The Art of Moving On (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Sarah Raymond

  What seemed like hours later, Casey heard a light knock at her bedroom door. When she did not answer for an utter lack of energy, Sammie cracked the door and peered inside. When she caught a glimpse of the destroyed room, she swung the door wide open.

  “Holy hell! What happened in here?

  Casey, still in a state of shock at the earlier revelation, said nothing.

  Sammie crossed over to the bed and sat down. She shook her friend rapidly. “Casey, snap out of it! What is going on?”

  As if she had been woken from a deep slumber, Casey finally came to life. “What did you say?” she asked groggily.

  “I said what the hell happened in here?”

  Casey sat up lazily, her lack of energy making her sluggish. “I really don’t know,” she said, though she knew exactly what happened. Her answer was short and to the point, and she hoped that Sammie would not probe farther for an explanation.

  “Okay then, crazy. Your business, I guess. You need to start getting ready for dinner at Conor’s, because frankly sweetie, you look like shit. And your hands…oh my God!”

  She examined Casey’s hands, now more curious about the events leading to the tornado in Casey’s room. She searched Casey’s face for a flicker of desire to disclose. When she found nothing, she threw up her hands and said, “Okay, well you have about a half hour before we leave. I want to stop and buy a pie on the way, since the idea of me baking one is terrifying.” She rose and walked out of the room, leaving Casey a zombie on the bed.

  When they arrived at Conor’s some time later, Casey was still distant. She knew that she would have to paint on a smile and act natural at dinner in order avoid a thousand questions from Conor. When they rang the bell, Giovanni answered the door quickly so as to not leave them in the thick snow for too long. It must have been freezing outside, but Casey felt nothing. Her body, like her mind, was numb. Inside the door, he took their coats and wrapped his arms around Sammie to pull her in for a smooch. Casey left them in the entryway, and followed the aroma of turkey and pumpkin to the kitchen. She stopped just before entering, took a deep breath, and forced herself to smile. She would get through this night if it was the last thing she did. Conor heard her enter and turned around, flashing his pearly white smile at her. Gorgeous, she thought.

  “Well hello, love. Happy Thanksgiving! Don’t ya look ravishin’ this evenin’?” He crossed the kitchen and pulled her into his arms. His sweet breath was a mixture of pumpkin and whiskey. Only he would think those two things went together perfectly.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Casey said, trying to maintain the façade. “You look very dashing this evening yourself. Though I am disappointed that you are wearing clothes under the apron this time.” She thought back to how sexy his ass had looked the night that he had worn nothing but his silly apron.

  “I thought about it, honestly, but then ya would be unable to keep your hands off me arse, and we have guests.” As if their ears were ringing, Sammie and Giovanni came into the kitchen.

  “Oh, Conor, it smells fantastic in here!” Sammie said. She rubbed her small baby bump as if the baby was just as hungry as she was. Conor crossed over to give her a hug.

  “Thank ya, Samantha. I hope it tastes as good as it smells.” Conor’s eyes lowered to gaze at her belly, and he smiled wide. “Look at that baby then. How far along are ya now?”

  “Six months,” she replied.

  Conor reached out a hand, stopping just before touching her stomach. “May I?” When Sammie nodded, he placed his hand on her and said, “Is it a boy or gal?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I want it to be a surprise, but by the way it kicks, I think that it’s a boy,” she replied.

  “A li’l’ football player, then? I like it. Ya look just radiant, love.” He obviously meant soccer, which is something that Casey would never understand. Did they not have American-style football in Ireland and England?

  Conor went back to cooking, refusing to let anyone help. Casey poured everyone a glass of wine, downing hers in only a few gulps. She was going to need to numb her mind if she had any hopes of getting through the evening. Everyone just seemed so happy, and she definitely was not.

  When Conor had laid the feast on the table, Casey was astonished. The spread looked exactly like her grandmother’s used to on Thanksgiving. There was turkey and dressing, candied yams with marshmallows on top, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, salad, and pumpkin pie. Her mouth watered uncontrollably.

  “This looks delicious, Conor, thank you,” Casey praised.

  As Sammie and Giovanni gave their thanks, a thought popped into Casey’s head. “Wait, do you celebrate Thanksgiving in Ireland?”

  Conor chuckled as they all sat in silence, waiting for his reply. “No, we don’t, actually.”

  “Then how did you know to make all of this? And why are we celebrating a holiday that is not one of your traditions?” She felt that the question might have come out a little rude, but she did not mean it that way. She actually felt bad that he had gone through all the trouble.

  His emerald gaze locked onto her face as he said, “I never celebrated the holiday before and I figured that ya all had, so I did a li’l’ research and got a few recipes. I did it for ya, love.” He smiled. Casey’s heart melted. “Plus, I need to learn an American tradition for my own li’l’ ones one day, don’t ya think?”

  The question stung Casey’s heart like a brand. He wanted what she could not bear to give.

  Casey was never so relieved as when Sammie changed the subject for her. “I think it’s amazing to try new things. And this looks delicious.” She gave Casey a strange look, aware that the question had stung, though she had no idea how much. Sammie then proposed that they all go around the table and say what they were thankful for before digging in.

  “I’ll start,” Sammie said. “I am thankful for Casey. She has always been my best friend, and she took me in when I showed up on her doorstep a few months back. I am thankful for this baby inside of me, and I am thankful that I met Giovanni.”

  Gio leaned over and kissed her. “I am thankful for you, too, Samantha.” They then proceeded to kiss intimately and whisper to one another. Casey guessed that was the extent of Gio’s thanks.

  Conor spoke up, interrupting the love-fest at the table by saying, “I am thankful for Casey also. She brings the sun into me heart and the smile to me face.” He is just too sweet for words, Casey thought as she felt her face turn red. “I am also thankful that I didn’t burn the bird,” he said making everyone laugh. “What about ya, love?” he asked, waiting for Casey’s reply

  Casey sat in silence. It was difficult to think about being thankful after the catastrophic news she had received earlier. She began to fret, trying to find the words to keep her cover. She felt the panic begin in her stomach and travel up through her chest to her throat. She realized in that moment that it was not panic making its way north, but vomit. She was about to get sick.

  “S’cuse me,” she bit out as she pushed her chair backward so hard it fell over. She ran toward the closest bathroom and slammed the door just in time to make it to the toilet. She retched repeatedly, convinced that she was going to expel her entire stomach.

  When she finally stopped heaving, she sat on the cold tile breathing heavily. She did not want to leave the comfort of the bathroom in the event that she got sick again. She wondered what it was that made her so ill? She had not really eaten anything earlier that day, so she chalked it up to a mixture of stress and wine on an empty stomach.

  Casey heard a knock at the door followed by Conor’s voice. “Are ya okay? Can I come in?”

  She in no way wanted him to see her so ill, so she said, “I am okay. I just got an upset stomach all of a sudden. Would you mind getting my toothbrush from upstairs?”

  “O’ course,” he answered. When he returned a few minutes later, she cracked the door to grab the brush.

  “You guys go ahead and eat before the food gets cold. I think I am going to lie down for a
bit, if that’s okay?”

  Conor nodded, though the look on his face said that he was both worried for her, and heartbroken that he would have to enjoy dinner without her. Casey brushed her teeth and headed up the stairs to his bedroom. She went into his closet, picked out the biggest shirt of his that she could find, changed out of her burnt orange dress, and climbed into bed. With her stomach finally settled, she fell asleep fast in the comfort of Conor’s king-sized bed. If she dreamed, she was unaware.

  She awoke some time later to the sound of a door shutting downstairs. She glanced over at the clock and saw that she had been out for three or four hours. She sat up in bed just as Conor entered the room carrying a plate full of Thanksgiving dinner, and a glass of water. He sat the meal on the bedside table and took a seat beside her.

  “How are ya feelin’?”

  “Embarrassed. I am so sorry that I missed the beautiful holiday you prepared. I feel so stupid! I guess I should not have had so much wine on an empty stomach.”

  He reached his hand out to rub her shoulder. “Don’t feel stupid. Everyone gets sick. Ya seem a little better now.” He glanced at the overloaded plate of food. “Do ya feel up to eatin’ a bit now? The bird actually came out pretty grand for my first try.”

  Casey nodded, accepting the plate he handed her. “Did Sammie and Giovanni leave?”

  “Yeah, they could barely keep their hands off each other during supper. I don’ figure they’ll make it home with their clothes on,” he said with a chuckle.

  Casey took small bites, making sure to chew each slowly and thoroughly. The last thing that she wanted to do was throw up whole chunks of turkey. The food was delicious, even re-heated.

  “You did a good job, Conor. I hate that I missed it.”

  As he watched her eat he said, “That’s okay. Hopefully we will have many more.” The comment hit like a ton of bricks. He wanted to have more Thanksgivings with her, but for that to happen, he would have to accept traditions without kids. She did not know when or how to have that conversation, but tonight, she would enjoy their first, and maybe last, Thanksgiving together.

  Chapter 27

  Casey felt sick off and on over the course of the next few days. She had not thrown up anymore after the disastrous Thanksgiving incident, but she had been queasy every day since. She chalked it up to some kind of flu, which would not be too far of a stretch with the weather outside. It seemed that with the unrelenting snowfall, the entire city was sick. Grocery stores were running out of soup, hot tea, and medicine left and right. When she had left Conor’s the day after Thanksgiving, she had made a quick stop at the drug store to buy some essentials, and spent the next three days in bed. Sammie had checked on her periodically, and she received numerous texts from Conor checking in, but she spent most of the time alone with her thoughts.

  By Monday, Casey was relieved to feel well enough to get out of bed and make her way to her appointment. There was no way she was going to miss this session, as she had a gut feeling that the hypnosis would work this time. She also desperately needed to talk to someone about her recent discovery. So far, she was not handling the information well. She had considered talking to Sammie about what her father had said, but she was afraid what else Sammie might reveal. She was worried that her best friend had known all along and was unaware that Casey had suppressed the memory.

  When she arrived at Dr. Roma’s office, the receptionist informed her that there was an emergency with one of the doctor’s patients, and she would be back in the office in about thirty minutes. Casey decided to wait, unwilling to reschedule her appointment. She sat on a soft chair, her leg shaking anxiously. She examined her hands, scabs now forming over the cuts from tearing apart her room. She wondered why Conor had not asked her about the streaks on Thanksgiving? Had Sammie said something to him during dinner about finding Casey in a comatose heap surrounded by scattered books and broken glass? He must think I am crazy.

  Casey’s eyes traveled the room, focusing on the pamphlets on the wall. She always seemed to study them while she was waiting for her appointments, though they never changed—always the same boring titles sitting unwanted on clear plastic shelves. Casey noticed that the shelf that housed the one she had been interested in before, The Art of Moving On, was empty. She guessed that she was not the only one trying to get on with her life. Browsing the same old titles from afar, Casey’s eyes focused on one pamphlet that was new. It was titled:

  GETTING PREGNANT AFTER THE DEATH OF A CHILD

  -Assuring Yourself That It Will Not Happen Again-

  Casey stared at the title, wondering how anyone could possibly move on from that? She considered herself lucky that she had no desire to have any more children. She would never have to know the fear that those parents felt, worried every day that they would have to face loss yet again. And the children would obviously grow up with their parents suffocating them to no end. She began feeling queasy, and took deep breaths, thinking that she might need to throw up again.

  At that moment, Dr. Roma rushed through the office door and said, “Oh, Casey. I am so sorry. I had an emergency. Thank you for waiting.” She opened her office door and motioned for Casey to come in. “Shall we?”

  Casey entered the office and lay down on the couch as Dr. Roma grabbed her notepad and situated herself in her chair. The doc took a long draw from her water bottle, sat it down, and said, “Okay Casey. Before we get started with your hypnosis, let’s talk about how are you doing?”

  Casey exhaled, still feeling sick to her stomach. “Well, I talked to my father on Thanksgiving. We haven’t really spoken since right after the accident. He revealed some information about the day of the wreck.”

  “Go on…”

  She took a breath. “Well, I asked him if he remembered anything leading up to the wreck. Like anything he might have remembered me saying…any details that might trigger my memory. He didn’t really say much. We were never really close. But he did tell me that Jace was a drunk. He said that he was drunk when he got into the car that day. He said he murdered my baby.” Plump tears were now falling rapidly from her eyes. Dr. Roma handed her a tissue. “It broke my heart. How could I have forgotten that?”

  “Casey, that is a tragic detail. Your mind set this veil to protect itself. You were obviously ill equipped to handle that amount of pain, so you blocked it out. It is common for people in similar situations to suppress these types of memories. It is a coping mechanism.”

  Casey felt sick. She was so afraid of what the hypnosis would reveal, but by the end of today, everything would be crystal clear. She was sure of it.

  “I want you to put me under now. I feel like we can lift the veil. Do not stop pushing deeper until you have the truth,” she said. “I will pay extra if I have to. I need to know what happened that day. I have to know the truth.”

  Dr. Roma nodded, and began. “Let yourself drift. Concentrate on your breathing. Descend the spiral staircase.”

  Casey was suddenly aware that she was talking, but she felt as though she was someone else. She seemed to be floating above her body, listening to herself talk about the day of the accident. This was it. She had reached the level of subconscious and removed the veil. All was about to be revealed. She focused on her words, and accepted them, though they were utterly heartbreaking.

  It was a Saturday. It was July. I was rocking the baby in the nursery, because it was his naptime. I heard Jace swing open the screen door so hard it hit the side of the house. The baby stirred, but I quickly calmed him. I put him in his crib and walked into the bedroom. Jace was looking for something, but I didn’t know what. He told me to lie down on the bed. I said no so he pushed me down. He ripped open my shirt, buttons flying all over the room. I heard them hit the wood floor. I struggled against him, but he overpowered me. I felt so weak underneath the weight of his body. I cried out, but he covered my mouth. He choked me until I passed out.

  I woke later and rushed, still half naked, to find the baby in the kitchen with Jace.
I slapped the beer can from his hands, and told Jace that I was leaving him and that I wanted a divorce. I grabbed the baby and turned to walk out the door, but he kicked me in the back and I fell to my knees. I held the baby tight and turned around to face him. He punched me in the face. He hit me so hard I was stunned. I saw stars. He grabbed the baby from my limp arms. I saw nothing but darkness.

  When I came to, my face hurt so bad. Blinding pain. I gathered myself, and panic struck me. I panicked, wondering where the baby was. I gathered my strength and pulled my battered body up to look out the kitchen window. Jace was in the car with the baby. He took long draws from his flask, threw it in the passenger seat, and put the car in reverse. I took off running, trying to stop him. He was already down the street. I jumped into my car and caught up to him. I sped ahead of him, planning to stop the car sideways to create a barricade in the road. In the rearview, I saw the car rolling. Time slowed. I parked and got out, running toward the SUV. It burst into flames. I got as close as I could to the fire, hoping that I could save them. There were no cries. There were no screams. I smelled burning flesh. I could not save my son. The fiery embers blazed on. I yearned to burn in the fire with them.

  When Casey finished telling her story, there was silence. Tears fell from her eyes, and though she was still under hypnosis, despair radiated throughout her body. Dr. Roma sat stunned, obviously disturbed by the revelation.

  “Casey, you did very good. We lifted the veil,” she said after a moment. “I am going to count back from five, and you are going to wake up. You will remember what you have revealed to me. Five, four, three, two, one. Wake up.”