by Marci Bolden
“I know,” she said barely above a whisper. “I…I want to be here, but…I’m married, Simon.”
Several seconds stretched by before he nodded. “How about if we have breakfast and talk about our shifts? Preferably in the comfort of my apartment. Then, you go home, and we’ll see each other at work tonight.”
She realized she must have looked ridiculous standing outside his door, staring at the number. “Okay.”
She gave him ample room to open his front door before following him inside. As soon as she did, an odd sense of belonging washed over her. She fit here, in his clean, modestly decorated apartment, better than she ever had in the rundown ranch starter home that John had been promising to fix up for the last six years. Beyond the paint and deep cleaning Caroline had done when they’d moved in, not a repair had been made. Well, other than the basic upkeep her father-in-law had done to keep the house livable.
Simon’s apartment was crisp and neat, like the home where Caroline had always pictured herself living. Before meeting John, she’d been a premed student intent on becoming a pediatrician. She’d thought she’d have one of these apartments a few blocks from the medical district like so many of the doctors she worked with at the children’s hospital. The rent was high, but the apartments were worth the price.
Walking straight to the balcony, she stared across the street. She couldn’t see into the windows of the building, but being in the urban setting had a sophisticated feel that she hadn’t even realized she was missing in her life. Having a young daughter meant scattered toys, splattered food, and wondering what, when, or how something got into her purse. Being the wife to a drunk only added another layer to the mysteries. Finding the can opener in the back of the freezer was the latest in the “why the hell did you do that” game she played with her husband, whose blackouts and unpredictable behaviors were increasing by the day.
“I used to picture myself in a place like this,” she said, peering out the window.
Simon appeared beside her. “What changed?”
Straightening her back, she tried to push down the disappointment her life had brought her, but she didn’t have the strength to pretend anymore. “I met an incredibly charming man.”
“Your husband.”
Caroline nodded. “Same sad story so many people have. The entire thing is boring, really.”
“I’d still like to hear it.”
Facing him, not caring that he would be able to see her on the verge of crying yet again, she shrugged. “Good girl with a bright future meets bad boy who convinces her he won’t ruin her life.”
Simon shook his head. “You’re far too young to consider your life ruined, Caroline.”
For a moment, hope sparked in her heart, but she no longer had the energy to think she could find her way out of this mess she’d gotten into. She couldn’t find a way out when all her strength was spent on surviving.
A tear slid down her cheek, and he wiped the drop away with his thumb.
“What has he done to you?” he asked.
“Nothing that I haven’t allowed,” she answered back. “I was young and stupid. Then, I was pregnant and scared. Now, I’m…trapped and alone. I used to tell myself I’d go back to school someday. That I could still become a doctor.”
“You can.”
“Katie starts school full-time in the fall. I’ve thought about going back then, but…he sabotages everything. He makes everything a thousand times more difficult than it should be. I don’t think I can handle school right now. Maybe in a few years when Katie is older, but not now. She needs too much attention, and I can’t count on him to help me.”
Taking her hand, Simon pulled her to the couch. Sometime while she’d been staring out his window, thinking of the life she’d never had, he’d set out the food he’d brought for them. Two bagels and decaf coffees. She knew they were decaf, because even though the sun was rising, bringing a new day, they both would have to sleep soon. Working the third shift meant sleeping all day, missing out on the sunshine. Having caffeine now would keep them awake.
She stared at the food, watching him spread cream cheese over the bagels. “You must think I’m an idiot.”
“No, I don’t. Relationships are complex. They are filled with good, bad, and whole lot of in-between. There must be something good about your husband, or you wouldn’t have fallen for him in the first place. Right?” He stared at her, pinning her down with his soft, brown eyes.
“Yeah. He, um, he’s funny and caring. He used to make me feel like I didn’t have to take life so seriously. Six years later, and I’m the only one who seems to be able to act like an adult. If I left bills and groceries up to him, we’d be homeless and starving. I feel like his mother. Everything about him is exhausting.”
“Rumor has it he drinks a lot.”
“Rumor has it…” She scoffed as Simon held out half a bagel to her. “That hospital is like a middle school.”
“Most workplaces are. Does he drink too much?”
Caroline accepted the food and stared at the spread of cream cheese. “He always has. Things have gotten worse in the last year or so. He’s rarely sober anymore.”
“Does he hurt you when he’s drinking?”
She lifted her eyes to his before shaking her head. “No. He’s not a mean drunk. He’s an irresponsible drunk. I have to hide money so I can pay the mortgage and tell him family events are two hours earlier so he might show up on time. The reason I’m late to work so often is because I have to sober him up enough to take care of Katie before I can leave the house. And before you ask, yes, I have asked him to get help. That’s not a fight worth having anymore.” Sinking back on his sofa, she frowned. “I don’t want to talk about John.”
“I think we should.” He hesitated before facing her. “You’re crying out for help, Caroline. Maybe not verbally or even intentionally, but I hear you. A lot of people hear you. We don’t know how to help. You may feel alone in this, but you’re not. Whatever is going on, I’m here. I want you to lean on me.”
She didn’t doubt his sincerity. That was the very trait that had brought her here in the first place. Simon was honest. Real. Caring. If she leaned on him, he would be there. He would be sturdy and strong and reliable. She missed having something real in her life. She missed having sincerity in her life. She missed having someone she could rely on.
In that moment, her doubts about why she’d come to his apartment faded. Her reasons for leaving were forgotten. She remembered why she was here. She was here because she needed this man to remind her that somewhere, deep inside, she was still alive.
Tossing the bagel onto the table, she reached for Simon and pulled him to her. Falling back onto the couch cushions, she looked up at him, hovering so close his breath warmed her face.
He tenderly stroked her cheek. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” she said before pressing her mouth to his.
Carol hadn’t slept well after her call with Simon. Memories of their affair had swirled through her mind. She’d bounced between feeling guilty for mistakes of the past and guilty for thinking about Simon in a way that she was certain she shouldn’t.
She’d intended to talk to Dr. Baxter about the remorse overshadowing her as well as Simon’s invitation to join him in Missouri. However, her counseling session had somehow turned upside down. Rather than sorting out why she was so scared to spend alone time with Simon, Carol stared blankly at her laptop screen as Dr. Baxter talked about…something.
Carol nodded, and her therapist pressed her lips together in a way that Carol read as disapproval. Her father might have died years ago, but Carol remained highly attuned to that kind of subtle body language. She immediately attempted to correct her actions.
“I understand,” Carol responded with a smile to counter her ill-received nod.
“Carol,” Dr. Baxter said with a gentle voice, “you’ve said in our talks that things have been difficult with your mother in the past, but you’ve al
so indicated things have been better lately.”
“Yes, they have.”
“Would staying with her while we continue to delve into some of your symptoms help? Being alone may be a bit more difficult.”
Another forced smile curved Carol’s lips without any effort on her part. “I’ll consider that.”
Again, her therapist clearly saw through her. Dr. Baxter didn’t have to say she wasn’t buying the calm reassurances from her client. Carol could read her therapist as easily as Dr. Baxter seemed to be able to read her.
Sinking back in the bench seat at her little table, Carol let her lips fall. “I was placating again. Sorry.”
Her doctor nodded. “Yes, but you recognized it. That’s a good thing.”
Acknowledging her inability to simply say what she was thinking had never been the problem. She knew full well that she tended to keep her thoughts to herself if she feared they’d upset someone else. “What’s wrong with me?” Carol asked after a long exhale. “Why do I keep falling back on hiding behind a mask?”
“You’ve had a life filled with traumatic events that led to you using coping mechanisms that are no longer serving you well. Breaking that cycle is not easy, Carol.”
“You’re avoiding the real question,” Carol stated. “What’s wrong with me? Why do I do that?”
“I think you already know that you have some post-traumatic stress.”
Carol shrank inside. She knew. Of course she knew. Having someone else know made her feel…ashamed. That wasn’t a logical response. She hadn’t chosen her father. She hadn’t asked to lose her daughter or her husband. These were things that had been out of her control. That didn’t make them any less impactful.
“You’re going to add ‘disorder’ to make it official,” Carol said flatly.
Dr. Baxter nodded. “We can make this official. You have post-traumatic stress disorder.”
A knot formed in Carol’s chest. “I think that’s a given, considering the circumstances of Katie’s death.”
“Yes. But this started before Katie’s death, Carol. Your tendency to disconnect emotionally began as a defense against your father’s bullying. This is something you learned could protect you and is something you continue to use, even when you don’t need it. The mask, as you called it, is your shield when you feel threatened, even by something as nonthreatening as the suggestion that you lean on your mother for emotional support. This is a symptom of PTSD.”
Carol scoffed. “Leaning on my mother for emotional support isn’t something I think I could ever feel completely comfortable with. I love her and we’ve made progress, but…she’s still my mother.”
Carol listened as the therapist explained what PTSD was and reminded Carol about the importance of having someone she could rely on, someone she trusted. This wasn’t ground they hadn’t covered before, but this time felt different. They were no longer talking about some distant event. Dr. Baxter had handed Carol a diagnosis. Something tangible. Something to be researched and evaluated and treated.
Carol had to admit she had a real problem now instead of simply dismissing her robotic tendencies as a quirk.
“Will you e-mail me in a few days?” Dr. Baxter asked, breaking into Carol’s internal loop.
“Yes.” Carol put her smile on again. “I’ll be in touch soon. Thank you, Dr. Baxter.” She ended the video chat and sat back.
Funny how Carol had known what was wrong for a long time, even without a professional saying the words. However, hearing Dr. Baxter confirm her suspicions made her a bit queasy. She opened a search engine on her web browser but hesitated before typing in the words.
The more she read about post-traumatic stress disorder, the harder her heart pounded. Of course, she knew the basics, the symptoms most people hear about, but the deeper she dug, the more complex the disorder seemed. The scariest part for Carol was that she could check almost every box as she read through the symptoms. Suddenly the reality that there was something wrong with her crashed down and she found thinking difficult.
She was tempted to call Simon. It was the middle of his workday, but Carol knew he’d answer. He’d stop whatever he was doing and talk her through this panic threatening to consume her. She knew he would. And she wanted him to. Which added to the stress she was already feeling. She had told him more than once that he couldn’t save her. Reaching out to him now would be sending him the kind of mixed signals that she was determined to avoid. Leaning on Simon was easy, but that wasn’t the answer.
She could call Mary or Lara or Alyssa. Each one would happily listen to her. So would her mother. But Carol couldn’t bring herself to talk to them about this. She wasn’t ready for them to jump in and try to fix this for her, because they would. She loved them for that, but as she’d told Simon, she had to save herself this time. No one could rescue her. Not from this.
Damn it. Why hadn’t she faced this when Tobias was alive? Why hadn’t she gotten the help he kept telling her she needed? Then she wouldn’t be dealing with this alone. She’d have him. She wouldn’t be having this debate. She would have called him. He would have come running. He would have wrapped her in his arms and kissed her head and told her everything was going to be okay. She would have believed him.
But he couldn’t help her now. She’d waited too long.
She always waited too damn long.
Now she sat alone, processing what Dr. Baxter had said. Carol had been dreading facing this reality for so long. This thing that haunted her wasn’t simply grief. This wasn’t her working through old pain. There was something wrong with her. There was something broken inside her mind. There was a reason she was so effective at shutting down and going through life without feeling anything.
This was a method of self-defense she’d learned as a child to protect herself from her parents, who were far too hard on her, a skill she’d perfected after Katie had died. For some reason, she had convinced herself the biggest thing she had to overcome was feeling sad for her losses and finding a way to start living again. This was bigger.
She read the name again. Post-traumatic stress disorder.
Eyeing her phone, she again debated who to call.
No one. There was no one to call. Not for this. She had to get through this on her own.
Nine
Florida in December was definitely better than the winters Carol had spent growing up in Dayton. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, she walked between her mom and aunt as they strolled through the picturesque retirement community with meticulously kept lawns and cookie-cutter one-story homes. Walking with her mom and aunt like this was almost enough to make Carol believe she could stay here for the time needed for Dr. Baxter to help sort out the mess that had become Carol’s mind.
Then again…that was a hell of a mess, and Carol wasn’t expecting miracles, nor could she picture herself staying in Florida for longer than a few weeks. She and her mom hadn’t made that much progress.
“You keep getting lost,” Aunt Ellen said, drawing Carol from the endless deliberation in her mind.
Carol smirked. “I was enjoying the quiet.”
“Oh.” Aunt Ellen grinned as she slipped her arm around Carol’s and gave her niece a gentle tug. “I’ll shut up, then.”
Carol chuckled, but Judith wasn’t amused.
“You’ve been unusually quiet since getting here yesterday,” Carol’s mom said. “What’s wrong?”
There was an opening, a door swung wide, waiting for her to walk through. She could blurt out what was bothering her. She could tell her mom and aunt she had officially been diagnosed with a mental disorder. The words refused to come. She hadn’t finished processing the diagnosis. Having to explain it to her mom wasn’t something she was ready to deal with yet. Instead of taking the opportunity, Carol shrugged. “Why do you assume something’s wrong, Mom?”
When Judith simply cocked a brow at her daughter, Carol glanced at her aunt, who stared back. Carol wasn’t going to get any support from the other woman either.
/> Carol tried again, but she couldn’t make herself share Dr. Baxter’s diagnosis. “I’ve been trying to decide where I go from here,” she said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “I thought when I was ready to settle down that I’d go back to St. Louis to be near my nieces. St. Louis has been a home to me for so long, but after being there for Thanksgiving…” She glanced around the prefect street of the retirement community. “The girls are older now, not quite as keen on hanging out with me as they used to be. I’m beginning to think that maybe I don’t I belong there anymore. But if I don’t belong there, then I don’t know where I belong.”
“Oh, honey.” Ellen patted Carol’s hand. “This is normal, you know. You’re widowed. You don’t feel like the old places in your life fit you any longer because you’re not the same person you were when you had Tobias. I went through this. So did your mom.” She lifted her hand and gestured grandly. “How the hell do you think we ended up here?”
Judith added, “We were two widows with no place to go. Why not Florida with the rest of the widows?”
Ellen nodded her agreement. “You’ve come to the point in your emotional recovery when you’re going to start thinking about what comes next. You have to let go of the past and accept that finding a new life is okay. That’s not easy.”
“You could come here,” Judith suggested. “We’d love to have you. We have room.”
“Thanks,” Carol said, and then she grinned. “I don’t want to cramp your style.”
Discounting the lame joke, Judith frowned at Carol. “I would worry less if you were here.”
“We’re in a good place now, Mom. Let’s not risk ruining that.”
Ellen piped up. “I hate that you’re spending so much time alone. So much solitude isn’t healthy.”
“I’m not alone,” Carol said. “Not really. I talk to you two almost every day. I talk to Mary several times a week. Lara and my friends are constantly texting. I’m physically alone, but I’ve got people to talk to all the time. I’m not alone.”
