of my pathetic life ending." She burst into sobs.

  He reached for her but she shoved him away. He reached for her again and she screamed, "Don't touch me! Do you know what it feels like to be touched by you? I hate it! I hate you!"

  "Turn it off," Wyatt said, weakly. The tears were pouring down his face uncontrollably, then.

  "Amberlee, stop this! Let me hold you. Let me help you." He reached for her again, and this time she pounded at his chest and arms with her fists.

  He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides and her body against his. She squirmed and fought against him for another long moment. And then she collapsed into the loud, heart-wrenching sobs.

  Wyatt couldn't tear his eyes from the screen. Even as his younger self was crying and holding his broken wife, he couldn't look away. "I should have tried harder. I should have made her get help." Then grief tore at his insides and he buried his face in his hands and let out a sob before he could stop it. He was humiliated and miserable. He could hear Ettie sniffling. There were hands on his back, patting and rubbing. Liza blessedly turned off the television.

  "You say you should have made her get help," Liza said. "What would you say that we should do for you?"

  He shook his head. It wasn't the same. Not at all. He deserved his pain.

  "Dad, you need to get help. And if you want Ettie, take her. I'll hogtie her, tie a ribbon around her, and give her to you if that's what it takes. But you have to get better. You have to. I need you to."

  Wyatt scrubbed the tears from his eyes and looked up at his son. He just couldn't understand. "Why?" he asked. "What good have I ever done you?"

  Blake's jaw dropped. He sat and tears welled. "How can you ask that? What good have you done me? You love me, don't you?"

  He swallowed. "Of course I love you, Son."

  "Don't you think I need that? You think Mom was the one who took care of everything, she wasn't. It was you. You have this unrealistic vision of what she was. What I saw, growing up, was you holding her up with one hand and trying to take care of everything else with the ot
her. You gave everything to that marriage. And it's time to stop giving, Dad. It's time to let her go and find yourself. I love you, too, and I really want you around. I need to talk to you about shit. Someday I wanna bring home a wife for you to meet...and by meet, I don't mean sleep with."

  Wyatt laughed. He couldn't believe Blake was making a joke about that.

  "I want you to meet your grandchildren. They're going to need someone to tell them about their amazing grandmother, and who better than you to do that. There's a whole lot of life left, and I...we...need you to live it."

  Wyatt pressed his face into his hands and dug his palms into his eyes. He looked back up. "It makes me feel real good for you to say that stuff. But I don't deserve it. I just don't feel...I don't feel...."

  "You don't feel worthy," Liza said.

  He hesitated. Then nodded.

  "You feel overwhelmed."

  He nodded again.

  "Confused. Sad. Lonely"

  Yes.

  "Guilty."

  Very guilty.

  "Baby," Liza said, "I've made you an appointment with Dr. Richards, Monday morning at ten. I need you to come with me."

  He looked around at everyone, one-by-one. They all looked him in the eye and nodded. He stopped when his gaze landed on Ettie. He shook his head. "I can't," he said. But there was no strength in his voice. No determination. It was almost a question.

  "You can," she said. "You will. Because you just said you don't want to die. Do you want to keep living like you're living? Drinking away weeks of your life? Feeling guilty and miserable?"

  He shook his head. Of course he didn't.

  "Then there's really no other option. It's your only other choice."

  "I could get better on my own," he said.

  She kept her eyes on his, sturdy and strong. "That's not always how it works. A doctor can help speed along the process. And the great thing about therapy is you can say anything you want without hurting anybody's feelings. Because he's paid to listen to whatever you have to say. And I know you have things you can't talk about with your family."

  He nodded. That was what he'd wanted them all to understand. That some of the things going on in his head were meant for him alone.

  "Or me," she said.

  He smiled faintly. Yes, even Ettie, whom he could talk to about nearly everything, wouldn't really understand everything he was thinking.

  "So give it a try."

  He leaned back in his chair and frowned in thought. Ettie came and knelt in front of him. She laid her head on his knee and he absently stroked her hair. He looked up at Liza. "Is it really Saturday?"

  She nodded.

  He couldn't believe he'd pissed away a whole week. No wonder they'd had to hire on another hand. Yes, it was definitely time to quit indulging in these feelings of self-pity and guilt and grief. He wasn't sure therapy was necessary, but he would go just because it would make his family feel better. He looked back up at his Mom. "Can we eat now?"

  She laughed. "Are you going to the doctor with me Monday?"

  "Yeah. Just let's not talk about it anymore, okay?"

  "Alright, dear. Let's go get you some food."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Blake had hoped that by the end of the intervention, his dad would be looking more positive. Happier. But the fact that he actually looked more depressed further validated the decision to force him into therapy. At the moment, the whole house was abustle and it was like a regular Saturday. Diane was putting on music on the CD player, Liza and Cecily were in the kitchen. Everyone else was either at the table drinking coffee or out on the back porch drinking coffee. Except Wyatt and Ettie who were standing in the living room talking.

  Just talking. Not touching at all. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his head lowered. Occasionally he would nod or shrug at something she said. Her head was tilted back, looking up at him, more serious than he'd ever seen her.

  And then she hugged him. He hugged her back with one arm and a pat on the back. She kissed him on the cheek and then quickly turned towards the kitchen, looking for Blake. There were tears in her eyes, but when she saw him, she smiled and waved. Then she turned and headed for the door.

  Blake caught up with her. "Hey," he said, taking her by the arm and turning her to face him. "Stay for dinner."

  Her eyes darted to Wyatt who was sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning forward with his head in his hands. Her expression was so wistful and full of pain that Blake felt his chest tighten for her. She looked back at him and that smile forced it's way through the tears. "I need to get home. But it means so much that you asked me."

  She turned, before he could argue, and was out the door and hurrying to her car. He caught up with her again and this time she refused to look at him. She was holding her breath and a moment later, he knew why. She was crying. He pulled her into his arms and she sobbed against his chest.

  "Ettie, just stay. Help him."

  She shook her head. "Best thing I can do for him is walk away," she said. And then sobbed harder.

  "How is adding heartbreak to the mix of emotions supposed to be helpful to him? To either of you?"

  She pushed back and dashed her hands over her eyes. She glanced back towards the house, her longing evident in her eyes. "He'll just distract himself with me. He won't deal with his issues. And I don't want that for me or for him."

  Blake gaped at her. It was so far from the impulsive Ettie he knew. That she was looking at the bigger picture instead of just what she wanted in the moment made him feel proud. He smiled and nodded. "I guess you know what's best."

  She smiled back, sadly. "Maybe he'll still want me when he's on the other side of this. That would be really great, actually, because I don't think I'll ever meet anyone half so perfect for me as him." With this, her face screwed up and another volley of tears were shed, this time into her hands. Blake rubbed her upper arms until she'd calmed. Then she said goodbye and left.

  Blake went back inside. Wyatt was at the table with coffee, now, and a dead look in his eyes. Stan and Jesse were on either side of him, talking to each other, trying to include him. Blake went and sat across from Wyatt. "Dad," he said.

  Wyatt lifted his eyes to Blake.

  "Are you okay?"

  Wyatt gave him a blank look that said it was a stupid question.

  "I just want to know how much of your misery is over Ettie and how much is over other things."

  Wyatt dropped his head back in frustration. "I don't know. Does it really matter?"

  "It's just that I want you to know you can relieve yourself of any stress you're feeling where I'm concerned. It doesn't bother me if you decide to go after her."

  Wyatt met his gaze again. There was still nothing there. "Thanks."

  Blake sighed and leaned back. He guessed he wasn't going to be getting any more information out of his father today. Well at least it was done. He'd be getting help and maybe in a week or two he'd be able to have a conversation with him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Wyatt sat in the waiting room of the good doctor's office, tapping his thumbs on the arm of his chair. Next to his mother. Feeling like no kind of a man at all. He leaned his head back against the wall. He lolled it to the side to look at her. "Are you going to be holding my hand when we cross the street, now?"

  She matched his stare.

  "Maybe start buying me those little Flintstones vitamins?"

  She still didn't answer.

  "Tuck me in at night with a story?"

  She finally laughed and shook her head. "Stop being such a baby. You're not getting a shot."

  "I'd rather get a shot."

  "You would not," she said. "I never did see a boy make such a fuss over a little pin-prick. Even passed out."

  "Yeah, well, that should tell you how much I don't want to do this."

  She shrugged. "Tough luck."

  This made him laugh. "Tough luck? You've been living with that old man too long. Tough luck," he muttered. H
is mother had always been the soft one and tried her best to reason with her children before turning to corporal punishment. Which had always been an inevitability with Wyatt. He'd been her difficult child. Only Amberlee could tame him.

  A woman came out of the inner office, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Wyatt shook his head in disgust.

  "You can go on in, Mr. Jackson," said the receptionist.

  Wyatt stood and realized Liza hadn't stood with him. "You coming?" he asked.

  "Of course not. I'm just here to make sure you actually walk in that door and stay for an hour."

  Figured. He was kind of counting on her to do the talking. Now there was going to be long, uncomfortable silence when he didn't answer the doctor’s questions. He went in to a room where there were two sofas facing each other with a coffee table in between, and a couple of armchairs at either end. Dr. Richards stood to shake his hand. He was a clean-cut, fit, graying man. Probably a nice guy. But right now Wyatt felt completely threatened.

  "Have a seat," the doctor said.

  Wyatt sat on the couch opposite. He rested his hands on his thighs and tapped his thumbs to the rhythm of the George Strait song he had stuck in his head.

  "So, Wyatt. I dated your sister-in-law back in college, did you know that?"

  He didn’t. But he didn't want to seem interested. So he just shrugged as though he already knew it.

  "She sure was hung up on some farmer back home. I guess she made the right choice, though. Worked out anyway. I got my Rebekah out of the deal."

  If this was how it was going to go, Wyatt figured he could survive it. The doc seemed to be doing all the talking.

  "She's an amazing woman. A breast cancer survivor, actually."

  This caused a spark of interest in Wyatt's mind somewhere. He didn't really notice it happening. He just responded automatically. "That's a hell of a battle."

  Dr. Richards nodded. "It really is. And so heart-breaking at times. I can't imagine losing her."

  "But she's kicked it? She's good?"

  "Yeah. Four years in remission. You know, you just pray it'll last and enjoy every day the best you can. Don't take anything for granted."