Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  “Thanks, Candy. Tell her I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Candy flashed a plastic smile, spun around, then bounced toward the lobby, long silky hair swinging across her shoulders.

  Chris paused at the office door.

  Lord, I know You said to turn the other cheek, but somehow I don’t think this is the right time for that. Not when Mom’s concerned. But even though I’m ready to fight tooth and nail on this one, I’d rather not go into battle today.

  Inhaling, he trudged down the hall, stopping at the edge of the counter to scan the bustling dining area. Matilda sat at a corner table near the window, legs crossed, hands folded on top of a large manila folder.

  Squaring his shoulders, he crossed the café with long, quick strides.

  “Hello.”

  His sister jumped and turned her head, eyes wide. They instantly narrowed, her mouth pressing into a tight line, as she eyed Chris’s coffee-boy attire.

  “Good to see—” No sense lying. He cleared his throat. “To what do I owe this surprise?”

  “Have a seat.” She flicked her hand toward the open chair across from her.

  “Can I get you something? A caramel latte or an iced mocha?” A sedative, perhaps?

  Matilda straightened, her gray eyes making a slow sweep from left to right. When she turned back to Chris, her face softened. “Is everything all right? Did something happen at the firm?”

  He flipped the vacant chair around and straddled it. “Everything’s fine. I told you I planned to make a few changes—after Dad died.”

  “You need to let that go. So you were . . . unavailable. It was all so sudden. No one blames you for not being there for his surgery.”

  No one but me. He swallowed, avoiding her gaze. This was not the time or place. Forcing a smile, he drummed his fingers on the table and looked at the manila file clutched in her hand. “So, what do ya got there?” As if he didn’t know.

  “I’m selling the house. I’ve already contacted a realtor. I understand that you just moved in, but I’m sure you’ll be able to find an apartment easy enough.”

  “It’s not yours to sell.”

  “I’m also filing for guardianship. I brought the papers with me.” She held up the file. “It would be best . . . for everyone involved, if you signed.”

  “And I told you I want Mom moved to Lily of the Valley.”

  “I won’t allow it.”

  “Did you look at the brochure I sent?”

  “I did, and went a step further, investigating the cost.”

  Chris leaned back, a derisive laugh bubbling in his throat. “So that’s what this is about. You’re worried about the bottom line, and now that I’m not pulling in six digits anymore, you’re concerned.”

  Tiny lines formed around her mouth. “Of course I’m worried. About Mom, about the bills, about you. What’s gotten into you?”

  “Life, Matilda. It might have taken me a while, but I finally figured out life is more than business meetings and courtrooms.”

  “But you liked practicing law.”

  “Like an addict likes a hit.” He shook his head. “I’m done with the conveyor belt life and basing every decision on the material payoff. It’s time I enjoy the blessings God’s given me.” While I still have a chance.

  An image of his father’s coffin being lowered into the earth flashed through his mind. He blinked it away.

  Matilda spread her hands flat on the table. “I know how much you regret not being there for Dad. And I understand how badly you want to be there for Mom, but she’s . . .” She swallowed, tears forming in her eyes. “You heard what the doctors said. You’ve read as many articles on early-onset Alzheimer’s as I have. We both know it only goes downhill from here.”

  “And you’re ready to throw her away, is that it?” He spoke much louder than he’d intended, and the room went quiet. Attempting to calm himself, he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He needed to stop now before he said something he’d regret.

  Matilda dipped her head, eyes downcast, cheeks flushed. “Perhaps we should talk about this another time. When you get off work.”

  He pushed away from the table, his chair legs screeching on the cement floor. “You can talk till your voice goes hoarse, Matilda. I’m not selling Mom’s house, and I’m moving her to Lily of the Valley.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. I’ve met with legal counsel. A court date will be set soon.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” The last thing any of them needed, Mom especially, was a bitter court battle.

  Chapter 6

  usic drifted through speakers placed throughout the Zona Rosa outdoor mall. Despite the threat of rain, cars lined the street, and shoppers lugging bags or pushing strollers streamed the walk. Ahead of Ainsley, a large family dressed in tourist attire gathered in front of the 52nd Street Grill, posing for a picture.

  “I’m glad we did this.” Grinning, Gina looped her arm through Ainsley’s. “I’ve missed you. Between your work, church stuff, and Richard, I feel like we never hang out anymore.”

  “Sorry.”

  Gina shrugged.

  “That’ll change. Things are slowing down.” Minus the plethora of reading material her boss continued to assign. Then came wedding preparations.

  “Uh-huh. Because you’ll have way more time to hang out with me once you’re married with a bunch of little Ainsleys underfoot.”

  “I’ll make time.”

  Gina studied her.

  “What?”

  “I’m worried about you. About you and Richard.”

  “Yes, I know, Gina. You’ve made it quite clear; you don’t like him.”

  “Nor him me, but that’s beside the point.” She stopped and faced Ainsley front on.

  “He’s so . . . controlling, and more and more so lately.”

  Ainsley shook her head. “He’s just stressed.”

  Although Gina continued to hold her gaze for a moment longer, she didn’t say more. Which was good, because Ainsley wasn’t sure how to respond. True, Richard had been acting like a bear, and he could be very particular on things. Most of the time that wasn’t a huge deal. But what about when it was? Would he listen to her, or would he be like his mother, bulldozing his will into a situation?

  They continued in silence, past a coffee shop and restaurant and through the grassy area stretched in front of the outdoor stage. Ainsley glanced at a vacant bench seat, feeling a sudden urge to sit. If only she could put the world on hold. She felt completely overwhelmed by all the pressures weighing down on her. She wanted desperately to do something significant, if not for that boy and his mother, then for some other hurting family. She wanted to find a better, less stressful career but didn’t have the time or money for more schooling. Then there were all the wedding details: colors, guest lists, where to host the reception, what to serve.

  Why did everything have to be so incredibly complicated?

  Richard sat at his desk, his gaze shifting between the clock and his opened door. He frowned and crossed his arms, leaning back. Heather McGahana was late. As usual. She was probably checking and rechecking all her household locks and appliances. And yet, she still refused to take her medication.

  Why was he wasting his Saturday mornings on this woman?

  As long as he was here, he may as well work on book edits, which were extensive. With a sigh, he swiveled to face his computer. But the moment he pulled up the file, the front door clanged open, and Mrs. McGahana’s voice shattered the silence.

  “I’m so very sorry I’m late. I thought for sure I’d left the burner on, though I also knew I’d checked it numerous times. And then I noticed my tank was only half full, which of course, caused me great concern. With all the, well, never mind. I’m sure you’ve heard it all before.”

  “Mr. Hollis is waiting to see you, ma’am.” Mrs. Ellis’s voice was calm, as usual.

  A moment later, Mrs. McGahana rapped on Richard’s door and poked her head inside. “I’m sorry I’m late. I
thought—”

  Richard rose. “Yes, I heard.” Crossing the room, he extended his hand, suppressing a grimace with a smile. “Please.” He motioned for his client to sit, which she did. After grabbing his leather portfolio containing his pen and notepad, he moved to an armchair across from her. “How have things been? Have you been keeping a journal?”

  “To document my feelings, you mean?”

  “Yes, but more than that. To begin noticing the circumstances around and potential triggers of your anxiety attacks.”

  She inhaled, her entire torso lifting and caving on the exhale. “I need to. I really need to. It’s just, I’m so overwhelmed with life in general . . .” She shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “This disorder steals enough of my time as it is.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps if you follow the treatment plan, your obsessions will become more . . . manageable, and your time will be freed.”

  “I don’t know. Most days I feel like it’s hopeless, you know? It’s terrible!” She shifted, tugging first at the back edge of her shirt then at the front. “Some days I feel as if I’m not getting better at all.” She went on to list her usual complaints; the same symptoms but different scenarios. “I feel as if I’m a prisoner in my own house. No one understands. Last week, my brother had a birthday party. Of course I was invited, out of spite, I’m sure. Or to give them something to talk about when I didn’t show.” Her voice hitched. “‘Poor, crazy Heather couldn’t come again.’ and of course, the sane members of my family—as if any of them are—would have to come up with a plan as to how they were going to rescue crazy old me.”

  “Have you talked with them about your condition? Perhaps if they unders—”

  “Oh no! I couldn’t do that. I’d never hear the end of it.” She went on to tell of a time, two years back, when well-intentioned family members took it upon themselves to “fix” her. Needless to say, it didn’t end well.

  “Last we talked, I wrote you a new prescription. Have you tried the medication we discussed?”

  Her gaze dropped to her hands, and she moved from ferociously rubbing her wrist to picking at her cuticles. More accurately, to picking at the sores where once her cuticles grew. “I researched them online.”

  But of course, as she had her condition and every other possible ailment in the diagnostic and statistical manual of psychological disorders. “As I told you when we last met, you cannot believe everything you read online. Similarly, just because one person has an adverse reaction doesn’t mean you will as well.” Why was he wasting his breath? This woman clearly had no intention of listening. Rather, she wanted someone’s undivided attention for an hour.

  Fifty minutes, actually. With thirty-seven still to go.

  Though he feigned interest, nodding at appropriate intervals, asking vague questions at the rare pauses, he let his mind wander to his book.

  His editor had concerns regarding a few of his research points and was asking Richard to use alternative sources. As if this wasn’t frustrating enough, she also wanted him to delete an entire chapter, calling it repetitious, while adding two others.

  “Dr. Hollis, are you listening?”

  Richard jerked back to attention, nearly dropping his pen. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  “And what would you suggest?”

  He flipped through blank pages on his tablet to buy for time, then closed the portfolio and set it on the table. Rubbing his hands together, he stared at her, as if deep in thought. “I have an idea, Heather. One I believe will help you tremendously.”

  “You do?” She scooted to the edge of her seat.

  “I do.” He moved to his desk and began rummaging through hanging files in his bottom right drawer. Inside were numerous documents printed off the Internet or received during professional lunches and mental health conferences. Most of them were highly technical; technical enough to keep Heather on Google for some time. If she were occupied by something productive, perhaps she wouldn’t feel the need to act out a compulsion.

  Regardless, in her current noncompliant state, there was nothing more he could do to help her.

  “Here.” He handed her a booklet on central dopamine receptors and their involvement in obsessive compulsive disorder. The literature was quite detailed, and as such, should keep her occupied for some time.

  Accepting the material, she stared at the title and blinked, looked at Richard, then the title again. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He looked at his watch. “Unfortunately, our session has concluded.”

  “It has?”

  He nodded, moving toward the door. “I hope you find that information helpful.”

  “Yes, I’m . . .” She reached for her purse, still casting frequent glances from him to the document. “I’m sure I will.”

  He opened the door wider. “Good day and good health.”

  Chapter 7

  insley tossed her briefcase onto the passenger’s seat and slid behind the wheel. She stared at the glass, four-story medical building in front of her. If only she could take back the past hour of her life.

  Dr. Senske’s words replayed in her mind, spoken with the warmth of a salamander. “And why should I prescribe Voltex, Miss Meadows, when Neurostockton provides more relief with less risk and half the side effects, at a fraction of the cost?”

  And that after she’d explained the results of the double-blind study conducted by Hausenburg University. Had she presented the data wrong or was this medication really that unpredictable? Either way, she’d just lost her chance at receiving a Christmas bonus, the money of which she’d hoped to use for future college expenses.

  But for now, she had much greater concerns—like finding a public restroom. If things had gone better at the doctor’s office, perhaps she would’ve used their facilities, but she’d swallowed enough humiliation for one day.

  She glanced at the clock—12:30. That gave her thirty minutes to make it across town during lunch hour traffic. Which didn’t leave a lot of time for potty breaks, but if she didn’t find one soon, she’d have much bigger problems on her hands.

  Easing onto Troost, she scanned the adjacent buildings in search of a bathroom. Hopefully one that didn’t totally creep her out—a tall order in this part of town. Five minutes later, she settled on a gas station with peeling paint and a broken sign. She pulled beside a red two-door and stepped out.

  A dented Honda with rusted and corroded metal parked beside her, 1980s rock music blaring. A lanky man got out, cigarette in hand. He took a drag then flicked it on the ground, watching Ainsley. Her breath caught, and she froze. It was the man from the apartment. His lips twitched into a cruel smile.

  He recognized her.

  It felt like forever passed as she stood there, icy feet frozen to the cement, eyes wide.

  Lifting his hands like a clawed animal, he lunged forward. “Boo!”

  She gave a high-pitched cry and jerked backward, her spine smacking against the car door. Laughing, the man muttered curse words and entered the convenience store.

  Ainsley returned to her car and locked the doors. She inspected the man’s empty vehicle, hoping to see the boy from the apartment but hoping not to at the same time. She wanted to believe he and his mom were long gone and making a new life for themselves somewhere. As unlikely as that was.

  Oh, Lord Jesus, please bring someone into that woman and child’s path. Someone safe, someone who can help them.

  Continuing to pray, she remained in her car until the abuser was long gone and her churning stomach had settled.

  Five minutes later, she perused the sparsely filled isles in search of a token purchase. She settled on a cup of stale coffee then filed behind a long line of customers. The clock on the far wall read 12:40. Lovely. Maybe she should call Richard to let him know she’d be late. He’d be thrilled.

  The line inched forward one pack of cigarettes at a time until Ainsley stood at the counter.

  “That all?” A woman with a blotchy face and dirt-colored
hair flashed a millisecond-smile.

  “Yes, thank you.” Ainsley handed over twenty dollars then waited, fidgeting, as the woman counted out each bill.

  She tucked her wallet under her arm and rushed to the door, pausing to study a magazine displayed on a nearby rack. The cover showed a single story log cabin nestled between towering maples. Ivy wove around large, red stones lining the gently sloping landscape.

  What is it about this Cabin in the Woods that keeps families coming back year after year? Page 18.

  Now that would make a lovely place for a wedding. Absolutely enchanting.

  She turned to the cashier. “Are these free?”

  The woman squinted then shrugged. “Yeah.”

  Back in the car, Ainsley set her cup in the console then flipped through the magazine until she reached the featured article.

  “Cabin in the Woods, nestled in the heart of Kansas City, is the perfect place for your wedding, reunion, or corporate function.”

  She smiled as an image of herself dressed in a Victorian lace gown, seated next to a flowering vine, emerged. Yes, that quaint little cabin looked perfect. Oh, she couldn’t wait to tell Richard! She set the magazine aside and grabbed her phone in one hand, holding the coffee in the other. Without thinking, she took a large, tongue-scorching sip.

  “Ouch!” She jerked her head back and dropped the cup. It ricocheted off the steering wheel to the floor, splattering hot coffee everywhere, including all over her white blouse.

  “Oooh! Oooh! Ahhhh!” She pressed her back against the seat, her skin throbbing. Brown stains splattered across her blouse and skirt.

  “Great. There’s no way I’m going to Marlique’s now.” She searched her car for tissue, gloves, anything to sop up the sticky mess pooling beneath her. She settled on an old scarf tucked in the glove box and cleaned up as best as she could.

  She grabbed her phone, which flew to the other side of the car during her coffee fiasco, and dialed Richard’s number.