Recovery Journal: Day Nine
Today wasn’t such a bad day.
Molly came by to visit.
It was good to see her and to apologize for ending things between us the way I had.
But I know it was for the best. She and Jake were meant for each other, and I know they’ll figure it out. Eventually.
I also got the chance to tell her about Cora.
Cora is the reason for all of my recent good days.
She makes this hellhole bearable.
She’s more than a nurse to me; she’s a salve for my pain, a cure for my loneliness, and the light when the world feels bleak.
I know it’s the worst timing.
I know I sound crazy.
But could it be…could she be the answer to my prayers?
I knew the moment I turned the corner onto the patio area of Billy’s restaurant that I shouldn’t listen in on that phone call.
Cora had all the telltale signs of someone who was in the midst of a private conversation.
Head lowered, voice hushed, red splotchy eyes.
I shouldn’t listen.
But I did.
And what I heard told me everything and nothing, all at the same time.
Why is she lying to her father? Why is she crying over it? And what am I going to do about it?
Wait, what?
Before I had a moment to contemplate that last part, my feet, as if they had a mind of their own, were on the move, stepping forward, making my presence known, like I was some sort of knight in shining armor.
Cora looked up at me, her mascara running down her tearstained cheeks, as she hastily tried to brush the moisture away with the back of her hand. Her gaze darted to Lizzie, who was busy with a bucket of crayons and several paper menus.
Before Cora could rush away, I opened my mouth, and words came out.
Words I had no right asking.
“Why were you lying to your father?”
He eyes went wide, and it was all there. Fear, anger, pain, regret. Her lips quivered from the weight of it, and it took every ounce of strength in my broken body not to reach out and pull her into my chest.
But I wouldn’t touch her. Not without her consent.
I didn’t know what had happened to Cora in her life since I’d been her patient, but I recognized wounds and battle scars, and the woman who stood in front of me was bathed in them.
“Because I’m a fraud and a coward, and it’s easier if he doesn’t know.”
My forehead furrowed in confusion as she began to turn away.
“Doesn’t know what?” I asked.
She looked back, a sad, nearly blank expression splashed across her otherwise animated face. “Everything.”
She meant to leave it at that and simply walk away, and I was going to let her.
After all, I had interrupted her private moment. I had stolen her secret and pushed for information that wasn’t mine to know.
But then Lizzie caught sight of me standing by the bar, waiting for my to-go order, and if there was one thing I’d learned about this tiny genius in pigtails, it was that, when she put her mind to something, she always got her way.
“Dean!” she hollered, her high-pitched voice carrying over every other noise in the bay. “Dean! I ordered fish! Fish Fingers!” she said proudly, holding up her fingers to demonstrate.
I simultaneously held up my thumbs as Cora took her seat once more next to her daughter. She’d done a decent job of cleaning up the tears, but anyone with a good eye could see she was still visibly shaken. One proper gaze in her mother’s direction, and Lizzie would notice, too.
As Billy dropped off my takeout in front of me, I realized I had a choice to make. Go home and pretend like this never happened, or go sit down at that table and distract one very observant little girl until her mother had a chance to calm down.
Knowing it wasn’t much of a choice and I’d already made it, I grabbed my bag of food and headed over in the direction of Lizzie’s shouting.
“Yay!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together as I took a seat across from Cora.
The movement caused her to look up from her plate, that haunted stare still firmly planted on her face.
“Hey, Lizzie,” I said, turning my attention back toward the task at hand. “I bet you can’t make a list of all the foods you can eat with your fingers,” I said, setting the challenge.
She scrunched her little nose as the wheels started spinning. “I bet I can!”
“Without looking it up on a computer?”
She sat up in her chair, her height growing with the help of her knees. “Yep!”
“Think you can do it right now?” I asked, unpacking my dinner as she stuffed a French fry into her mouth. Another glance in Cora’s direction showed she hadn’t even touched her meal.
“Of course I can.”
“Okay then, show me,” I said, digging into my own fries.
“Mommy, are you going to eat your finger fish?” she asked, her attention turning back toward Cora.
She looked up, struggling to answer.
“We had a big lunch today at the clinic, so she’s probably just full. Maybe, in a bit, we can have Billy wrap up everything for leftovers?”
She gave a lingering glance in Cora’s direction and nodded. I wasn’t sure I’d entirely convinced the kid, but it was enough that she began sputtering off finger foods a second later. By the end of our meal, she had a list of at least fifty, which was impressive, considering I’d only come up with maybe five.
She also argued with me over the finer points of whether ice cream could be considered a finger food. I was firmly on the pro side while she was hell-bent on proving me wrong.
“But you eat it on a cone!” I said, feeling pretty proud of myself. “And a cone is a finger food!”
She folded her little arms across her chest. “And, when it’s in a bowl, do you scoop it out with your fingers?”
I eyed Cora, who had slightly perked up during this exchange and was now watching with interest. She smirked a little and leaned back as her protégé slayed me alive.
“You could,” I said, straight-faced. “Don’t you eat your ice cream with your fingers?”
She giggled, vigorously shaking her head.
“No? Why not?”
“Because it’s messy!” she answered, her voice rising in pitch.
Cora joined in on the laughter.
“Billy!” I hollered. “Bring this girl some ice cream. No spoon!”
A very confused Billy slid up next to me by the table. “Uh, Dean, I don’t really carry ice cream. I might be able to throw together a s’more or something.”
I laughed, patting my old classmate on the back. “It’s okay, Billy. Maybe another time.”
He seemed relieved, running back to the kitchen as the three of us laughed together. It felt good, and I could see appreciation in Cora’s eyes, which only made me want to stay longer.
I’d promised Lizzie I’d befriend her mother.
But what I felt growing inside me, what I’d felt since the first moment she walked into my hospital room and every moment since, went way beyond friendship, and if I was half the man Lizzie believed me to be, I’d walk away.
I’d tell Lizzie to ask someone else to befriend her mother.
Someone with good intentions and a pure heart.
I was not that person. I was the man who wanted everything from Cora Carpenter—friendship, love, and all the happily-ever-after crap Molly had been drilling into me for years.
But I had a feeling that Cora had already given everything she had away to someone else, and what I was looking at was a broken shell of what used to be there.
Kind of like me.
Somehow, the little mastermind had managed to talk me into walking them home, and I’d left my truck behind at the restaurant.
Her reasoning?
Mommy needed company while she looked for shells and rocks.
Lizzie looked back at Cora and me, the sun slowly starting to fade into the horizon, as we walked down the path. She gave me the cutest stern look. I guess I was supposed to be talking.
About what, I wasn’t sure.
Was I being set up by a five-year-old?
“She’ll be okay, running ahead,” I said, awkwardly clearing my throat. “Not many cars out at this time of day. Or any time of day really. Mostly just golf carts.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets and let out a deep breath.
Real smooth, Dean. Good job.
“What is it with the golf carts?” Cora finally asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. They weren’t around when I was growing up, but they sprang up about a decade ago when an ordinance passed. The tourists like them and the locals, too.”
“But not you?”
I shrugged again. “I’ve never driven one.”
She looked surprised. “Really? Never?”
Shaking my head, I replied, “Nope. Molly talked about getting one for the inn when we—I mean, but, uh…no, I’ve never driven one.”
“There it is,” she said slowly, like she’d found a long-lost wallet or something.
I turned my head as we continued walking. “What?”
She smiled. “The awkwardness I’ve been looking for.”
“What?”
“You know, the awkwardness that is always around when two people break up. I’ve been looking for it with you and Molly, but you guys all play it off like it’s no big deal. But, right there”—she pointed in my direction—“when you spoke about the golf cart, I saw it.”
I let out a sigh and stopped. She stumbled a little after my abrupt halt but did the same, still keeping a watchful eye on Lizzie, who’d stopped to pick up a pebble.
“You’re misinterpreting my awkwardness.”
“I am? There are different types?”
I nodded. “Well, with you, there only seems to be one.”
Her eyebrow rose in curiosity.
“See, Molly, Jake, and I are fine. There’s never been any residual awkwardness between us since they got back together. What makes it weird is you.”
She seemed taken aback.
Honestly, I didn’t blame her.
“Me? But why?”
“Because it’s you,” I blurted out. “Everything about you turns me into a blithering idiot. I used to be a cool guy. Or at least, a guy who could form legitimate sentences in front of a woman. But you waltz in, and I can’t seem to talk about anything, let alone string two words together.”
She pressed her lips together, her eyebrows rising in what appeared to be amusement. “Seems to me like you just did,” she replied with a shrug.
“What?”
“Strung two words together. Or rather, more than two actually.”
She continued on down the path, following Lizzie, who’d now moved on to another rock, leaving me in the dust. I looked at both of them strolling along like neither had a care in the world.
Jesus, these two females were going to drive me insane.
Catching up to Cora, who’d made no attempt to wait for me, I noticed a marked change in her expression. The happy-go-lucky smile she’d left me with was gone, replaced with something more contemplative. The phone call with her father was still eating at her, and it showed in her gaze.
“My dad thinks Blake and I are still married. He doesn’t know about the divorce.”
I nodded. “I gathered that from the phone call.”
She ignored me and kept speaking, as if I wasn’t even there, “Honestly, I don’t even know how it started, the lying I mean. I guess maybe it was a tiny thing. No, that’s not true. I know exactly what it was, but I don’t want to say.”
“That’s okay. You don’t—”
She cut me off, “And that’s my problem. It always has been. No matter what, I always try to make excuses for the bad stuff, you know?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but once again, I realized, this wasn’t for me. This conversation was for her, and I was the silent listener, receiving her confession. So, I softly and slowly walked next to her and let her speak as much and for as long as she needed, hoping the dusty road to the inn would be enough for her to bare her soul.
Or at least, the parts she was willing to show me.
“It was a little thing,” she finally said. “I mean, I thought it was at the time. My parents were going to come visit for the weekend—it wasn’t that long before I met you. Anyway, I could do that, you know—just fly them in whenever I wanted. We had the money, and Blake didn’t care what I did as long as it didn’t conflict with any of his work functions.”
She was rambling now as Lizzie skipped ahead of us as I tried to come to terms with what she’d just told me. She’d been lying to her family for three solid years. Maybe more.
That nurse I’d met in the hospital, the one I thought was happy and full of life. Was that all a lie?
“It was my mother’s birthday, and I’d planned every moment of the weekend. Cirque du Soleil was in town, and I’d gotten us front row tickets and reservations to the best restaurant in town, plus beach time with Lizzie and a trip to the Children’s Museum. I’d checked Blake’s schedule, I had, but I guess it changed, and we were suddenly hosting a dinner for twenty. I tried to convince him that my parents wouldn’t be an imposition, but he refused.”
“Did he hit you?” I asked. I wasn’t sure why I’d jumped to that conclusion. Maybe it was the way she’d jumped away from my touch that night at the inn or the vacant, haunted expression in her eyes every time she spoke of the past, but the moment I asked, I already knew the answer.
She swallowed hard and turned away. “I called my parents and said Lizzie had come down with the flu. That was my first lie. After that, they just kept coming, like excuses for his poor behavior, until I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.”
“So, why don’t you tell them the truth now? Now that you’re free from him?”
Her eyes settled on Lizzie. We’d reached the entrance of the inn. She’d gathered up all her findings on the porch, and she was now inspecting them one by one. She looked up at us, giving a big smile and wave in our direction. We both did the same back.
“I don’t know,” Cora responded. “I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know how to tell them. And, honestly, isn’t it better this way? For everyone?”
“You mean, for you?”
Her face heated in anger. “So what? Not all of us can be brave and perfect like you, Dean.”
Her gaze settled on my arm. The one I held close to my chest in hopes that people wouldn’t notice it.
“Like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I see the way people look at you around here. You’re a glorified hero. You can do no wrong. You’re Dean Sutherland, the survivor. You might as well get it tattooed on your forehead.”
My gaze dropped to the ground as a couple of choice curse words fell from my mouth. “Jesus Christ,” I said. “You want to know something about your glorified hero, Cora?”
Her eyes widened at my language. A Southern boy using the Lord’s name in vain was serious business.
“I haven’t worked a single damn day since I returned home. Not a fucking day,” I said, my voice lowering so that Lizzie couldn’t hear me. “I’ve been putzing around this island for nearly three years, feeling sorry for myself. My little brother does all the work, and I freeload. I like to call other people out on their baggage, including you, because I’m too scared to deal with my own. I wake up nearly every morning, reaching out for a part of my body that doesn’t exist anymore, only to relive that stupid fucking night all over again. People around here stare at me because they feel sorry for me. Sorry for the piece of shit I’ve become. So, how’s that for glorified hero?”
Silence settled between us as our eyes locked. She stared up at me as I stared down at her.
Finally, she took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and said, “Wow, you’re pretty messed up.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah, well, so are you I’ve gathered.”
She joined me in a laugh. “Want to come in for tea?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
I must have smiled the whole way home. Like a fucking lunatic.
Good thing the streets were empty, and the sun had set; otherwise, the people of Ocracoke might have thought I’d finally gone crazy.
I knew they’d all been thinking it since the day I came home from rehab.
They saw me wandering around here, letting my little brother take on the burden of the family business while I did nothing all day, and they all thought it.
Dean Sutherland lost his damn mind out there on that ferry.
Well, if they saw me tonight, walking down the road, smiling and grinning to myself, as I thought back over the evening, it would be all over the island by morning.
I had the blanket of darkness to thank for my solitude now.
And I was thankful indeed.
Thankful for probably the first time in three years.
More times than I could count, people had told me that I should be thankful.
Thankful I was alive.
Thankful Jake had been there to rescue me.
Thankful it was just my arm and not something awful like, God forbid, my leg.
That was my favorite one.
A reporter had come to the island to interview me and had the nerve to say on camera, “Well, at least you didn’t lose something really important, like a leg.”
I asked him to think of me the next time he tried to get dressed in the morning or make his wife a nice dinner.
It took the moron a few seconds to figure it out. He probably had to picture himself going through the motions of undressing himself with one hand.
Finally, his eyes met mine.
Eyes filled with pity.
My mom had sent him pies for a week straight as an apology.
Not my finest hour.
But, tonight, I truly believed I was lucky.
To be alive.
To be in this town. In this moment.
With this woman and her daughter.
I knew I was crossing a line, going way beyond the friendship I’d promised Lizzie. But, for the first time in three years, ever since a bubbly nurse had sprung into my hospital room, I felt alive.
Truly alive.
And, this time, I wasn’t going to waste it.
The long walk home did nothing to dull my spirits, and the moment I bolted through my front door, I immediately went for my journal.
I spent hours writing about Cora and Lizzie.
I wrote about how worried I was over her past, how much I hated her ex for everything he’d put her through.
I wrote of Lizzie’s email and mine in return, and I wrote about Cora.
Her smile and the way she laughed. How I could spend hours making her do so. How she’d invited me in for tea tonight, but we never actually drank any. We’d just sat around the kitchen table, holding hot mugs between our hands until they went cold, and the night grew dark.
By the time I finished, it was well past midnight, and my hand ached from the effort. Closing the notebook, I did a quick check of my email, nearly missing another message from Lizzie amid all the junk.
Hi,
It’s Lizzie Ashcroft again. Thank you for having dinner with Mommy and me tonight. You made her tears go away. She cries a lot when Pappy calls. I think she misses him. I miss him, too. Or at least, I think I do. I don’t remember him much. Or my Nana either. I have a picture of them in my bedroom. Well, it’s in a box right now, but I can show it to you if you want.
Anyway, thanks for making my mommy smile.
Can you keep making her smile?
Also, I came up with ten more finger foods. They’re listed below.
Love,
Lizzie
Sure enough, right below her name, there was a list of ten random foods she’d come up with, including a Japanese dessert, mochi ice cream. How the hell did she even know what that was? Even I had to Google it. But she knew.
The list didn’t distract my eyes for too long before they settled back on the one word in the letter I couldn’t keep from noticing.
Love.
Love, Lizzie.
I swallowed hard as my heart clenched under the weight of that single word because I knew what it meant to this little girl.
I wasn’t just jumping into one life here. I was diving into an entire family.
Was I ready?
I stared straight ahead at the screen for a long time before my fingers found the keys and typed my reply.
Dear Lizzie,
I’ll promise to keep making your mom smile if you promise to go to bed…
Love,
Dean
I waited less than a minute before I got the reply I had known would come flying back. A single word.
Okay!
I smiled to myself once more, and as I climbed the stairs to my room that night, I realized I wasn’t falling for these two.
I’d fallen.
Hard.