On the Way Back

by Fox, Ella

  Garrett made a sound of arousal when our kiss grew more desperate as all finesse went out the window while we kissed like we were starved for each other—which, I finally admitted, we were. When he lifted his head, I let out a little curse, which earned me a husky chuckle from him. Opening my eyes, I found him smiling down at me like I’d gifted him the world.

  “I want nothing more than to kiss you for hours, but someone is knocking at the door. My guess is it’s the bellhop.”

  I could tell by the look in his eyes that it took a hell of a lot of control to stop kissing me, and I loved him for that. He knew better than anyone else how imperative it was that I follow through in getting the help I needed and once again, he was putting what I needed first.

  As I watched him go, I silently vowed that one way or another, I would live up to the faith he had in me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shaelyn—August 2001

  I’d been feeling positive and excited about starting treatment, so when my anxiety reared its ugly head three minutes into my walk to my first face-to-face meeting with Dr. Cohen, I wanted to cry. The good feelings I’d had about getting better morphed into thoughts of failure. My inner monologue went from this is going to help to there’s no way to get past losing a child between one breath and the next.

  My heart pounded inside my chest, my palms got clammy, and a big part of me wanted to throw in the towel and go back to the hotel to hide. Nervous sweat trickled down my back as I forced myself to continue walking to her office, mentally kicking myself for being stupid enough to tell Tia she didn’t need to go with me. Each step felt like I was walking the steepest of hills, the idea of stopping so tempting that I barely kept going.

  I needed to be grounded, and I knew just who could do that for me. With less than two blocks left to go, I stopped walking and made my way over to the doorway of an empty storefront that had a for rent sign in the window. My fingers were trembling so badly when I pulled out my BlackBerry that it took a few tries to unlock the phone and press the button to speed dial Garrett’s phone. Even though it was just after six in the morning in Los Angeles, he answered on the first ring.

  I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was fully awake, which took a little of the guilt away. If I’d woken him, I’d have felt like shit.

  “You okay?” he asked, cutting right to the chase.

  “I’m having a panic attack,” I whispered.

  My breath was coming too fast, and I felt a little dizzy as I stared out at the never-ending parade of business people on their way to work. They all walked with great purpose, briefcases or messenger bags swinging as they walked. Most were using their BlackBerrys, either staring intently at the screen or talking a little too loud to someone on the other end of the line. Many of the women I saw wore socks over their stockings, their feet encased in comfortable sneakers, which meant their bags or briefcases held a pair of heels. It was all so different to Los Angeles or Las Vegas, the busy, go-go-go of the financial district.

  Anywhere else in the world, I probably would’ve gotten some looks. Certainly, my anxiety made it feel like there may as well have been a flashing neon sign over my head to announce that I was in crisis. New York city being what it was, no one even looked over or paid any attention to me. I was damn near invisible in the sea of people trying to get to work, which was a blessing since I was so keyed that anyone noticing my mini-meltdown would’ve just made things worse.

  “Put your free hand right above your belly-button and focus on taking four slow, deep breaths,” Garrett instructed.

  I turned away from the sidewalk so that I was looking at the door to the empty business as opposed to the people going about their days on the sidewalk. With my hand on my stomach, I took as slow of a breath as I could, making sure it was deep enough to make my hand rise and fall with the movement.

  “Again,” Garrett said.

  He had me repeat the process four times, and by the time I was letting out the last exhale, I felt steadier. Still shaky, but not the kind of turn-around-and-run-away scared I’d felt when I’d called him.

  “You’ve got this,” he said. The confidence in his tone was so solid that I swore I could feel it envelop me.

  “Will you stay on the phone with me until I get to her office?” I asked.

  “You don’t even need to ask, baby. Of course, I will,” he answered.

  Even knowing he would stay on the phone, I hesitated. The fear was like a wall that I didn’t know how to climb. The sound of Garrett singing Here Comes the Sun pulled me up short for several seconds. It felt like it had been an eternity since he’d sung to me, and I’d forgotten how much I loved it.

  Taking another deep breath, I stepped back out onto the sidewalk and walked the final block and a half to Dr. Cohen’s office. By the time I entered the lobby of the pre-war building, I had calmed down enough to feel like I had it under control. Without Garrett, I didn’t think that would’ve been the case.

  * * *

  When I spoke to Dr. Cohen on the phone, I’d pictured her as a soft-spoken version of Dr. Melfi from The Sopranos, mostly because it was my and Garrett’s favorite show. In person, that turned out to be wildly inaccurate. Instead of the pearls, sweater set, sensible two-inch pumps, and hair in a bun person I’d envisioned, Dr. Cohen had on jeans, a plain white tee, a pair of flats, and her long auburn hair was down. She welcomed me warmly, like I was a friend she hadn’t seen in a while. I don’t know why I’d been prepared for her to be super-clinical, but I was thrilled to discover I was wrong.

  The windows that lined the back wall of the space let in plenty of light, and the small plants placed along the windowsill did a lot to make the space seem less like a formal space and more like somewhere you could be comfortable. I’d envisioned boxy, leather and chrome furniture, but that also wasn’t the case. The office was done in light tones, grays, blues, and whites, and the exposed brick of the wall that housed the windows gave the space a shabby chic feel. It was warm and inviting, and when Dr. Cohen gestured to two light gray oversized chairs, each with a large ottoman in front of it, I happily chose one and took a seat.

  The seat she took across from me was similar to the one I sat in, but there was no ottoman in front of it. To the right of her chair, there was a table with a notebook, a pen, and two bottles of water.

  Once she was seated, she opened her notebook, picked up her pen, and smiled at me.

  “Are you ready to take the first step in the healing process?”

  Although we’d hung up five minutes before, the sound of Garrett singing Here Comes the Sun still echoed in my head. It gave me the courage to take a deep breath and say yes.

  * * *

  Therapy wasn’t easy, but I threw myself into it anyway. I needed to be blasted out of the emotional hidey-hole I’d created for myself, and I believed that working with Dr. Cohen was going to make that happen.

  I went to her office every weekday morning for a forty-five-minute session from nine thirty to ten fifteen. Twice a week, I went to an early evening, ninety-minute group session in a church basement with eight other women who had lost a child the same way I had. One week we’d each brought in photos of our sleeping angels. I’d thought it would be morbid, but I’d been wrong. Finally, I was able to talk about my daughter to people who weren’t my family. I’d never really understood that the guilt of knowing that they’d lost her too had become just another reason for my silence.

  There was no guilt in the group because we all were in the same boat. Each one of us understood exactly what it felt like to go through labor and delivery knowing the child inside of us wasn’t alive. Traumatic events like that, like in war, bonded people— and the aftermath of losing a child was its own kind of war.

  We understood and empathized with each other in ways we couldn’t with other friends and family. No matter how hard they tried, they would never fully understand what it felt like to lose a child the way we had.

  At the end of the day the truth was t
hat we were a club no one wanted to join. The bonds of the sisterhood none of us would’ve chosen grew stronger with each session, and I found tremendous comfort in that.

  Through therapy, I realized that I’d been somewhat of a ticking time bomb after Melody passed. The mountain of sorrow I’d been buried under in the wake of my daughter’s death felt impossible to scale, which was another reason I’d divorced Garrett. No one wanted to be tied to someone who couldn’t feel anything but agony.

  “Six months after Melody’s death you decided things were never going to improve and you walked away from your marriage. As angry as you were with the people who told you that you should move on—people who didn’t really know you and were in no way close to you, I might add—you were angriest with yourself for reasons that weren’t reality based. As you deal with those issues things will improve dramatically, but you need to remember that losing a child isn’t the kind of thing someone forgets about,” Dr. Cohen reminded me. “You’ll mourn her loss for the rest of your life, and there’s nothing wrong with that, as long as you do it in the healthiest ways possible. You already know that shutting down emotionally and ejecting people from your life didn’t help. The process you’re tackling now isn’t easy, but it’s so, so worth it.”

  She was right about that. The work was sometimes painful, often raw, and sometimes it felt as if I were failing or like things would never truly improve. In those moments, Dr. Cohen’s calm, never-give-up guidance was worth its weight in gold.

  “If you had no bad days I’d worry,” she’d remind me.

  I held onto that reminder as I kept on going.

  * * *

  When I wasn’t in therapy, I was exploring the city with Tia. Being married to Garrett had resulted in a ton of travel, but New York City remained one of my favorite places. There was something about it that was impossible to replicate anywhere else in the world. One of the things I adored most was how busy everyone was as they hurried from one thing to another— work, tourist attractions, shows, coffee with friends, shopping for clothes, heading to the subway, or a quick trip to the closest bodega.

  You could lose yourself for days in New York City, each experience more interesting than the next. The closest you could get to that kind of energy in Los Angeles required a trip to Venice beach— which meant time on the freeway stuck in hellacious traffic. Don’t get me wrong, New York had a ton of traffic, but it was all part of the overall experience.

  Twenty-four hours a day the city hummed with infectious energy. People weren’t just faster— they were more aggressive. I’d seen people step out into the sidewalk in front of moving cabs the instant the traffic light turned green, almost like they were daring the drivers to run them over. I felt like it was impossible to stay inside your own head in New York. Although it was easy to get lost in the crowd, you couldn’t let your guard down for a minute. Eight million people in one city meant zoning out wasn’t an option. I knew a few people who found it to be too overwhelming, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.

  Being able to lose myself in the energy of the city with Tia was like having a release valve after the tough work that went on during my daily therapy sessions. Dr. Cohen was damn good at her job, and I was making headway. Not only did she tell me that, I also felt different. The pain of losing Melody was still there, but the self-blame that normally accompanied those feelings had considerably lessened.

  With three weeks of intensive therapy under my belt, I was looking forward to what the next three would bring. Garrett was set to fly in toward the end of week six, and I was counting down the days.

  The constant fog that had existed inside my head for the previous year had finally lifted, and while he knew that from the hours-long conversations we had each night, I couldn’t wait for him to see it in person.

  * * *

  My stomach growled as I pulled a slice from the fresh-from-the-oven pizza the waitress at John’s on Bleecker had just delivered to our table. It was easily the ninth trip Tia and I had taken to the pizzeria since we’d arrived and there was no doubt there would be many more visits before we left. The coal oven and fresh garlic gave the pizza a certain something that was unbeatable.

  “New York City pizza is like an actual gift from heaven,” Tia raved.

  I nodded, unable to answer verbally because I’d just taken a giant bite of our loaded pizza. The flavor of the cheese pizza topped with meatballs, ricotta, fresh tomatoes, and onions filled my mouth and made me groan in pleasure.

  “Would it be wrong to move to New York just to have constant access to the food?” I asked after I swallowed. “Between the pizza here and the eggplant parmigiana at Patsy’s, I’d probably put on twenty pounds in the first year.”

  Tia snickered as she took a sip of her soda. “I’m pretty sure I’ve gained at least five pounds since we got here, not that I’m complaining. The food’s too good to quibble about my ass going up a size.”

  I threw back my head and laughed. “I like the way you think,” I said before I took another bite.

  She cocked her head and studied me as I chewed. Narrowing my eyes, I swallowed and gestured toward her with my left hand. “Why are you looking me over like that?”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you like this.”

  I nodded and smiled, but didn’t say anything. Words weren’t necessary since I knew what she meant. After Melody died, my ability to find humor or joy in anything disappeared. Until therapy, I’d been unable to imagine that I’d truly laugh again. Now I looked at each and every laugh as another small step in the right direction.

  I was glad the change was noticeable to the people I loved.

  “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you sounding so good. You’re doing amazing, and I couldn’t be prouder of you if I tried.”

  I honestly had no clue how or why I was lucky enough to have Garrett’s love. It would’ve been completely understandable for him to have sprinted as far from me as he could, but he hadn’t. I’d shut him out and hurt him in ways I would never be able to atone for and still, he stood by me.

  “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second, but since you’ll never be without me it’s not something that can be put to the test.”

  I smiled as I adjusted my back against the stiff pillows of the hotel bed I’d been sleeping on since I’d arrived. “Thank you, Garrett.”

  “Baby,” he growled.

  “Sheesh, take a compliment Riordan,” I teased.

  “I’ll take one when you give me one,” he answered. “Thanking me for doing what I vowed to do when we got married isn’t necessary.”

  I frowned as I rolled over onto my stomach. “The fact that we’re divorced means you could’ve been off the hook if you wanted to be.”

  He made a dismissive sound but didn’t comment on what I’d said. I was very aware that he wanted to be with me, and it was obvious he didn’t see the divorce as a real ending. Although I don’t see it that way either, I still needed to atone for what I’ve done and the only way to do that was to get him to talk about the fact that we’re no longer married. Shaking my head, I forced myself to let the conversation go until another time. Therefore, I changed the subject.

  “Did your mom tell you she sent me two scripts?”

  I was excited about it but I could tell by the curse he let out that he wasn’t. “Dammit,” he grumbled, “She shouldn’t be doing that. You don’t need that pressure—”

  “Settle down, Beavis,” I drawled. “I’m the one who asked her if she had anything she’d like me to read. I missed the process of the search for the needle-in-a-haystack of scripts and since Dr. Cohen said it’s a good idea for me to get back into a normal rhythm, your mom threw me a bone.”

  “She’s missed having you to talk to about what’s good and what’s not. If anything, you’re the one throwing bones around here. Trust me, you made her week. If it gets to be too much, I want you to put your foot down.”

  Rolli
ng onto my back, I bent my left leg and crossed the right one over it so that my right ankle rested on my left knee. “I know I’ve been difficult, but part of doing this process is about me learning to take back control of my life. After we lost Melody, I shut down. When it came down to sinking or swimming, I sank, which gave you—and everyone else around me— no option but to take over and treat me like a fragile flower. I don’t want to hide from life anymore. I’m choosing to swim and two scripts—or even ten— aren’t going break me. I promise.”

  He was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “I wish I was there to hold you and tell you just how fucking proud I am of you right now.”

  “We’ll be together soon,” I reminded him.

  “I’m counting down the seconds.”

  I loved that I could be honest. No more evading questions or feigning indifference. “Me too.”

  We talked for another few minutes, only getting off once I heard Tia turn off the shower in the bathroom. I smiled as I set the phone back in its cradle. Things were better with us than I’d ever dreamed they could be. Although I knew I needed to do therapy alone, I missed him so much it was staggering. I talked about that with Dr. Cohen a lot, mostly because once the fog in my head lifted I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought I could be without him for the rest of my life.

  “Not only is extreme pain a cruel and vicious taskmaster, it lies. Now that you’re coming out the other end you see that under enough pressure you can fool yourself into believing anything.”

  Chapter Fifteen