Chapter Fourteen
Taylor
It was obvious the weekends were rough on Milton. As I sat across from him listening to his stories of the war, how he lost friends, watched them die, and wondered why he was spared, it was obvious his depression was worsening. “Why don’t we start talking three times a week?” I suggested, figuring the long period of time without human contact was a contributor to his progressed depressive state.
“I’d like that,” he perked up.
I showed him to the door and went back to my desk to decompress before leaving for the day. He was my last patient, and I knew his stories had dredged up some old feelings I’d pushed down deep inside of my heart. He reminded me of my father. That I couldn’t deny. The stories he told made me wonder how my brother died, if anyone was with him, if he had any last words. I’d never asked, and at the time, didn’t want to know. It was too painful, and the fear of finding out he was alone, or that his death was long and torturous, was more than I knew I could bear.
A part of me wanted to know. Elijah would have the answers, but after how I reacted Saturday night, I wasn’t sure he would be up to seeing me, or that I was up to seeing him.
I left work with the nagging need for answers. Madison’s bakery looked abandoned, without any cars besides hers in the parking lot. I knew she wasn’t busy, so I stopped in to see her, possibly talk to her about my feelings.
Her smile made me feel better as I entered her store, and she instantly noticed something was bothering me. “It’s a patient; he just reminds me of my dad,” I admitted. I couldn’t give her any details, but I explained that he was depressed, a war vet, and that I wondered if his depression was similar to my dad’s before he took his life. “I just don’t want to make a mistake and lose him,” I sighed, realizing I was connecting him to my own loss.
“I’m sure you’re doing everything right,” Madison consoled me with a gentle stroke to my arm.
“His stories got me thinking about Tommy, and how he died,” I confessed.
Madison was compassionate as she leaned in for a hug. She had been there with me at Tommy’s funeral and knew how badly it affected me. I hadn’t talked about him much since, to anyone. As a therapist, I knew that wasn’t healthy.
“Have you thought about asking Elijah, now that you’re ready to know?” Madison suggested what I’d already considered.
“After the way I acted?” I sighed, rolling my eyes at how childish I’d reacted after our night together.
Madison giggled. “He stopped by here earlier.”
My heart started to race at the mention of her seeing him. “Did he say anything?”
“No, of course not,” she assured me. “But, he may have been hoping to run into you,” she hinted.
“I doubt it,” I mumbled.
“Pfft,” Madison wrinkled her nose. “That man has it bad for you.”
There was no way she could know that, and I knew she was just being a good friend by encouraging me. Elijah Grant had always been somewhat of a player, making his way through all the hot, popular girls in high school, and then back around for the ones he missed while stationed on the island. I’d heard my brother talk about him, the way he charmed the ladies. I knew part of it was to deter me from approaching him, my crush on him obvious, but some, if not all, of what he said was most likely true.
My God, what would Tommy think about me hooking up with Elijah? He’d roll over in his grave, that’s for sure.
“Why don’t you call him?” Madison suggested.
“Maybe,” I agreed, and thanked my friend for listening.
I hadn’t even asked about her and Joey, but now felt obligated. After thirty minutes and two donuts, I wished I would’ve avoided the topic.
Finally, at home, I pulled out Milton’s file and started looking over the notes I’d made over our two weeks together. I knew adding another session to his schedule was a good solution, taking note of the past session notes from Mitchell that Mondays were always bad days. He had been scheduled for Mondays and Wednesdays, and Mondays were highly depressive days, whereas Wednesdays were always better. It was that four-day gap that left him alone with his own demons too long, creating a serious risk for him to hurt himself.
I wished my father had sought out assistance with his depression. When I first started at the practice, I searched for a file with his name, hoping for some answers, but he’d never been in for a session. Maybe Mitchell could’ve helped him, or at least encouraged him to reach out to me so I could’ve helped. I hated that feeling of helplessness that surrounded me when I thought of my father’s death.
I stared up at the picture of me, dad and Tommy hanging on the wall. There were so many things I hadn’t dealt with, and I knew it was time. Maybe Madison was right; I needed to talk to Elijah, ask him about Tommy, and finally put to rest all the unanswered questions in my mind.