Mac pulled at his collar a few times before getting to his feet. I can’t friggin’ breathe again, he thought, his mind being thrown into a death spiral. He could feel everything inside of him turning dark, like he was being taken over by some evil force. I…I can’t breathe…
“Everything okay, boss?” Scott asked.
Mac shook his head. “If…if you’ll all excuse me…please.”
Scott halted his presentation, while Mac took the opportunity to hustle out of the room, shocking everyone.
⧝
Mac rushed to the management washroom. Before the door had completely closed behind him, he was bent at the waist, struggling to take in oxygen. Oh God, he thought, trying desperately to calm down and center himself. As he began to slow his breathing, he caught his own reflection in the mirror. This scared him more. Instead of finding the confident man that normally grinned back at him, he was looking into the terrified face of a man he barely recognized—the poor guy’s wide eyes searching frantically for answers. “What the hell…” Mac managed, his pitiful voice echoing off the subway tile walls. Am I really having panic attacks?
⧝
Fifteen miles away—an entire world—in the Anderson home, Jen went through her normal routine. After breakfast, she broke up a quarrel that was turning physical between Bella and Brady. “I’ve just about had it with you two and your fighting. School will be starting soon and you won’t have as much time to play together. I suggest you make the most of the summer you have left.”
“But Brady’s always in my stuff, Mom,” Bella complained. “He…
“Na…ah!” Brady countered.
“He is, Mom,” she said, “and…”
“I’ve heard enough from the both of you,” Jen yelled. “Now either go outside and find a way to get along, or go to your rooms where you can stay for the rest of the day. It’s up to you.” Placing her hands on her hips, Jen’s right eyebrow rose for an answer.
“Mom?” Jillian called out.
As Jen turned, Bella and Brady exchanged slaps under the table. Jen’s head snapped back to them. The two little ones took their cue and headed for the great outdoors, hooting and hollering as they left. Jen turned to her eldest daughter and shook her head. “What are we going to do with those two?” she asked.
“Let’s just get rid of them,” Jillian said.
Jen laughed until she remembered Jillian wanted to talk. “Something on your mind, Jill?” she asked, still straightening up from the breakfast rush.
Jillian shrugged. “Last year, I had a problem with some tool at school.”
“Tool at school?” Jen asked, amused by the rhyme scheme.
“A bully,” Jillian translated.
“Oh,” Jen said, taking a seat and gesturing that her daughter do the same. “What’s her name?”
“It’s a boy and he kept calling me a lesbian because of the way I dress.” Her eyes swelled with tears. “But I’m not a lesbian, Mom. I like boys. I’m just not…”
Jen placed her hand on Jillian’s leg, prodding her to go on.
“I’m just not a girlie-girl,” the teenager finished.
Jen searched her daughter’s eyes. “I know who you are, babe. And if you were a lesbian, it wouldn’t make a difference either way to me and your father.”
“But I’m not, Mom.”
“I know, Jill,” Jen said. “Why didn’t you tell me last year when it was happening?”
“Because I talked to him about it and he finally stopped.”
“And?”
“And he just started up again online.”
“Online?”
“On social media,” Jillian said. “Snapchat and Facebook.” The girl wiped her eyes. “Should I tell Dad about this punk?”
“No,” Jen said instinctively, “I wouldn’t. Your dad’s going through a tough stretch at work right now,” she fibbed. “I’ll be happy to call the tool’s parents and…”
“No,” Jillian snapped back, shaking her head. “That would only make things worse. I’ll handle it. I just wanted you to know what’s going on.”
“And if the bullying doesn’t stop, Jill, then you need to promise me that you’ll let me know.”
“I’ll let you know, Mom.”
“Okay,” Jen said, picking her next words carefully. “We’ve all been through it, babe, but it doesn’t make it right. Bullies are insecure people who have to put other people down in order to feel better about themselves.”
Jillian stood. “I don’t really care what this tool’s issue is. If he doesn’t cut the crap, he’s going to be sorry.”
Jen started to respond, but stopped. Something inside her preferred that her daughter be angry rather than accept the role of victim.
⧝
With his office door closed and locked, Mac sat at his desk and stared at the three pages of therapists listed in the HMO catalog. How am I supposed to know who’s who? he wondered, eventually picking the one located between work and home—Dr. Shelley Lawrence. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the prescription the E.R. doctor had written for him. Maybe I should get this script filled?
Chapter 4
I’ve been spilling my guts to this clown for nearly two weeks now, Mac thought. Seated in the high-back leather chair, he faced Dr. Lawrence, his muted therapist. And the panic attacks have only gotten worse.
“So, tell me how you’re feeling,” she asked.
Like always, he thought, like my heart’s about to explode. “Well, the attacks haven’t stopped.”
“They haven’t?” she said, sounding as surprised as ever. She jotted some secret note into her mint green journal.
Jackass, he thought, but said, “I think they’ve gotten worse.” Although Mac had experienced his fair share of reservations about therapy, he’d gone into it with an open mind. It hadn’t taken long, however, before his mind slammed shut. This therapist provides no answers, he thought, and no relief.
“Really?” she said, writing another note.
“Yeah, really,” he said, sounding more sarcastic than intended.
She quickly looked up from her book.
Mac dove right into the same explanation he delivered every session. “Sometimes it starts during a bad dream, but not always. My heart races. I can’t catch my breath and I feel like I’m suffocating. My fingers and toes start to tingle and then the worse feeling of fear—doom, I think is the best word to describe it—comes over me.”
“Hmmm,” she sighed, her hand bobbing inside the mysterious notebook. “Have the pills helped?”
“I don’t think so,” Mac said, being honest. “They just make me tired and unable to think clearly. And I need the full use of my brain for the work I do.” Unlike you, he added in his head.
“Have you been drinking?”
“No,” he lied, and they both knew it.
“How often do the attacks occur?” she asked.
“There’s no schedule, if that’s what you mean. Sometimes they come one right after the other…” He swallowed hard. “…even on top of one another. And sometimes they’re spread out. Either way, I’m left feeling terrified of the next one that I know is right around the corner.”
“Hmmm…terrified,” she repeated, making another notation.
What a waste of friggin’ time, Mac thought. and sat for the remainder of the session engaged in some strange staring contest—until his breathing became shallow and his fluttering heart began to thump out of his chest.
⧝
It was nearly one o’clock when Jen pulled the mini-van into the drive-thru line at Sonic.
“Why are we in the drive thru?” Brady asked over the front seat.
“Yeah,” Bella added, “Dad always lets us order from the car port.”
“Forget it,” Jen said, “I’m not even dressed and if we see someone..
.”
“Please Mom?” Brady pled.
“The car port’s our favorite,” Bella added.
Jen looked at Jillian, who was slouched in the passenger seat.
The teenager shrugged. “Whatever,” she muttered, offering her signature answer to everything.
Jen shook her head. We’d better not see anyone we know, she thought. “Fine,” she said, surrendering to the kids, and drove around the drive-thru line to find an empty car port.
The kids screamed their orders past their mother’s ear into the crackling speaker, which inevitably turned into another back seat yelling match. To avoid confusion, Jen spun to threaten her tribe into silence before ordering two kid’s meals, as well as a chicken sandwich for Jillian.
Minutes later, an awkward teenage boy on roller skates delivered the food. The transfer of three bagged lunches was shaky at best. Jen checked to ensure that the orders were correct. Close enough, she thought before distributing the fast food to her hungry pack.
While Jen stole a few fries, she heard a loud knock, making her jump in her seat. She looked up to find an old colleague, Abigail Rose—a glimpse of her previous life—standing at her window. Oh shit, Jen thought, this is what I get for leaving the house looking like a bum. She took a big breath, threw on her best smile and rolled down the window.
“Hi Jen,” Abigail said, “it’s so funny to run into you today.”
Taking another deep breath, Jen smiled wider, awaiting an explanation.
“Your ears must have been ringing this morning,” the pant-suited professional added.
Just land the plane already and spit it out, Jen thought, hoping Abigail couldn’t read minds.
“During this morning’s team meeting, my boss was asking if any of us knew someone who might be looking for a staff position,” she explained, displaying her toothy smile. “And, of course, you were the first person to come to mind.”
“Oh…wow…” Jen fumbled, at an unusual loss for words.
Bella and Brady, on the other hand, were not; they started fighting over their bagged lunches.
“The tater tots are mine,” Bella barked, “you asked for fries.”
“But I wanted tater tots too,” Brady retorted.
“Bella, get your fist out of your brother’s face,” Jen hissed, dancing between an adult conversation and reprimanding her children, “now!”
“Mom,” Brady whined, “why doesn’t Beans…”
Jen raised her index finger for him to stop. “Brady, honey, Mommy’s trying to have an adult conversation right now, okay?”
Jillian turned her body completely around in the passenger seat and threatened her siblings—through her practiced glare—into silence.
While Jen blushed with embarrassment, Abigail smiled. “Sorry about that, Abigail,” Jen said, giving her kids the evil eye, “but my children are testing my last nerve today.”
“It certainly looks like your plate is full,” Abigail said, condescension dripping from the words.
Jen had begun her journalism career with Abigail, a woman who was not nearly as talented. And now she’s a senior correspondent, Jen thought. The truth of it left a bad taste in Jen’s mouth. “It is funny that we’ve run into each other today,” Jen agreed. “I’ve recently given a lot of thought about coming back to the newspaper.”
The tone of the conversation surprisingly changed. “That’s great,” Abigail said. “I have to tell you, I’ve seen very few who have a way with words like you do. You really are one of the best, Jen.” The veteran reporter glanced at the kids in the back seat and then back at Jen. “You should think about coming back and doing what you love. There’s nothing wrong with balancing both, you know.” She grinned. “It might not be as fun as this,” she teased, winking, “but we’d love to have you back.”
Jen blew an unruly wisp of hair from her make-up free eyes. “You know, with my husband’s help, there’s no reason I can’t balance both.” She thought about it and smiled. “I’ll talk to Mac and then give you a call sometime next week.”
“Fantastic!”
“Thanks Abigail. I really appreciate the vote of confidence,” Jen said, feeling bad about wanting to avoid the woman.
With a final nod, Abigail walked away from the van, half-waving at the kids.
Jen sat parked for a while, eating a handful of fries and thinking about the incredible offer. She looked sideways to Jillian.
“I think it’s great,” the teenager said. “You should go back, Mom.”
Jen smiled so wide she could feel her jaw muscles stretch. I should, she confirmed in her mind.
The two in the back seat confused the moment of silence as an invitation to start in on round three. “Those are my tots,” Bella hissed, “you have French fries, Brady.”
“Enough already!” Jillian wailed.
“Guys, let’s get going,” Jen said, her calm demeanor halting the verbal joust, “Dad will be home from work before we know it.”
⧝
Mac breathed through the final onslaught of another anxiety attack. Dazed and confused, he sat at his desk like some post-apocalyptic zombie. The attacks were starting to bring about their own set of symptoms, causing Mac to retreat into himself—making him sullen and uncommunicative. Even when the telephone rang off the hook, he didn’t bother to answer it. Instead, amidst the framed colorings of his children’s artwork, he picked up a picture of his family. No sooner did he have both hands on it when there was a knock at the door. He sat still, almost paralyzed.
Ross Panchley, the agency’s V.P., slowly opened the door and stuck his head in. “Mac, have we brushed in the final touches on the Woodpine project?” he asked, looking for an update.
Mac gawked at his boss like the sleepwalker he was becoming.
The wise man shut the door behind him and took a seat across from Mac. “All right,” he said, “let’s talk about it.”
Mac shook his head. “There’s not much to talk about, Ross. Scott has a few good ideas, but we still have some bugs that need to be worked out. We’re going to need another solid week.”
“I wasn’t referring to work,” Ross said.
Mac looked at his supervisor with confusion until he remembered that Ross was also a friend. “I don’t know, Ross,” he fibbed, trying to keep his personal business personal. “I suppose I just feel a little run-down lately.” He shrugged. “I can’t really place my finger on it.”
Ross squinted. “Have you seen a doctor?” he asked, shifting in his seat.
Mac nodded. “I…I have,” he admitted, feeling his face flush, “but you know me with doctors.”
Ross stood to leave. “Mac, make sure you get yourself squared away. In the meantime, no pressure but…” He was already at the door when he turned and smiled. “…but the Woodpine proposal has to be in the bag soon, or the firm’s going to lose more money than it can afford to.” He shut the door behind him.
Mac returned to his family photo. “Yeah, Ross,” he snickered, “no pressure.” As he admired the photo, he could feel the weight of his responsibilities pressing down hard on his once-broad shoulders.
⧝
Mac returned home, disheveled and exhausted. Although Jen noticed, the kids missed it. They were too busy taking turns smothering him in hugs and kisses.
“How was your day, hon?” Jen asked, trying to initiate a conversation.
He didn’t answer. She waited for him to inquire about her day, but he never reciprocated the same concern. Instead, he grabbed a beer from the fridge.
“How was your session with Dr. Lawrence?” she asked in a little more than a whisper.
“Another wasted hour of my life that I’ll never get back,” he groaned.
That’s not good, Jen thought, but decided not to dig deeper until the kids were in bed. “I saw Abigail Rose today,” she said. “She told me�
�”
With a few simple nods of his head, Mac ignored her completely.
Jen stopped and watched as her husband drank heartily from the shiny can, his eyes distant. Now that’s unusual for a weekday, she thought. For the time being, she decided to let it go. “Come on, guys,” she yelled at the kids, “dinner’s ready.”
A small stampede entered from the living room.
“Go wash your hands,” she instructed her merry band, “all of you.”
“We did,” they claimed.
“Then wash them again. And this time, use soap.”
Throughout dinner, besides the children’s bantering, a strange silence hovered over the table. Mac was clearly in his own world, removed from the entire scene.
“So, how’s the new project going?” Jen asked him.
He grunted once before taking another sip of beer.
“That good, huh?” she said, growing agitated.
Another guttural noise escaped from him.
No matter how hard I try, Jen thought, I just can’t reach him.
Jillian exchanged several looks with her mother, clearly taking it all in.
Wiping her mouth, Jen gazed at her husband. “Mac,” she said, waiting a few moments until he acknowledged her presence, “I’d like to talk about…”
“Sit on your bum at the table!” Mac yelled at Brady in a tone much angrier than seemed appropriate.
The little boy jumped from his knees to his backside, knocking his dinner plate off the table in the process. Food flew everywhere, making Mac’s face turn crimson.
Oh shit, Jen thought, hurrying to her knees to start the clean-up.
“Let him do it,” Mac roared, making everyone freeze. “It’s his mess,” he barked, “let him clean it up.”
Jen looked up from her knees. “It was an accident, Mac,” she said, continuing to slop the food back onto the plate.
“You baby him too much,” Mac hissed, taking in breaths like a freight train preparing to derail.
The kids sat in timid silence, while Jen finished the clean-up and fetched another plate of food for Brady.
Some time passed before Mac cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” he said to no one in particular, “it’s just work.” He looked toward Jen. “That big deal we have going has to be wrapped up soon. Either that, or we lose the client entirely and I start delivering newspapers for a living.” He offered a weak smile.
Three Shoeboxes e-book Page 5
