My physical therapist, Becca, won’t let me give up, though.
She leaves me sweating and tired after each session. She’s determined to make me want to walk again. We’re not there yet. My mobility still isn’t at the top of my list of concerns.
Today, I think about pain meds again. I haven’t been taking them. I’m growing dependent on them, so cold turkey it is. Don’t want to have drug-addicted as an additional qualifier when people describe me. I’ve already got grieving and bedridden in front of my name.
Brayden comes in here every day. I hear him coming up the steps now. Freshly showered, I get settled into the bed to ignore him.
It might be easier to go ahead and talk to him and get it over with. I almost gave up the silent treatment until I heard him on the phone when he thought I was sleeping. Portland is still on the agenda. After everything, he’s still planning to go there like it’s an option.
It should’ve never been an option.
So I can’t give in and let him think he’s working his way back into my heart. Even if I’m talking to him, that’s not going to happen.
This time when he opens the door, Brayden is holding roses, candy in a red heart box, and a little blue box. Right. It must be Valentine’s Day.
And this fool is in here to ask me to be his Valentine. He’s clearly lost his mind.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Brayden says in a cheery voice.
Cheery? How in the hell is he cheery? There is nothing to smile about here. No way he thinks he should be full of joy so soon after we buried our son.
I don’t reply.
He walks over, uninvited, and sets the vase full of roses on the nightstand next to the bed. It takes all of my restraint not to knock it over on the floor. The only reason I don’t is because then he’d clean it up, giving him another reason to stay in the room when I want him to just be gone.
“I got you a gift. From Tiffany’s. I think you’ll like it,” Brayden says.
He sets the box down next to the roses, but I don’t make a motion to open it. I don’t care what’s in that box, because I know Brayden is just trying to get back into this bed with me. I have zero desire for sex. Even if I wasn’t sore from my waist down after my physical therapy, I still wouldn’t want it.
For me, making love is more than just a physical act. It’s emotional and spiritual. In those areas I feel like I’m floating in a dark void. Nowhere in there is the need to share anything with Brayden.
Since I don’t open the box, Brayden does it for me. He clearly wants me to see whatever it is that he’s purchased. I sigh and finally look in his direction. Maybe eye contact will help this move faster.
“It’s a charm bracelet, with a pair of baby booties. Each bootie has a blue sapphire.”
I take the bracelet from his hand and watch his facial expression go from cautious to optimistic. Next I close my hand into a fist around the bracelet.
Then I hurl it across the room with all my might, which isn’t much. I wanted it to fly dramatically into the wall, but it just falls to the carpet with a small thud.
I don’t want anything from him.
But I especially don’t want anything from him that reminds me of my baby.
Brayden sighs and searches the floor until he has the piece of jewelry in his hand again.
“I know you hate me, but I don’t hate you. I love you. I accept all of the responsibility for what happened to Quincy, but hating me won’t bring him back.”
Hating him wouldn’t bring Quincy back. But loving him wasn’t bringing my son back, either.
Why should he get to feel my love? Why should I wrap my arms around his neck and smother him with kisses? Why?
When my son’s arms will never reach around my neck again.
I’ll never feel his kisses on my face again.
I’m barely holding on myself. I have one foot inside this existence and one foot out. All of my energy is going to physical therapy and not taking all of my pills at once.
I don’t have enough left for loving Brayden.
Chapter 53
Brayden sat at the foot of his bed and waited for Chenille to awaken. He was leaving for Portland, a month with the coach working through strategies and opening details for how Brayden would integrate with the team. Then training camp. He was going to be gone for months, and Chenille was still only giving him one-word answers when she did speak to him.
It had been five months since Quincy died. Brayden needed to talk to get through to Chenille.
She squinted and stretched. Then she rolled her eyes when she saw him in the room.
“What?”
“Good morning. Let’s start there.”
She grunted. It wasn’t “good morning,” but it also wasn’t “get out.”
“I leave for Portland today,” Brayden said. “I’m going to miss you.”
This garnered a laugh. “Why? I’m not even here anymore. Not really.”
Three sentences. This was progress. She hadn’t spoken three sentences to him since before the funeral.
“Because I miss us. Shit, I miss me.”
“I miss my son,” Chenille said. “Every hour, every minute, and every second of every day, I miss him.”
“I know. I do, too.”
Chenille scooted to the edge of the bed and got out slowly. She was walking much better now, with just a cane. In a few months she wouldn’t need that.
She went into the bathroom. Brayden heard her flush and then the water running in the sink. She was washing her hands and then brushing her teeth. Chenille wouldn’t go ten minutes in the morning without brushing her teeth. She said she hated the taste of morning breath.
Brayden found himself remembering every detail of her habits, and he yearned for her. He wanted to feel her minty fresh breath on his neck when she kissed him goodbye every morning.
“When does your flight leave?” Chenille asked when she came out of the bathroom.
“Four o’clock.”
She nodded. She didn’t look happy or sad about it, just seemed to acknowledge the fact.
“You know there’s still time for you to come with me,” Brayden said. “We can take some time off away from everyone.”
“You’re going to work.”
This wasn’t a no, so Brayden felt more hope spring forth.
“Yes, but I’ll have plenty of downtime.”
“I’ll be fine here. Physical therapy, remember?”
“Right. You know we can find you one in Portland.”
“Or one in Atlanta.”
Brayden cleared his throat and sighed. He felt the hope evaporate.
“You’re still thinking of moving back to Atlanta.”
“Nothing keeping me here.”
“Are we over?” Brayden asked.
“I don’t know.”
Brayden reached across the bed and tried to touch her leg. She recoiled as if he’d burned her.
“Don’t touch me,” she said. “My body. You need permission to touch me.”
“Okay. I won’t touch you. Just say you’ll stay here until I get back.”
“Why?”
“We’ve been through a lot. Maybe we’re supposed to be together.”
“I don’t believe in destiny, because that means a cruel God destined my son to die. So I don’t know what you mean by we’re supposed to be together. People are together or they aren’t.”
“Right now we’re between those two things.”
“In between, but closer to aren’t.”
Frustrated, Brayden stood. He wanted to kiss her goodbye, but his touch was not welcome. He couldn’t say goodbye, either. It felt ominous.
“See you soon.”
She didn’t reply. Maybe she wasn’t planning on seeing him soon. Or ever again. Brayden’s heart felt uneasy about leaving her there, but what could he do? He could be unwanted and unloved in Dallas or Portland. At least in Portland, he’d be distracted by work.
If Chenille was still here when h
e came back, then maybe they’d have a chance.
Chapter 54
Brayden hadn’t known what to expect when he’d signed up for the support group his Portland coach recommended. But he definitely wasn’t prepared for this: a room that felt like a conference room at the Four Seasons, but without a big table. There were only six leather chairs grouped in a circle. The big picture window was almost a distraction, or maybe it was the waterfall that rushed out of the side of a rock wall. Nature’s decorating was always more breathtaking than man-made things.
Brayden glanced at the faces in the room. The support group was very small: four people, including the counselor. Brayden wished Chenille had come with him, or at the very least he wished she’d gotten on the airplane and come with him to Oregon. He wanted a new start with his love, but had no idea where to even begin with her. Maybe this counselor could help.
“I’m John,” the counselor said to Brayden. “That’s the way we introduce ourselves here. Just a name.”
Brayden felt warmth emanating from the man. John wasn’t smiling, nor was his voice especially cheery, but it was warmth and consideration that Brayden felt when John shook his hand.
“I’m Brayden.”
It was an entire sentence, but Brayden had to resist the urge to say more. It was a relief, though, to sit in a room unrecognized. Or, at least, he thought he was. The woman in the room was barely engaged; she stared out the big picture window and hummed quietly.
“I’m Alan,” the other participant said.
John walked over to the woman and touched her shoulder. She was startled.
“Oh. I’m Tia.”
Tia’s lips curled into a smile, but her eyes didn’t do the same. Even though they were dry, she had the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. They were huge and heavily lashed, but red and puffy with dark circles underneath.
“Did you sleep last night, Tia?” John asked.
“No.”
“Night before that?”
She shook her head.
“When did you last get any rest?”
“I took a nap before I came here. Or, I should say the nap took me. One second I was looking at my phone. Then, next thing I knew, I was waking up screaming. I think I was asleep about an hour or two. Not really sure.”
“You need to sleep.”
“I keep dreaming about her. How she might have felt when she died. I always wake up, though.”
She blinked like she was about to start crying, but no tears came. Brayden wondered if she was dehydrated or just all cried out. Listening to her made him choke up a bit.
“I dream of my son, too,” Brayden said. “But not about him dying. It’s always random things, like him drinking a glass of milk or playing with his train set.”
“And then you wake up and realize it isn’t real,” Alan said.
“Yes. That’s exactly what happens.”
“Do you appreciate the dreams or wish they’d go away?” John asked all three of them.
“If they go away, I lose touch with my baby,” Tia said.
Alan scoffed and shook his head.
“You disagree, Alan?” John asked.
“I don’t think I’m in touch with my son. He’s gone, and the dreams are just memories of him imprinted on my brain. Nothing supernatural about it.”
Tia rolled her eyes. “Maybe there’s nothing supernatural about your dreams. You can’t speak for me.”
“What do you think, Brayden? Maybe you can break the tie.”
“I don’t know. I just know that I feel peace while I’m sleeping, but when I wake up, it’s like I lose him all over again.”
Both Alan and Tia nodded. Maybe they couldn’t agree on the cause or purpose of their dreams, but the effect was the same.
“Write me a prescription, doc,” Tia said. “Give me some good drugs so I can make it through the night.”
“You know I can’t write prescriptions, but I can give you a referral to a psychiatrist.”
“I don’t want your pills anyway. I want to stay in touch with my little Bella.”
“You don’t go to sleep, you’ll be with your kid on the other side,” Alan said. “That’s what my doctor told me right before he gave me sleeping pills.”
“How’d your son die?” Brayden asked Alan.
Alan traced the letters in the tattoo on his arm. Brayden figured it must be his son’s name.
“Leukemia. I had it when I was a kid, but I beat it,” Alan said.
Brayden looked at Tia, but she was staring out the window again, so he didn’t ask her the question.
“My son was in a car accident.”
“That’s the worst,” Alan said. “You can’t prepare for that.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So, the next time any of you have a dream about your deceased child, write down as much of the dream as you can recall. Do this as soon as you open your eyes.”
“Why?” Alan asked.
“To help you remember.”
“What if it’s the things I’m trying to forget?” Tia asked.
Brayden wanted to hug her. Or he wanted someone to hug her. Maybe physical touch wasn’t part of John’s therapy method, because no one moved.
“Let’s talk about some relaxation techniques,” John said. “You all need to learn how to go to a peaceful place in your mind when the grief comes.”
Brayden closed his eyes and listened to John talk about deep breathing and meditation. This wasn’t what he needed. Brayden needed Chenille.
But she wasn’t in Portland, nor did she have any plans to be there. It wasn’t as if she was well enough to travel. Brayden wondered if either of the other members of this group was married. Where were their grief partners?
Maybe it was a typical thing for spouses to grieve separately. Seeing Chenille did remind Brayden of Quincy. They had the same eyes, nose, and dimples.
The session ended, although John didn’t really dismiss the group. He just told them good evening and left the room.
Alan left without saying another word to Brayden or Tia. Brayden almost wished that Alan had recognized him. He felt naked and ordinary without his celebrity status.
“Do you want to get coffee or something?”
Brayden heard himself inviting Tia out for coffee, and he wondered what made him do that. She wasn’t friendly—at all—but he was lonely, and she was there. They had at least one morbid thing in common.
“Not coffee. Food. Haven’t had a real meal in days. You buying?”
Brayden hesitated. Maybe she had recognized him and had gone straight to groupie mode.
“Where do you want to eat?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Chili’s?”
Brayden relaxed. She hadn’t recognized him. If she had, she probably would’ve requested something more than Chili’s.
“Sure. I like the chicken tenders.”
“Yep. They’re called crispers, and they’re greasy and good.”
Brayden chuckled as they walked out of the ballroom. “You look like you’d be a vegan or something.”
“What makes you say that?”
Brayden motioned to her chunky box braids, flowery sundress, and flip-flops. “You’ve got a Solange, hippie vibe.”
“Solange? Who is that?”
“Beyoncé’s hippie sister.”
Tia wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who Solange is. I know Beyoncé, though. She looks like she eats meat.”
That made Brayden laugh, and it sounded foreign and strange. He hadn’t laughed since Quincy died.
“Did you drive here?” Tia asked. “I don’t have a car.”
“How’d you get here?”
“Lyft.”
Brayden wished she had her own car. Something about arriving somewhere with a woman in his car worried Brayden. If this was Dallas, it would’ve been impossible. Tia’s picture would be on the cover of every blog by morning.
But it wasn’t Dallas. It was Portland. No one knew him here.
>
“Yes, I drove. Come on. You can ride with me.”
Brayden walked Tia out to his rental, an Escalade, just like he drove at home.
“Wow. This thing is huge.”
Tia was tiny, so it made the truck loom even larger. Brayden had to help her up into the passenger side of the truck.
When he got in on his side, Brayden watched Tia fiddle with the buttons and dials. It was almost like she’d never been in a car before.
“You never seen an SUV dashboard before?” Brayden asked.
“Not this kind. This is fancy and new. The Lyfts I get to ride in are usually small cars. I haven’t been in a truck like this.”
“Well, a lot of it is computerized and connects to smart phones.”
Tia shook her head and snatched her hands away like the dashboard had suddenly become electrified.
“This is how they track you.”
“They who?”
“The government. They’re watching our every move.”
Brayden let out that strange and foreign laugh again. “Let’s go eat.”
Tia stared out the window as Brayden pulled up the restaurant on his GPS.
“You from here?” Tia asked.
“Nah. You?”
“No. Los Angeles.”
“Dallas for me.”
Tia scrunched her nose again. “Texas is like its own country.”
“Yep. I’m Texas born, Texas bred, when I die, I’ll be Texas dead.”
“That sounds stupid.”
“Don’t mess with Texas.”
Finally, she laughed. “I don’t think black guys from Texas are supposed to say those lines. I think that’s for white guys only.”
“Nuh uh!”
Chili’s was only two miles away from the hotel where the sessions were held, and they’d missed the lunch crowd and beat the dinner crowd. They’d arrived during that witching hour when there was no wait for a table or a meal.
“You want a cocktail?” Brayden said when they sat down.
“No. I don’t drink anymore.”
“Recovering alcoholic?”
She shook her head. “Recovered.”
Tia pushed her braids behind her ears, wrapped her arms around herself, and hugged.
The Outside Child Page 22
