Murphy’s analysis on questionable sources of information proved correct. He would never hear those words from me, however.

I did pry from the talkative woman the whereabouts of my mother’s death, which, surprise surprise, turned out to be the very rehab center I attended therapy in. Today, I came back for the group meeting but arrived obscenely early to see if I could get some facts from a nurse at registration. It didn’t take long to find, but the old lady behind the desk stared back at me with cold, unyielding eyes. They probably came in handy when people showed up professing clean drug tests.

“Can I help you?” she asked. More than I expected from her.

“My mother was a patient here in the last…say…ten years. I’m wondering if you could give me some information about her or if I could see her records.”

She narrowed her eyes and cocked a hip, and I knew this would not be an easy nut to crack. “Do you have a court order, or are you the legal guardian of your mother?”

“Well, she died.”

She relaxed, somewhat safe in the knowledge I wasn’t about to put her physician’s code to the test. “When did she die?”

Shit. “I’m not exactly sure?”

“You don’t know when your own mother died? If you don’t know that information, why would you want to see her records?”

My hands started to sweat, and I could feel the cold rage which poured over me sometimes, stripping away all sense of decorum when it came to people treating me like some criminal. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on keeping my voice level and calm. “Look, it’s not so simple. I was injured in Afghanistan. I don’t remember anything about my mother’s death. I just want to know what happened to her.”

Another look which said she wasn’t buying my bullshit. “Listen Lady, what do you want me to say?” I pulled apart my hair to show her the scar on my temple. “I was shot in the goddamn head, and now I’m trying to piece together my life from before.”

And there went any chance I had at getting help. I’d learned when I exploded at people, they didn’t respond well. Usually security or police became involved. And yet, I’d never been able to stop it once it began. It often built until I couldn’t see over the top, and the only way to get to the other side was to let it go.

Her lips were pursed now, drawing lines through her already smudged Barbie pink lipstick “You listen to me, young lady. I don’t have to give you anything, especially when you speak to me like that.”

I threw my hands in the air and stalked toward the meeting room, the anger still on a low boil in my gut. Fuck Parker and his too happy, dysfunctional group. I should leave now and forget I ever tried this stupid shit.

Despite the cursing in my mind, I entered the room and threw myself in a chair so hard, it skidded across the floor, drawing the attention of the other few men who’d already arrived.

Parker sauntered over a minute later while I fumed with my arms crossed over my stomach. “Rough day?”

I shook my head and glared in another direction. It didn’t deter him one bit. “You could tell me about it. Maybe I could help?”

“No one can help me,” I said, the anger slow fizzling to something worse. The low, sick feeling snaking low in my belly now.

“That’s not true. And you wouldn’t be here if you thought it was either. Please, tell me what happened.”

I sucked in a breath and conjured conversations in my head to get me out of talking to him, but nothing stuck, so instead, I rattled off my conversation with Nurse Ratchet, all while not meeting his eyes.

He clapped one big hand on my shoulder. “I can see how that would frustrate you. Can I try? See if I can get the records for you?”

I looked him dead on now. “Why would you do that? And why would they give them to you and not me?”

“People around here respond better to those they know and see often. Also, I’m the psych doc on staff, so if I ask for records, they will likely turn them over, no questions asked.”

Huh. He hadn’t introduced himself as Doctor Parker or anything resembling something formal. I’d just assumed maybe he was the group appointed leader. I could be thick sometimes, if what Murphy kept saying is true. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He waved me away. “No, none of that. Call me Parker. I’ll be right back.”

I watched him go with a mix of awe and guilt for acting so irrationally. Oh well, I’d throw it on top of the shame and instability already teetering in a precarious pile on my psyche.

It took him five minutes, and he came back with a sheet of paper. He pressed it into my hands and leaned in to speak softly. “I’m sorry there wasn’t more information. She wasn’t here long, and she died rather quickly.”

I read over the sheet on my mother. We’d never gotten along. Her intermittent drug use and the fact I raised myself didn’t go very far in establishing a bond between us. She died of a drug overdose. So how did the old me come to the conclusion I killed her?

I folded the sheet up and shoved it in my jacket pocket as Parker rounded up the group and got it started.

My attention was not really there, and everyone figured it out the second Parker said my name and it took him two tries before I answered, “Yes.”

“Did you want to share today?”

I looked at all their faces, each bearing their own hurts and feelings. Could I bare my soul to them? There were things I could talk about, foremost in my mind, Murphy.

“There’s this guy. We had a thing before I shipped out on my final deployment. It was serious from what I read in the emails we shared. But then I didn’t remember him after I got injured.”

I glanced around, waiting for someone to tell me to shut up, my feelings weren’t valid, my injuries nothing to compared to theirs. But I didn’t see it, only smiling kind faces listening with attention. The tears started welling before I could continue. I hated to cry in front of people, even more so strangers. It made me feel weak and helpless.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes around trying to keep them from falling. A fist clutching a tissue tapped my bicep, and I took it without looking.

“No, that’s a lie. I didn’t remember him, but I knew about him from the emails. I knew somewhere in my heart that he’d take it bad when I didn’t come back. But, I was in the hospitals, and I didn’t have any hair, and I just kept making excuses not to go and see him.”

The tears slipped down my cheeks, and I tried to catch them with the tissue before anyone else could see. A stupid sentiment as anyone with eyes could tell I was crying. It helped to think they couldn’t, so I continued pretending.

I pretended just like I did with every other problem in my life. Murphy’s love didn’t matter compared to my loss. I only came back to find out what happened to my mom. All lies I told myself to push me into doing the hard things. The ones I knew would hurt like hell.

“I finally came back, and he reacted like I expected at first. Angry then happy to see me. But…” I stopped. These guys did not want to hear about our sexual disfunction two days into a relationship.

“Please, go on,” Parker prompted.

I kept my focus on him now and let the tears go. Just pretending they weren’t plopping wet drops on my t-shirt.

“When I’m with him, I feel…normal. Like what I’m feeling or wanting or needing is okay. That I’m allowed to be myself. My feelings are important to someone. It’s intoxicating, and it helps shut down all the stuff going on in my head.”

“You were trading in your disassociation for a different kind,” Parker noted. “Please, keep going if you want to.”

I thought about Murphy, and I wondered if he’d be proud I was sharing our business with a group of strangers. “I think he realized I wasn’t giving him everything, and so we are sort of in limbo at the moment.”

It was as polite as I could put it without going into too much detail.

Fields spoke up this time. “Did you tell him all of this? And why you were doing the things you did?”

His question smacked me upside the head. “Well, sort of, but not really.”

Fields looked at Parker for confirmation before glancing back at me. “Well, maybe try that. If he cares about you, then he will listen, and you can work through it together. If that’s what you want.”

Did I want to be with him? For him, and not because he could make my brain quiet for a minute? Part of me said absolutely. But another part still told me if I didn’t know who I was, how could I love someone like him? The way he deserved to be loved.

“I might be able to talk to him. After a fifth of Jack.”

A few chuckles went around the group, and Parker reached into a backpack behind the chair and pulled out a kraft brown notebook. He tossed it at me, and I stared down at the smooth, soft paper surface. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Whatever you want. Write in it, burn it, rip it to shreds. Sometimes journaling or writing out what you can’t get out of your mind helps.”

A couple of the guys nodded, and I hugged the book to my chest. “Thank you for sharing, Mara,” Parker said before turning to another guy in the group.

For the first time, in all the time I could remember, I felt a little closer to normal. A human put on this Earth to do human things and not like some alien thrown in the center of a strange world to fend for herself.

The taxi picked me up, and the driver checked me out in the rear-view mirror. He was handsome with black curly hair and deep brown eyes. And his smile told me he’d be amenable to taking a break in my hotel room if I offered.

The promise of oblivion didn’t feel right with Murphy not attached. We hadn’t discussed officially what we were to each other, but it felt gross thinking about having sex with another man right now. I took his card and waved him off when he pulled out of the parking lot.

I went to my room and found a box on the bed. Inside sat a cell phone with the post it on top showing the number. Underneath, a card jutted out from the folds of the bottom. I jerked it out and read Murphy’s quick scrawl.

I know you can take care of yourself. I get that, but I wanted to at least give you a way to contact me, or vice versa. X - Murphy

After the way I went off on him about letting me fend for myself, his gesture was thoughtful. I opened the phone and found his number programed in. I hit the text button and shot a message to him.

Can I meet you at your place? We need to talk.

The answer came back within seconds.

Sure. Hit the map button to find my place. Do you want me to come and get you?

I thought about it for a second and decided against it. I’d rather arrive on my own terms.

No thanks. I’ll be there in an hour.

His reply forced a chuckle from me, and I knew I was making the right decision.

See you then. I’ll slip into something more comfortable.