My dad was watching Wheel of Fortune, and I was sitting at the table, watching Isabel watch him play along with the TV. My mom was standing at the kitchen sink with her back turned. None of us expected anyone to ring the doorbell, so it startled all of us when it happened. Not only that, but my parents' house was set-up in such a way where they almost exclusively used the side door.
We all looked at each other with puzzled expressions. My dad tossed the television remote onto the couch and got up to go to the door. I glanced at my mom who shrugged at me before craning her neck to try to see through a front window. After a short attempt to make out who it was, she glanced at me with another shrug, saying she couldn’t tell.
My gut told me who it was.
I knew it was J.R. I just knew it.
The television had gone to commercial and now seemed louder, but I could still hear the sound of men's voices as my dad answered the door. It was J.R. There was no doubt in my mind. The thought of it had me so stunned that I stayed motionless in my seat. I tried three or four times to make myself get up, and I just couldn't do it. It took me several long seconds of just sitting there, fighting with myself before I could finally muster up the strength to stand up and walk toward the front door.
I smiled absentmindedly at Isabel as I walked past her. My heart was about to beat out of my chest. I could see J.R. as soon as I turned the corner. He said something to my dad as he smiled and gestured toward me, and my dad stepped out of the way as if he thought I'd be happy to see the person standing there. I walked numbly through the foyer, staring straight at J.R. in intense silence before glancing at my dad. "Thanks Dad, I got this," I said with a completely straight face.
My dad, who had been smiling up until then, stared at me with a look of growing concern. I forced a smile. "It's my boss from work. I'm just gonna tell him what kind of night I've had, and I'm sure he'll be on his way."
My dad gave J.R. a reluctant expression as if he might actually feel bad for the guy. He gave the whole scene a once over, checking for my safety before walking away, leaving me standing face to face with J.R.
Maybe it was my own lack of bravery that got me into this situation in the first place, but I was anything but a coward right then. I had been up all night, watching my baby girl go through physical misery, and I was not in the mood to deal with this man. In hindsight, I would appreciate that it was the terrible, horrible eighteen hours that preceded J.R.'s visit that somehow gave me the strength to do what I did next.
I stepped out onto the porch and stood right in front of him, staring into his eyes with all the ferociousness of a mama lion. I was not messing around. I had never looked at J.R. the way I was looking at him right then, and we both knew it. He physically cowered under my stare.
"What in the world are you doing here?" My voice came out in a measured whisper.
He squirmed at my intensity, trying to smile and then changing his mind. His expression changed from happy to cautious and then back again several times all in the course of those few seconds. I just sat there and stared at him. I looked straight into his eyes and showed him how mad I was.
"I thought I'd come up here so we could talk," he said. He gestured all around himself. "It's not like it was hard to find you. This place is still listed as your primary residence."
"You have no business coming here," I said.
He smiled nervously. "Take it easy, Tabby."
"Tabitha."
"Tabitha. Take it easy. I just wanted to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about. I've been up to my ears in sick daughter all night. I watched her cry and heave all night—to the point where we got in the car to take her to the hospital. I got no sleep. I am not even close to being in the mood to talk—especially when there's nothing to talk about. I gave my notice at Patterson & Ray, and that's all there is to it. There's nothing between you and me. You were doing stuff to me at work—stuff that I wasn't into, but I let you do anyway because I was scared of telling you to stop. Well, guess what, I'm not scared now. I'm exhausted and I'm disgusted, but I am not even close to being scared. I'm ticked at you for even putting me into this situation. I honestly don't care whether you give me a good reference or not. I'll talk to Michael or go over your head to get a referral if I need to. I'm willing to finish out the next two weeks because I don't want to put anyone in a bind, but I do not want you to be there when I'm working my shifts. I'm not gonna go around badmouthing you or anything, but you have to leave me alone, J.R. I'm telling you right now to leave me alone." I stared straight into his eyes, letting him see just how serious I was. "I don't want to see you again. Not at work, or at my parents' house, or anywhere."
"What happened to your daughter?" he asked.
"J.R. don't," I said. "She was sick, and she's doing better now. Please just get back in your car and go to the city. I'm sorry you came here."
"I wouldn't have if I knew you wouldn't be reasonable. I thought we could talk."
"We can't talk."
"Never?"
"No. Go, live your life, and I'm gonna live mine. I've got a daughter in there who really needs me." He could tell by the intensity in my expression that I truly wasn't scared of him, and I wasn't. I shot him a regretful smile before stepping inside the house.
"You're not getting anything from me," he said as I turned my back.
I spun around to glance at him, and he shook his head at me. "You're not getting a good reference from me, if that's what you think."
"Oh yeah, we'll see," I said, as I closed the door.
I leaned against the door, feeling mad at myself for not being able to think of something better to say. My mom peeked her head around the corner, looking at me like she had heard some or all of what had been said.
"Who was that?" she asked. "Was that your boss?"
I nodded.
"What's going on?" she asked.
I was too tired and out-of-it to take the time and explain everything to my mom. Plus, I didn't really want her to know any more of the details. I was embarrassed that I had gotten myself into this situation in the first place, so I did my best to push the whole thing out of my mind.
"Nothing," I said. "It's better now. I took care of it."
Chapter 13
I didn't get that much sleep that night. Isabel did a lot better than she had the night before, but I was still amped from everything that had happened with her the night before and from all the coffee I drank to keep myself awake during the day. I couldn’t turn off my brain. I thought about my conversation with J.R. and felt waves of regret. I thought about working six hard years for Patterson & Ray only to have it all come to an awkward end on my parents' doorstep. It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. My life was not supposed to turn out like this.
It's impossible to fully appreciate depression when it's not happening to you. But when it is, you think about all the things you've heard other people say about it, and realize they were right. I normally did my best to remain an upbeat person, but my current circumstances weighed heavily on me. I didn't want to think about leaving New York, but it felt like leaving was my only option. The nighttime made it worse, and I was up and down, feeling sweaty, restless, and uncomfortable.
The next day was no better. Normally, I was the onward and upward type, but not on this day. This day, I woke up depressed. There was no other way to describe what I was feeling. I felt like I was being literally pressed down upon by some unseen force—so much so that I wondered if that's where the word depression came from.
Isabel was still a little ill that day, but she was recovering, and was definitely out of danger of going to the hospital. That was a relief, but I still felt overtaken by all the uncertainty that lay before me. It felt as though I was on water in a storm, being tossed about in an unstable raft. I felt blinded by the storm, like I didn't even know which way was up or in what direction to move.
There was some crying involved in that episode, so I had no other choice but to tell my parents a little
bit more about what was going on with my work situation. I didn't tell them everything, but I was honest enough that they understood why I was emotional about it. I told them I just needed a day to be overwhelmed and cry a little bit, at which point I would get myself together and make a plan. My parents asked if I needed them to step in, but I refused, saying I had it under control.
Later that afternoon, my dad asked if I wanted to take the Mustang for a drive. He told me it was running well and I should take it out toward Candlewood Lake, which was about an hour away. I took him up on the offer, and left Isabel with my parents so I could look at some nature and clear my head.
I was driving down a scenic lakeside road when I got the feeling I had gone as far as I needed to go. There were places to pull onto the shoulder, and I merged to the side when I found one I liked. My intentions were to park and sit there for a while before turning back the way I came to head to my parents' house. My dad's Mustang had a radio, but I couldn’t find anything that fit my mood, so I just killed the engine, rolled the windows down, and sat there, soaking in the silence.
I asked God what he wanted me to do, and I waited there for about five minutes and got only silence.
I asked Him for a sign, and even though this might be silly for me to admit, I specifically felt like I wanted it to be some kind of animal sign. I had woods on three sides of me and a lake on the other, and I was convinced that God could show me a majestic animal of some kind to give me hope and let me know He was with me. I specifically thought I might see a bird—some big, amazing bird like an eagle. I stared out at the lake, imagining a soaring eagle. Even a crane, or a hawk, or an owl would be great. I took a deep breath and asked God to give me something, anything. I stared at the woods looking into the treetops and waiting patiently.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do." I said out loud after a few minutes of silence. "I want to stay in New York, but I feel like it's for selfish reasons. I don't know what's right. I don't know what You want me to do."
That was all I said out loud, but my thoughts went on from there. I thought about all the scary things in my life… all the uncertain things, like Isabel's school, and her health, and my health insurance, and my job, and J.R., and Drake. I was so lost in thought that I stayed there, staring out at the lake and the woods for what must have been twenty minutes.
I happened to look toward my right at some point in all my pondering, and when I did, a little movement caught my eye. There was a visitor in the car with me—a big bug on the passenger's side headrest. I flinched slightly, but I tried not to make any sudden movements when I realized that it was a very large, intimidating-looking wasp. It was red and black, and I had never seen another wasp like it. I stared at it, trying to decide whether it was a wasp or a hornet, and wondering what the difference was. I had a whole chain of thoughts that ultimately concluded with me being convinced it was a wasp. Either way, it was scary.
It was only about two feet from my face, and I just sat there trying to be completely still and wishing it would fly out of the window the way it came. It was big and mean looking, and it stood comfortably on the headrest, daring me to make it leave.
Adrenaline began coursing through my body as realized I needed to make a move and tried to decide what to do next. It would take quite a bit of movement for me to get the car started and put it in drive, and I didn't necessarily want to stir things up with him right beside me.
"Please leave," I squeaked.
I stared at him, and he stared at me.
"Please," I whispered, trying not to even move my mouth.
He tilted his head at me, and we had a stare down for what must have been a full minute. I never knew that wasps had such a long attention spans, and I caught myself feeling so stunned that I just sat there and stared at him.
"Are you alive?" I whispered, since he hadn't moved. His wings started moving for a second, but he didn't fly away. "You're scary looking," I said, trying to be reasonable and state the truth. "But really, what's the worst that could happen? You sting me, right?"
I stared at the very bottom of his abdomen—at the intimidating needle-y protrusion that was ready and waiting to stab into something.
"That's really a gigantic stinger," I whispered. "I don't know why you think you have to come sit in here and show me that thing."
The wasp took a few steps toward me, and I took a sharp but quiet intake of breath, leaning back and anticipating the worst. I imagined myself swatting at him frantically and getting stung in the process. He stopped moving toward me, and I took my eye off of him long enough to glance at the door handle on my left. I figured my best option was to open the door and slowly get out of the car so I could wait for him to fly away.
It was then that I began having a whole series of thoughts. I thought about this wasp and how there was a very real danger of him stinging me with that very real stinger. But you know what? The chances of him stinging me were probably pretty slim, and even if he did decide to waste his time doing that, what was the worst that could happen? I stop at a drug store on my way home and get something to put on it? I had been stung by a wasp before, and I knew I would live to see tomorrow even if this thing did its worst to me.
And just like that, I wasn't scared anymore.
Just like that, my heart understood that if God had brought that wasp in there to sting me, then it would sting me and if not, then it wouldn't.
It was at that moment that I also understood the somewhat comical fact that this wasp was the majestic bird I was looking for. God had used this ugly little scary creature to speak to my heart. I felt tears begin to form as I understood what God was trying to tell me. Yes, I would come in contact with real, eminent danger in my life. Sometimes there would be wasps—there would always be wasps. Sometimes the wasp would sting me, and sometimes it wouldn't, and no amount of fretting or panicking I did in the process would change the outcome either way.
I felt peacefulness in my soul.
Not only about the wasp in the car with me right then, but also about all the other scary, dangerous, or uncertain things in my life. I was still staring at what was no longer a scary creature when it flew out of the window, and I sat there for a minute, thinking about that wasp and the whole series of thoughts he brought with him.
I felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest, and I thanked God for that. There was still plenty of uncertainty in my life, but I wasn't scared anymore, at least not in the ways I had been before I saw that wasp.
I laughed at myself for expecting to spot some majestic creature to only wind up getting scared to death and then moved to tears by a tiny little wasp.
I started the car, and drove along the lake road with the radio on and wind in my hair. I had been crying on and off all day, and it felt amazing for the cool air to dry my cheeks. I took my time on the drive, and I returned to my parents' house feeling much better than I had when I left.
Isabel was happy to see me, and I was encouraged by how much progress she had made that day. We had talked about postponing our return to the city until Thursday if Isabel didn't feel well enough, but she had felt better and better as the day went on, and was smiling and giggling with my dad by the time I got back from the lake.
My mom and dad could tell that I was doing better, but they didn't ask what had happened. They just pretended not to notice, but I knew they did. I put Izzy to bed that night, and when I came back into the living room, it was the first thing my mother said.
"That drive did you good today," she said.
"Yep."
"Did you go out to Candlewood Lake?"
"Yes. It was really pretty. I'm glad I went. Thank you for watching Iz."
"Do you think you'll head back to New York tomorrow?" she asked.
"Probably so," I said. "And I'm feeling good about staying a while longer. I think I should go ahead and try to make it work." I shrugged. "What's the worst that'll happen, I'll fail? I don't think I'll have any trouble finding a job. Macy said she coul
d ask if I could take over her cleaning job at the collective if it comes to it, but I'm sure I'll be able to find something in retail. I'm good at what I do. I'd hire me if I owned a clothing store."
"Well, selfishly, I'd like you closer to home, but I'm glad you're feeling encouraged, honey. It's good to see you feeling better."
"Isabel was talking about that guy again," my dad said. "While you were gone. She was telling us about the pictures he took of you."
I felt a wave of anticipation at the thought of Drake, but it was followed by a few sudden doubts about his history with women and my history with men. But when the fears dashed across my mind, I automatically thought of them as wasps. That wasp had been right there in the car with me—just inches from me—for a prolonged period of time—and he still didn't hurt me.
"What are you smiling at?" my mom asked.
"I was thinking about those pictures," I said. (I was actually thinking of the photographer, but I figured that was close enough.)
"I want to see them sometime," she said.
"I have a few on my phone," I said.
"You do?" she asked, seeming stunned.
"Where'd you get those?"
"Drake texted them to me. I just have a few, but they're really neat. He's an extremely talented photographer."
My mom gave me a sideways, skeptical stare, like either she didn't know what to make of me saying Drake was extremely talented, or she didn't know why she hadn't yet seen the photos. "May I see this talent for myself?"
Chapter 14
"I think he might have a crush on you," Macy said, staring at the pictures Drake had taken of Isabel and me.
I let out a laugh. "That's exactly what Mom said. I had a few of them on my phone when I was in Connecticut, and she said they looked like they'd been taken by someone who loved me. That's how she described his photography."
Love Stung (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective Book 5) Page 9