And as quick as that, I had a date for the evening. Well, not really a date, just some comfortable company.
I made myself busy cleaning the apartment—and not thinking about Jack. Doing my laundry—and not thinking about Jack. I even painted my fingernails and toenails—all without thinking about Jack. At six o’clock, I stepped out of the shower, dried off and slid into a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt, as requested. Just to keep myself in check, I wore boring underwear. Maybe I’d be less willing to show them off if they weren’t pretty to look at. Normally, this thought wouldn’t have ever crossed my mind, but I was one mixed up girl today. I knew I was in a bad spot when I couldn’t even trust myself.
Really bad.
Dylan’s place was easy to get to and I took the elevator up to his condo, clutching my bottle of wine—I couldn’t go empty-handed. I’d worn my hair in a sleek ponytail, and kept the makeup to a minimum. I didn’t want to give him any wrong impressions about my intentions for the evening.
I tapped on Dylan’s door and didn’t have to wait long for him to answer. The big, muscular hottie met me wearing an apron, blue jeans and a dress shirt. “I brought some wine.” Dylan didn’t say a word. He just greeted me with a kiss that ended up with me against a wall and my arms above my head. The tingle inside let me know my body wanted him, as much as he wanted me—and he had the hard dick to prove it. I had to make a decision and I had to make it fast. I was so glad that I wasn’t wearing anything from Victoria’s Secret, or I would’ve been tempted to show him.
Chapter Eight — Jack
Mr. Jernigan drove me to the funeral home and together we made the final arrangements for my mom. I’d secretly hoped that I wouldn’t have to think about any of this but, of course, she’d made no plans for herself and the folks at Redemption Road had given me the time off to take care of everything. I didn’t want to tell them that I didn’t want to think about it—how bad would that be? Pretty bad, I suppose. But I had my reasons for not wanting to deal with this by myself. What I felt about Nellie—how I’d dealt with her—was to keep her at a distance. I never got too close because I’d have to feel, to think and to process all of that. I hated that shit, and I hated the fact that she died right when I was starting something good in my life. She’d always fucked up everything. Now she was gone and I was still pissed at her. God, I was a fucked up mess.
For the first time in my life, I was scared. Sure, I’d been dangerous before—crashing into trees, almost overdosing a time or two, running from the law—but these threats didn’t compare to the anger I felt now. I didn’t trust my own emotions on anything, and rightly so. Look what had happened with Mollie. I’d blown my chances with her by deliberately pushing her away. Any normal person would have said to the girl they cared about, “Thanks for the help.” Not me—I practically pushed her into Dylan’s waiting arms. That bastard! I ought to go kick his ass, just for the hell of it. I never did call that punk ass bitch back the other night.
“Jack, what do you think?”
“I’m sorry. What did you ask me?”
“Could you give us a minute or two?” Ferris smiled at the funeral director and soon we were alone. “How are you doing?”
Oh fuck, here we go. Someone else wants me to feel something. “I’m fine. I just—my mind wandered off. Listen, is there any way you can do this? I’m sure whatever plans you make will be fine, and I don’t care about the money. Whatever it costs.” I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I rubbed my fingers through my hair and remembered that I’d cut it all off. All I wanted to do was go for a long ride with a bottle of whiskey—and maybe I still would after all this funeral shit was done.
He placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’m here to help you manage your affairs, but I’m not going to make these decisions for you, no matter how much you pay me.” He removed his hand, looked me firmly in the eye, and in his deep, gravelly voice he added, “It’s not about the money, you know. It’s about you. If I do all this for you, you’ll regret it down the road. You’re not the man that Charles DuBois and others might think you are. You are a good man who’s had nothing but the worst of luck, and now that’s turning around. Don’t sabotage yourself.”
I didn’t want to hear this, but I respected him enough not to walk out on him. I got up and paced the floor.
“Jack, I’m not a psychiatrist, I’m an attorney, but you do pay me for my advice and I’m giving it to you now. Do with it what you want, but the choice is pretty clear. Learn how to deal with your feelings like an adult, or it’s going to cost you. Act out, and show your ass like you normally do, and you’ll only be hurting yourself. You can’t hurt Nellie anymore—just Jack.”
Now I was pissed. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Anymore? I hadn’t hurt her—she’s the one that had hurt me! I never even raised a hand to her.”
“You don’t think that being in trouble with the law, fighting in the front yard, or shooting up drugs didn’t hurt her?” I felt like he’d slapped me in my face.
“Hell, no. It didn’t hurt her. She was drunk the whole time. Drunk my whole friggin’ life. I don’t even think she knew what day it was, much less what I was doing. Did she ever care that she hurt me? Every fucking day?”
“You’re right. A lifelong alcoholic probably didn’t have a clue about those things, but being drunk or high or whatever doesn’t completely shut down your emotional capacity. She must have had a lot of regret and guilt, regardless of what she told you.”
“So now I’m a disappointing son, and her dying is my fault? You seem to know a lot about this.”
“Yeah, I do. I’ve been right where you are, only it wasn’t my mother who died—it was my son, my oldest boy.”
I shut my eyes to block out the world for a second. I wasn’t sure if I believed him or not. “How dare you try to understand what I’m going through!”
“Jack—”
“—no, Jernigan, I know you’re a smart man, and I totally respect you. I’m sorry about your son, but have you ever had a cigarette held to your arm for punishment when you were just a kid?” I paced back and forth. My heart pounded in my chest. I had to calm down—I knew I had to just calm down. “No? Probably not. How many times has a grown man punched you after he fucked your mother in the middle of the living room floor? Never?” I balled up my fists, then loosened them as I tried to get rid of the anger I felt inside.
He got out of his chair and stood tall—all five foot 6 inches of him. “You need someone to talk to, Jack. Someone who can help you. I’ve got a friend—she’s a doctor, a good doctor who’d be happy to meet with you.”
“Oh, so now you think I need a shrink?” I asked, a little louder than I probably should have.
“She’s not a shrink, she’s a professional counselor. It’s completely private and no one will ever know you’ve spoken to her. Please do this. I don’t want to see you blow up, on or off the race track and lose out on what could be an amazing future.” Mr. Jernigan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. Fuck! He was right. How could I say no?
“All right, I’ll see her, but I don’t want to make a big deal out of this and I’m only agreeing to go just once.” I ran my hands through my non-existent hair again. “Let’s get this over with.” Jernigan called the director back in and we chose a date for the funeral—there would be no wake. I didn’t want it and she wouldn’t either. We worked on the obituary notice, chose the grave plot and ordered a coffin. It was a sobering but necessary task. Once it was time to leave, I didn’t have any more thoughts about drinking. Life was too short.
I’d thought that my appointment with the counselor would have been arranged for sometime in the future, like next week or next month, but much to my surprise, Jernigan called her on the way back to my car. “Okay, she can see you in an hour, here’s her address.” He scrawled it down on a piece of paper, but I couldn’t decipher his handwriting and I had to ask him what it said.
“You should have been a doctor—
I can’t read this at all.”
He laughed and read it out loud to me, “Be there. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Begrudgingly, I drove to the address he’d left me. It was a small, white office building with the doctor’s name on the sign, but nothing else. I parked around back, as instructed, and rang the bell. An attractive brunette opened the door and I assumed she was the receptionist.
“You must be Jack.”
I couldn’t help myself. I grinned at her, tossing my cigarette to the ground and said, “Must I be? I can be whoever you want me to be.”
She crossed her arms and smiled. I guessed she was appraising me as she looked me up and down. She had medium-length, dark brown hair and big dark eyes with long lashes. It had been a while since I’d slept with a brunette. I took the hand she offered me, “Why don’t you just be Jackson, or Jack today, and I’ll be Dr. Erin Grey. How’s that sound?”
“Uh—sure, Dr. Grey, Erin—nice to meet you.” Surprisingly, she still let me into her building and led me to her office. It wasn’t like I’d imagined it—full of dusty books and white furniture. It was a lot brighter than I’d thought it would be and the cream leather chairs were deep and comfortable. There was no couch to lie on and her desk looked modern and somewhat neat. She had some framed certificates on her wall and some pictures of her family. I could see that she was either married or had been married at some point. Hell, I’d marry her. She was fucking gorgeous.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think you’d be the doctor because you’re—well, you know, you’re pretty—not that I’m hitting on you. Not now, I mean, I was, but that was before I knew you were the doctor and married. It looks like you’re married, is that right?” I was a nervous wreck, talking too much and acting like I had no common sense at all.
“First of all, Jack, I’m not here to judge, so put that to the side. You’re here because you need someone to talk to—that’s me. That’s what I do. I’m not your judge—I’m a counselor. Ferris Jernigan is a friend and he seems to like you. Tell me how you two know one another.”
“I’m not sure how much I should tell.” I said, as I sat in the big chair across from her desk. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Well, Jack. I’ve heard plenty over the years. There’s not much I haven’t heard before, but let me just put this out here now. Anything you tell me is protected by the oath I took as a doctor. No one has to know any of what we talk about here, but if you don’t want to tell me how you met, start with why you think you’re here.”
I measured my options and decided to go with the first one. It didn’t involve talking about feelings, well, only indirectly. I told her about Mollie, about the fact that me going to jail had all been because of her Dad. I told her about racing and about the cops. I talked for thirty minutes straight and then I got worried. “I didn’t ask how long I was supposed to talk. Do we have just an hour?”
She chuckled, “Don’t worry about the time. Keep going.”
I hesitated for a second. “I don’t really have anything else to say.”
She put her hands together in front of her on the desk and raised her eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I think I’m good.”
“Really? You know, you haven’t once mentioned your mother, and yet, you were making her funeral arrangements today. Don’t you find that a bit unusual?”
She was right. That did sound strange now that she’d pointed it out. “I suppose, but I hardly ever think about her. I avoided her when she was alive—I got into a habit of doing it. That’s wrong, I take it?”
“Not wrong, but definitely a survival mechanism. Have you ever heard of the term, toxic people?” She leaned forward and her pink blouse gapped open a little, revealing her tanned skin. Don’t look, Fitz.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Toxic people destroy the people they are supposed to love by constantly forcing them into stressful situations. Toxic people create a lot of—and this isn’t the technical term—drama. They keep things stirred up so they can manipulate others and continue to live destructive lives.” She reached for a book on her desk and handed it to me. “This book, it’s by a colleague of mine, is all about those types of people. I think you should read it.”
“Oh, I’m not much of a book reader, but thanks anyway.”
Dr. Grey shook her head and refused to accept it back. “No, I think you should try. It’s easy to understand and very informative.”
“Well, Nellie is gone now. What’s the use in trying to figure her out?”
“This isn’t about figuring her out anymore. This is about you, figuring you out. This book will help educate you on the general subject.”
“So that’s it? You hand me a book and we’re done?” I felt the anger rise in my throat. I didn’t know why I felt so angry with her, I just did.
“No, we are not done. I wanted to give you that while I thought about it. Do you always call your mother by her first name? I’m assuming Nellie is your mother?”
“I’ve always called her that.”
“I see. What did she think about that? Did she ask you to call her by her first name?”
“No, but it wasn’t up to her. If she’d wanted me to call her ‘mother’ or ‘mom’, she should’ve acted like one. She knew that. It pissed her off at first, but she stopped complaining after a while.”
“I can tell my questions about your mother make you a little tense—maybe even angry. How are you feeling, Jack? And don’t think about it—just tell me.”
“I’d rather not talk about her.”
“Why? Why don’t you want to talk about her?”
I gripped the arms of the chair. I knew I needed to calm down and blow off some steam. “Because when I do—it pisses me off!”
Dr. Grey appeared sympathetic, but she pressed on. “Have you always responded like that? Did talking about your mother make you this angry before she died?”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“Well think about it now, please.”
I leaned back in the chair and stared at the hot doctor. I smacked the arms of the chair with the palms of my hand and said, “Nope, I don’t think I did.”
“Ferris says you’re going to be on a reality TV show, something about racing. You must be pretty good at it for them to make you an offer like that.”
Glad to change the subject, I talked about the show and racing. “I’ve always loved to race. At first, it was bikes, then skateboards and finally cars. I’ve got a Chevy Camaro right now, but my team is working on a new car for me. We’ll see how it all works out. Hey! You’ll have to watch me on television!”
“I would love to watch your show! I enjoyed talking to you, Jack Fitzgerald. Do you want to come back in a few days and chat with me again?”
“I guess that means I’m not all better now,” I laughed nervously, knowing damn well that I wasn’t. “Can you tell me what’s wrong with me, or am I perfect?”
She laughed at that. “First of all, there’s nothing ‘wrong with you.’ You’ve done a lot of things right. This isn’t official, but off the top of my head, I’d say as a child you developed ways of dealing with your abusive situation that helped you cope—at least in the short term. One of those was denying yourself the opportunity to feel and process emotions you felt about your mother, Nellie. Now that she’s gone, those pent up feelings have nowhere to go and you’re kind of stuck on how to handle them. Does that make sense?”
I was blown away by what she’d told me. “Yeah, actually, it does make perfect sense. So what do I do? I can’t start taking meds, I’ve got to race.”
“You are nowhere close to needing medication at this point, but I would like to teach you how to process what you feel, in a positive manner. It’s just a matter of retraining those inner mechanisms and developing new emotional habits. It’s not as hard or as complicated as it sounds, but it will take one thing.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“Tim
e. It’s going to take time, and I’m not sure how long.”
“Man, that’s not good. I don’t want to get pissed off and end up losing my job.”
“Then come see me Thursday. If the Redemption Road people need a note from me, let me know. Whether they like it or not, you need this, Jack.”
“Okay, sign me up. I think it would be better to talk to you than to talk to a judge.” We both laughed and I scheduled my next appointment with her. When I walked outside, I couldn’t believe I’d just had my first session with a shrink. I lit a cigarette and walked away. I only lived a couple of miles from her office, so the walk would do me good—cool me off a little. I still couldn’t believe I was actually talking to a fucking shrink.
Chapter Nine — Mollie
I didn’t need a calendar to tell me it was Monday. I’d woken up late—the power must have blinked off sometime during the night—I was up for a review, and I couldn’t find my keys. On the verge of a tantrum, I eventually found them in my jacket pocket, right where I’d left them. I got to the hospital as quickly as I could, but I couldn’t hide the fact that I was late—very late.
“Sorry, Judith. Did the power go off for anyone else last night?” Nobody answered me, so I assumed the answer was no. I scrambled to the break room and stuffed my jacket and purse in my locker, then walked as quickly as I could back to the nurses’ station to log into my computer. I had a full rotation to do today and the reviewing nurse, in this case Judith, would be following me around for the next four hours. I had a patient being transferred to the Cardiac Unit, two incoming and three that needed their dressings changed—and this was just in the first hour. I swiped my identification card into the slot and began catching up on my vitals. Almost an hour behind, I was grateful that Judith had taken up my slack.
“Next time, call me when you’re going to be late—especially if you’re scheduled for a review, okay?”
“Yes, absolutely. I’m so sorry.” She was right, I should have called, but I just wanted to get there as fast as I could. Thankfully, she didn’t carry around a clipboard while she observed me going about my work and she did step in a few times to help me move my disabled patients.
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