Without You Here

by Ashby, Carter

  Wyatt nodded. "I was always trying to help Amberlee live in the moment. I see other people who are sick...dying...and they're doing everything they can to make the most of what life they have left. We're none of us guaranteed a tomorrow, after all."

  "Did she have a hard time doing that? Living in the moment?"

  Wyatt hated to remember her that way. But there was no sense denying it. He'd always bragged to people that Amberlee was strong. A woman warrior. Brave and full of life. But that wasn't really how it had been. "She...gave up. Early. There were a lot of times in her life when she was unhappy. And when the cancer came back that second time, she just...quit. I mean, it was definitely aggressive. It was a death sentence. But she didn't fight at all. She just...." He suddenly felt choked up. Tears bit at his eyes, but he swallowed them back.

  "How did it make you feel, her giving up like that?"

  Wyatt shook his head, trying to push back what was fighting to get out. And then he let go. He laughed in frustration. "Fucking angry, that's how. I devoted all my energy to trying to make her last days good. And I have no right to be mad, but she just...she didn't give anything back to me. She didn't assure me that she loved me. That our marriage together had been satisfying. That we would see each other again someday. She didn't say any of that to me."

  The doctor stayed silent.

  It was just as well. Wyatt was caught up in his own thoughts. "I feel like shit because she was in so much pain. What right do I have to be angry? And maybe none of the things I wanted to hear were true. Maybe she didn't love me. Maybe our marriage was miserable. Maybe we won't see each other again. But she could have lied. It would have been damn decent of her just to lie to me. Tell me I didn't completely fail her. Tell me I hadn't wasted twenty years of my life trying to be a good husband to her."

  "Is that how you feel? That your marriage was a waste of time?"

  "Of course not. Not for me. I was crazy about Amberlee. She could have treated me a lot worse and I wouldn't have left. I'm just afraid that it was a waste of time for her."

  "Unfortunately there's no way to know that, is there?"

  Wyatt shook his head. He settled back into the sofa and stared at the coffee table. He'd forgotten all about the fact that he was talking to a shrink, and that he didn't want to be here.

  "But you say you don't feel like your time was wasted?"

  "Of course not," he said, automatically.

  The doc didn't say anything.

  The silence made Wyatt think about his answer. Made him consider that maybe it wasn't true. Or not completely. He looked the doc in the eye for the first time. "I never thought about leaving my wife. Never. And that's the truth. But sometimes...it just felt...it felt like a lot of work for not much reward."

  "Sometimes the person you fall in love with isn't the best person to spend your life with."

  "Amberlee was my soul mate," Wyatt said. He said it defensively. It angered him that this guy would suggest she wasn't right for him.

  The doc studied him. "She's been gone...?"

  "A little over two years."

  "And how are you doing?"

  "I'm fine."

  Doc didn't say anything.

  Wyatt sighed. "They all say I'm not fine. They say I'm different. But I don't see how I'm supposed to be the same. Being married to her changed me. Losing her changed me. So, I don't know how this...," he gestured back and forth between Dr. Richards and him, "...is supposed to help me."

  "What is it you want help with?"

  "I don't want help with anything. I just want to be left alone. I've got my farm to work. And...and...." he realized he didn't have anything else to live for. There was Blake. But Blake didn't need him anymore. Nobody needed him. He didn't matter, really. Not in the big scheme of things. "Actually, Dad hired on another hand. Guess I don't really have to work the farm. Could just...go away."

  "Is that what you want? To go away?"

  This time Wyatt didn't answer.

  "What is it you do want?"

  He wasn't sure he could answer that.

  "Do you know what you want, Wyatt?"

  Wyatt stared blankly at the coffee table. "I...."

  There was silence for a long time.

  Finally Wyatt looked up. He still had no words.

  Dr. Richards smiled sympathetically. "It's been a long time since you've thought about what you wanted, hasn't it?"

  Wyatt still couldn't answer.

  "Let's make that your homework for next week."

  Wyatt winced. "Could you not call it that?"

  The doc laughed. "Sure. I'll just say, I'd like you to have an answer to that question when you come back next week, okay?"

  Wyatt blew out a breath. "I'll try."

  "Good. Now. Let's talk about the possibility of depression. I've been warned that you don't like that word either. That you're resistant to the idea. But try to answer objectively so I can make a good diagnosis."

  Wyatt groaned and answered a series of questions while the doctor scribbled down notes. He was relieved when the questions ended. The doctor sat back in his chair and read over his notes. "Are you aware that the typical grieving period is a maximum of six months?"

  Wyatt shrugged.

  "When a grieving person gets...stuck...in the emotional distress of grief for six months or more, we call it complicated grief, or prolonged grief disorder."

  Wyatt dropped his head back. "That sounds even more pansy than depression."

  "I'm sorry that you consider this a weakness. But that's all the more reason to overcome it, right?"

  "Let me ask you this, doc," Wyatt said, leaning forward. "You get many men in here?"

  Dr. Richards answered carefully. "I get more women, than men. But I do have male patients."

  "Okay...but when you look at another man who can't handle his own problems, don't you lose respect for him?"

  "Of course not."

  "See, this feels like admitting defeat to me. It's like, my self-respect is the only thing I have left. And coming here was just my last failure. Now I'm nothing. I was a widower. A bad husband. A bad father. But at least I was a man. At least I had that. Now that's gone and now what?" He leaned back and waited.

  The doc stared at him for a long moment. And then he burst into laughter. He shook his head and jotted down a note. "I'll hold off recommending the support group, then."

  Wyatt almost grinned. "I appreciate that."

  Dr. Richards scribbled something on a pad, ripped off a piece of paper, and handed it to Wyatt. "Try to refrain from judging yourself for a couple of weeks. Give this medication a chance to kick in and see how you like it, okay? Give therapy a month. If you still feel like a sell-out, we'll discontinue. How 'bout it?"

  "Guess I don't have much choice. Talking to a shrink and taking happy pills. I think Amberlee would be ashamed of me."

  "Would you have been ashamed of her, had she sought help?"

  He didn't answer.

  "But it would have been okay for her. Because she's a woman. Right?"

  "Yeah, that's right."

  Dr. Richards shook his head. "We'll get that attitude fixed right up."

  Wyatt snorted and rolled his eyes.

  Liza received him like a nervous mother at the principal's office. "How did it go?" she asked once they were in the truck driving home.

  "Fine," he said.

  She sighed. He drove. He'd talk to the damn doctor, if that was what everyone wanted. Truth be told, it hadn't been that bad. Maybe even felt a little good to say some things he hadn't dared to ever say before. But he sure as hell wasn't going to go home and tell his mom all about it. There was pathetic and there was more pathetic, and he'd given up all the self-respect he could manage for the day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It was Wyatt's third session when he finally started to feel better. "Do I have to stay on these pills forever, Doc?" he asked, as soon as he entered the office and sat down.

  "Are you having any side effects?"


  "No. Not so's I can tell."

  "Do you feel they're doing you any good?"

  Wyatt thought about it. "I guess I think they're making it easier for me to wake up in the morning. Past few mornings, things just seem a little...brighter."

  Dr. Richards was glancing through a file folder. He nodded before closing it and setting it aside. "Good. Then you should probably stick with it for a while. It's too soon to talk about getting off of it."

  "But we can talk about it? Someday?"

  "Of course."

  Wyatt nodded and leaned back in the chair, satisfied.

  "It's very important to you to stand on your own two legs, isn't it?"

  "It's important to all men."

  "What about women?"

  Wyatt frowned.

  "Do you think Amberlee stood on her own two legs?"

  "She had a lot going on. She was sick all the time."

  "She needed you."

  "Of course she needed me."

  "But that was okay because she was a woman."

  Wyatt got quiet again. He knew what he was supposed to say. That men and women were equal. That women were just as strong as men. But that hadn't been his experience. He'd had to hold Amberlee up. And the thought of doing to his family what she'd done to him shamed him to his core.

  "And do you think you'd like another relationship like that?" Dr. Richards asked.

  Wyatt knew the answer to that was, no. But it was hard to say it. It was like saying he regretted being married to her, and he didn't. "I like taking care of a woman. But...I think she was using me up. I felt old and tired. I don't feel that way, now."

  "How do you feel, now?"

  "Kind of...relieved. And stronger. Healthier. Kind of excited about, I don't know, getting out and doing some things."

  "Like what?"

  He shrugged. "Traveling a little, maybe. Dating. Just seeing what's out there. Is that wrong?"

  "No. Actually it's right. Normal. And if you're feeling guilty, that's normal, too."

  "The guilt's overwhelming. Or...it used to be. Lately, I've kind of been ignoring it. I packed up Amberlee's clothes last weekend. You probably think I'm crazy for not having done that already."

  "Not at all. But I'm glad to hear you've taken that step. Do you have her list with you?"

  "Yeah."

  "But you're working on letting it go, right?"

  "Yeah. It's just, every time I quit doing something on it, or every time I pack away something that belonged to her, it's like losing her all over again. And I just end up drinking a bottle of Jack and watching those videos of her so I can hear her voice."

  "How frequently do you drink, these days?"

  He thought about it for a moment. "Not as often as I used to. Not where I'm just keeping a constant buzz going. 'Cause you said not to combine it with the meds. So just, once in a while I'll get to thinking about her and feeling bad and I'll just drink until I fall asleep."

  "Okay. But you're working on it?"

  "Yeah. Of course. Blake always acts so disappointed whenever he finds me hungover, so I'm really trying to stop doing it."

  "For Blake."

  "Yeah. Why not?"

  "Why not for yourself?"

  "Because Blake's more important than me. And I'm frankly not sure I care that much about myself to go to the trouble." He chuckled a little.

  The doc didn't. He studied him over the rims of his glasses. Then he leaned back in his chair. "Let's go back to a question you still haven't answered. What do you want?"

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. He felt like he'd already answered this question a million ways, but the guy wasn't going to let it go. "I don't know. Just a quiet, peaceful life doing work I love and being close to my family."

  "You have that and yet you are unhappy. Are you sure that's your dream, and not your wife's?"

  He refocused on the doctor. He frowned and felt a surge of defensiveness rising. "It became my dream."

  "Sure. We make sacrifices for our wives. They make sacrifices for us. So we can build a life together. But she's gone now. So...what do you want?"

  Wyatt still couldn't think of an answer.

  "If you could walk out of here right now and do anything in the world, have anything in the world, what would it be?"

  Slowly, Wyatt started to grin. "There's this girl I met a few weeks ago. I reckon I'd go get her and head to the nearest beach." And do a whole bunch of unspeakable things to her. God, she was so much fun. "Maybe take her on a cruise. Neither of us has ever been on one. And she's so much fun when she's doing new things. Maybe fly somewhere far away. She's never been on a plane. And neither have I."

  "So do it. Go get this girl and go somewhere fun."

  His heart sank. "I can't. She wants more than just fun."

  "And you don't?"

  "I do, but...I just can't. How can I bring another woman into Amberlee's home? Everything in that place is hers. I can't bring another woman into her bed. I just...I can't do it. Not even for Ettie. But I'd do anything else for her. Anything at all."

  "What you're saying to me is that you're sacrificing what you want, your happiness, for a woman who is at rest and can't even appreciate it."

  Wyatt didn't answer.

  "Is it worth it? All the fun you could be having with that young girl, just to worship your dead wife?"

  Wyatt flinched. "It's not worship. I just don't know how to stop trying to make her happy."

  "Is it worth it, Wyatt?"

  He didn’t know how to answer. He could think about Ettie's warm body and warm laughter. But he could also think about Amberlee and how difficult life was for her. How he'd never felt settled with her. How every moment that wasn't filled with pain was filled with waiting for something bad to happen.

  He went home that night wondering if he was going to have to get drunk in order to get through the evening. He went to his parents' house for dinner, even though he wasn't invited, just because he didn't want to be alone. Blake was gone at school, of course. And soon he'd be graduated and home for good. Wyatt wondered if he would live with him, or if he would want to get his own place. Though it didn't make much sense for him to live somewhere else, if he was just going to work the farm. Maybe he would hook up with that redhead and live in town and work at the newspaper office, or something.

  After dinner he went out to do some chores and tend to the cows. After that, he went home and washed up and plopped into his recliner to watch some baseball. But his heart wasn't in it. He wound up kicking at the carpet with the toe of his boot and thinking, for the millionth time, just how ugly that carpet was.

  There was hardwood underneath. He'd lifted it at a corner, once, and said, "Hey, A, there's hardwood under here. Let's rip it up!"

  And she'd said, "No, I like carpet."

  He'd suggested they get new carpet, then, as this was old even then.

  She'd sighed heavily and said, "It's too much trouble. We might not live here forever. I don't want to spend the money."

  He'd argued a little more because he'd truly believed she would be happier with new carpet. But when it looked like she might get upset, he'd backed off and never addressed the subject again.

  Now she wasn't here. And besides all that, she'd been wrong. He kind of thought if she showed up right now, he'd tell her he was ripping up the carpet whether she liked it or not. Because it was the right thing to do for the house. And because he just wanted to, dammit.

  So before he even realized what he was doing, he'd dragged a chair and an end table out to the front porch. The sun was setting, but he didn't notice the time. He just pulled furniture out until the living room was completely bare. Then he went and got a pry bar from the garage and started ripping up the carpet. It was an extremely satisfying process. His muscles worked and the sound of the staples ripping loose was violent and angry.

  It was dark when he hauled the big roll of carpet out to his pickup to take to the dump. Then he went in and stood in the living room, surveying the floor.
It was in surprisingly good condition. There was probably some kind of sealer he could put on it. He'd have to research it. For now, he went to the garage for a dust mop. Then started bringing in pieces of furniture. He stopped on the porch and looked at the sofa. A floral, decorative thing, with very little to offer in terms of comfort. Here it was, halfway to the dump, considering getting it out of the house was half the job.

  But he couldn't throw it out. She'd picked it out. She’d loved it. She'd asked him what he thought and he'd told her he loved it, too, because he just wanted her to be happy. No, he definitely couldn't throw it out. But he didn't have to bring it back in just yet.

  He pushed it back against the wall on the porch, then went back to the garage for a tarp to cover it with.

  He went back inside, sat in his chair, and finished watching the game, which was almost over. Then he went to bed, tired from the sudden burst of extra activity.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  We were a week out from graduation and I'd been vomiting every day for three weeks. It was weird, but I wasn't really worried because except for the five minutes spent hovering over the toilet, the rest of the time I felt pretty normal. A little tired. But with studying for finals and going to job interviews and just the stress of needing to get my future figured out, tired seemed a logical symptom.

  It was Blake who finally pulled me aside and suggested I pee on a stick. He'd actually gone to the pharmacy and bought me a three-pack of pregnancy tests. When he came in and I saw the box in his hands, I immediately hugged him. "Is Lauren pregnant? I can't believe this!"

  "Where is she?" he asked, seeming irritated. "She was supposed to meet me here."

  "She's not home yet. Boy, you guys really move fast."

  He sighed. "Ettie these are for you."

  I took the box and stared down at it, confused. "I skip periods all the time," I said. "During stressful times, I mean."

  "Do you also vomit regularly and cry excessively?"

  I looked at him. "I haven't been vomiting in the mornings."

  He gave me a pitying look. "Just go pee on one, okay? Give us all some peace of mind."