by Marie Force
“Ava?” She gets right down on the floor with me and puts her hand on my arm. “Are you hurt?”
I’m mortified to be caught in this condition by my new roommate. I wipe the tears from my face and force myself to look at her. “I’m…” I was going to tell her I’m okay, but I’m not. I’m exhausted. But she’s been at work all day and all night, and the last thing she needs is a roommate she barely knows having a breakdown in her bathroom.
“What can I do?” she asks.
I shake my head. There’s nothing anyone can do.
She sits next to me, her shoulder against mine, letting me know she’s willing to wait me out. Her compassion triggers another wave of despair.
“Did someone hurt you?” she asks, her tone gentle.
“No. Nothing like that.” I need to check online to see if the Pentagon has identified the service members who were killed. I haven’t gotten around to checking because I was too busy kissing Eric.
“I know we’ve only just met, but I’m a good listener. All my friends say so.”
I’m not sure why her or why now, but the words come pouring out of me. I tell her everything. I have no idea if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life by sharing it with her or whether I can trust her not to tell anyone, but I can’t bring myself to care. The relief at finally, finally telling someone is so overwhelming that it leaves me weak in the aftermath of the word storm I unleash on her.
“Ava… Oh my God, you poor thing.” At some point during the verbal tirade, she put her arm around me. “Why in the world have you endured something like this completely alone?”
“I don’t know. It just sort of happened that way.” My eyes are so swollen from crying that I may not be able to show my face in public again for days.
“What happened tonight?”
“I went out with Eric, the guy from your firm.”
“Did something happen? Did he do something?”
“No, nothing like that.” I wipe the dampness from my face. “He’s wonderful, and we had the nicest time. And then, when we got home… He asked if he could kiss me, and I said he could.”
“Afterward, you felt guilty,” she says.
“Yes.”
“Ava… You didn’t do anything wrong by kissing Eric or enjoying the night out with him. You know that, don’t you?”
“If that’s true, why do I feel so awful?”
She’s quiet for a long time, and then she begins to speak. “I lost my little sister in a car accident when I was in law school. The loss about broke me. I had to leave school for a semester, and for a while, I didn’t think I could go back to the life I’d been leading before I lost her.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“Thank you. It was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. The pain was just… excruciating. I wished I could die, too. That would’ve been easier than living without her.”
I know that feeling. I know it all too well. “How did you survive it?”
“One day at a time, and a lot of grief therapy. That saved my life.”
“I’ve been thinking that I need to find a good therapist and get my life back on track. More than five years is long enough to live like this.”
“I can set you up with mine. I still see her every now and then, and she takes patients right away, even on weekends. She says grief doesn’t keep regular hours and neither does she. You want me to text her?”
“I would really appreciate that, but isn’t it kind of late?”
Skylar pulls her phone out of her back pocket and sends the text. “She has a phone that she answers regardless of the time.”
I’m sitting close enough to her to see what she says: I have a friend in bad need of what you do best. When could you squeeze her in? The sooner the better.
The response comes almost right away. 9 in the morning?
“As in this morning?” I ask, incredulous.
“I told you. She doesn’t mess around when people need her. Should I tell her you’ll be there?”
“Yes, please.”
She’ll be there. Her name is Ava Lucas. Appreciate this.
Anything for you. Tell Ava I look forward to meeting her.
Will do.
“You’re all set. Her name is Jessica Trudeau. I’ll text you the address.”
“Thank you so much, Skylar. I’m so sorry you had to come home to so much drama.”
“I don’t mind at all. I’m glad I could help, and I’m honored to be the first person you’ve told.” She rests her head against the vanity. “I know how hard it can be to share this sort of thing with someone, especially when you’re possibly starting a new relationship. I had a boyfriend when my sister died, and he stuck it out for a year afterward, which was about nine months longer than he should have. He tried, but there was nothing he could do, and after a while, he gave up and moved on. I’ve yet to get far enough into another relationship where I felt comfortable telling a new guy about my sister.”
Sighing, I say, “I’m not sure why I never told anyone. Probably because he wanted me to keep it between us when we were together, which, with hindsight, should’ve been a red flag. But what did I know? I was twenty-one and madly in love for the first time in my life. If he’d asked me to skydive without a parachute, I would’ve done it because he asked me to.”
“Plus, you said you went away to school to put some distance between yourself and your family.”
“Yeah, and they would’ve swooped in and tried to fix everything for me, and I didn’t want that either.”
She turns her head toward me. “Remember this—you don’t owe anyone an explanation for how you chose to deal with this. Anyone who would hassle you about how you handled it has never dealt with anything like this, or they’d know to keep their fat mouths shut.”
“I think I might love you a little bit.”
Her laughter rings out in the small bathroom. “That’s good news, because I was expecting to hate you after you showed up with all the governor’s kids in tow.”
“They’re my sister’s new family, and they’re actually really nice.”
She nudges me with her elbow. “Especially the brother, huh?”
I think of Eric and the evening we spent together and smile. “Yeah, especially him. He’s been so great to me since the day we met when I got drunk at my sister’s wedding and he took care of me.” I tell her about his pizza cure and how it saved me. “And he risked having his whole family up in his business by staying in my room in case I needed him during the night.” I fill her in on what happened with his ex and why it was such a big deal for him to step up for me the way he did.
“You know, I heard he was out on an extended leave of absence earlier this year, but I never found out why. The poor guy. Who could do that to someone they supposedly love?”
“I have no idea, but because of that, I’m extra concerned about getting involved with him if I’m not really ready to take that step.”
“Jessica will help you figure it out. She’s the best.”
“I’m so relieved to have told someone and to have a plan in place to try to feel better about everything. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Happy to help. What do you say we get the hell out of the bathroom?”
Laughing, I let her help me up, and then I hug her.
She returns the embrace and pats me on the back. “Try to get some sleep.”
“You, too.”
“I finished everything tonight, so I actually get to sleep in tomorrow.”
“Enjoy that. Good night.”
“Night, Ava.”
I go into my room, close the door and get into my bed. I’m about to reach for my phone to see if there’s any news from the Pentagon, but I stop myself. I can’t take any more tonight, and tomorrow will be soon enough to find out if he’s among the casualties.
Chapter Nine
AVA
I sleep surprisingly well and awake at eight when my alarm goes off. For several minutes, I
lie in bed thinking about everything that happened yesterday. I told someone about John, and nothing terrible happened. In fact, several good things came of it, including the referral to a therapist and a new friend. Skylar was amazing—supportive, understanding and helpful. When I pondered the possibility of telling people about John and what happened in San Diego, I always imagined I’d tell Camille and my parents before I told anyone else.
Telling Skylar was much easier than telling them would’ve been. No question about that. In addition to sharing my pain, I’d have to deal with theirs when they heard what happened with John. They’d want to know why I didn’t include them at the time, and that would make it harder on me.
I get up and go straight to the Keurig for a cup of coffee that I take with me into the bathroom, where I shower and dry my hair. I leave the apartment with plenty of time to get to the address on Third Avenue that Skylar gave me. In the cab, I expect to feel nervous or unsettled, but I don’t feel either of those things. I’m still reveling in the relief of having shared my story with someone and to have found a therapist who can help me forge a path forward.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had so many positive things to focus on. I hope Jessica can help me navigate my new life in a way that keeps the old life in the past where it belongs.
Jessica’s office is in a brick-fronted building that’s just as Skylar described it. The street level is a bustling deli with scents coming from it that make my mouth water. I’ll stop for a closer look at what they have after my appointment. I press the button next to Jessica’s name, and she buzzes me in. She’s on the third floor and is waiting for me when I reach the landing.
Right away, I notice she’s a lot younger than I expected. She has curly blonde shoulder-length hair and wears cat-eye leopard-print glasses that make her look smart and hip at the same time. She’s wearing a black top with jeans and black wedges.
She extends a hand to me. “You must be Ava.”
I shake her hand. “I am. It’s so nice to meet you, and thank you for seeing me on a Saturday.”
“No problem. Grief doesn’t keep nine-to-five hours, and neither do I.” She ushers me into a cozy space with plush, oversized easy chairs and lots of pillows. The walls are painted a dark shade of orange, and the artwork consists of soothing beach scenes. “Coffee? Tea? Water? What can I get for you?”
“A coffee would be awesome.”
“How do you take it?”
“Just cream, please.”
“You got it.” She gestures to a clipboard on the coffee table. “If you could fill out the usual forms, that’ll take care of the paperwork.”
I complete the forms and fill in my credit card number since my new insurance at work won’t kick in for another month.
Bringing two mugs of steaming coffee with her, she sits across from me and places my coffee on the table between us. Holding her mug in both hands, she settles into her chair, curling her legs under her. “Tell me a little about you, and then I’ll tell you a little about me. We’ll go from there.”
Her easygoing demeanor puts me immediately at ease, and I try to summarize what’s brought me to her in as few words as possible. “In the five years since he left, I haven’t told anyone about him until last night when Skylar came home and found me in a heap after my first real date with another man.”
Jessica winced. “That’s an awfully long time to deal with something so traumatic on your own.”
“With hindsight, I think I basically followed his lead from when we were together. ‘Let’s keep this to ourselves,’ he’d say. I know now that was probably because he wasn’t supposed to be so involved with anyone due to his job, but I didn’t understand that at the time.”
“Before we delve into that, I want to tell you about me, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.”
“Like you, I had a rather idyllic childhood. I married my high school sweetheart when I was still in graduate school. We had our first child two weeks after I completed my master’s degree. A boy named Liam.”
I experience a sense of dread that’s confirmed when she continues.
“He was nine months old when he contracted meningitis. We lost him three days later.”
“I’m so sorry.” The words feel incredibly inadequate, but I don’t know what else to say.
“Thank you. I tell you this so you’ll know I understand where you’re coming from in here. Liam’s death twelve years ago changed everything about my life, and I decided to specialize in grief counseling because I wanted to help other people who were going through what I did when I lost my son. A therapist put me back together, and during that process, I found my professional calling.”
I have so many questions. I want to know if she has other children and if she and her husband stayed together. She doesn’t wear a ring, but that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t feel comfortable asking, but I’m sure Skylar knows. I’ll wait and ask her.
“We’re going to talk a lot about John and what happened in San Diego five years ago. But first, I want to talk about Eric and what’s happening right now in New York City, okay?”
I nod, intrigued by her approach, but willing to follow her lead.
“Tell me what happened last night.”
I recount our evening, ending with the kisses in my kitchen that sent me into a guilt-induced spiral.
“When he asked if he could kiss you, did you feel guilty when you gave permission?”
I think about that. “No, I didn’t feel guilty until after he left.”
“So, in the moment, you enjoyed kissing him?”
“I did. I’ve enjoyed everything with him. He was a good friend to me the day we met and has been every day since then. Last night was a really great night.”
She sits back and eyes me shrewdly. “You’re suffering from a lack of closure in your relationship with John. If he’d broken up with you before he left or, God forbid, been killed, then you’d have closure. But when he left, he told you he loved you and walked out of your life, leaving you in this state of limbo that has kept you from moving forward. Do you agree?”
“Definitely. I’ve begun to feel anger toward him about that.”
“You’ve only just recently begun to feel anger toward him?” she asks, incredulous. “Most people would’ve been furious long before now.”
“I really, really loved him.”
“I know.”
“And he left me to serve our country, to go after the people who attacked the cruise ship. It’s hard to blame someone who’s trying to get retribution for so many people.”
“At least you think that’s what he’s doing. You don’t actually know that for sure, right?”
“No,” I say, sighing, “I don’t know anything for sure.”
“If John were to walk into this room right now, what would you want to say to him?”
“Oh jeez.” I exhale on a nervous laugh. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Humor me. He comes strolling in here, back like he never left. What’s the first thing that comes to mind?”
“I’d probably be too busy hugging him and kissing him to say anything.”
“That’s your first impulse? To hug and kiss him? Not to ask him why he did this to you if he loved you as much as he said he did?”
I think about that. “Yes, that’s my first impulse—to hug and kiss him.”
“I give you credit. I’d probably want to stab a guy who did to me what he did to you.”
“We were so incredibly good together. So very, very good. My relationship with him was the most perfect thing in my life.”
“Except for the things he kept from you, of course, like the fact that he might have to deploy, potentially for years, without a word to you.”
“Maybe he didn’t know that was possible. I mean, who expected terrorists to blow up a cruise ship?”
Jessica uncurls her legs from under her and leans forward, elbows on knees, her expression intense. “He expected it—o
r something like it, Ava. He trained for years for a scenario just like the one that transpired, and he knew—every minute he spent with you, he knew—it was possible he’d have to leave you the way he did.”
“You… you don’t know that for certain.”
“Yes, I do, and so do you. You know it. A man in the military doesn’t just disappear off the face of the earth for five years. That doesn’t happen. Unless he’s in a unit designed for just that kind of mission.”
“I… I think maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Because you don’t like what I’m saying about the man you love?”
God, she’s so blunt! “In part.”
“It’s the truth, and I think it’s going to be really important to your ability to move forward for you to accept that what he did to you wasn’t honorable. It wasn’t what a man does to the woman he loves.”
I’m so hurt by what she’s saying and furious on John’s behalf that tears roll down my cheeks. I make no move to deal with them, because I’m frozen in place.
She hands me a tissue, forcing me to react, to take it from her and mop up the flood.
“I’m not saying these things to hurt you, Ava. I’m saying them because you need to hear them. You’ve put him on a pedestal he doesn’t belong on.”
“Even if he’s spent the last five years sacrificing his own life in service to our country?”
“If that’s what he’s been doing, then we all owe him a tremendous debt of gratitude, but that doesn’t change the fact that what he did to you was shitty.”
“Is this how you coped with the loss of your son? Did you find someone to blame?”
“There was no one to blame. We don’t know how or where he contracted the virus, and the doctors did everything they could to try to save him.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’re more than welcome to ask me about how I dealt with my grief. I’m happy to share anything that’ll help you deal with yours.”
“I can’t find it in me to blame him when he was just doing his job.”
