by Tia Louise
“It’s warm tonight,” I say, pausing to slip off my booties.
“Can I help you with those?”
Shaking my head, I walk straight to the water. It’s breaking in small waves tonight, sending little ripples of briny sand between my toes.
“So you’re here with Pete?” I can’t tell if that’s jealousy in his voice, but I decide not to notice.
“He’s easy.” My voice is quiet. “Safe.”
“Since when do you like safe and easy?” The taunting in his voice makes me want to cry. I can’t do this with him. Not after everything.
“What do you want, Stuart?”
“The same thing I’ve always wanted. You.”
Another wave of emotion crashes in my chest. “No.” Shaking my head, I turn to the side. “I can’t hear that from you. You left me when I needed you. I reached for you, and you weren’t there.”
Stepping forward, he catches my hand, pulling me to his chest. “You were so hurt. I felt like seeing me hurt you more.”
I push him away. “You blamed me. You went away because you were angry with me for what happened. Be honest. You went away to hurt me.”
His chin drops, and I watch the line of his jaw move. “I was angry.”
“I knew it!” I shout, turning to walk away, but he grabs my arm, stopping me.
“But not at you.” The pain in his eyes expands, and I see my torment reflected there. “I was angry with myself. I didn’t protect you when you needed me, and I couldn’t forgive myself for letting you be hurt. I love you, Mariska. You’re my gypsy. You’re my wife.”
I shake my head, pulling away. “I’m not your wife. I’m not your anything. I never was.”
He looks down, and I watch as he runs a hand over his stomach. “To me you’re everything.”
“No.” Shaking my head, I cover my ears with my hands. “I only wanted a family. I wanted one so badly, I was ready to believe anything to make it real. I was young and stupid.”
“No you weren’t. You’re mine.” His strong arms surround me, pulling me to his body. “We can’t go from what we had to this. It’s not possible. You came in and changed my life. You changed everything. Every day you’re in my mind. I can’t shake you no matter how hard I work, no matter how hard I punish myself.”
“Stop…” My insides ache. Every word he says is a firebrand to my chest. “You don’t know what I know. When those things happened, you thought I had a gift. You thought I had special knowledge, but I don’t. I’m not special. I’m sick, and I’m meeting with a doctor tomorrow to find out how much.”
Stuart’s face darkens, and his brow lowers. “What do you mean you’re sick? What’s wrong?”
I’m so ashamed of the truth. I don’t know how to say it to him. Still, I have to tell him everything so he’ll see what I know—that I’m wrong for him, and he has to let me go.
“When I was a child, I had a virus. It affected my brain…” My voice trails off, but Stuart holds me in that intense gaze.
“And?” he orders, and I hear an edge in his tone. “What does that mean?”
“I was diagnosed schizophrenic.” My chin drops as my insides collapse. “My grandmother took me away from the hospital and kept me at home with her. She said I had a gift, and she changed the diagnosis into some kind of spiritual thing.”
“You think that’s why you have your dreams?”
“I know that’s why I have them. What I don’t know is how much of it is real, and how much of it is a delusion, a break in my mind.”
My cheeks are coated with tears, and I want to go. He won’t let me. He holds me tighter against his chest, cupping his hands on each side of my face, and wiping my tears away with his thumbs.
“I don’t care.” His voice is thick. “If you’re sick, we’ll get you a doctor. They have medicines—”
“If I’m sick, it changes everything.” Pushing back, I put space between us. “I’ll never be able to have a family. I won’t take that kind of risk.”
“You’re still the woman of my dreams.” He reaches for my hand, but I move it away. “I believe in us, Mariska. I believe in you. You saved me from a life that was killing me. Come home with me. I’ll take care of you.”
Shuddering a breath, I turn my face. “Please leave me alone, Stuart.” My insides hurt so badly. I’m so close to giving in to him, but I can’t. I have to find answers. “I need you to leave me alone.”
“Okay.” His arms drop, and he steps back. “I’ll leave you alone.” I exhale a breath, my eyes heating as gratitude mixes with the emptiness in my chest. “But I won’t leave without you. When I go, I take you with me.”
My brow lines. “What do you mean?”
He reaches out to touch my cheek. “I’ll be in Princeton at the condo. When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting to come and get you.”
A flame kindles in my heart at his words. I have to find the answers to my past. I can’t go forward or build a life until I know the truth about myself. Still, as much as I want to fight him, I can’t ignore the inner shift I feel. He’ll wait for me. Those four words give me the strength I need to make this journey. The strength to believe I might come out on the other side. I might survive this.
20
Answers
Stuart
Standing at the edge of the ocean under the light of a full moon, I watch her walk away from me, back inside the club to where that douche Pete waits for her. She’s so utterly beautiful, so changed since the last time I saw her.
Before, she was golden and ethereal. She was bewitching and elusive with her long, wavy hair and endless jewelry. Now she’s elegant and controlled. Her black dress hugs her slim body, and her short hair blows in straight lines around her neck. Her walls are strong, and she’s fighting. Still, I could feel the heat simmering just below the surface. My passionate Mariska is still inside this guarded woman.
When she reaches the steps, my eyes trace the length of her smooth legs as she reaches down to put on her boots. She straightens and jogs up to the porch, disappearing inside. Only then do I follow her into the noisy club. I hate places like this. If Derek hadn’t told me she would be here, I’d never have come, but I had to find her.
Two days ago, when I went back to the condo in Princeton, everything came crashing down, and I felt just how much we had lost. It all happened so fast in Montana, from the good news to the tragedy. We lost sight of how much we had.
When I walked through the door, I was greeted by a vase of wildflowers with a list of all the things Mariska needed to do to get ready for this fall. We needed to pack and move her stuff from Bayville to Princeton. She had to collect all her paintings and decide which sketches were appropriate and which should be hidden.
When I saw that line item, a broken laugh escaped on an exhale. I remembered her cute little face, her golden eyes so intense as she peeked out at my naked body from behind a sketchpad. Her long waves would be twirled up around a pencil as she drew me from all angles. I’d see her cheeks pink, and I would catch her toe and nip it or trace a finger up the inside of her thigh to watch the chill bumps rise.
I remembered how when she worked on her art, she usually had a smudge of charcoal on her nose or a streak of paint on her cheek. I remembered how she would walk through the room in only those fucking boy shorts to drive me crazy.
We’ve been through hell, but I won’t let her go. Mariska is the mother of my children. We lost one. It was tragic and heartbreaking, and I can’t forgive myself for the way I reacted. At the same time, I won’t lose her over it. We will survive this, and we will come out stronger because of it.
Then Derek told me where she’d be tonight. Slayde had mentioned she was with him and Kenny, and I had to come here. Even if she walked away, I had to see her.
Now I’ve said all the things I needed to say. I’ve also seen what I needed to see in her eyes. I saw the desperate pain I feel reflected back at me, and I felt her struggling not to give in. My beautiful girl is fighting me, but s
he’s not going to win. We belong together, and she believes it as much as I do.
This suggestion of schizophrenia is complete and utter bullshit. Some quack doctor gave her grandmother a faulty diagnosis, which the woman was smart enough to ignore. I don’t understand why Mariska believes it. Still, if Slayde is helping her find the truth, I can give her time to realize what I already know. She’s unique and flawless.
She might decide she doesn’t have special gifts, but I’ll never forget the dream I had of her all those nights ago when I was trying to run, trying to get back to the desert. She saved me, and I won’t let her forget it.
I’m turning over these thoughts in my office when Slayde knocks on the open door.
“Hey, come in.” I sit forward in my chair, and he crosses to the desk. “What’s up?”
“Our appointment with Dr. Endicott is at two this afternoon.” He sits in a leather chair. He’s a good man, and he’s on our side, which makes me like him even more.
“What is she hoping to find out?” My hands are clasped in front of me, and I watch him closely.
“Kenny said she wants answers. She wants to know if he believes he was right all that time ago or if he has any doubts. She’s worried stress or even the pregnancy might cause a sudden or unexpected break.” He leans forward resting his forearms on his knees. “I think she feels out of control.”
“Understandable.” I look down at my hands. “It makes sense for her to feel that way. But she’s not mentally ill.”
“Kenny and I feel the same way. Kenny’s worried. Hell, I’m worried about her.”
He looks down, rubbing a hand up and down the ink on his forearm. Slayde was a fighter before he got into trouble and came here. Tattoos cover his arms and neck, and his pale blue eyes burn with intensity under his dark brow. He reminds me of a wolf.
“What can I do?” I’m ready to do anything to protect my girl. I won’t let her down this time.
He stands, going to the door. “I’ll be there. If things seem to be headed in the wrong direction, I’ll do what I can.”
“I appreciate you looking out for her.” My chest burns with frustration at having to sit by helpless, waiting. “If I could be there, I would.”
“I know.” He pauses. “I’ve tried to imagine the shoe being on the other foot, and I can’t. I’ll keep you posted.”
* * *
Mariska
Slayde is punctual in picking me up for our appointment. I’ve been at the gym all day, cleaning up, making smoothies, and being completely distracted by what’s coming.
“I had a great time last night.” Pete stops in front of me at the juice bar, spreading his arms and flexing his muscles for my benefit.
I smile and turn to my notebook. “I’m sorry I pooped out early. I don’t seem to have as much energy as I used to.”
“No worries.” He gives me a wink. “We can give it another try. Maybe Friday?”
Poor Pete. I’ve had this thought so many times. As much as I try to make myself fall for him, like wet kindling, my feelings never seem to ignite. “I don’t know. Let’s just play it by ear.”
His optimism fades a notch, but in classic Pete fashion, he rallies. “I’ll put it on the calendar in pencil.”
“Okay,” I say, looking up to see Slayde entering the gym.
He’s dressed as always in dark jeans and a black tee. The ink on his arms makes him look like a badass, but nowhere near as much as those pale blue eyes combined with his dark hair. Slayde’s not very tall, but he’s ripped from his boxing days.
Kenny looks up from where she’s working with a client and gives him a little wave. The only time I ever see that boy soften is when he looks at my best friend. It’s enough to make the dreamy romantic in me come racing back to the surface. I stuff her right back down.
“Are we ready?” A tremor is in my voice. I don’t want to be nervous, but I feel like everything is hanging on this meeting today.
“Ready when you are.” He smiles, and I duck under the counter to leave.
Dr. Endicott’s home is one town over from Bayville. Seaside Park is a tiny beachfront community badly damaged by Hurricane Sandy but making a comeback. The doctor lives in a two-story beige structure on stilts with a nice view of the ocean.
Slayde rings the doorbell, and I stand outside waiting, doing my best not to wring my hands. I wore my khaki pants and a white short-sleeve blouse today under my black cardigan. I wanted to look businesslike but not confrontational.
When the old man comes to the door, he’s not what I expected. He’s stooped slightly, and his grey hair is short all over his head. A pair of John Lennon wire-rimmed glasses is perched on his nose and he evaluates us sternly.
“You’re the Heron girl?” he says, looking me up and down.
“Yes, sir,” I say, infusing my voice with as much confidence as I can manage. It’s not much.
“And you are?” His voice is more forceful when he addresses Slayde.
Slayde answers in a quiet, but controlled tone. “Backup.”
The doctor nods, and makes a humming sound under his breath as he steps aside, allowing us to enter. “Come this way.”
We follow him down a narrow hall into an open living area. The sun is shining brightly through sliding glass doors, and white blinds are on all the windows. It’s too bright. It hurts my eyes, and scenes from my nightmare make my stomach clutch.
A woman is in the kitchen. She has short grey hair, and she’s wearing polyester capri pants and a lavender sweater.
“Would either of you like something to drink? I’ve got soda, tea, lemonade…”
The mention of lemonade makes my breath stutter. Slayde’s eyes fly to me, and I shake my head.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
“I’ll just have some water,” he says, and the woman nods, hustling around to fetch a tall glass with bright yellow flowers on the outside.
It all seems so boring and normal. I don’t know why I feel such a sinister vibe. I suppose because this otherwise unassuming man holds so much power over my life.
“You’re here about a diagnosis I rendered twenty years ago?” His voice is controlled irritation, and Dr. Endicott’s thick grey brows clutch together like two caterpillars over his glasses. He sits in a recliner on the edge of the room.
I go to the couch near his seat. “Yes, it was a diagnosis about me.”
“Hmm,” he nods as he assesses me. He takes the folder I brought and begins to read. “After that much time, it’s impossible to think I might remember anything specific about your case.”
“I understand, but if you could try. It would mean a lot to me.”
He continues scanning, occasionally reading under his breath. Slayde sits beside me on the sofa, water in hand, and he reaches over to squeeze my arm. I glance up at him with a grateful smile. He arranged this meeting. He found this doctor and convinced him to give us a few minutes today. I can’t thank him enough.
Time ticks slowly past, and I’m starting to lose hope I’ll get any satisfaction here today when the old man grunts and makes a positive sound.
“Oh, yes,” he says. “I remember this. Little girl, admitted for Reye’s syndrome. It seems your grandmother gave you aspirin when you had a fever, and you didn’t respond well.”
“I don’t remember that from the notes I had.” I scoot forward.
“It’s right here,” he says, turning the folder so I can see it. Sure enough aspirin with fever is noted. “Looks like when you got to the hospital, however, the nurses had reason to believe something additional was going on. They were concerned you might have an autoimmune disorder, so they ordered blood work.”
“I read something about HERV-X, a retrovirus?”
The doctor pokes his lips out as he continues reading. “Very controversial. The suggestion that a virus might be the cause of mental illness.”
My voice trembles as I speak. “I need to know if that happened to me. I need to know if something’s wrong with my mind
. If I should be preparing for a psychotic break.”
His eyes flicker up to my face. “You’re asking for something I can’t tell you today.”
“Oh.” I exhale, allowing my shoulders to fall.
The man uncrosses his leg and sits straighter in his chair. “What are you hoping to find, Miss Heron?”
“I don’t know. All of this is new to me. I came home and discovered this folder.” Shaking my head, I try to make sense of the turn my life has taken. “I just need to know who I really am… If I’m stable.”
“I’m not a psychiatrist. I can’t give you that sort of comfort.”
His lack of bedside manner reinforces his point, I think ruefully. “I’m not expecting you to do that, but if you could give me your honest opinion… at least I’ll know what I’m up against.”
The man’s hands go to the arms of his chair, and he pushes himself to standing. Slayde and I both stand as well.
“The notes I have here aren’t enough for me to give you the answers you want. I’ll have to go back and do additional research.” Studying me, he pauses. “But you haven’t had any additional experiences or problems since this diagnosis was made?”
“I was six when this happened,” I say quietly. “I don’t have a very good memory of what was going on, which worries me.”
“The drugs you were given were powerful sedatives. It’s natural you wouldn’t remember much from this time.”
“Still, I want to know if you stand by your diagnosis, or if you think it might have been something else.”
“You’re asking a lot, Miss Heron. You’re asking me if I might have made a mistake.”
“I only want peace of mind Dr. Endicott. I’m not looking to cause any trouble.”
Slayde steps forward, extending his hand. “We’re going to head back to Princeton. You have Mariska’s number to call?”
“Yes, I believe I do.” The doctor tentatively shakes Slayde’s hand.
“We’ll expect to hear from you by the middle of next week if not sooner.” Slayde’s tone is firm, and I’m thankful that he won’t let this drag on forever.
