Harkham's Case (Harkam's #1)

by Chanse Lowell

  Mari could see clearly now this woman had a secret crush on Adam’s father, but it was fine. It had no bearing on what she had done with Adam.

  “I was told he’s not autistic, though.” Mari scrunched her brow. Had she been misinformed?

  “He’s not. But there are some similarities. I had a good practice going here, working with children with brain injuries. Dustin thought maybe Adam had been damaged during his infancy by his father.” Mari covered her mouth, and her breathing stopped. Amelia’s eyes were soft as she continued, “Relax. That’s not what happened. We even ruled out trauma during his birth. His brain’s fine—no injuries whatsoever, but I was already invested. I’d never heard or seen anything like this young child. I was baffled, and after I published a few papers of my findings on him, well, word spread, and I was quickly one of the top specialists with autism. I’ve had three other cases similar to Adam’s come to me, but none of them were as fascinating as Adam.”

  “Excuse me, but I’m not comfortable with you talking about him merely as a study, or your claim to medical fame. He’s not that ill child to me.” Mari’s hands came apart and rested on her thighs so they could grip if they had to.

  “How do you see him?” Amelia’s gaze was kind and inquisitive.

  It put Mari at ease enough to share without worry of being verbally attacked. “I see him as a brilliant man, stuck, searching for a way out and being frustrated because assistance isn’t there. Only rules.”

  “Stuck how?” Amelia scribbled on her pad of paper, writing something down.

  “I’ll tell you if you stop writing,” Mari answered. The room felt hot. It was like a spotlight was on her, or like she was under a microscope, being examined for faults.

  Amelia dropped the pencil and placed her hands flat on her desk, her eyes returning to Mari.

  “Sorry, but I’ve had my share of therapists, and I’m not here for you to study me.” Mari took a deep breath. “If you really want to know, he was stuck, but not really because of his family. I don’t blame them.”

  Amelia reached for her cup and took a sip. “Go on . . .”

  “He was waiting for a reason to leave the situation and be free.” Mari’s breaths came easy, it was like a weight or restraint had been lessened.

  “And you were what he was waiting for?”

  “I don’t know . . . Possibly?” Mari stretched her neck. Even though it was easier to breathe, her head was starting to pound. All this second-guessing was taxing her brain. How did Adam deal with this woman? She was friendly, unassuming, but her cross-examination was subtle, and very unnerving.

  “Yes or no?” Amelia asked.

  “Okay, yes. He was waiting for me. The only reason I know is because I was doing the same thing without even realizing it,” Mari answered. Her shoulders relaxed. She set her hands behind her and leaned back some. “He’s helped me to see how much we have in common. I couldn’t have admitted that two weeks ago.”

  “Yes, he told me that worry of his—that you still might not believe you two are compatible. Is that true, that you think that way?” Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose and massaged a little after.

  “No, I don’t. I guess I should ease his concerns better.” Mari glanced at the door. She thought she was getting better at communication with him. Apparently not.

  “It would probably help him settle down. I haven’t seen him this edgy in a long time,” the mild-mannered doctor said.

  Mari was sitting upright again. “Really?” She blinked and furrowed her brow. Great! What was she supposed to do with this bit of information?

  “Not something to worry about. I think he felt attacked because I was asking him questions about you.”

  Mari scowled. You tricky bitch! You could’ve said that up front. “What did you ask him?”

  “I’m sorry, but unless he gives me permission, I can’t share that with you. You’re free to ask him yourself, of course, once you’re together again. But for now, why don’t I ask you a few questions?”

  “I’d rather not.” Mari stood up. This was over. “Thanks for your time.”

  “Would it be worth knowing this could actually help your relationship with his father?”

  Mari glared. “How? If you can’t say anything to Dustin, how on earth would it help?”

  “His main concern—and I’m only postulating, mind you—but this is from years of knowing this man and his family . . . Dustin worries most about who will take care of Adam if something happens to Dustin. If he saw you taking the time to work through things with me, his medical caretaker, he’d probably have an enormous amount of respect for you and believe your words more when you say you care deeply for his son. I’m sure they’ve told you how I’ve helped his son out,” Amelia said.

  Mari shrugged her shoulders. She wanted to lie and spit in her face, saying they hadn’t ever mentioned her, but she promised Adam no lying. “A little, yeah.”

  “Then take a seat, Miss Cole. I won’t keep you more than thirty minutes. That’s all I need,” she said and motioned with her hand to the seat Mari had left.

  “Yeah, me too,” Mari said, sarcastically under her breath. She settled back into the chair, but this time crossed her legs.

  A sudden urge to smoke hit her, but Adam would kill her if she lit up in here. She coughed a little to try and relieve the burning in her lungs. It helped, but barely.

  “First question—when you both leave Dustin’s house and have your own place together in the future, how do you plan to take care of him?”

  “You mean financially?” Mari asked.

  “It can mean whatever you want,” the doctor answered, her gaze impassive.

  “Well, I’ve been saving over the last two years. Granted, it’s not much. My mom made me get a summer job as part of my deal if I wasn’t going to go stay with my dad in Utah for the summer.”

  Amelia grabbed ahold of her drink but only set in front of herself. “And what kind of job did you work?”

  “I worked at Whattaburger,” Mari said, her stomach heading south.

  “That seems a strange place to work when Adam told me you’re very conscientious about what you eat. He said when he met you, that you didn’t eat sugar or white flour at all. How did that work out—being in a fast-food job?” Amelia’s brown eyes were soft, but there was a sternness there Mari disliked.

  “It worked out fine, because it was one of the few greasy burger places where I hated all their food, so I wasn’t tempted.” Mari scooted back in her chair. It seemed this was going to take a while.

  “I see. And is that what you think you’ll go back to doing when you’re both moved out?” Amelia glanced at her pad of paper.

  “No. At least I hope not!” Mari blurted. “I hated it there. I reeked of burger grease when I’d get home. That horrid smell would be fused into my hair. It made me want to puke.” She realized she’d said a trigger word and covered her mouth.

  “Oh, really? And did you ever?”

  Mari dropped her hands slowly. “What?”

  “Throw up?”

  “No, but it almost happened a few times.”

  “Mari . . . ?” Amelia grabbed her pen back.

  “What now?” Mari’s entire face tightened into a pinch.

  “Why does that word make you so uncomfortable? You turned red when you said it and looked about ready to punch through a wall.”

  “Look, I bet Adam already spilled all my secret confessions, and I don’t want to—”

  “He didn’t say anything about vomiting. Why does that bother you?” Amelia repeated.

  “Because, dammit! I thought I’d killed a one-year-old baby when I was twelve years old, and she’d choked on her vomit and died from it. There! Happy?” Mari looked away and crossed her arms over her chest. Her legs tightened together.

  “Far from it.” Amelia scratched something down on her paper. “Can you tell me how you’ve reacted since that time whenever you threw up?”

  “I freaked out—probably worse
than Adam has when the numbers get control of him.”

  “And that’s why . . . ?” Amelia trailed off.

  “Why what? Why I can understand him when everybody else thinks he’s a sick whack-job?” Mari gripped herself tight, her fingers digging in. “Yeah, maybe I can. Maybe Adam’s right in that we’re almost exactly alike, only I’m much worse than he is!” Her chest was heaving as her breaths pounded out of her. “And I don’t have some doctor to give me an excuse, stating I’m her head case number one.”

  “I can see why he got so agitated with me.” A soft sigh escaped the doctor.

  “Yeah, I know—I’m a bad influence on him,” Mari said, her voice quieter now.

  “That’s not it at all.” Mari looked at her in amazement. Amelia smiled and went on. “He wants to protect you, and he told me it’s because you protected him first, and in a way nobody else ever had.”

  “He said that?” Mari leaned forward.

  “Yes, but don’t tell him I said that, because I’m not supposed to divulge what my clients say,” Amelia said softly.

  “I won’t.” Mari swallowed and licked her dry lips. “I try so hard to be there for him.”

  “You are. I can tell. Within the second you stepped in here, I could see how much you care about him and how you punish yourself.”

  “Punish?” Mari’s nose wrinkled, her eyes narrowed and she angled her head back for a second.

  “You mentioned that little girl you thought you’d killed. How long did you think you’d been the cause of her passing away?”

  “Until about a week ago,” Mari said, her voice fading at the end.

  “And did you ever serve time for this crime you thought you’d committed?” Amelia asked, staring straight in her eyes, though she was asking an incredibly sensitive question.

  “No, but I should’ve.” Mari’s stomach anchored to her knees and was sinking toward the weight there.

  “Why? You already served more than your time.” Amelia stood up and moved around her desk, then sat on the edge of it at the front. “You’ve beaten yourself up way more than anybody else ever could’ve. Why, Marissa? Why would you do that?”

  “Don’t call me that. I don’t like it. Call me Mari.” She looked away.

  “Fair enough, Mari.” Amelia crossed her legs. “Care to answer the question of why you beat yourself up so badly?”

  “Because I’ve never done anything right.” Mari’s eyes sagged. Tears would be the end of her. If she broke down, she’d never be able to face this woman again, and she wanted that option just in case she needed to see Amelia again in the future for Adam’s sake.

  “But you have, can’t you see? Adam mentioned this too—your never-ending feeling of not being good enough. He speaks of you like you’re an angel.”

  Mari smiled. “The day I met him, that’s how he treated me, but more like I was a queen on procession and he was one of my most loyal followers I’d never known had existed before. It was disarming but also took my breath away. I’d never met a guy like that. He didn’t want anything more than to be with me and hold my hand. I had no idea what to do with myself. That had never happened to me—a guy wanting to be around me because he liked me for me, with flaws and all.”

  “He didn’t know the extent of your flaws, though,” Amelia pointed out.

  “No, he didn’t, but it didn’t matter, and I think I felt that before I knew it.” Mari released her crossed arms.

  “How so?” Amelia glanced at the clock on the wall.

  Were they out of time already? How was this possible? Mari was tempted to check the time but refrained. Until she kicked her out, Mari was staying. This was cathartic—more so than any therapist she’d ever seen in all her years. Was this woman working in the wrong profession? She could be an amazing counselor.

  “I had this overwhelming feeling of peace and knew deep down inside he’d accept me no matter what, because he was just that pure and good. There’s nothing that can replace that feeling.” Mari choked back the tears, but they were gathering strength. “That feeling that washes away all the years of neglect and abandon . . . Oh God.” She had to let it out or it would kill her. Her sobs were broken and stilted as she continued to explain. “There was an overriding sense of being valued and accepted.” She rubbed at her nose and sniffed.

  Amelia grabbed a Kleenex from the tissue box on her desk, leaned forward and handed it to her.

  “So, let me ask you once more . . . How. Do. You. Intend on taking care of him when you leave Dustin’s house?” Amelia was soft-spoken but clear and focused with power.

  “By loving him every goddamn day of my life, and never letting go, because I need him way more than he’ll ever need me.” Mari’s head dropped down, but she looked up through her wet lashes at the good doctor.

  “Good answer. I’m satisfied you’ll do exactly that, and not that it matters, but you have more than my blessing—you have my endorsement. I’ll praise you and your efforts to Dustin each time I have contact with him. I can see you’re being honest with me, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

  “You thought I’d lie? Did his dad say I would?”

  Amelia shook her head. “No, but do you know how many people walk through my door and are in so much denial about the person they love that has a brain injury, that half my job is digging past the words they use to cover up what’s really going on?”

  Mari gripped the tissue and shoved it in her pocket. “What’s really going on?”

  “Despair.”

  “Oh . . .” Mari sniffed again.

  “I see none of that in you, and that’s what I was digging for. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome?” She eyed Amelia. Should she really be thanked for loving a man she couldn’t help but resist? It seemed wrong somehow.

  Amelia chuckled. She stood up and motioned for Mari to come to her.

  The moment she was a few paces away, Amelia lunged for her and took her into a welcoming hug. “He said you’re going to marry him, and I truly hope you do it soon. I said he was agitated, but it’s in a good way. He said he hasn’t seen the numbers hardly at all since you’ve come into his life. He sees music and you.”

  Mari sighed, giggled and leaked tears. Her emotions were on a teeter-totter from this brief interlude with this miracle-working woman. Truly a genius in her own way.

  “Is that healthy? Shouldn’t there be more than those things . . . More balance?” Mari asked.

  “How many things rule your life?”

  “Two.”

  “And they are?”

  “Adam and music . . .” And that’s when it all came down like an avalanche of dunce rocks falling on her head. Adam was so right. They were exactly the same. Cigarettes didn’t rule her anymore. In fact, she hadn’t had one in over two days now. She didn’t even care that much. She still loved her music and loved him. Nothing else really mattered. She’d get through school, of course, because it was the right and smart thing to do, but it wasn’t what kept her going—what she lived for. It was amazing how much her priorities had changed in a short amount of time. She marveled at how her weight didn’t preoccupy her mind either.

  All the shallow things that used to seem so all-consuming had simply faded away.

  Adam was number one on that list now, and she was certain she was number one on his list, too. She never thought there would be a day anything would mean more to her than music.

  She cried and grabbed Amelia into a tighter hug. “I wish I’d known you a long time ago. I’d be less screwed up than I am now.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You weren’t ever really broken . . . Just . . . Stuck.” Amelia patted her back and let go.

  She walked her to the door, and Mari felt like her bones were all Jell-O and her blood drained out of her—gone with her healing tears.

  Mari stumbled out the door. Adam caught her.

  “So?” he asked, his eyes round and electrified with worry.

  “I love that woman. She’s gon
na be my maid of honor,” Mari said, smiling.

  He kissed her and said, “I think that might be awkward since Sam might kill her for that spot.”

  “No doubt.” She moved over to a chair and watched as Dustin went toward Dr. Harkham’s office for his turn.

  “She was amazing, Adam.” Mari could barely breathe. It was all too much.

  He breathed in a carefree way that warmed her chest. “I know.”

  “We should see her every week.”

  Mari looked up, and Dustin was standing in the door to the office, staring at them, his mouth rounded, his eyes widened.

  “Dustin?” Amelia called after him from inside her office.

  “Coming . . .” And he disappeared right after that, his gaze on the happy couple until the last minute.

  Chapter 21

  Mari had no idea what to do when they got home—back to Adam’s home.

  Samara was already bustling around the kitchen, starting dinner.

  “Can I help?” Mari asked but kept back a few feet so she wouldn’t encroach into Samara’s territory.

  “I guess.” Samara kept her eyes on the food she was chopping like a maniac.

  “What are you making?” Mari pushed onto her toes, stretched her neck and peered over Samara’s shoulder. It smelled great.

  “Stir fry. I always make stir fry after he’s had a doctor’s visit. He needs the protein and vegetables. And since he won’t eat salad—”

  “He eats salad with me,” Mari blurted.

  Samara sniffed and went rigid. “Oh . . .”

  Had his sister forgotten that Mari had made stir fry the other night? She acted like making this meal was some huge novel idea. Like Samara was heads above Mari in terms of knowing what proper nutrition was and what might help Adam best. Was it so wrong that Mari wanted to care for him, too—in her own way?