London
“It’s easy to take a healthy mind for granted, but for those who don’t have one, each day is a daunting battle.”
—London Berkeley
“Mom, have you seen my purse?” I shout from the floor of the living room as I look under the couch for clues as to where my missing accessory is.
“No, I haven’t,” my mom says from the kitchen.
I stand to see Lindi squishing an egg between her fingers. Goopy egg and pieces of shell fall into the bowl.
“That is so gross, Mom.” I walk over to the counter and look into the bowl. “There are now shells in the cookies,” I state the obvious. “Mom, why don’t you do the eggs and let Lin dump the sugar in or something?”
“She likes cracking the eggs. It’s her favorite part.” She looks to Lindi, “You love the eggs, don’t you? You’re my official egg cracker.”
She smiles wide as Lindi claps for herself, flinging some egg goop onto the counter.
I can’t help but smile. “You know, I don’t even think I could crack an egg right, Mom.”
“Well, that’s because I wasn’t a good mom to you. I should have taught you how to cook and clean. I’m sorry. I’m going to be a better grandma.”
I give my mom a side hug. “You were an amazing mom. I don’t need to know how to do those things. I can hire people to help me.”
“Exactly my point,” my mom says with a roll of her eyes.
Loïc has been out of the hospital for a couple of weeks now. He’s still a little sore in places, but he’s doing well. Right after New Year’s, Georgia and Paige went back to their lives in Michigan, and my dad went back to Portland where he’s currently working. But my mom asked if she could stay and help. I was hesitant at first. I thought it might be weird, having my mom around twenty-four hours a day, but it’s actually been quite incredible. She’s been so helpful around the house while Loïc recovers. Lindi adores her grandma, and it’s been a great time for them to bond as well.
“All I’m saying is that the cookies are going to have some crunch to them now.” I watch as Lindi dumps in the capful of vanilla, but only a splash goes into the batter, as the majority is currently running down her arm.
“I picked most of the shells out. Any little pieces left will give the cookies texture, like adding nuts.”
“Eggshells and nuts are not the same.” I chuckle. I remember my current task at hand. “So, you really haven’t seen my purse anywhere?”
My mom assures me that she hasn’t, so I scour the rest of the rooms in the house. Walking into Lindi’s room, I feel silly that I didn’t check in here first, as she’s currently obsessed with all of my stuff—purses, makeup, and jewelry. She’s a little diva baby.
In the center of the floor, atop Lindi’s fluffy faux zebra fur rug, is my purse, and all its contents have been spread around. I gather my stuff and remove the items Lindi has put inside the bag, which include a purple plastic princess fork from her tea set, a sock, a giraffe figurine, a hair bow, and a can of soup.
How did this girl sneak a can of soup from the kitchen and into her room without anyone noticing? I laugh to myself.
I leave her items in a pile on the rug and throw my stuff back in, double-checking that I have my wallet and car keys.
“Lindi Blue”—I hold up my purse when I get back to the kitchen—“you took Mommy’s purse,” I say in a goofy voice.
Lindi laughs.
“You silly girl.” I tickle her belly.
“Well, it sounds like she needs a purse,” my mom says. “I can take her shopping for one.”
“She has, like, five, Mom. She has plenty.”
Loïc comes into the room, freshly showered and as gorgeous as ever. He gives me a quick kiss. “Ready?”
“I’m ready.”
He gives Lindi some love before heading out to the car.
“Mom, I’m serious. She has purses. Don’t take her out today. The roads are still a little slick from the snow last night.”
“I’m not going to take her out. Don’t worry. You go, have fun. We’re just going to have some girl time here.” Then, she directs her attention toward Lindi. “Plus, we don’t have to go out to buy stuff, do we? Tell your mommy that there’s always the internet.”
“Mom,” I half-laugh, half-whine. “We’re not spoiling her.”
“Really? So, five purses for a little girl who’s not yet two is normal?” she says with a smirk.
“Uh, yeah,” I say with an attitude reminiscent of my teenage days.
Mom laughs. “We’ll be fine. Drive safe,” she tells me.
As I’m leaving, I hear her tell Lindi, “Mommy needs to realize that rules don’t apply to grandmas. Right? Grandma is here to spoil her little Lin, isn’t she?”
All I can do is smile.
Almost an hour later, we’re pulling up to the VA hospital.
“I hate this,” I tell Loïc after we’ve gotten out of the car.
He takes my hand. “I know, but it’s important for you to forgive him and for him to see that you have. The guilt is eating him up, London. He’s so sorry, and he doesn’t need anything else to add to his plate of stuff that keeps him up at night. He’s trying to heal, and he needs this.”
“Well, sorry if I’m still bitter that he almost killed my husband,” I say with a huff.
“He didn’t though, and we’re happier than ever. He deserves to find his happiness, too.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh.
Loïc and I have been over this time and time again. I feel like I have forgiven Tommy to an extent, but Loïc doesn’t think I have.
Fine, maybe he’s right.
We check into the psychiatric wing of the hospital.
“How long will Tommy be here?” I ask.
“As long as he needs to be.”
We walk through a common room, and I’m surprised. There are people here of all ages, mainly men. No one is eating checkers or throwing chairs. I’m sure there are some patients who are more aggressive in their behavior, but everyone I see looks so normal.
We head down the hall, away from the common room, and I whisper to Loïc, “They don’t look sick.”
“Yet some of them are the most sick,” Loïc says solemnly. “The mind is the scariest thing to break.”
“Yeah.” I nod knowingly. I’ve seen what Loïc’s been through—his nightmares, his panic attacks—yet he’s one of the lucky ones.
We reach Tommy’s room and find him sitting in his wheelchair, playing a video game.
“Hey, man,” Loïc greets him with one of those handshakes that is a mix between a shake and a high five. “You’ve met my wife, London.”
“Hi,” I say with a smile.
“Hi, ma’am,” Tommy replies.
“Oh, London’s fine.” I let out a small chuckle.
Tommy and Loïc talk video games for a while. I look around the room and am saddened to see nothing personal. It’s just an ordinary hospital room. Tommy’s been here for almost a month, yet he has nothing that gives clues to who he is—no pictures of family, nothing. It’s sad, and it makes my heart hurt for him. If I’d been in the hospital for a month, I’d have a roomful of goodies from all of my friends and family.
I spot an insulated Garth Brooks water bottle next to the lamp on the end table. I smile, knowing that he got it at the concert that Loïc took him to. Loïc really is all he has. My stomach drops when I think about how I gave Loïc grief every time he went to visit Tommy. I was just so angry with Tommy for almost killing my husband, and I was annoyed with Loïc for not hating him for it.
I mean, how can you not be angry with the person who shot you?
Yet Loïc’s never been mad at Tommy. Even right after he woke up from surgery in a great deal of pain, he still wasn’t upset with him.
I watch Loïc and Tommy joke back and forth. Tommy calls Loïc an old man after he apparently beats him at something on the video game. I really look at him. Tommy is this young man with no legs, scars up his arms, living in a hospital with no family to visit. On top of that mess, I know he has flashbacks of his experience overseas that haunt him every hour of every day.
Yet he’s here, with a smile on his face, playing games with my husband. Despite all the wrongs in his life, he’s not one of the twenty-two. He’s not one of the twenty-two soldiers who take their own lives every single day, and a large part of that is because of my husband, who has refused to give up on him. Loïc has been one of his only friends, his only family, and his strength, refusing to let him fall into the darkness.
And Loïc’s right. How can I not forgive him? I do. Of course I do. It’s impossible to be this close to him and not have your heart break. Because, though he’s smiling, there’s still so much sadness in his eyes. He’s here because he doesn’t trust himself to leave it.
How scary would that be? To not be able to trust your own mind?
It’s easy to take a healthy mind for granted, but for those who don’t have one, each day is a daunting battle.
After the guys are finished, we all head down to the cafeteria to grab some food.
“It’s Meatloaf Monday. You came on a good day,” Tommy says to me with obvious sarcasm and a smirk. “The salad bar is pretty decent though.”
We grab our food and take a seat.
“You seem really good, bud. Better than you have been in a long time,” Loïc says to Tommy.
“Thanks, man. Yeah, I finally got a doctor in this place who knows what he’s doing. The concoction that they have me on seems to be working at the moment—for the most part.”
“That’s great.” Loïc gives him a smile.
Tommy directs his attention toward me. “Listen, London, I just want you to know how very sorry I am. I truly didn’t mean to hurt Loïc. He’s been so…” His voice cracks slightly, and he clears his throat that’s full of emotion.
“I know.”
He doesn’t have to tell me what Loïc means to him because I can see it.
“I know it was an accident, and I forgive you. I truly do. Please don’t spend another second beating yourself up over it. It’s okay,” I reassure him. “You mean a lot to Loïc, and though I’m sure we all could have lived our lives without that incident, at the same time, it got you to this place where you feel better than you’ve felt in a long time. I guess it was just part of our collective journey.”
I look to Loïc, and he gives me a proud wink and a grin.
Tommy scoffs, “Yeah, I guess. I just wish my journey didn’t consist of me shooting my best friend.”
“All that matters is that you’re still here,” Loïc says, “so I can still beat your ass in Mario Kart.”
We spend a couple of more hours hanging out with Tommy before we head home.
“That’s the most I’ve heard him talk in two years,” Loïc tells me when we’re back in the truck.
“He must be getting the help he needs.”
“Yeah, this is good.” Loïc nods. “The right meds and therapies change everything. I think he’s going to be okay. Don’t you?” Loïc asks, hope filling his beautiful blues.
“He’s going to be okay,” I say with confidence, praying that I’m right.