Unforgiven

by Rebecca Shea

“Yeah, I’d love that. In fact, before you say anything else, I need to ask you something. It’s something that’s important, so please consider it.” My palms sweat as I anticipate what his response might be.

  “Okay…” he says hesitantly.

  “My therapist would like to do a family session. You, me, and Mom.” He’s quiet for longer than usual, which has set off the red flags. “I know what you’re thinking, Landon…”

  “I’ll do it,” he cuts me off. “I know Mom will too.” I breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’d do anything for you, Lindsay. I want you healthy.”

  “I want to be healthy too. Okay, I’ll call tomorrow night and I can’t wait to see you Friday. Tell Reagan thank you again for bringing me. And, Lan? I love you.”

  “I love you too, baby sister.” I smile and hang up the phone, ready to go to bed.

  I actually sleep fairly well for being in a new environment with a roommate that might be part vampire. She doesn’t sleep. Ever. She just reads and reads and reads. She has a stack of at least forty books on top of her small chest of drawers and, each time I see her, she’s reading a different one. I wake before the staff wakes us, which gives me some time to get to know Samantha a bit better, if she’ll talk to me.

  “What are you reading?” I ask her, startling her. She jumps and I feel bad. “Sorry,” I mumble as I roll onto my side to face her.

  “Another romance novel,” she says quickly before I lose her in the pages of her book again.

  “Any you’d recommend?”

  “There’s an entire stack over there that I’ve finished.” She nods her head toward her dresser. “The ones on the right are available. Help yourself.” I sit up groggily and eye the stack of books.

  “Thanks. I’ll take a look.” I stretch my arms above my head and yawn, finally dragging myself out of bed. “Day two,” I whisper to myself and grab my clothes and toiletries to get ready for the day.

  The rest of the week is uneventful, more of the individual therapy, group therapy, medical check-ins, drug screens, quiet time, journaling, and eating. I never look at the scale when they weigh me, but the staff doctor is happy with the progress that he’s seeing. I’ve noticed my skin and hair are beginning to look healthier and, every day, my clothes fit just a little differently. Landon and my mom are coming today, which has me in a great mood and nervous all at the same time. I always seem to be a jumble of emotions.

  There is a lot of down time at rehab and I find myself getting lonely quite easily. I’ve been trying to get to know Samantha more, but she’s more interested in her books than socializing with me, so I spend a good deal of my time journaling and making lists. Lists of things I need to do, people I need to see, and places I must visit.

  Time seems to stand still as I wait for Landon and my mom to arrive. While I wait in the lounge for word of their arrival, I’m conflicted. I’m excited to see them and nervous as hell for family therapy—our family is the poster family for “fucked up.” I’m pulled from my thoughts when Samantha pops her head into the lounge to let me know I have visitors in the reception area. I nearly sprint down the long hall, where I see Landon standing, leaning against the reception desk. They’re still searching my mom’s purse when Landon turns to see me coming. I jump into his arms and he pulls me in for a tight hug.

  “Linds,” he says, squeezing the air from my lungs. Finally setting me down, he smiles at me while tousling my hair. “You’re looking good, kiddo.”

  “Thanks. I’m feeling really good.”

  They’re still pulling crap out of my mom’s purse in search of anything she might be trying to smuggle in. Landon laughs and pulls me aside. “They do a better search here than we do at the police department,” he jokes and wraps his arm around my shoulder as we wait for them to clear my mom. Haphazardly throwing her belongings back into her giant handbag, she rushes over to me and pulls me into an embrace. While she hugs me, her hand rubs gently up and down my back in a comforting motion. This is the first time I remember her ever comforting me. My therapist, David, arrives, interrupting our little reunion, and he guides us down the hall to his office, where there are three chairs set up in a semi-circle. His chair is centered in front of our chairs so he can lead the discussion.

  Landon flashes me an uncomfortable look, but we all sit down and turn our attention to David. David cuts right to the chase. We have an hour session scheduled and he’s not about to waste a minute of that time. “Josie. Landon,” he acknowledges both of them. “Thank you for agreeing to meet. I believe that the family therapy is going to be a critical piece of Lindsay’s recovery,” he begins. “Lindsay has given me some background, from her perspective, of what her childhood was like.” He pauses and looks at the notebook placed on his lap before he continues. “But I’d like her to share with both of you what she shared with me.”

  I blink back the tears that are stinging my eyes and swallow hard against my dry throat. Landon shifts in his chair and leans forward, resting his forearms on his legs, his head cast downward towards his feet, and his hands pressed together. The muscles in his forearms flex as he presses his hands together. My mom sits eerily still, her body turned slightly in my direction and her attention focused solely on me. With a deep breath, I start from the beginning. Not skipping out on details, or feelings, I explain to my mom that her abandoning Landon and me when we were nothing short of toddlers will always have a lifelong effect on me.

  I cry when I look at Landon, my big brother, and tell him how I don’t know what I would have done without him. He’s not only my brother, but he was my mother, my father—he was everything to me—he raised me. Everyone in the room listens quietly, with no anger or judgment and it allows me just to bleed the resentment, the hurt, and the sadness I’ve been holding on to for over twenty years. I had forgiven my mother a long time ago, but I never communicated to her what her leaving really did to me.

  The room is quiet while everyone processes what I’ve said. Landon shifts in his chair and my mom wipes tears from under her eyes. She weeps quietly, listening to me speak. My intentions were not to cause pain, but to move forward from pain. My mom clears her throat and speaks up before David offers her a chance to talk. I can see he’s happy with her level of engagement.

  “I know what I did was wrong, and I pray every single night that you and Landon,” she turns her head to look at him. His eyes are fixed on her and he’s fully paying attention to what she’s saying, “will forgive me. The one regret in life I will always have is that I didn’t take you with me, but at the time, I thought I was protecting you, when I should have known better. For the rest of my life, I won’t know the damage that leaving you behind did, but I see glimpses of it every day and it kills me.” Her lip quivers and her chin trembles. I can’t contain my tears, and I’ve stopped trying to. I want to feel. I want to hurt, and I want to move on.

  “Landon, the abuse you endured at the hands of your father was my fault. I was your mother. I should have protected you, but instead, I left you to care for your sister, and fend off abuse from your father.” Landon works his jaw muscles while my mom addresses him. “Lindsay forgave me a long time ago, but I worry that I’ll die without you forgiving me. Part of me is okay with that, because maybe I don’t deserve forgiveness, but you deserve to know how very sorry I am,” she sobs.

  Landon clears his throat and bobs his knee up and down. “I don’t speak a lot about my feelings.” He shrugs. “I guess I’ve learned over the years how to bottle them and keep them in. I had other ways of releasing my anger,” he shifts his eyes to mine quickly, then back to David, “that were less destructive than Lindsay’s.”

  “I’d like to explore that,” David says. Landon lets out a burst of laughter.

  “Not with my sister and mom in the room.” He chuckles, bringing the mood down just a bit. I know what he’s referencing—his non-committal sex over the years—but our mom is unaware of that. “Anyway, I wouldn’t be here in t
his room, sitting next to you, Mom, if I hadn’t forgiven you. I may not have told you those exact words, but letting you back into my life was my way of forgiving and forging a new relationship with you.” Mom dabs her tears with a tissue and nods at Landon.

  “And Lindsay,” he says quietly, his voice cracking with emotion. “There is nothing, absolutely nothing in this world that you could do that is unforgivable. When we had no one, it was you and me. And yes, there were times you had no idea you were helping me, but you were. Without you, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be dead. I need you happy, but most importantly, I need you healthy,” he says quietly.

  David spends a few minutes talking about communication and healing before releasing us. We walk quietly through the hall and I show them my room, the lounge, the facilities, and we catch up on everything happening back in Wilmington.

  Time flies and before I know it, visiting hours are over. I feel guilty that they drove all this way and now they still have a two-hour drive back home. We say our goodbyes and I retreat back to my room, exhausted. As I close my eyes, I whisper a prayer and fall into an easy slumber.

  My time at rehab is winding down with only one day left. I’m armed with books and journals and a list of things I have to do to right my wrongs, to move forward and help me heal. This is my biggest fear, facing the people I’ve hurt with my behaviors and asking forgiveness. I said goodbye to Samantha a week ago when she was released. She finally opened up to me a bit and, as a parting gift, left me thirty-seven romance novels that I promised her I’d read and pass along. I’ve made my way through two of them and, surprisingly, have found a new love and escape in reading. I’ve added the other thirty-five books to my to-read list to have completed by the end of the year, along with a whole host of other things I plan to do for myself.

  My therapist and physicians have cleared me for discharge, happy with the progress I’ve made over the last thirty days. Tonight, I begin the task of packing my belongings, as Landon is picking me up in the morning. I have one last individual therapy session in the morning and then I’m free to leave. I’ve agreed to continue therapy back in Wilmington and I know this will help me transition back to regular life. I laugh when I think of regular life. What is regular life for me? That has yet to be seen, but I’m excited to find out. As I crawl into bed tonight, I have a content heart and a peaceful mind, but I’m definitely ready to go home.

  I walk into David’s office two minutes to the hour for my last individual therapy session. Early as always, I think to myself. Something that has never changed with me is that I take pride in being on time and being respectful of other’s time. I guess there are some things ingrained in a person that can never really be conquered. I know that addiction won’t be one of them. I take a seat in the chair I always sit in and cross my legs, patiently waiting for him to acknowledge me.

  “Lindsay.” He smiles at me, looking up from his notepad.

  “Hey, David,” I greet him in response.

  “So it’s our last day together.”

  “It is.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “About?” I inquire.

  “Everything. Leaving, your treatment, your plans. Do you have any new anxieties since we spoke yesterday?”

  I smile and don’t hesitate like I normally do before answering. “I don’t. For the first time in a long time, I’m totally fine with not having a plan. I’m going to go home and work on some things I’ve been journaling about. I’m going to help my brother and sister-in-law with their wedding, and I’m going to travel a little bit.” He smiles at me.

  “Here is the name of the therapist I’ve referred you to in Wilmington. She’s a phenomenal doctor and great friend. You’ll be in excellent care with her.” I take the business card he hands to me and set it in my lap.

  “I do have one last question for you, David. Is it possible to forgive yourself for hurting others, even if they don’t forgive you? I mean, sometimes you hurt people so badly they can’t find it within themselves to forgive you. Is it possible to forgive yourself for the hurt you’ve caused when they won’t let it go?”

  He thinks tentatively. “Lindsay, that’s a deep question, but the answer is yes. You can’t control anyone else’s feelings, emotions, or thoughts. You can only control your behavior and your actions. If you do your best to make amends with someone and they choose to not forgive, that should not inhibit your own self-forgiveness.”

  I take in what David is saying and smile. “Does that make sense?” he asks.

  “It does. I just think that this will be the hardest thing for me to accept.”

  “That others won’t forgive you?”

  I nod my head. “Yeah. Some of the damage I’ve done is pretty unforgiveable.”

  “Lindsay, there is nothing, and I mean nothing, that is unforgivable.”

  “Thanks, David.”

  I glance at the business card he gave me while he shuffles a few more papers around. “Here are follow-up instructions and information for your nutritionist. Please schedule an appointment with your physician at home as well.”

  “I will.”

  “Lindsay,” he says quietly, setting his notebook down on his wood desk. “I never want to tell a person it was great having them here, because I know the journey that got you here was devastating. But you have so much promise. I know you will be successful in this recovery and I have so much faith in you.” He leans back in his large, leather desk chair and pulls the wire-framed glasses from his face. “I want you to believe that too.”

  I take a deep, cleansing breath and feel a smile spread across my face. “I think I actually do believe that. Thank you for everything.”

  “You have my email. Keep in touch. I’d love to hear how you’re doing.”

  I push myself up from my chair and leave David’s office with a sense of hope. Gathering my final belongings, I wheel my suitcase down the hall to the main reception desk where Landon is waiting for me, leaning against a wall while talking on his phone. He hangs up quickly and rushes over to help me with my bag while I sign out of the treatment facility.

  The late summer air still hangs with humidity, but it doesn’t feel heavy. I no longer feel weighed down. “Ready?” he asks, lifting my suitcase into the back of his car.

  “Ready!”

  We arrive home to an empty house. Reagan is at the hospital, delivering a baby, and the house is quiet. I spend several hours doing laundry and getting settled back into my brother’s house. Landon insisted that I stay with them until I figure out what I’m doing or where I’m going to land permanently. Money isn’t an issue. I have more money than I know what to do with sitting in a trust fund from when my father was killed. Landon gave me his portion—I guess that was his way of finally freeing himself of anything related to our father. I believe Landon wants me here at his house so that he can watch over me to make sure my recovery stays on track.

  I stack the books from Samantha neatly on a bookshelf in my room and shove the large suitcase in the closet just as Landon peeks in the door.

  “All settled?”

  “Pretty much,” I say, brushing a loose strand of hair off my forehead, tucking it behind my ear.

  “Good. Wanna do something with me?” He has a cocky grin on his face.

  “I don’t know. I don’t like the look you have on your face right now,” I say, standing with my hands on my hips.

  “Come on; it’ll be fun. Change into shorts. It’s warm out.” He shuts the door quickly, not allowing me time to question him further. I change into a pair of knee-length khaki shorts and a bright yellow tank top and slide on a pair of brown leather sandals. I pull my long hair back into a ponytail and grab my purse on the way out of the bedroom.

  “Let’s go,” Landon urges me as he waits for me by the front door.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as I close the front door behind me.

  “Golfing.” He smiles.

  I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.

&nbs
p; “I hate golf.”

  “You used to love golfing with me.”

  “I was seventeen and liked who you were golfing with, not the actual sport of golf.”

  “You used me for my friends?” He feigns hurt, then starts laughing. I can’t help but laugh in return. “It’ll be fun. A little brother-sister bonding, plus Reagan won’t ever golf with me.”

  “I don’t blame her,” I balk. “Don’t you usually go with Matt?” It’s funny how his name just falls from my lips so naturally, yet it still stings so much.

  “Yeah, he’s still in Europe. Extended his trip, I guess.” He shrugs. “So you get to golf with me today.” He turns the car into the parking lot of a golf course that is attached to their community. “Perks of buying this house; it comes with a golf membership.”

  “Swanky.” I roll my eyes at him in mock disgust and he laughs at me. Landon puts my old set of golf clubs in the back of the cart next to his while I change into my old golf shoes. I can’t believe they still fit.

  “You know, the good thing about golf shoes is that they’re so hideous, they never really go out of style,” I tease him. “Who knew a pink Nike swoosh could stand the test of time?”

  “This isn’t a fashion show, Linds. We’ve got some serious golfing to do, and I need to kick your ass doing it.”

  “Really?” I smirk. “Well, game on. Last I remember, you’ve got a terrible slice.” He mumbles something under his breath while sliding into the golf cart. I laugh out loud, knowing that I hit a sore spot with him. We spend the afternoon on a nearly empty course. It’s nice to spend time with Landon and just enjoy the last days of summer. It’s warm, but the sun feels good on my face and I tilt my head back and soak up the rays while Landon gets ready to tee off on the eighteenth hole. It won’t be more than a few weeks before the days start cooling down.

  He swings and hits the ball perfectly. “Nice shot,” I commend him as we get into the cart. “This was really fun today. Thanks for dragging my sorry ass out here.” I lean over and bump his shoulder with mine. “Maybe we can do this again sometime.”