One Last Scream

by Kevin O'Brien

  “I can’t believe Amelia isn’t here,” Karen muttered. “She was so anxious to see me. I told her to wait.”

  “Did she say what it was about?” Jessie asked, toiling away on the candelabra.

  “Something horrible happened. That’s all I know. And that’s all I can say without breaking patient-therapist confidentiality.”

  “Oh, yeah, like I have a direct line to Tom Brokaw. Who am I going to tell?” Jessie grinned at her. “You worry about her more than all your other patients. That Amelia is a sweet girl. The way she counts on you-and looks up to you. Three guesses who she reminds me of.”

  Karen just nodded. Amelia and Haley were alike in so many other ways, too: the drinking problems, the low self-esteem, and a penchant for blaming themselves for just about everything.

  She remembered a discussion she’d once had with Haley, in which the fifteen-year-old blamed herself for her parents’ breakup. “Hey, honey,” Karen had told her, with a nudge. “If anyone’s getting blamed for your parents’ breakup, it’s me.”

  That wasn’t quite true. When Karen had first met Haley’s father four years ago, he’d already separated from his wife. Karen had come to loathe her go-nowhere counseling job at Group Health. Her dad had just started to show early warning signs of something wrong with little episodes of depression and forgetfulness. Karen had recently fired his housekeeper, who had been robbing him blind for months. She’d moved back home temporarily to look after him and take him to his barrage of doctor appointments. As for Karen’s love life, it was nonexistent.

  It seemed like the only time she had for herself was the hour between returning home from work and cooking dinner for her dad. He was always glued to the TV and Law and Order, so she’d change into her sweats, jog to Volunteer Park, then run laps around the reservoir. That section of the park had a sweeping view of downtown Seattle, the Space Needle, and the Olympic Mountains. At sunset, it was gorgeous, and she could almost convince herself that she wasn’t so bad off. There were always a few handsome men doing laps, too. Most of them were probably gay, but she still got an occasional, flirtatious smile from a fellow jogger. Hell, something like that could make her night.

  And sometimes it could make her stumble and skin her knee. The jogger whose smile had caught her eye and tangled her feet on that warm September evening was about forty years old. He had brown hair that was receding badly, but the rest of him was awfully nice: dark eyes, a swarthy complexion, sexy smile, and a toned, sinewy body.

  As soon as she hit the asphalt, Karen felt the searing pain in her knee. She also felt utterly humiliated. The handsome jogger swiveled around and ran to her aid. He kept saying he was sorry he’d distracted her. It was all his fault.

  “Oh, no, it’s okay,” Karen babbled. “I’m fine. I-it really doesn’t hurt.”

  The hell it didn’t. But something left over from her tomboy period was putting up a brave, tearless front.

  “Jesus, that’s gotta smart,” he said. “Look, you’ve got pebbles embedded in there-”

  “Really, it’s nothing.” But then she took a look at all the blood, and suddenly felt a little woozy.

  “I have a first-aid kit in my car,” she heard him say. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  When he returned, he helped her to a park bench, sat her down, and went to work on her knee. The blood had trickled down to her ankle. He squatted in front of her and meticulously cleaned it up. He also recommended she put some ice on her knee once she got home. Karen tried not to wince while he picked out a few pebbles and applied the Neosporin.

  “So, are you a doctor?” she asked, once she got past the pain. “You’re really good at this.”

  “No, I’m an attorney. But I have a thirteen-year-old daughter who thinks she can outrun, out-throw, and out-dare any boy in her class. So I’ve tended to a lot of scrapes and cuts.”

  Karen looked for a wedding ring on his hand. There wasn’t one.

  “Her mother and I have been separated for seven months,” he said, apparently reading her mind. But he seemed focused on her knee as he put a large Band-Aid over the wound. “You know, I should take another look at this knee in a couple of nights and see how it’s healing. Are you free Saturday night?”

  Karen hesitated. His slick yet corny approach took her totally by surprise.

  He looked up at her and grinned.

  Yes, she thought, a very sexy smile.

  His name was Kurt Lombard. They had a great first date: dinner at the Pink Door, and a heavy make-out session afterward. Then he didn’t call. After eight days, she finally phoned him. She was so relieved and grateful when he asked her out again that she ignored all the signs. Looking back on it, she could see Kurt had immediately established a pattern in their relationship. She’d fallen hard for a ruggedly handsome commitment-phobic charmer. Every time he showed he cared about her, it was intermittent reinforcement. He was like a bad slot machine that paid off just often enough to keep her hooked.

  Karen had dated him off and on for three months before working up the nerve to ask how he felt about her. And was he ever planning to divorce his wife? Kurt couldn’t even commit to un-commit.

  When she had patients in unbalanced relationships like this, Karen always advised them to stand up for themselves or get the hell out. But she stuck with Kurt. Eventually, he did divorce his wife, and Karen was relieved he didn’t take his new freedom to the limit by dumping her, too. More positive intermittent reinforcement came when he wanted her to meet his daughter, Haley. By then she was fourteen, and out of her tomboy phase. She’d already been arrested once, and rushed to the hospital twice for alcohol poisoning. On their first meeting-dinner at the 5-Spot Cafe-Kurt had dropped them off in front of the restaurant, and then went to park the car. Standing on the curb in front of the cafe, Karen found herself alone for the first time with Haley. The oversized army fatigue jacket limply hung on the girl’s slouched, emaciated frame. She had a blue streak in her stringy brown hair. And she might have been pretty if not for her perpetual sneer. “So-you’re the girlfriend,” Haley said.

  Playing along, Karen grinned. “And you’re the daughter.”

  “Y’know, my mother’s a lot prettier than you,” Haley said.

  “Yeah? Well, my mother can beat up your mother.” Karen shot back.

  Staring at her for a moment, Haley twirled a strand of hair around her finger. Finally, she burst out laughing.

  Karen realized she had no problem standing up to the daughter-just the dad. She and Haley weren’t exactly bosom buddies, but they got along all right. By the time Haley was fifteen, Karen and Kurt were living together in a two-bedroom house in Seattle’s Queen Anne district.

  Karen’s dad was doing better, thanks partly to his new medication, but even more to his new housekeeper, Jessie. She doted on him, but kept him in line, too.

  Kurt was a hit with Karen’s dad-and with her siblings, Frank and Sheila, when they came to Seattle on vacation with their families. Her friends liked him, too. But when Karen asked Jessie what she thought of Kurt, the housekeeper just smiled cryptically and said, “He’s very charming.”

  “That’s it?” Karen asked.

  “He’s very charming,” Jessie repeated. “But he should pay more attention to the women in his life, namely you and his daughter, the poor thing.”

  Three weeks after Jessie had made that comment, a terrified Haley confided in Karen that she thought she had syphilis or gonorrhea. Karen made an appointment for her at Group Health, and went with her to the doctor’s office. It turned out Haley had a mild yeast infection.

  “I won’t say anything to your folks about this,” Karen told her as they left the office together. “And I’m not going to tell you how stupid it is for someone your age to be having sex-”

  “Oops, I think you just did,” Haley interjected.

  Karen nodded. “Yeah, well, at least be smart enough to take some precautions, okay?”

  “Thanks, Karen.”

  The following
weekend, Haley bought her a coffee mug. It had a cartoon of a Garfield-like smiling cat with sunglasses, and said “KAREN is a Cool Cat!” She and Haley had a good laugh over how tacky it was. At first, Karen only used the mug for her morning coffee as a joke when Haley was staying with them. But then she began using it every morning.

  Karen became Haley’s confidante and surrogate big sister. Haley started to shape up, too, joining a support group to help kick her drinking problem. She was growing into a lovely young woman. But some things she confided in Karen weren’t easy to hear: “My mother feels really threatened by you.”

  “Well, let her know as far as you’re concerned she can’t be replaced. And if that doesn’t work, remind her that she’s a lot prettier than I am.”

  Haley chuckled. “You’ll never let me forget about that, will you?”

  “Never.”

  Other things Haley revealed were damn difficult to take. “I was talking to Dad this morning,” she told her while trying on dresses in the changing area at a downtown boutique. Karen was helping her pick out a formal for the junior prom. “I asked him if he was ever going to marry you, and he got all pissy with me. He said I should mind my own business. So, I told him, if you end up being my stepmother that certainly would be my business, and I’m all for it. But he just got madder and madder.” Haley sighed, and nervously wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger. Karen had long ago noticed whenever Haley got perplexed she started playing with her hair like that. “God, he’s my father and I love him,” she went on. “But he’s such an asshole sometimes. Still, you want to marry him, don’t you Karen? I mean, you’ve discussed it with him, right?”

  “You know,” Karen managed to say after a moment. “I don’t think you should wear a long formal to this thing. You’ll just look like everyone else. What about a pair of black slacks and a fancy top? I have this sleeveless copper-sequined top at home-and these very sexy black heels. We’ll fix your hair so it’s up.”

  “Omigod, that sounds fantastic!” Haley gushed. “I’ll look like I’m going to the friggin’ Grammys!”

  That was exactly how she looked-sleek, sexy, and sophisticated. Kurt couldn’t believe it was his little girl going out the door with that awestruck teenage boy in an ill-fitting tuxedo. “It just floors me how she’s grown up so fast,” Kurt remarked. “In a little over a year, she’ll be going off to college.”

  “And I don’t even have a child of my own yet,” Karen heard herself say.

  But, obviously, he pretended not to hear it.

  Lately she’d been watching families and women with babies, and most of those women were younger than her. Not only was her biological clock ticking, there was a race against time with her dad, too. He’d been slipping again; the Alzheimer’s was advancing. Maybe it was selfish of her, but she wanted to have a child he could know and hold while he was still somewhat coherent.

  “I want to get married, Kurt,” she told him. “Is that ever going to happen? Do you see that in our future at all?”

  His back to her, he stood at the living room window, watching the limo back out of the driveway. Haley, her date, and a bunch of their friends had hired the car and a chauffeur for the night.

  “No,” Kurt finally replied. “I don’t see it happening.”

  Karen felt as if someone had just sucker punched her in the stomach. She’d expected him to waffle a bit, and leave her some room for hope. She sank down in a hardback chair, and gripped the armrests. “It’s not even a possibility?” she asked.

  Still staring out the window, he let out a long sigh. He wouldn’t face her. Karen strained to catch his reflection in the darkened glass. “I’ve been married once and it didn’t work out,” he explained. “That was enough for me. I don’t want to get married again, Karen.”

  “Well, this isn’t enough for me,” she murmured.

  He turned and frowned at her. “Jesus, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

  It wasn’t so sudden. Karen knew she should have had this discussion with him three years ago. She was an idiot to wait this long. He’d never really misled her. She’d been lying to herself all this time.

  Karen said nothing. She stood up, wandered into their bedroom, and started packing her overnight bag.

  She slept at her father’s house that night. Within a month, she’d moved out of the Queen Anne house she shared with Kurt. It was almost insulting the way he didn’t put up much of a fight. But Haley was devastated. Karen assured her they’d still be friends. Hell, she needed friends. After the breakup, Karen had suffered several Kurt Casualties among her acquaintances-mostly other couples who suddenly seemed uncomfortable around her.

  She stayed true to her word, and kept in touch with Haley. She felt good about herself with Haley. She’d helped a troubled little teen punkette develop into a sweet and lovely young woman. Karen wanted to rise above the manner of a vindictive ex. So she often had to remind the 17-year-old that talking about her father was verboten.

  “You’ll have to hear this whether you like it or not,” Haley told her, five months after the breakup. They were jogging around the Volunteer Park reservoir together, where Karen had first met Kurt. “Dad’s getting married,” she said.

  Karen stopped abruptly. “What?” she asked, even though she’d heard what Haley had said. A moment passed, and neither of them uttered a word. Karen got her breath back. Small wonder she hadn’t tripped and fallen on her face upon hearing the news. To her amazement, she was still standing.

  Kurt’s fiancee was a 28-year-old Macy’s saleswoman named Jennifer. Big surprise, a younger woman.

  Haley expressed utter disgust with her father, and claimed his fiancee was a major dipshit. Karen told her they weren’t going to talk about it. “When you’re near me, you’re in a no-Kurt-bashing zone. We don’t need to do that here. Our friendship is based on better things.”

  It was tough sticking to that noble resolve after she’d received one particular e-mail from Kurt. They’d kept their distance since the breakup, and the only contact they’d had with each other had been infrequent e-mails. This one the son of a bitch copied to someone in his office-obviously to show he meant business:

  Karen:

  Since you’ve moved out, I’ve allowed Haley to continue seeing you, because I know your friendship means a lot to her. I think I’ve been very tolerant about this. Haley told me that she informed you of my marriage plans. So, I’m sure you will understand that I no longer feel your friendship with my daughter is appropriate. This is a somewhat confusing time for Haley, and she has had a few recent setbacks with the drinking. She has also had other problems at school that I won’t go into. Suffice it to say, I believe her association with you is creating some inner conflict. Please respect my wishes and give Haley a chance to adapt to the positive changes in her home life with me. Please stop seeing her.

  Sincerely,

  Kurt

  Karen immediately fired off a two-page, single-spaced tirade that began: “Dear Asshole,” and went on to tell Kurt what a lousy father he was. She cited several examples.

  But at the end of the day, Karen didn’t send the e-mail. She didn’t have it in her to fight with Kurt at that point. Things were getting worse with her dad. He’d become quite paranoid, and a few times the previous week, he’d been so disoriented he hadn’t even recognized her or Jessie. He’d slapped poor Rufus on the snout for barking on two occasions, and that was totally unlike him. Karen’s brother and sister kept calling long distance for updates on his condition. They wanted her to start looking for nursing homes, and she almost came to blows with them on the subject.

  “I know you don’t want to give up on him,” her brother argued. “But you’re being selfish keeping him at home, Karen. He’s better off in a full-care facility. It sounds horrible, but for his sake, you’ll have to let go.”

  Karen knew he was right, but she wasn’t ready to let go, yet.

  And she wasn’t ready to abandon Haley either; though she wondered if m
aybe-just maybe-Kurt was right, too. Even with all her efforts not to badmouth Kurt, her friendship with Haley still threatened the father-daughter relationship. How couldn’t it? Perhaps she was being selfish there, too.

  Haley phoned her on the sly a few times over the next two weeks. In each call, she cried hysterically and cursed her father. “How could he do this? He has no right! I can’t believe you’re going along with him on this.”

  Karen tried to explain that until she was eighteen, her father, indeed, had every right to slap a moratorium on their friendship. But it was only temporary and, in the meantime, why didn’t she give this Jennifer a chance and cut her some slack? And what was this about her drinking again, and some trouble in school?

  “C’mon, honey, you shape up, okay?” Karen told her, with a pang in her gut. “And you really need to stop calling me. You’ll get us both in trouble.”

  Haley promised to stop calling if they could meet one more time. Karen reluctantly agreed to a dinner together at the Deluxe Bar and Grill, a cozy, trendy burger joint with an old-fashioned bar and a modern gas fireplace. She and Haley sat in a booth. After all those semi-hysterical phone calls, Haley was surprisingly calm and collected-almost at peace with the situation. She explained she wasn’t going to plead or argue with her over her dad’s decision. And she wasn’t going to Kurt-bash either. No, this was about having a nice last dinner together.

  “Now, don’t make it sound so final,” Karen said. “We’ll be back in touch after you’re eighteen, which is in-what-less than a year? By then you’ll be in college and making a whole new batch of friends. You’ll be fine, Haley. So don’t cry in your Cobb salad about it.”

  Haley just nodded, and gave her a strange, sad smile.

  Karen was mostly concerned about her recent setbacks with the drinking, and her problems at school. “I know you’re not happy about this, but I understand why your dad thinks it’s for the best. Do me a favor, and don’t screw up your own life just because you’re mad at him. You were doing so well for a while there, honey. Don’t mess it up. If you’re pissed at your father and want to get even with him, do it some other way. Short sheet his bed, bust up that awful country-and-western CD collection of his, poop in his favorite shoes, I don’t care.”