by Dorie Graham
Lucas moved beside her, taking her again into his arms. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You didn’t hurt anyone. Go ahead and cry.”
What kind of a mess was she that she’d put her son in that situation? How would she ever explain this to him?
“How...how was he?” she asked, when she could catch her breath. She rubbed her sleeve across her face. Her eyes felt raw.
Lucas bowed his head, but then met her gaze. “He was pretty shaken up. He didn’t understand what was happening to you. It scared him, but he’s a tough little guy.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I explained a bit about PTSD to him. I know you didn’t want that, Claire, but he needed to understand. I told him I’d take care of you.”
The sick feeling twisted in her gut. Poor Grey. “What did you tell him exactly?”
“Only that this can happen when people have gone through trauma. So, really, all he knows is that something bad happened to you. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I had to tell him something.”
She nodded, even as she sank deeper into the sadness. How was she going to make this right? She could never tell Grey about the bad thing that had happened to her.
And he would want to know.
“Of course, you did what you had to. Thank you, Lucas. I don’t know what would have happened if Grey hadn’t had you to call.”
She stopped as her throat tightened and even more tears threatened. “My family...they wouldn’t have known how to handle any of this.”
“I’m glad he called me.”
“I felt like...” She searched for the right words. “Like I was lost in this horrible place and I followed your voice back. When you talked to me the way you did... That...helped. They wouldn’t have done that.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “I might still be...there.”
“This isn’t the first time this has happened, is it?” he asked.
She shook her head. “But it’s never been this...severe. And it’s never happened when I couldn’t find a quiet place to lock myself away and fall apart in private.”
“Do you know what triggered it?”
“It was dark when I left the studio. There was a man in the parking lot.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.” It had been so innocent, really, she was embarrassed by her extreme reaction. “He was just going to his car, but I panicked. He didn’t even say boo to me and I just...fell apart. I was so...afraid.” She paused, the sick feeling stirring in her stomach. Would she always be such a coward?
“I thought I’d be okay, and I went to get Grey, but I guess it affected me more than I thought.”
The damn tears continued to course down her cheeks. She was a blithering mess. Her entire body shook and she collapsed again against Lucas as he held her and stroked her arm.
“It’s okay. You’re safe,” he said.
“I know, but I’m so screwed up. Why can’t I be normal like Grey wants and just handle it? Look what I’ve put my son through,” she said, sniffling like a baby.
She hated this—hated that she was such a disaster as a human being and a failure as a mother. Grey deserved better than this.
“What am I going to do?” she asked.
“Talk to someone, Claire. I can get you the name of a good therapist.”
Why was he so intent on this talking thing? Talking stirred up the memory, brought the past to life. She felt like she’d barely made it back this time. How could she relive it again?
“Please, sweetheart, you have to give it a try.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. You don’t understand.”
“It’s scary. I know, but can’t you see it’s getting worse? You can’t just ignore it. It will never go away like that. You have to face it, in a safe environment and then you can conquer it, once and for all,” he said.
“I can’t. I can’t bear it, Lucas. I’m not as strong as you think. I’m...not brave enough.”
“Then Grey will continue to suffer.” He turned her to face him, disappointment in his eyes. “Sweetheart, talk to me, if you can. Try to tell me what happened to you and you’ll see it’s only words.”
She shook her head, but he held her and wouldn’t let her turn away. “Did someone hurt you?”
Closing her eyes, she nodded. “Yes, someone hurt me.”
“You were alone, in the quiet. What happened, Claire?” He gripped her hands. “Hold on to me. You’re safe now. The past can’t hurt you anymore.”
She squeezed his hands, focusing on the feel of his fingers against hers. “I’d just gotten home. Grey was at school. It was the old house, before this one.” She shook her head as though that would keep the panic at bay. “I couldn’t stay there after that.”
“It’s okay. You can tell me more if you want to, but only if you want. Try to calm down. Breathe.”
She inhaled slowly. “It was quiet in the house, peaceful, and I stood in the hall and soaked in the stillness.”
She closed her eyes as her tears once more ran freely. She had to be brave, but not here. Not with Lucas. If she talked about it, she might flip out again and he’d blame himself.
“Give me the name, Lucas,” she said. “I’ll make an appointment. I’ll see a therapist.”
* * *
THE MUFFLED SOUND of the television playing in Gram’s room mingled with the distant road noise as Grey pulled his mom’s cell phone out from under the pillow. He unlocked the phone and blinked at the bright display. How was he supposed to sleep when he didn’t know what was happening?
He’d sent Lucas a text over an hour ago, but hadn’t heard back. Should he call?
Throwing back the covers, he rolled to his feet. He couldn’t sleep. Maybe he should drink some milk or something.
Moving as quietly as he could, he headed along the dark hallway toward the kitchen, carrying the phone with him.
He got the milk out of the refrigerator, and then pulled Gram’s step stool over to reach the glasses from the top shelf.
“Do you need some help?” Gram asked as she stepped into the kitchen.
Startled, Grey grabbed the bottom of the cabinet to steady himself. “I didn’t hear you coming.”
“Here.” She grabbed two big mugs from a different cabinet. “Why don’t I make us some hot chocolate?”
Grey nodded as he stepped down. “Sure. Can I help?”
“Can you get out a pot and pour in a splash of water?”
“How much is a splash?” he asked as he pulled out a pot.
She shrugged. “About a quarter of a cup. We’re going to add milk, so we don’t need much.”
“And we add chocolate, too, right?” he asked, anticipation filling him.
She brought items from the pantry and set them on the table. “Yes, some cocoa powder and sugar.”
“How much?” Grey asked. He had to remember this, so he could make it for his mom. Hot chocolate made everyone feel better.
“About...” She poured the sugar into a measuring cup. “This much sugar and you only need about half of that for the cocoa powder.”
“So, another quarter cup for the sugar and half that would be...an eighth of a cup for the cocoa powder,” Grey said as he scooped out the brown powder.
Gram stirred the mixture as he added the sugar and cocoa into the pot.
Grey watched carefully. “If I just wanted to make enough for my mom, I’d only use half of everything, right?”
Gram kept stirring. “That’s right. Are you going to make this for your mom?”
“I think it will make her feel better,” he said.
“Tell me again what happened tonight, Grey. I still don’t understand. How did you end up with Lucas?”
He glanced at the phone he’d left on the table, but the display was still blank. “I didn’t notice anything right away, but she was driving a little fast and when I asked her something she didn’t answer me. It was like she couldn’t hear me, but she was sitting right there. I was getting scared, but then she pulled over
into that parking lot.”
Again he shrugged. “Lucas said she has PT something and she was having a flashback, because something bad happened to her.”
Gram shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with your mother that a good talking-to won’t fix.”
“I don’t understand it, either, Gram, but I tried to talk to her and it didn’t work. Lucas can fix her, though.”
“And how is he going to do that?” she asked.
Grey didn’t know what to say. It was all too confusing. “He’s going to try to get her to talk to a therapist.”
Gram nodded toward the milk. “Let’s go ahead and pour that in.”
Grey did as she asked, then took the spoon from her and stirred the chocolaty mixture. “Do you know what happened to make her like that?”
Gram sat in one of the kitchen chairs at the little wooden table. “Nothing happened to your mom, Grey. At least nothing that isn’t in her head.”
Grey frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She’s always had an overactive imagination. I promise you nothing bad happened to her.”
That sounded good, but Grey was still confused. “Do you mean she imagined something bad happening, but it didn’t?”
“The mind is a very powerful thing. Maybe your mother thinks something bad happened to her, but it was really something that she built up in her mind.” She got up to pour the hot chocolate into the mugs.
Grey took his mug from her as she sat beside him again. “Thanks,” he said. “But how do you know something bad didn’t happen to her? It could have happened when you weren’t there.”
She blew across her cocoa to cool it. “I just know. I’m going to get some sleep, Grey. I suggest you do the same.”
He stared after her as she left. None of this made any sense. He checked his mom’s phone and was thrilled to see a new text. He touched the icon and read the message from Lucas.
Hey, my sweet boy, this is Mom. I’m sorry I freaked out on you tonight. So very sorry. I’m okay and I’m going to get help. Will see you after school tomorrow and we’ll talk. I know you have questions. I love you.
He texted back. I’m glad you’re okay. I love you, too.
A yawn billowed out of him. He set his empty mug in the sink, grabbed the cell phone and headed for bed. Tomorrow he’d see his mom and she’d be better. They’d have normal now. Whether Gram was right or not, Lucas would get Mom fixed and everything would be all right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE THERAPIST’S RECEPTION area was quiet and unassuming, with one potted tree warming the space with its greenery. Claire checked in, and then sat beside Lucas, her hand clasped in his. After a short wait, a side door opened and a tall brunette with caring brown eyes looked toward them. “Claire Murphy?” she asked.
Claire nodded and rose, but instead of letting go of Lucas’s hand she tugged him up with her. “Come with me,” she said and then turned toward the woman. “If that’s okay?”
“Whatever you’d like.” The woman stepped back and held the door for them.
Lucas stopped and touched Claire’s cheek. “If you want me in there with you, I’ll come, but are you sure?”
She held his gaze. “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us. You have a right to know...everything.”
“Okay.” He nodded and followed her through the door.
The woman extended her hand to Claire. “I’m Nora Phillips. I’m so glad you’ve come.”
Claire took her hand. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Ms. Phillips.”
“Please call me Nora.” She turned to Lucas. “And you must be Lucas. I’ve heard so many good things about you.”
He glanced at Claire. “Nice to meet you.”
“Well then, follow me,” Nora said.
She led them down the hall to a small room furnished with plants and soft cushioned chairs. Books crammed a bookcase along one wall and spilled into a pile on the floor. Instead of a couch, a chaise longue sat in one corner and soft light from the floor-to-ceiling window filled the space.
“Please,” Nora said, gesturing to the various seating options. “Have a seat wherever you’d like.”
Her chest tightening, Claire perched in one of the chairs and Lucas took the seat beside her. “It’s very quiet here.”
Nora’s eyebrows arched. “I usually play music. It’s a good grounding device. What kind of music do you like?”
“I usually listen to anything metal.” She glanced at Lucas. “But my tastes seem to be mellowing, so I’m flexible.”
With a nod, Nora moved to a computer sitting on a side table. She clicked the mouse a couple of times. “Let’s see if this works for you.”
The strains of Breaking Benjamin floated through the air at a low volume. Claire would have liked it harder and louder, but she flexed her hands to ward off the tingling. “I can work with this.”
Nora settled into a chair across from Claire. “Are you sure? You’re the one in charge here, Claire.”
She gritted her teeth and nodded. The tightening of her scalp signaled the start of the dreaded headache. “It’s fine. So, how does this work? Do I just talk and you write lots of notes?”
Nora’s smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I don’t have the best memory, so I may jot down a few notes and we’ll talk about some options for how we’ll structure the sessions. But I want to stress that you call the shots here. We won’t do anything that you’re not ready for.”
Lucas threaded his fingers through hers, but remained silent. She stared at their joined hands. The tingling had set in and they hadn’t even started the session. How would she make it through this?
“Why don’t we start first by you telling me what brings you here today, Claire? I know what Lucas told me on the phone, but I’d like to hear from you.” Nora smiled at her encouragingly.
“I...had an...episode last night.” Even saying the words made her feel ashamed.
“What do you mean by episode?”
She glanced at Lucas, as fear rippled through her. She was moving into panic mode, here in the therapist’s office. Lucas rubbed her hand. She couldn’t feel her fingers.
“Go on, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s okay.”
She nodded. “I get this thing where...I get scared, really scared and my hands tingle and then go numb and my head...gets this pain like it’s in a vise and my heart races.” She closed her eyes and swallowed. “There’ve been a couple of times where I couldn’t remember what happened afterward, like it got so bad I blacked out.”
Again she glanced at Lucas and he nodded for her to continue. “It was bad last night and I...”
She closed her eyes against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. What if she told Nora how she’d driven like that with Grey in the car? What if they declared her unfit and took away her son? She couldn’t do this. She grabbed her chest and gasped for air.
“Sweetheart—” Lucas said, turning to her.
“Claire, take a deep breath,” Nora said as she knelt in front of her.
Tears streaked down Claire’s cheeks. Why had she thought this was a good idea? “I can’t,” she said. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this.” She gripped Lucas’s hand. “Lucas, please...take me home.”
Disappointment flickered in his gaze, but he nodded and pulled her from her chair.
* * *
LUCAS SHUT HIS eyes for the briefest second as Claire pushed through her front door. He was so tired. He hadn’t been drained like this since those days with Toby. But he couldn’t think about that.
Not now. Not when Claire needed him.
She moved as if each step was an effort. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “It’ll be okay.”
She shook her head. “How?”
“You’re not in this alone,” he said, concerned by her blank tone.
Dark circles ringed her eyes. Her shoulders stooped and her head hung low. A memory of Toby standing dejected, unable to cope with his li
fe, flashed through Lucas’s mind.
He couldn’t let this happen again.
“I’m not going to leave you,” he said, holding her close as his throat tightened. How had he ended up back in this place?
She lifted her head, tears filling her eyes. “I’ll drag you down with me.”
“No.” He stroked her hair. “I’ll be strong enough for both of us.”
“That’s not fair to you.”
“I don’t care if it’s fair or not. You aren’t going to get rid of me.”
She straightened and pushed away from him. “But I need to, Lucas. Look at you. You’re exhausted.”
“I can catch up on my sleep. It’s okay.”
“No. It isn’t.” She paced away from him and a little of the old Claire surfaced in the proud angle of her head. “We’re back to the same old thing again.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t fix me.”
He bowed his head. He was too tired to get into this with her. “Claire—”
“Listen to me,” she said. “I have to fix this. Me, Lucas. Not you.”
“Okay, that’s fine, but I can help. The next time we go to see Nora, we’ll start with something simple.”
She stilled. Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I’m not going back.”
“Okay,” he said. “You didn’t like her. That’s fine. We’ll find someone else.”
“No, Lucas, you’re not hearing me. I’m never going back. Not to Nora, not to anybody else. I can’t...” She clutched her chest and grimaced as though in pain. “I can’t do it.”
“Sweetheart, you’re getting worked up again. Just breathe and we’ll talk this out.”
“I don’t want to talk it out. Therapy isn’t an option. I get that now. I accept it. I’ll find a way to beat this on my own.”
A chill ran through Lucas. “You can’t, Claire. I’ve seen other people with less severe PTSD manage on their own, but it was a struggle.”
She couldn’t really mean it. She had Grey to consider. “You’ve been trying on your own and it hasn’t worked. You’ve gotten worse. I know it’s scary, but therapy works.”