Chapter Thirty-Five
SAWYER
Early Wednesday morning I got a call from my mother asking if I wanted to go over for breakfast. I needed something to take my mind off all this isolation and doom, so I agreed and forced myself through the shower. I needed to go to the grocery store anyway. Sandwiches and cereal made up most of my diet, and I knew I needed to at least try to do better.
When I walked in the house, my dad and mom were both sitting at the table. A plate was out for me, and I smiled. The smile faltered when I remembered that I had Quinn to thank for the reunion with my father in the first place. If she hadn’t intervened, I might still hate him. We might not even be talking.
Or maybe not. I sat down at the table. “Hey,” I said. I wondered what I could honestly say were my own accomplishments at this point. I wondered how easy it would really be to see Quinn go. That was assuming she was leaving me, but at this point, I didn’t know. She hadn’t contacted me in a few days, and I knew that she’d seen things that would probably make her hate me.
“Good morning,” Mom cheered. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too,” I said. “What have you been up to?”
“We’ve been trying to plant some tomatoes,” Dad said. “It’s been a little bit of a hassle, but it seems like we might actually get some vegetables to grow back there.”
“Your father’s been doing lots of work in the backyard. Reminds me of the old days when he would mow my parent’s lawn to impress them,” Mom said with a sarcastically wistful sigh.
“Oh, there was never any impressing old Frank,” Dad said.
I offered a smile. It was hard to engage in this conversation with my mind as occupied as it was.
“Are you doing alright? You look awful tired. Pete’s not working you too hard, is he?” Mom asked, leaning forward in her seat.
I shook my head. “I’d say he isn’t working me hard enough,” I said. “He sent me home after a few hours yesterday and hasn’t called me yet today. It’s been, uh, it’s been a weird couple of days with Quinn.”
“Is everything alright?” Dad asked.
“Not exactly.” I set my glass down and watched the condensation form a little ring on the wooden table. “I had a run-in with Stacy while she was out at her conference. She told me she was homeless and didn’t have anywhere to go, so I told her she could sleep on the couch for one night. She took a bunch of, um, compromising photos with me and showed them to Quinn.”
“Jesus.”
“Eugene, language.”
“I tried calling Quinn, and she won’t answer,” I said. “I don’t know why she won’t answer. I mean, I know why, but… Stacy is a liar, and Quinn knows that. I don’t understand why she believed Stacy at her word.”
“Do you know that she believed Stacy at her word?” Dad asked.
“What do you mean?” I raised an eyebrow. “She hasn’t called me since she found the photos, and she won’t pick up any of my calls. I would assume she’s angry with me.”
“But you don’t know. You need to talk to her.”
“She won’t answer my calls.”
“So go find her,” Dad said. “I happen to think that Quinn is good for you. If it’s going to fall apart, then that’s fine, but you have to give it a fair chance before you declare it dead.”
He was right. I couldn’t reasonably say I’d done everything in my power to right the situation, and that was what ultimately mattered here. I needed to try and make things right, and if, when I’d done everything I could possibly do to right this wrong, she still hated me, then we could call the relationship dead. Until then, I still had work to do.
After breakfast, I decided to drive out to her house. She wasn’t there, so I changed routes to her work. Sure enough, her car was in the lot, and I worried about what I was doing. I probably needed to wait until she was off work and then talk to her. I called her, and she didn’t answer.
If she had someone coming in, she could shoo me off. I wasn’t going to make a scene. I only wanted to talk to her, and I knew that she would see reason if I could just explain myself and the situation.
No one was in the waiting room when I walked by. I took a few steps down the hallway and saw Quinn beginning to walk out of the door. She saw me, and we froze, staring at each other, and I almost forgot to say anything at all.
“Quinn.” I swallowed. “Do you have any patients?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, I, um… the last one just left. I was on my way home.”
“Do you have a couple of minutes?” I’d meant to be more insistent than this, but I couldn’t boss her around. This was all happening on her terms, whether I liked it or not.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. A couple.” She opened the door back up to her office, and I walked in behind her, looking up at the clock above the door out of habit. I was glad that there wasn’t anyone there—if there had been, I would have had to leave, and if I’d come back, it would have been simply too invasive. As it was, I felt bad for showing up where she worked.
“I’m sorry for showing up at your job,” I said. “But you wouldn’t answer the phone, and I have to talk to you.”
“It’s been off,” she said.
I raised an eyebrow. If she didn’t want to talk, I could walk away.
“Sorry.” She sat down in her chair. “By all means.”
I sat down on the couch, like I had when we had our therapy sessions. I looked across the room at her and tried not to internalize the look she gave me.
“I didn’t do anything with Stacy,” I said. “She told me she had nowhere to go, so I let her stay at my house. I told her she could sleep on the couch. She came into my room while I was sleeping and took those photos, or maybe she photoshopped them. I’m not sure. But I didn’t do drugs; I didn’t have sex with her; I didn’t do anything.”
Quinn’s jaw tightened, and she looked down.
“And I’m sorry that it happened. I shouldn’t have talked to her at all. I should have known better than to let her into the house,” I said. “I knew she was trouble and I trusted her not to act up. I was going to tell you about it, but you didn’t pick up your phone. And then you called me while I was at the hardware store with Pete, and then you wouldn’t pick up your phone. You wouldn’t let me explain myself. So I’m sorry that it happened, Quinn, I really am, but I don’t know what exactly you want me to do when you won’t even hear me out.”
She frowned and clicked her pen. “I know,” she said. “It was shitty of me not to answer. I… I should have. At least I should have heard you out.”
I sighed. “I was just worried. And the nightmares are coming back, and I don’t know what to do about those.”
Quinn clicked her pen again. “I believe you,” she said. I noticed for the first time the dark circles under her eyes, setting careful bruises against her cheeks. I hated to think that this had caused her so much discomfort, and I hated even more that there was still irritation in my gut about the entire situation. I wanted more than anything to forgive and forget, but perhaps that would be easier now that she was telling me what I’d needed to hear.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you, I… I was wondering if we could do therapy again. Because of the nightmares.”
“I can’t,” Quinn said.
I raised my eyebrow at her.
“It’s a crime,” she said. “Or at least I’ll get my license revoked. It’s called sexual misconduct. Even if we’re both consenting, it’s not something I’m supposed to be up to. I can refer you to someone else, though, and of course I’ll talk to you outside of therapy. I just can’t have you as an official patient.”
“Okay. Then we’ll talk outside of here,” I said. “If you want.”
She swallowed again and glanced up at the clock over the door. “I don’t know how much good it will do, Sawyer.”
Why couldn’t she just accept this and move on? I didn’t understand her insistence on making this situation as painful and ridiculous as possible. I did my best to curb my irritation and merely tilted my head slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you said you’re having nightmares again. We’ve resolved the issues with your father, so that can’t be it. I would imagine that this is about what happened overseas, but you won’t talk to me about that.”
I clenched my jaw despite my intention to remain calm. “I told you, I’m not ready.”
“That’s fine,” she said. Her tone began to take on something a little snappier, and I grew irritated that she felt she had the right to get irritated. She was the one who refused to let this be over! I was trying to do what I could to smooth things over, and she didn’t seem to want things smoothed over. Did she want me to leave? Did she want to leave me?
Maybe she had left me. Maybe she’d intended to, and I’d just shown up and shattered that opportunity. But dammit, I wouldn’t have had any way of knowing because she wouldn’t talk to me.
“But if you’re not going to talk to me about it, then it’s never going to get better.” Quinn folded her arms in a flatly defensive stance.
“You can’t teach me how to regulate panic attacks, refer me to good sleeping medicine, none of that? Just either I tell you what happened or you’re going to refuse to talk to me?” I asked. “You’ve already made up your mind about what I need? Why don’t you listen to what I’m telling you I need?”
“Because you think you can go the rest of your life without telling anyone what happened over there and still expect everyone to walk on eggshells around you. It’s not fair to expect me to just attempt to work around this enormous hole.” Quinn was flatly snapping now, her tone harsh and cutting.
I stood up. I didn’t need to listen to this. I didn’t deserve to listen to this. It wasn’t like I was keeping some juvenile secret. Therapists, and people in general, were supposed to be understanding when a person didn’t want to open up right away. I was asking for an iota of patience with the issue, I was trusting her with my deepest concerns, and she was getting pissy and refusing to deal with me.
I didn’t have to listen to it. I walked out of her office, ignoring when she called something out to me, and drove away.