"I was busy watching you eat, and at the rate you're going, I'm not sure if it's safe to be sitting near you," Sam replied.
"That's a reasonable concern. I'd definitely keep my eye on your sandwich if I were you."
"Yeah, but then again, I have excellent reflexes," Sam said, as she unwrapped her sandwich and took a generous bite.
"Is that so? I'll have to remember that," Halie said in a devilish tone. If Sam had heard her, Halie couldn't tell from her facial expression.
Moments later Sam asked, "You have any plans this weekend?"
Halie was surprised by the question. "No, not really, the usual--work. Why?"
Sam hesitated. "I'm thinking about going kayaking on Jackson Lake Saturday and wondered if maybe you'd like to come along."
"I'm not much into outdoor sports, other than golf, and I've never kayaked before," Halie said, placing the last piece of sandwich in her mouth and crumpling the wrapper in her hand.
"Right, well forget it then. Bad idea."
"No, no it's not. It's a good idea, it's just that I don't know how much help I'd be--you know--paddling and all."
"There's nothing to it. I'll give you a couple of pointers before we go, and I'll do the steering. I've got an extra life jacket too."
Halie hesitated, guilty about pushing off her work, but more interested in going with Sam. "All right. Sounds like a plan."
"Great, eleven o'clock okay?"
"Eleven's perfect."
Chapter Five
SAM MADE A point not to allow work to affect her on a personal level, but the incident at Foxhole Campground left her with a bad feeling she couldn't shake. It's what drove her to the parking lot of St. John's Medical Center five minutes past seven o'clock Thursday evening.
She attached the visitor's pass to the front of her shirt near the buttons. Other than having to bring the injured from the park to the emergency room several times a year, she hadn't actually walked through a hospital as a visitor in close to twenty years. Not since her father died. She hated hospitals. She moved down the hallway, avoiding empty beds and equipment left standing against the walls, hesitating in front of patients' rooms along the way. A middle aged man was helping a thin older woman out of bed in a dimly lit room with the drapes drawn. Wilted flower arrangements sat on the window sill. Sam wondered what the woman's ailment was and when, or if, she'd get better. A few doors later, a nurse was changing a clear bag on a machine that dispensed fluids into a young man's arm. The lights on the unit blinked and it beeped continuously. The beeping sounded to Sam as if it were getting louder and louder.
At the other end of the hall, a female doctor strode in Sam's direction, arms swinging at her side, a staunch expression on her face as she passed by Sam. The determination in the doctor's eyes coupled with the continuous high pitched beeping of the machine's alarm brought everything crashing back in one powerful instance. Nausea gripped her stomach as the darkness crept into the corners of her vision. Sam couldn't stay on her feet. She fell against the wall, sounds around her now distant and tinny.
Her mom had a death grip on her hand. Sam would never forget the look of defeat in her father's eyes. He was never coming home.
"Are you okay?" the doctor asked a second time.
Sam could hear the doctor speaking, but her words didn't register. A gentle hand lighted on her shoulder, and Sam took a deep breath. "I'm fine, I think, thanks. I must've lost my balance." The memory faded and emptiness replaced it.
The doctor appeared skeptical. "Does that happen often?"
"No. Never," Sam lied. "I didn't eat much today. I think I need to get some food in me."
"You should do that. There's a cafeteria around the corner at the end of the hall."
Sam thanked the doctor. She had no intention of eating and continued along the hallway to Rosalie Parker's room. She took one tentative step through the doorway and stopped.
A nurse stood beside the bed taking Rosalie's pulse and temperature. A half-empty food tray sat on the roll cart behind the nurse. "You can come in. I'm about finished here. You're doing much better, Rosalie. Try eating all your dinner so you regain your strength. If you need anything else, give me a buzz." She pushed the roll cart closer to Rosalie. "Make sure she eats all that," she said to Sam on the way out.
Rosalie shifted her position to her side and faced the window. "I'm sorry, Ranger Tyler, but I look terrible."
Sam approached the bed. "Don't worry about how you look, Mrs. Parker. I don't care. Believe me, I've seen worse."
"Please, call me Rosalie."
"Okay, Rosalie. Let me guess. Your eyes are swollen shut and have probably turned twenty shades of purple. You're not wearing any make-up, you're pale as a ghost, and your hair's a mess. Am I right so far?"
Sam heard a soft laugh before Rosalie moved onto her back. Her beaten face did shock Sam, but she was a master at hiding her feelings. "That ain't the half of it, though thankfully the hair's not an issue just yet."
Sam acknowledged what Rosalie said. Rosalie's head was covered with bandages, her hair completely hidden. "How are you feeling today--otherwise?"
"I've had better days." Rosalie paused, as if uncertain whether or not she should continue. "The worst part is that I hurt more on the inside than I do on the outside."
Sam understood, but remained silent.
"Our relationship wasn't always like this. When we first got married, John was a great guy. We were very much in love. We enjoyed romantic dinners, going on vacations together, and having stupid fun. But over time his attitude changed, and there were days he wouldn't even talk to me. He'd started drinking and staying out late. One night he slapped me across the face with the back of his hand. Chipped my tooth with his ring." She breathed deep before continuing. "He apologized more times than I can remember and promised never to hit me again. I don't know why I believed him. Lately though, I saw glimpses of his old self. I think he bought some self-help tapes and was listening to them in his truck. He hadn't hit me in months. That's why I felt comfortable enough to go with him on the camping trip. I hadn't been camping with him in years. Thought it would be good for us."
Sam didn't know what to say. She patted the top of Rosalie's hand and let her continue.
"I don't know what I was thinking. I never should've gone. I've thought about why I stayed with him for so many years, but haven't settled on an answer. Maybe I didn't want to be left alone, or maybe in some bizarre way I felt I deserved him, but I don't feel like that anymore. What he did to me this time was the last straw. He could've killed me, and I'll be dammed if I'll let him get away with that." Color flooded back into Rosalie's cheeks.
"That's the attitude you'll need to see this through," Sam said.
"I know. It's just that right now I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know if he'll get jail time or not. And even if he does, one day he'll get out and be mad as hell. I'm sure he'll hunt for me until he finds me." Rosalie shifted in the bed, trying to get comfortable.
"Maybe time in jail will help him realize a few things. Do you have someone you can move in with, until the dust settles? Any family members that live close by?"
"I've got two brothers, but they're both losers in different ways. I don't think either of them will help me. One's divorced and lives in Texas with his two teenage sons. He runs an oil company. The other lives in Wilson with his teenage son, but he's also best friends with my husband, so little good he'll do me. His wife, who was like a sister to me, died in a supposed freak car accident a few years ago, but if you ask me, my brother was the one who killed her. I can't prove it. I wish I had evidence. But I know as sure as I'm lying here, he did it."
Sam recognized the pain streaked across Rosalie's face. "I'm so sorry."
"Thanks, dear. I still miss her. She didn't deserve to die. She was too young and too good of a person."
"It seems it's always the good ones that go too soon," Sam replied. "Try and forget about all that right now. You need to concentrate on eating and
getting some rest. Things'll work out in the end. They always do."
"I hope you're right."
Chapter Six
SAM CONJURED UP a hundred better ways to spend her morning other than seeing her old therapist, but she knew she needed to make a serious effort to combat her nightmares and move on with her life.
Seconds before she reached the traffic light to make a right on Main Street in Wilson, a male driver in a cherry red Ford F-250 pick-up truck sped past her, cutting her off at the light as it changed red. Sam slammed on the brakes and banged her hand on the steering wheel. "Jackass!"
Sam sat in the Expedition in the parking lot of the small red-brick office building where Doctor Sally Kornwall had her corner office, eyes transfixed on the structure as if doing so would somehow increase her enthusiasm of going inside, or justify a reason for leaving.
The receptionist's desk, overflowing with stacks of folders and scattered papers, caught Sam's eye when she entered the room. The gum-smacking woman seated there, who had yet to make eye contact with her, was the second thing she noticed. The woman wore bright red lipstick, far too much mascara and eye liner, and had fingernails the length of bear claws. Must be difficult to get good help these days. Sam walked toward the desk over the unevenly worn shag carpet. "Morning. Samantha Tyler to see Doctor Kornwall. I'm a little early."
The receptionist pried her eyes from the magazine she'd been reading. "That's fine, Dr. Kornwall's in with a patient. Should only be a few more minutes. You said Tyler, right?"
Sam nodded. She didn't appreciate the receptionist's choice of using the word patient. She'd have preferred hearing the word client instead, which had no medical connotation.
"You a new patient?"
There she goes again. "No, I haven't been here in a while though."
"Contact and insurance information still the same?"
"Yup."
"Great. Please have a seat, and make yourself comfortable." She spun around in her chair, pulled Sam's file from the metal lateral cabinet behind her, placed it on top of one of the teetering stacks, and continued reading her magazine.
Sam retreated to the brown leather sofa near the wall opposite the receptionist's desk. She pulled a magazine from the table. The cushions cradled her body as she leaned into them. She had forgotten how comfortable the sofa had been. She flipped open the magazine, reading and re-reading the first few paragraphs of the article, finding it difficult to concentrate. As the minutes ticked by, her stomach muscles tightened. She breathed deep, trying to calm her insides. The door to the adjacent room opened, and Dr. Kornwall exited.
"Hello, Sam. It's good to see you again. How long's it been?"
Dr. Sally Kornwall was in her mid-forties, five-foot-four with a rounded belly and dark black hair streaked with a few white strands.
"Hi, Sally. It's been about a year," she said.
"I thought so. Go on in and have a seat. I'm going to grab your file and a cup of coffee. Would you like some?"
"No, I'm fine. Thanks." As Sally made her way over to the coffee machine, Sam stood and walked into the other room. She sat in the chair she'd previously coined the "hot seat," across from Sally's brown leather chair. Uncomfortable with the small distance between the chairs, she pushed hers back another foot. She settled into the seat, hands clasped on her lap. The office had a separate door for clients to leave after a session. Sam could escape unnoticed.
Sally entered the office with a steaming cup of coffee in her right hand and a worn manila folder in her left. "So, here we are again," she said, shutting the door behind her. She placed her coffee cup on the desk and opened the folder in her lap, taking a few moments to scan her notes and refresh her memory. On her desk, pictures of her children and husband remained proudly displayed.
Sally's wrinkled brows did nothing to ease Sam's nerves. As the smell of fresh coffee made its way over, she wished she had agreed to a cup.
"Okay, why don't you tell me why you're here," Sally began.
Sam gathered her thoughts and courage before she spoke. "I'm still having nightmares. I thought they were over, but about a month after I ended our sessions I started having the dreams again, and they haven't gone away. In fact, I'm having them more often. No matter what I do or try to tell myself to make them go away, they don't." She paused. "The nightmare's always the exact same dream, but it affects me differently now."
"Explain."
Sam shifted in her seat. "Before, I used to wake up feeling guilty, like I could've done something different, even though I know I couldn't. Now when I wake up, I feel an aching sadness or emptiness all the way into the pit of my stomach. It's hard to explain."
"Try."
Sam rubbed her forehead while searching for the right words. She knew Sally wouldn't let her off the hook easily. "I feel like there's a vise squeezing down on my life, and it won't let go."
Sally studied Sam thoughtfully. "I see. Well, I'm encouraged you decided to come see me. We can work through this, but the process may be a slow one. You've likely repressed a great deal. Do you recall if anything significant happened to you around the time the nightmares began recurring?"
"I don't think so, not that I can remember."
"And how about now? What's been going on recently?"
"Not much."
Sally eyed Sam. "I've forgotten how forthright you are. Let me try another way. How's your job, your mom, your love life?"
Sam let a sigh escape. "I still work at the park. I take care of the cabin and Jake. My mom's fine, and that's it. And quite frankly, that's enough. I'm exhausted most days of the week."
"I know you're not in your early twenties anymore, but you're way too young to have work exhaust you. Lack of sleep obviously isn't helping, but uncovering the reason for not sleeping will. What else?" Sally Kornwall pressed on as she jotted notes on the pages in front of her.
"I don't know. Jake hurt his leg during the winter, but it's nearly healed."
"And your love life?" Sally said. She sipped her coffee, waiting for Sam's response.
"Non-existent."
"Any particular reason?"
"I don't know. I guess I like having time to myself and not being bothered with someone telling me what to do or how to act."
"Fair enough. How's that working for you?"
Sam diverted her eyes from Dr. Kornwall to watch a bird fly past the window. "Fine."
"Truthfully?"
"Yeah," Sam said. She paused and took a deep breath. "Besides, why would I want to put myself out there and take the chance of--"
"Of what? Allowing yourself to fall in love and be happy, or of loving and losing?" Sally tapped the end of her pen on the paper.
Sam clenched her hands and teeth.
"Everyone wants to be happy, but happiness is transitional, it ebbs and flows. It comes with risks. You don't want to take any risks, do you, Sam?"
"I take risks every day in my job. I took a risk when I moved out here. I'm not afraid of risks, but I don't see what any of this has to do with helping me get rid of my nightmares. I came in to solve a problem, not create a new one that doesn't exist." Sam's blood pressure was quickly rising to a boiling point.
"I'm not creating anything. I'm trying to get a sense of what's going on inside you. I wouldn't have asked the questions if they weren't relevant. You should know that by now. Your nightmares are a manifestation of fear. The fear could be a direct result of the accident, indirectly related--a trigger if you will--or it may not be related to the accident at all."
"Not related? I'm sorry, but that sounds ludicrous. The nightmares started right after the accident. The accident has to be the cause."
"Not necessarily. Most phobias have no obvious causes and often surface early in life. Yours appears to have surfaced later, but we don't know that for sure. The accident may have released a trigger that was already cocked. That's why we need to consider all the possibilities."
Sam let the words marinate. The comments made sense to her, but her stu
bbornness won over. "I still see only one reason."
"I'd expect that. That's part of why you're here. Now, how about you let me get back to doing my job the way I know best?"
Sam agreed with reluctance and listened for the remainder of the session, speaking only when asked a direct question.
Sally finished by saying, "I'd like to see you for at least the next several weeks, once a week, and then we'll see how you progress from there." She glanced at her notes. "Last time you said you didn't want medication. You still feel the same way about that?"
"Yeah, no meds."
"That's fine. We have lots of other options open to us without resorting to medication. We have the therapy sessions like today, we can try hypnotherapy, and there's even virtual reality. A combination of the three might work well for you. The important thing is you stay committed to meeting with me this time until we see this thing through."
"I will," Sam heard herself say, though not completely convinced she meant it.
Chapter Seven
SAM PARKED NEAR one of the pathways leading to Jackson Lake, surprised the lot wasn't more full. After undoing the tie-downs, Halie helped her lift the kayak off the roof of the Expedition. "This thing is way heavier than it appears," Halie exclaimed, setting her end of the kayak on the ground.
"I know. It weighs about sixty pounds. The worst part's getting it on and off the roof. The rest isn't too bad."
Halie's facial expression indicated she didn't believe Sam.
"It's not, really. Besides, there's no better view of the Teton's anywhere in the park than from the center of the lake. It'll be worth it." Sam pulled the seat rests and paddles from out of the back of the Expedition.
Love Another Day Page 4
