Back to Reality

by Danielle Allen

  The sound changed on the other end of the phone. When he first answered Ty’s phone, he spoke quietly in a silent room. Now, the hustle and bustle of the hospital lobby carried through the phone loudly. “Sahara, he’ll call you when he’s ready,” Bennett snapped.

  “It’s been a week Bennett. I need to talk to him. I need to know he’s okay. I called his phone, not yours. Please just put him on the phone,” I yelled in frustration.

  Bennett exhaled as if he were agitated. “Look, my mom is with him and the doctor right now figuring some things out. Just go about your business. He’s coming home soon. But the stress you bring to his life isn’t going to help anything. He needs to get better. All his business shit is falling on me while he’s in here. So no, I’m not putting him on the phone for you to stress him out. And honestly, if he wanted to talk to you, he would’ve called you. I mean, how did you think he was going to take it when I told him you showed up here with the guy from Thomasville?” And with that, Bennett disconnected the call.

  I let my head drop back and let out a frustrated scream. I took the burner phone and slammed it into the empty trashcan. It shattered upon impact and I screamed again. The doorman, James, eyed me from his post before he pulled a tissue from his pocket and walked it over to me.

  “Thank you,” I said somberly as I roughly wiped my eyes and stuffed the tissue into my back pocket, the pocket that didn’t have my new cell phone in it.

  I should’ve known Bennett was going to tell him before I had a chance to explain. But can I blame him? Honestly, if it would’ve been Emily in the hospital and her doctor boyfriend showed up with a woman, I’d be just as defensive as Bennett, if not more. I just wish he’d put Ty on the phone so I could explain…and to tell him about my decision, I thought solemnly.

  “Ma’am, that’s the last of it. It’s going to be about two hours to get there and with it being a Saturday morning, we should see no traffic delays,” Simon of Movers & Shakers Moving Company announced. He slammed the back of the truck down after placing the last of my belongings on the bed. “I’m ready whenever you are,” Simon concluded as he walked around the truck to the driver’s side and hopped in.

  I nodded and smiled weakly at the professional mover as I went through a mental checklist of what I needed to do before leaving town. I’ve packed up my office and returned my keys to Milton Securities. I’ve forwarded all my mail to a P.O. Box. I got a new phone and changed my phone number and email address. I’ve faxed over the paperwork for the apartment. I’ve faxed over my employee file to the friend of Deborah Jones at RED Inc. I’ve packed everything except my living room furniture and appliances. That’s it… I think I’m ready to go, I thought as I took a deep calming breath. Turning back towards the building, I walked over to James with my hand extended.

  “So you’re leaving us Ms. Lee,” James commented as he stuck out his hand to shake mine. It was more of an observation than a question. “It doesn’t seem like that long ago you moved in!”

  “Ha! It’s been six years James. Thank you for everything. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I gave James a genuine smile before I released his hand. He opened the door for me and I entered into the luxurious building for the last time and headed to the mail room. Dropping the letter addressed to Tyree Barker, complete with no return address, into the mail shoot, I turned around and quickly exited the building.

  Climbing into the passenger seat of the truck, I pulled my iPhone out of my back pocket. After putting on my seatbelt, I grabbed my earbuds out of my bag and shook off the last bit of apprehension I felt. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself again; however, it wasn’t working. I was a bottle of nerves mixed with sadness and guilt.

  The decision to leave Richland came after I woke up from a panic attack a couple hours after Emanuel’s departure. I spent the rest of that Sunday planning for a quick and seamless exit. With the help of my lawyer, Mr. Robert McMannus and my now former supervisor, Deborah Jones, I spent the rest of the week finalizing the details of my move. With both of them having ties to the Philadelphia and Bakersfield areas, they compiled a list of the best housing, restaurants, doctors, shopping centers, and much more. They thought my leaving was a mistake, but leaving everything behind was in the best interest of everyone involved. I refuse to hurt them anymore. Tyree Barker and Emanuel Mills would be better off without me, I decided.

  “Let go to Pennsylvania,” I exclaimed to Simon with a forced teary eyed smile. Turning toward the passenger window, I put my earbuds in and let ‘Breathe Me’ carry me away from Richland.

  Chapter 3

  Seven Weeks Later

  I smoothed out the front of my cream and coral Lela Rose jacquard dress as I stood in front of the door. With a shaky hand, I reached into my Rachel Zoe cream satchel and pulled out a compact mirror. My almond shaped eyes were lined in coal and dusted in a shimmery gold. My full lips were glossed and shined in pouty perfection. My kinky, curly hair was swept back away from my face and fastened with small, gold pins. My brown skin was slightly flushed with anxiousness, but it gave me a deceptively warm glow. I looked poised and pulled together from my professional up-do to my cream Rachel Zoe sandals. Yet inside, I was a mess.

  My world has revolved around my new job with the RED Inc., a cyber-security firm with its corporate office nestled in the heart of Bakersfield. A week after arriving in Bakersfield, I started with RED Inc. and I loved every minute of it. With so much to learn, so much new information to retain, my days were spent absorbed in my work. I was always too busy to think about my heartache during the day; but at night, my heartache resurfaced with full force. And after getting a handle on all of my job duties, I had more free time. And more free time meant more opportunities to think about them. And more time to think about them meant more panic attacks, more nightmares and more guilty despair. But I was holding on the best I could until I got the call from Mr. McMannus last week.

  Mr. McMannus informed me that Chris Cole would not be granted parole at this time; however, he will reapply in twenty four months. The judge warned him that it would be unlikely Cole would be denied parole the next time around. So in less than two years, Chris Cole will be walking the streets. A free man. And my father would still be…gone, I thought as I climbed the stairs. So the combination of the nightmares and panic attacks, the knowledge of Chris Cole being free, and my continuous state of being brokenhearted, I agreed to make a necessary change.

  I spent all day at work fretting about this meeting. I couldn’t even concentrate on the presentation I needed to prepare for the RED Inc. board meeting next week because I was so nervous. My cool and collected exterior was a mask to cover the extreme uneasiness and worry that twisted my gut. I took a deep breath and I raised my freshly manicured hand to the door knocker. I wrapped my hand around the warm handle and before I could hit it against the wooden door, I quickly removed my hand. Rotating my head in a circle and shaking my arms out at my sides, I took another deep breath.

  I can do this. I can do this. I can do this, I repeated to myself as I replayed the events that had led me here in my head over and over again. Squaring my shoulders, I knocked firmly on the wooden door.

  The door opened slowly and a bell chimed as a handsome face came into view. He smiled broadly and quickly gave me a once over. He opened the door wider and I could see he was dressed in sweatpants, a white t-shirt and sneakers. I gave him a questioning look as I took in his casual appearance. I quickly looked down at my phone to ensure I was at the correct location.

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Ben Sullivan,” he greeted with an accent. He appeared to be a few years older than me and after he spoke, I instantly likened him to Idris Elba—same dark brown skin, beautiful smile, sparkling cocoa colored eyes and sexy British accent I couldn’t quite place. In short, Dr. Ben Sullivan was nice to look at.

  “Hello…” I dragged the word out. “I’m looking for Dr. Ana Summers. This is the address I was given over the phone. Is this her office?” I sounded calm but in
side I was a mess of overwhelming anxiety and uncertainty. If this isn’t the right place, I should take it as a sign, I thought, desperate for a cop out.

  “You’re in the right place. Come in, come in. And pardon my casual dress, I am off the clock and I didn’t have time to head home and then come back downtown for my game.”

  I lifted both hands, palms up. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Dr. Sullivan.” I walked past him into the waiting room. The walls of the waiting room were green, the chairs were brown and the carpet was a mix or swirling brown and green designs. The room reminded me of trees. Trees... Woods… Forrest... Outdoors... Outdoorsy... Outdoorsy cologne… Eman—, I shook my head hard once, freeing myself of the thought. No! No. Nope, I will not go there. This is why I’m here. I need to let him go. I need to let them both go. I sat down on the overstuffed chair, placing my handbag in my lap.

  Dr. Sullivan laughed, “You’re right. I don’t.”

  Not expecting that response, I looked up at him. Funny, I silently acknowledged while furrowing my eyebrows. “Do you work here?”

  “Not exactly,” he smirked. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t move. He just stood at the entrance of the waiting room quietly, smiling.

  I cleared my throat. “Okay well, I’m a little early so I guess I’ll wait here until Dr. Summers is available. It was nice meeting you Dr. Sullivan,” I dismissed the good looking man with a pointed look.

  “What’s your name?” he asked smoothly. His handsome face lit up in amusement as before his eyes discreetly traveled the length of my body. I felt my cheeks warm unexpectedly under his appreciative stare.

  “Sahara.” I pulled my handbag closer to my body and clasped my hands together. I noticed him pause and openly gaped at me before clearing his throat. When we made eye contact, I looked away. I was nervous. Not because he made me nervous, but the environment made me nervous. I’m definitely out of my comfort zone here, I thought as I looked around the waiting room. But I trust Deborah and Dr. Summers comes highly recommended, I reminded myself as I thought of the list of premiere services and products in the area that Deborah gifted me before I left Richland.

  “Sahara, call me Ben. And I will definitely be seeing you around.” With that, he walked through the front door and the bell chimed his exit.

  Squirming in my seat, I put my handbag on the coffee table beside me. I promised Emily I would do this. I can’t leave. I can’t start freaking out now. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this, I coached myself as I waited.

  “Ms. Lee? I’m Dr. Ana Summers. You can call me Ana,” Dr. Summers announced as she floated into the room through a wooden door.

  She wore a long, paisley print wrap dress that swished as she walked. Although her pale skin had very few wrinkles, her hair was almost completely grey. She looked almost regal with her hair in a tight bun and her expertly applied makeup.

  “Hi. Yes, I’m Sahara Lee,” I rose from my seat and shook her hand nervously. Dr. Ana Summers, in turn, smiled warmly and lifted her left hand to pat our clasped hands.

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance Sahara. Can I call you Sahara?” Dr. Summers opened the door she just glided through and held it open for me. “Right this way. My office is the third one on the right.”

  Walking into the spacious office, I was immediately overwhelmed with the smell of cinnamon from candles that burned on her cherry wood desk. The large window behind the desk overlooked a small courtyard in the back of the building. A floor to ceiling bookcase riddled with books was positioned directly across from the desk. A brown leather couch and two brown leather chairs were strategically placed by the wall furthest from the door.

  “Have a seat, Sahara,” Dr. Summers coaxed, gesturing to the couch as she sat down in the chair closest to her desk.

  “Thank you,” I coughed nervously as I slid down into the leather chair. I fiddled with the strap of my handbag and avoided eye contact.

  “So what brings you here, Sahara?” Dr. Summers asked in a friendly voice, obviously meant to put me at ease. It’s not working, I thought as anxiousness twisted in my gut.

  “I promised Emily I would start therapy after I got settled in my job. And I’m settled…so I’m here,” I offered with a shrug.

  “You can put your bag on the couch if you’d like,” Dr. Summers mentioned nonchalantly. “Who’s Emily?”

  I leaned up to put the satchel on the couch. In an attempt to stave off eye contact for as long as possible, I admired how the cream of my bag complimented the brown leather of the couch.

  “Emily is my best friend,” I began. “I, um, I promised her that I’d go to therapy to deal with…everything.”

  “Sounds like a good friend,” she observed with another warm smile and a nod of her head.

  “She is,” I responded with a tight smile.

  “That’s good. It’s always nice to surround yourself with good friends.”

  I nodded, but remained silent. The quietness of the room settled for a minute as Dr. Ana Summers smiled encouragingly, willing me to elaborate. I met her eyes and quietly stared back, at a loss as to what to say next.

  “You mentioned she wanted you to deal with everything. What’s everything?”

  I scoffed humorously, “Where to even start?” I ran my hand across the skirt of my dress and picked at imaginary lint balls at the hemline.

  “The beginning is always a good place,” she kindly replied.

  “The beginning…the beginning is too much,” I conceded with a shake of the head.

  “Well, where would you like to start? Anything specifically bothering you today?”

  After an extended pause, I responded, “I’m having difficulty moving on.” I closed my eyes and pressed my fingertips into my forehead. My chest started to feel tight. I removed my hands from my forehead and placed my right hand over my heart and rubbed. Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth to say more, but snapped it shut. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. God, this is hard. This is so hard, I thought as I stilled my shaky hands.

  I opened my eyes and Dr. Summers was staring at me intently. “Difficulty moving on from what, Sahara?” she asked gently.

  Where did I want to start? The accident from ten years ago? The accident from three months ago? The death toll that’s starting to rack up around me? The ability I have to ruin the men in my life? My abandonment issues or my reflex to abandon? My heartbrokenness? I mean, really, my list of problems, endless, I dejectedly thought as I squeezed my eyes shut to ward off the tears that stung them. The seconds turned into minutes and the longer I stayed tensed up with my eyes shut, the faster my heart thundered against my chest.

  “Sahara…” Dr. Summers called, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  My eyes fluttered open and I looked at her sadly. Taking a deep breath, I mumbled the first thing that came to my mind. “I can’t move on from the accidents. I’m even having nightmares about accidents.” I looked down at the ground after the words left my mouth.

  “Tell me about the accidents.” Dr. Summers asked soothingly, leaning forward in her chair to catch my eye.

  No one said this would be easy, I thought as I took a deep breath. Suck it up and say it. Just say it.

  “Which one?” I choked out. “They both killed…” I couldn’t finish my sentence because of the sob that erupted from inside me.

  Once I was able to calm myself down, I took the tissue Dr. Summers extended to me and wiped my face. When I managed to look up at her, Dr. Summers inquired kindly, “You’ve lost loved ones?”

  I nodded as I squeezed my eyes shut; trapping the silent tears that continued to flow after the sobs subsided.

  The rest of my time with Dr. Summers flew by as I talked about my dad, Officer Malcolm Lee. My heart swelled as I spoke about my love for the man who raised me as a single parent. The tears flowed freely as I recounted my involvement in the accident that claimed his life. Dr. Summers allowed me to own my feelings of guilt and didn’t try to dispute them. By the end
of the session I was emotionally drained and physically exhausted. I didn’t feel any better but surprisingly, I didn’t feel any worse.

  “I’m going to schedule you for weekly appointments for the next twelve weeks. From there, we’ll make adjustments as need be. And I want you to start a journal. Write down your feelings. You’re harboring a lot of guilt and I truly believe through therapy, you’ll be able to resolve some of your emotional distress. I’m also going to give you a prescription for something to help you sleep without panic attacks. It’s a lower dose, as needed pill. This will be enough to get you through the next couple of weeks. We will readjust as need be. Does this time work for you?”

  “Yes,” I faintly answered as she handed me the prescription. I stood up and followed her out of her office and down the hall.

  Turning to me in the waiting room, Dr. Ana Summers shook my hand. “Great! So I’ll see you here next Friday at 6pm.” Handing me an appointment card, she flashed me a knowing smile before she continued, “You are going to be fine.”

  I gave her a tight smile in response before I said, “Thank you.”

  I opened my handbag and searched for my cell phone. Pulling it out, I walked out of the front door and stepped out onto the steps. With phone in hand, I scrolled down to look for my go-to taxi company’s number. Preoccupied with making the call, I didn’t immediately notice the figure leaning against the concrete post. The phone just started to ring when I heard my name.

  “Hello,” a man called out from his relaxed position at the bottom of the stairs.

  Startled, I jumped and froze in my position at the top of the stairs. My immediate reaction was to pull out my mace. The emotionally charged session with Dr. Summers had erased any semblance of recognition of the man in front of me. Clutching my phone to my chest, I took another step back before I squinted at the smiling face at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Please accept my apologies.” When he said hello, I didn’t hear it. But there it was—the British accent. It carried with the breeze up the steps and I did a double take.