“What happened yesterday isn’t a prelude to your worst fears for Sullivan.”
I face Frederick from across the room. “We didn’t want the tabloids to have tons of photos of her. I knew eventually she’d have some, but not like this—and not because of me.”
I took Sulli to her swim lesson, and I don’t know who was hiding and where they were, but they captured ten photos. She went from having blurry, crappy images online to being in high-res, picking a wedgie. And in the span of two hours, she became an internet meme. All before she turns two next month.
Sullivan Minnie Meadows First High-Res Baby Pictures! People photoshopped…well, it doesn’t matter does it? People can be creative without realizing a real person is on the other side of the picture.
#RaisyBaby is still trending, and so are all the jokes attached.
“It’s not your fault,” Frederick says, “but you’ve heard that already. Haven’t you?”
I think about my support system. Ryke, he didn’t blame me. Not a single time. He was more upset that I was upset. Rose, Lily, Lo, Connor, and even Garrison all came over last night to be there. Willow also dropped in via Skype.
I nod, my eyes glassing. I walk towards a potted fern.
“Your daughter will have the same support system, Daisy. She has people her own age in the same boat all around her.”
Moffy. Jane. Beckett. Charlie. Eliot. Luna.
“She’s not destined to be you,” he continues. “She’s going to be Sullivan Minnie Meadows, and she’ll experience the world in a different way and in a different time.”
I draw closer to the center of the room, facing him again. “Rose told me it’s always been easier when the tabloids focused on her and not Jane, but I never really understood the feeling until now.” I rock on my feet and set my hands on my head. “I’d give anything to have them yell at me.”
We Are Calloway helps, every day, with the venom and violence directed towards us, but like all things, there’ll always be cynics. Thankfully nothing like the flour-bombers era.
“What would they yell?” Frederick asks.
I see what he’s doing. Every weighted word on my chest screams to be released.
“Daisy Calloway is too stupid to live.” I stare at him strongly, hearing all the voices I’ve heard. All the ones I squashed before. All the ones I could stomp out again. “An annoying brat. Attention seeker!” I shout it. “She never acts her age! How could Ryke love someone like that? WHAT AN IDIOT!!” I yell so loud that something heavy explodes inside of me, obliterating. Less cumbersome.
What if she can’t fight back like this? What if she’s sad and lonely? What if she cries herself to sleep? What if she can’t sleep?
Frederick must read the questions in my eyes because he rises to his feet, power in his stance. When he becomes this wise yet unrelenting figure—just by posture alone—I can see why Connor chose him as his therapist. Why he’s known him for so long.
Frederick tells me, “No one would ever wish your experiences on another person, and we all hope she won’t have them, but if she’s ever sad, Daisy, she has a mother who has experienced pain beyond some human comprehension and who has continued to persevere. A mother who has the ability to empathize with lows that appear for no reason at all. Lows that some will never understand. You understand them.”
I take a deep inhale like my ribs have been blocking airflow to my lungs. And just now, I breathe.
“The greatest medicine on Earth isn’t a pill. It’s compassion. The ability to make someone feel less alone. Someone very close has been this for you.”
This is where I start crying. “Ryke.” I rub my watery eyes. Sometimes the world looks bleak. Like every road is barricaded. Like pounding through walls to reach a happy future takes too much effort. Like it’s not in the cards for me. Then I remember it’s not impossible.
This is temporary.
This feeling will go away soon. Just wait.
The walls will dissolve. Just wait.
The sun will rise again.
Just wait.
We can wait in the arms of the people we love. That’s what I’ll tell Sulli. It’s what I’ll do when she’s upset.
“She’ll be okay,” I breathe, coming to this simple but freeing realization. She will be okay.
Frederick sinks back in his chair, and I drift towards the couch. I end up lying down, hanging my shoulders and head over the back. I wipe off the wet streaks on my face.
“My sister would totally call you magic.”
“Lily?” he asks, but he already knows she’s the truest believer of us all.
“Do you ever bring up magic with Connor just to annoy him?” Suddenly, the door cracks open, and I stare at the incomer upside-down. “Speak of the genius.”
Connor arches a brow. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you never are,” I answer with the wag of my brows. I think he’s referring to us discussing him and me being upside-down.
“She’s one of the smart ones,” Connor says, shutting the door behind him and walking further into Frederick’s office, closer to the couch. “But not smarter than me.”
Frederick checks his watch. “You’re an hour early, Connor.”
“I don’t have to check my watch to know I’m only fifty-two minutes early. You’re not playing your best game, Rick.”
“Or maybe I’m just not playing the same game.”
Connor eyes our therapist with more agitation than he lets most people see in a week. “Then tell me why I’m here.”
Is this what it’s like between them? I’ve never really been with Frederick and Connor at the same time. Frederick assesses Connor as fast as Connor assesses him.
“I’d rather not discuss your motivations in front of another patient, especially one that’s a part of your family.”
“Hey there, brother-in-law,” I say with a weak smile.
Connor pockets his cellphone in his slacks. He says nothing in response to either of us yet. He just waits for me to move my feet off the leather cushion. Ryke would’ve just picked up my legs. Lo would’ve said move your goddamn body. Connor—he just stares at me like it’s expected. Like the couch is his.
The floor is his.
The air, the water, all of life’s necessities. His.
And for some crazy reason, I don’t question it. I just scrunch towards half the couch, sitting up more, and he takes a seat beside me.
“Does that always work?” I ask, knowing he’ll understand what I mean.
“Only if you’re me.” He rests his elbow on the leather armrest, his fingers casually to his temple. “Daisy, would you mind if I joined your session?”
My curiosity piques. “Not at all.”
Frederick sighs in slight annoyance, but this seems like the kind of invite you’d never reject.
“You do joint sessions all the time,” Connor says. “You shouldn’t be disgruntled by this one.”
“You purposefully showed up early to crash her session. That calls for a stronger emotion than discontent, but this isn’t about my feelings. If she’s agreeing to this, then we’ll do it, but Daisy, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“It’s okay. I feel better.”
Connor studies the dried tears on my face.
Frederick reluctantly rises off the chair, grabs a second folder from a filing cabinet, and returns to his seat. He flips through the papers, a few falling to his lap. He tries to stuff them back inside.
Connor watches intently, and a smile snakes across his face. “Did I catch you off guard, Rick? Do you need more time to prep?”
Our therapist lets out a tight breath. “Why don’t we start with a commonality between the two of you?” He plants his gaze on Connor. “Scott Van Wright.”
Boom.
I haven’t heard that name in our sessions in a couple years. The whole “Scott Van Wright illegally filmed you blowing your previous boyfriend, lied about destroying the tapes and then continued to watch them”
was a segment of my life that I’ve snipped away and filed under Super Shitty Shit.
I’m curious to see how Connor handles this topic, though. Since his privacy was also invaded by Scott. Only difference: his sex tapes were blasted out to the entire world. Mine aren’t online because it’s child pornography. Scott never uploaded it.
But there’s something else that strings us together, I know this.
Connor was the one who discovered the tapes of me. They were in Scott’s house, and Connor somehow befriended Scott in a way that only Connor Cobalt could do. He found the tapes. I’m not sure if he watched them. I never asked.
My suspicions point to no, since Pennsylvania law prohibits even watching child pornography (I was seventeen in the videos), and Connor is sitting here and not in jail. Though, I wouldn’t have pressed charges if he did. I’d understand if it was something that had to happen to catch Scott in the act.
“We have many commonalities,” Connor counters with barely a blink. “Why choose this one?”
Frederick leans back in a comfortable position, no longer stressed that we’re here together. “You both have been violated by Scott—”
Connor doesn’t wait for him to finish. He grimaces strongly and says, “Violated is a grossly exaggerated term to describe what Scott did. He pissed on my front yard. He’s the equivalent of a rodent scurrying from a nearby tree and urinating on my property. That’s it, Rick.”
My eyes slowly grow. I’m watching an unfiltered version of Connor, something only seen in a director’s cut edition, and I shouldn’t really be privy to it.
My brother-in-law glances at me, as if reminding himself of my existence, but he doesn’t sweat it or bat an eye. “That word, I’m sure, belongs to Daisy. Let’s talk about that.”
I smile. “But I’d rather talk about rodents urinating on lawns.”
Frederick cuts in, “Daisy, what do you think about the word violated? Do you think it pertains to you?”
So we’re going here? I take a deeper breath. “Yes,” I say. “Because what Scott did was awful and unconsented.” My skin crawls just picturing Scott and his friends watching me on tapes that I never knew existed.
“Awful is too kind,” Connor says.
Frederick shifts his papers again. “What words would you use?”
“Heinous, flagrant, egregious, despicable—but even better, he deserves none of my time pondering his actions or what he is. I’ve spent too much on him already.”
Frederick pauses. “You won. He’s in jail. You don’t lose just because you feel from the events, even after they’ve ended.”
Connor looks to me. “This is Rick’s way of telling me to cope with sentiments I can’t understand. He forgets that I’m not like everyone else.” He turns back to Frederick. “I’m not wounded. I’m irritated by the constant need to discuss what’s dead. It helps most people, like Daisy, but I’m not most people.”
I can’t tell who’s right. Maybe they both are. Maybe Connor struggles to reach the bottom of his emotions, ones he truly thinks don’t exist within him. Maybe it’s Frederick’s job to pull them out.
“You’re human,” Frederick tells him. “It’s human to be affected by trauma long after the trauma ends.”
Connor rubs his lips, his agitation more than apparent. “I willingly did what I did. I skewered a rat on my lawn and made him eat himself. I feel justified. We should really be discussing last night’s events.” Before Frederick can speak, Connor asks me, “Did you sleep well?”
“The best I ever could.” I know he can catch the lie in my smile. I pick at a tear in the leather couch cushion.
“How many hours?” Connor asks again. “Were you frightened?”
I wonder if Rose’s concern sent Connor here, wanting more answers about my health. I don’t want to worry her or him, so I stray from seriousness, my eyes widening in mock horror. “Fifteen hours of sleep. It was insanity. You should’ve been there, total party in my bed.” I smile at that funny innuendo.
“Is she always like this?” Connor asks Frederick like my runaround antics would be exhausting after a while.
Frederick wears a kind-hearted smile. “Sometimes.”
I swing my legs from side to side, unable to rest my chin on my knee. “Why are you so interested in what happens beneath my sheets, Connor?”
He just stares blankly at me. “It’s like chasing a puppy that runs after its own tail.”
I smile again. “I’m the puppy?”
“Obviously.” He checks his phone like someone texts him. Definitely Rose. “You were crying?” he asks before setting his deep blue gaze on me again.
“I imagined a life without chocolate.”
“And unsurprisingly, I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t believe that a world without chocolate is absolutely, entirely devastating?”
Connor’s brows furrow like I’m a fool if I think I’m fooling him. “I believe that you like sprinting in pointless circles.” Another text lights up his phone. My sister’s concern suddenly yanks at my heart.
“I didn’t sleep at all,” I finally answer.
Connor contains his emotion. I can’t read him.
So I add, “But tell Rose that I plan on taking a nap when I get home, and that I already feel better.”
“I will.” He texts Rose in front of me, not shocked that I figured out why he’s here.
Frederick taps the armrest. “Let’s reroute to Scott Van Wright.”
Connor sets down his phone. “I’m beginning to think you have a fondness for rats and swine.”
Frederick actually smiles. “Daisy, do you have any questions for Connor about what happened? Anything you want to express?”
I think there is something. “You never told me if you saw any of the footage. You had to confirm the tapes were of me. You couldn’t just leave without knowing for certain. So…how?”
Connor’s gaze is cemented on Frederick, Frederick’s cemented on his. Whatever passes between them in the brief silence, I guess could only be described as understanding. An understanding that this topic would be broached sooner or later. That this moment would come to fruition.
“Tell her,” Frederick urges with a slow nod.
Connor doesn’t balk, not once. He slowly but surely rotates to face me. Calmly, he says, “Five seconds. I tried leaving sooner, but I did see you half-dressed.” He pauses. “I didn’t see you giving head, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s what I always thought, and I really, really appreciate it. What you did…”
“Don’t.” Connor’s deep blue eyes never dart away from mine. “Don’t appreciate me, Daisy. Because it wasn’t for you. I manipulated a man and used your evidence to further a ploy that benefited me and my family.”
He can paint the selfish portrait, but that picture is only half-complete.
“Maybe your intentions were never to help me, but you did. And it’s not the only thing you did.” It’s more than just interrupting Julian and me during Princesses of Philly. “How many photographs have you bought? The ones that photographers took of me backstage when I modeled?” I’m not sure if there’s more than just the one from Paris, but I remember that one like a deep, visceral scar in my body. Photographers captured pictures of me naked backstage at a Paris fashion show.
I never knew what happened to them.
They never leaked online. In time, I realized that Connor Cobalt is the only one who had the resources to buy them. To stop them.
To help me.
I believe he did it because he loves Rose, and Rose loves me. What power their love truly has.
Connor observes me for a second, his features harder to interpret. Then he turns to our therapist. “You see, I’m not as self-serving as you believe me to be.”
“As you believe yourself to be,” Frederick corrects.
I drop my feet to the floor and stand up again, hating to sit this long. I start wandering towards the bookshelf.
“Both of
you know that Scott’s sentence will be ending soon, maybe even earlier if he gets out on good terms. How are you going to handle it?”
Connor calls out, “Daisy.” He wants me to go first?
I thumb through hardbacks on a middle shelf. “I wish he could rot away forever, but he did his time. Now he’ll be on the sex offender’s registry.” I look over my shoulder at them. “I think that has to be enough.” It has to. Because I can’t be worried Scott will appear again and hurt us. That fear has no room in my world.
“Her answer is mature,” Frederick tells Connor. “I’m guessing yours will be more verbose.”
Connor arches a brow. “Guessing? Aren’t you supposed to be a professional? I don’t pay you to guess.”
“You tell me,” Frederick says, a smile playing at his lips. He picks up his coffee like this is normal. I smile too, realizing it’s normal for Connor to insult everyone.
Even his own therapist.
“He might be set free in time because of our judicial system, but he’ll be imprisoned emotionally and mentally. I will always see him as what he fucking is. Swine, a rat-snake, someone not worth my time. I’m mostly annoyed by ignorance, by people who think it’s acceptable to directly send me messages about events that did not and will not ever happen. People who believe he’s virtuous.” Connor shakes his head. “I won’t scream and open their eyes and make them hear and see. If they can’t understand reality, then so be it. They’re gnats to me.”
The air is thick.
Connor sits forward to add one more statement, “He will never come within eyesight of my family or Daisy’s family or Lily’s. I’d stomp him down before he reached within fifty miles of us. It’s not an illusion. It’s a fact.”
I realize that Connor may never ascribe the word “violated” to himself, but I think Scott Van Wright definitely violated him at one point in time. His hostility, that I never see, makes me believe that Scott crossed a boundary with Connor that others never do.
Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) Page 21