by Cassia Leo
She gathered her purse off the floor and rushed out of the gym before Dr. Jindal could speak another word. I drew in a deep breath and blinked back tears as my emotions swelled. Everyone here was hurting.
Dr. Jindal flashed me a sympathetic smile and continued. “Many of you are here because your relationships with others and with yourself have suffered because of grief. There are many personal characteristics that contribute to us developing healthy relationships. Many of those characteristics are often hindered by our upbringing and by experiencing the loss of someone we love.
“Some of us were encouraged not to cry when we were upset or to keep secrets or lie to the people we love in order not to hurt their feelings. Some of us fell into these behaviors only after you experienced the loss. The only way to reject the personal characteristics that create negative relationship dynamics is to nourish the positive characteristics, such as openness, honesty, vulnerability, and so on. That is what we are here to do.
“We are not here to admonish you for your past mistakes. We are here to support each other and applaud each other’s efforts.” She turned to me and smiled. “How about we start with three-minute introductions. Your name?”
I cleared my throat and sat up a bit straighter. “Laurel.”
“Good evening, Laurel. We’ll start with you tonight. If you feel comfortable, please tell us why you’re here and what you hope to learn in this support group.”
I nodded and glanced around at the attentive faces, then I focused on my hands as I spoke. “I’m Laurel. I… I’m here because my baby boy and my mother were… murdered about two years ago.” A gasp from someone across the room made me pause, but I didn’t look up to see who it was. “I’m here because I want to learn how to stop hurting the people I love… including myself.”
“Very good,” Dr. Jindal encouraged me. “Next.”
The black gentleman next to me in the green University of Oregon sweatshirt also cleared his throat before he spoke. “My name is Kevin. I’m here because my ten-year-old son was killed by a drunk driver six years ago and I just… I can’t stop being angry. My wife left me. My kids hate me. And the bastard only served three months in jail. He’s moved on with his life, but I’m… I’m stuck. I guess I’m here ’cause I’m tired of being so damn angry all the time.”
“Good job, Kevin,” Jindal praised him. “Next.”
As everyone introduced themselves, I began to see how I was not alone. We were all suffering. Many of us suffered in silence, while others admitted to being emotional hurricanes, much like Jack. What we all had in common was the shame. Even if it wasn’t mentioned, you could hear it in our words. We felt ashamed for surviving and for not being strong enough to forge onward as if nothing had happened.
I raised my hand after the last introduction and Jindal nodded at me. “I just want to say that I hear so much shame in all of our words. It breaks my heart for everyone here. I don’t think any of us deserve that.”
Jindal smiled. “Very observant. And you are correct. Survivor’s guilt is not really guilt. It’s a form of shame, and shame is insidious. It’s one of the most useless and destructive emotions. It stunts our emotional intelligence, keeping us from doing and being better. We are going to make sure no one here feels ashamed for moving on and enjoying a healthy, fulfilling existence without their loved one.”
Dr. Jindal continued the session by giving the floor to anyone who wanted to add more detail to their introduction. She closed by thanking us for a great first session and giving us something to “contemplate” before the next session in one week’s time.
“I want you to contemplate your emotional growth. Make a list of five ways you think you can grow emotionally. Can you be more vulnerable? Can you be less secretive? Can you be more generous with your time? Can you take more time for self-care? And so on. I suggest making the list on your phone or appointment book so you have it with you at the next session. I hope to see you all then.”
As I pushed up from the purple yoga mat and walked my hands forward until I was in a downward-facing dog position, I whispered to Drea out of the corner of my mouth. “Did Barry talk to Jack?”
Drea waited a moment before she whispered, “Yes, on Saturday.”
My muscles tensed and instantly began to get a cramp in my neck. “That was five days ago. Did he tell Jack the baby is his?”
“I think so.”
Our yoga instructor, Ginger, issued a calm shush in our direction. “Okay, now I want you to slowly make your way into an Uttanasana pose, or an intense forward-bending pose. Breathe in… and out. Hug the backs of your knees if you can. It’s okay if you can’t. Keep breathing… Now, we will rise slowly into Vrikshasana, or tree pose, rolling your back to release that tension, and slowly, steadily place the bottom of your right foot on the inside of your left calf. Breathe. Feel the stillness.”
“Why hasn’t he called me?” I whispered to Drea, earning me a stern look from Ginger.
I spent the rest of the class repeating the list of five ways I needed to grow emotionally in my head, to keep myself from obsessing over why Jack hadn’t called. But I kept stopping at number four on my list, stopped dead by panicked thoughts of Jack moving on. Jack and I getting divorced. Jack and I using mediators to hash out a custody agreement. Jack meeting someone new and getting remarried. Jack having children with another woman.
By the end of yoga class, my hands were trembling and my stomach burned with acidic dread. As we exited the yoga studio, a blast of chill November air and prickling raindrops smacked me in the face. I pulled on the hood of my jacket and headed straight for Drea’s black SUV, which was parked along the curb on Cascade Avenue. Yanking my seatbelt on, I didn’t attempt to continue the conversation I’d started during class. I was fairly certain that if Jack hadn’t called me by now, I didn’t want to know why.
I cut Drea off as she began to say something. “Can we get some lunch? I’m starving.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened up my Notes app to look at the list I’d made last night after my first group therapy session.
* * *
Five Ways I Can Grow Emotionally
1. Stop avoiding confrontation
2. Stop lying and keeping secrets
3. Stop burying negative emotions
4. Stop relying on Jack to give my life purpose
5. Stop blaming myself for things out of my control
* * *
I shook my head as it dawned on me that every item on the list was something I had to stop doing. It was just a list of things to avoid, but I’d spent the last two years avoiding everything. I avoided Jack when he was obsessing over the murder case. I avoided reality by never speaking about my dead son. I avoided anything that shined light on the gaping wound in my heart.
I began editing my notes, furiously thumb-typing and mercilessly deleting. By the time we reached Drea’s house, I had a completely new list.
* * *
Five Ways I Can Grow Emotionally
1. Approach problems with compassion and determination.
2. Be honest and tactful.
3. Allow myself to be vulnerable.
4. Continue doing the work that gives my life purpose.
5. Accept responsibility for my mistakes and hold others accountable for their actions, or inaction.
* * *
As Drea pulled into a parking space outside the coffeehouse, I grabbed her hand before she could get out of the car. “I’m sorry if I put you on the spot back there. I know Jack needs time to sort things out. It’s not you or Barry’s responsibility to piece my marriage back together. I’m sorry I got impatient with you.”
She smiled as she squeezed my hand. “Laurel, you’re going through a really shit time. You’re allowed to get a bit pissy once in a while. Just don’t make it a habit or I’ll throw you in the bloody river.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
We found an empty table and Drea
made me sit down while she went to the counter to order our drinks. When she returned with my hot chai tea latte, I wrapped my hands around the mug to warm my frozen fingers. Taking a sip of the spicy, frothy tea, I sighed as the tension in my shoulders melted away.
“They’re warming up our croissants. They’ll bring them to the table,” Drea said, bringing her coffee mug to her lips then putting it down without taking a sip. “Listen, I think… I think you ought to go talk to Jack. He’s not in the hotel anymore.”
I stared at the cinnamon floating on top of my tea. “I will. But I think I need to focus on fixing myself before I can even attempt to tackle the problems in my marriage. Turns out I’m really screwed up, you know?”
She nodded as she picked up her mug again. “Understatement of the century, love. But seriously, when you think you’re ready, I think you need to be the one to go to him. What do you think?”
I chuckled at her delicate approach. “I think you’re probably right. I also think… I want you to help me with the PTSD app I’m working on.”
Her eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath her dark fringe. “Pardon me? But I think you just asked me to work with you?”
I shook my head. “I know you claim to be allergic to work, but I do remember you telling me you were a pretty kickass PR rep back in London. And I could really use some help marketing the app to healthcare providers. I got lucky with the Barley Legal drinking apps. But I don’t know anyone in the healthcare industry. I could really use your brilliant mind on this one. Please?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re too good. You know bloody well I can’t resist shameless flattery.”
I clapped my hands softly. “Thank you!”
She waved off my excitement. “Yes, yes, that’s all good, but I thought you were going to release the app under Jack’s new company. What is it called? Restart or HeadStart?”
I laughed. “It’s called Reboot. It’s supposed to be a reference to rebooting your brain.”
“My brain could use a reboot. Or even just a warm croissant. I’ll be collecting my pension by the time we get our food.”
“I’m serious. I want you to work with me,” I said, dipping my fingertip into the froth in my cup and licking the cinnamon off my finger.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Do you really think it’s a good idea to start a new business venture without Jack when you don’t know if you’re getting divorced? Shouldn’t you wait a bit?”
“If he still wanted me to work with him, he probably would have contacted me by now.”
“Bloody hell, Laurel. You broke the man’s heart. Is he not allowed a moment to get his bearings?”
I covered my face with my hands, feeling properly shamed. “I’m awful, aren’t I?”
“No, you most certainly are not. I’m sorry I blew up like that,” she said, prying my hands off my face. “But you are the most bloody impatient woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Just… Just give Jack some time… I hear he’s started seeing a grief counselor. Maybe something like your group thing. The point is he’s trying, Laurel. Just as you are.” Drea’s phone vibrated on the table and she rolled her eyes as she glanced at it. “Oh, Lord. If it isn’t Cunty McCuntington.”
I tried not to laugh as Drea answered her mother-in-law’s call. I pretended not to listen as she confirmed that she and Barry and the children would be in London for Christmas. And, no, she had no plans of moving back to England now that Barry was no longer working at Halo. And, yes, they did have a tamper-resistant home security system. And, no, she didn’t think any crazy Americans were going to try to murder her whole family.
Drea sighed as she ended the call. “I’m sorry about that. I can’t even say she means well. Just the other day, I heard her suggesting to Barry that he should divorce me and move back to London. She’s a total nutter.”
“You’ll want me to housesit for you while you’re gone, right?” I asked, eager to change the subject.
She shrugged. “If you can. If you’re back home by then, I can totally ask Christy.”
I shook my head at the mention of Drea’s only other friend in Hood River. We used to hang out with her occasionally after yoga class, but I stopped talking to her when I began to suspect she had sold pictures of the inside of my house to a tabloid magazine. Drea went to lunch with her a couple times while I was living at my mom’s house in Portland. She didn’t think Christy was the source of the photos, but when I asked her who she thought it was, she didn’t know.
Christy was a great place to start practicing the five items on my list. Maybe she wasn’t guilty of selling those pictures. I had already held her accountable by not talking to her for two years. Maybe now was the time to allow myself to be vulnerable. Being friends with someone meant risking betrayal, but being betrayed was part of life. And the pain of losing something or someone you cared about was preferable to a sterile, pain-free life of loneliness.
Like the Tennyson quote: Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. It was a terribly trite cliché, and also a truth so sharp it punctured the thickest cynicism. It was better to have known and loved my son for those three short months than to never have known or loved him. And if Jack couldn’t forgive me, I would move on, a better person for having known and loved him.
As Drea drove us back to her house to shower before we picked up the kids from school, I had a strong urge to ask her to stop at the market so I could get a bottle of wine. Then, I remembered — to my great horror — I was pregnant. And, even if I wasn’t, I couldn’t keep retreating inward, numbing my pain and anxiety with alcohol and destructive behavior.
I had to send Jack an email. This whole separation started with a letter to Jack. Maybe I could end it with a very different letter.
* * *
Dear Jack,
* * *
I’m sorry for everything that happened while you were in Idaho. I don’t think I’ll ever stop regretting these months apart. Maybe if I had taken better care of myself, I could have taken better care of you.
While I take full responsibility for my actions and inaction, I also need you to acknowledge that our problems — past and present — don’t rest solely on my shoulders. I’m not the only one who abandoned this marriage.
I don’t want to hurt you or me anymore. I just want to love you.
My first ultrasound is December 20th at 11:30 a.m. at Dr. Eastman’s office. My second ultrasound is March 15th at 10 a.m. Will you be there?
* * *
Yours always,
Laurel
Chapter 7
Jack
The slab of concrete on the east end of the property, nearest to Parrett Mountain Road, was all that remained of the small three-bedroom farmhouse, which once stood on this sixteen-acre parcel of land. The house had been torn down, but the concrete foundation remained, to protect the existing utilities, and making it easier to tie in utility lines when the new house was built.
I kicked the stub of an old, black drainage pipe and it didn’t budge. The old house was solidly built sometime in the ’50s. And here I was sixty years later, a thirty-year-old man on the verge of a divorce, contemplating building a house I might not have any use for.
I heard the crackling rumble of tires rolling over gravel and looked up to see my Dutch architect, Erik Jansen, parking his teal Infinity SUV next to my truck. He hopped out immediately and flashed me a bright-white smile. Erik had come highly recommended by a former colleague who used Erik’s firm to build him a smart home on Vancouver Island. So far, he had impressed me with his creativity and knowledge. I wondered how he would take the news that we had to put the project on hold.
Erik stood next to me, looking at the tiny pools of rain collecting in various areas of the concrete slab we were standing on. “Have you decided which side of the property you want to build the main home?” he asked in his mild Dutch accent.
I shook my head. “Actually, I’ve got really shit news. There’s been some�
�� new developments since we last met at the property a couple weeks ago. Some… stuff happening in my marriage, and I’m not sure whether I’m going to be able to move forward with the project.”
Erik’s blond eyebrows shot up. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, but I totally understand. I got divorced about a year before I moved to Portland. I know how it puts your life in limbo for a while. Listen, if you’d like, we can continue working as normal through the planning phase. And if you don’t end up building here, at least you’ll have the specs and blueprints if you want to build in the future.”
I nodded. “That sounds like a good idea.” I glanced around the vast expanse of overgrown grass and craggily old trees. “I want the main house here, right where we’re standing, pushed back about a hundred yards from the road. And the far northwest corner will be for the Clarkes. Submit the zoning plans to the city and let me know what they say about giving the Clarkes four of our sixteen acres.”
“We’ll get right on it. It usually takes a few days to get a surveyor out here to measure and another couple days to draw up plans. It takes about a week or two to get an answer back from city planners, so you should hear back on the zoning issue in two to three weeks. Definitely before Christmas.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “And, it goes without saying, but I’d appreciate if you could keep the stuff I told you about my marriage between you and me. I don’t need any media attention right now. They’re already having a field day with the news that I left Halo.”
I stayed at the property, standing on that slab of concrete, as Erik drove away. I stood there as the rain returned, dotting my skin with beads of frigid water. Closing my eyes and tilting my head back, I forced myself to think of all the times I’d kissed Laurel in the rain. I didn’t open my eyes until my blazer was soaked through and clinging to my cold skin.
