Waking around 10 a.m. the morning of Michael’s birthday, I don’t bother taking a shower before venturing out to find my parents to explain what all happened the night before.
Armed with Michael’s letter, I find daddy sitting in his favorite chair, reading a book in the living room.
“Morning, Daddy, where’s mama?” I ask.
He glances up from his book, slides his bookmark into place, and turns to take in my appearance before replying. “She ran to the store quickly to grab a few picnic items before we leave for our drive. We’re all still going, true?” he asks.
“Oh, yes, of course. I wanted to tell you both what happened last night; it’s why I asked where she was. It can wait until she’s back though. I’ll go shower and make myself presentable enough to leave while we wait for her. I’m sorry about everything that ended up happening last night. About scaring you by fainting. And again, later with my screaming swear words and the shattering glass. It’ll be explained once mama is back, I promise.”
“No worries, Tenley. We both completely understand. No apology is needed for fainting; it was to be expected. Hell, if I were in your shoes and your mother was gone and I’d gotten a gift from beyond, fainting may not be all I’d do. My ticker may have given out,” he jests.
Taking a moment to truly look at my daddy, I see what I’ve been blind to for a while now. The crinkles near his eyes, the graying hair where it used to be a deep dark brown, the bright aqua eyes losing their once vibrant luster. My daddy isn’t as young as he used to be. I’ve not only lost these last two years of my life, but I’ve lost these last two years with my parents. Daddy and I may not always see eye-to-eye, but he’s my daddy. The only one I’ll ever have. And this depression has made me a selfish bitch.
“I love you, Daddy.” I lean down to press a kiss to his forehead and leave to go take a shower before he can reply. Not wanting him to see the tears forming in my eyes and mistake them as tears of sadness for Michael. No, these tears are tears of sadness for losing this time with the people still alive, closest to me. Not anymore. Today, I vow to not waste one more second of the life given to me. Live the rest of my life to the fullest. For me.
Depression can kiss my lily-white ass.
Nearly two hours later, we find ourselves sitting on the sand in Navarre Beach, Florida.
This place was always a favorite of mine and Michael’s. It’s the sole reason I decided a nice picnic lunch overlooking the ocean would be a great way to celebrate him today. With people who loved him and not alone in my bed with a bottle of wine.
I’ve always loved this beach because it’s pet friendly. Michael loved it because the locals knew about it more than the tourists. He claims the pesky tourists stuck to Pensacola Beach a couple miles down the road. For the most part, he was correct.
It’s still covered in sand the color of sugar the way the beaches are in Alabama, but this beach is less...touristy. It’s exactly what I need to get through the day. Some privacy to tell them about Michael’s letter and the gifts. Most importantly about his sickness. His death.
Everything.
Spreading out the blanket, I place a few heavier sandstones on each corner to help keep it in place from the wind. Normally, I would’ve packed a few beach chairs, but sitting on a blanket, eating a picnic lunch, talking about the subjects we need to discuss seemed more intimate, therefore I opted to leave the chairs back home in the garage.
“Mama, did you remember to grab another bottle of wine?” I drank the one Lu gave me from Michael. Yes, all by myself. For the last bit of it, I didn’t use a glass. Mama would be shocked if she knew. Shit, I felt like lapping up the spilt wine from the carpet after I broke the glass. If I could’ve guaranteed my tongue wouldn’t have been cut on the shards of glass, I just may have.
Don’t judge.
It was a fantastic French wine.
“Yes, I did. There should be three bottles in the cooler. Your daddy is grabbing it from the car now. Why don’t you cop-a-squat? There’s nothing left for you to do anyway but relax. The blanket is laid out; the basket is ready. Rest a bit, baby girl.” Sounds like heaven to me, it would only be better if the wine was already here and uncorked.
“Only if you stop your nervous pacing and sit down with me. There’s nothing left for you to do either. I know you’re anxious to learn about what everything was from Michael. Once daddy gets back down here and we have a glass of wine poured, I’ll let you in on everything. Trust me, we’ll need a glass of wine. Heck, we’ll need a bottle. Each. It’s not an easy thing to hear. I’m still reeling from everything myself.”
Truth of it is, if I hadn’t already made these plans, I wouldn’t have kept them. And up until the moment I took a minute to truly see my daddy, I wasn’t going to go through with these plans. Nope. Not for one second. I was going to read them the letter, grab a new glass, another bottle or two of wine from the pantry, and waste the day away getting drunk in my bed. Alone. Exactly like I’ve done for the past two years. Maybe I’d have surfaced around dinner, if my stomach was angry enough with me.
Mama doesn’t answer but she does take a seat next to me, flipping off her sandals and leaving them in the sand. Sighing, I lean back and glance up at the sky. It’s a beautiful, perfect spring day here in the south. The sound of the waves rolling in brings me peace. The smell of the salt in the air, comfort. The children playing in the sand and surf, happiness. Sliding my sunglasses off my face and up into my hair, I take in a deep breath, close my eyes, and let all my surroundings sink in. For one brief second, I feel...alive.
“Here comes your daddy with the cooler. I’ll pour us all some wine, and you can fill us both in on what Michael left you. If you feel like eating after, I packed us a nice lunch including all his favorite finger foods to celebrate his life. If you don’t want to eat, we can wait till later and drive around some more. Whatever you wish, Tenley.”
A few minutes later we’re all seated back on the blanket, staring out at the gulf, watching the waves meet the shore. Exactly like I did on my birthday mere months ago.
“Michael didn’t die in a plane crash,” I blurt out, while deep into my second glass of wine.
Might as well start off with the huge one, right? He did die in the crash but he didn’t, true? Since he saw his life as a death sentence, he was dead when he stepped into the plane to leave.
Mama hasn’t said one word, she’s only let out a startled gasp and grabbed the wine bottle to pour more into her nearly empty glass.
“What do you mean he didn’t die in the crash? He is dead, correct?” Daddy asks.
“Yes, he’s dead. He did technically die in the crash. But it wasn’t a normal crash. It was a suicide mission. He took off in the plane that morning intending to die and never to see me or any of us again. He’s left me a letter. I brought it along, you both may read it, he’ll explain it to you. He was dying. He never told me. I’m not sure what hurts me more, his not trusting me to take care of him once he was sick, or how he thought I’d be okay with him taking the coward's way out. The glass you heard breaking last night was me whipping my glass against the wall and shattering it.”
Getting up, I reach for my purse, pulling the letter from the inside pocket.
“If you’d like to read it, it’s here. If not, you know where it is. He says they’ll be no more letters, but I may get more book flowers if I publish a new book again. He’s left instructions with the business owner, a lady named Gloria, to make me more flowers whenever I release a new book.”
They both agree they’d like to read his letter; I take my glass of wine and walk toward the shore, giving them a few minutes of peace to read it alone. Process it. He was their son-in-law for quite a few years, meaning they lost someone close to them as well. It seems like I always forget Michael was a part of many people’s lives and not just mine. When my small world revolved around only him.
Taking off down the shore line, I walk along the surf for around a mile as the tides drift in and back out again. The water is refreshing as it hits my feet every few seconds before flowing back out only to do it again. There are people’s lives going on all around me, but I feel like my world is at a standstill. Oddly, like every single person on this beach is moving while I stand and watch them pass me by. I know it’s ridiculous, and of course I’m moving, my footprints following along behind me are proof enough. But my mind is playing tricks on me. It’s only making me think I’m standing still while life moves on. While I’m standing here in deep concentration, I turn and see a beautiful man. The beautiful man from yesterday. Case, was it? The one who came into the bookstore. I don’t realize I’m staring until it’s too late for me to turn around without appearing rude. Shit. Another day it’s not great for me to be seeing him on. Why is it always horrible days when he’s put in my path? Days I’m always more likely to be a bitch.
Thanks, God. Your timing is impeccable. Me and the Big Guy upstairs have lots of catching up to do.
“Tenley, correct?” he asks.
“Yes, it’s Tenley. What brings you to the beach, Case?”
It’s as if until this moment I didn’t notice he’s only wearing royal blue board shorts, which leaves his chest bare. Truly, I didn’t notice. The shorts thing, at least. Obviously, I noticed the no shirt thing, I’d have to be blind to not see those hard-tattooed abs out and on display. If my mouth is watering, I can blame it on the wine and not on his bare chest.
“It’s my day off. I wanted to combine my love of reading with my love of the ocean. I’ve heard this beach is nice, not as crowded as the one in town. I braved the thirty-minute drive to check out this stretch of beach. You?”
What do I say? If I go with the truth, does it make me sound pathetic? Should I lie and tell him I’m here getting some sun with friends? Opting for the truth, I blurt it out. Why should I care? This guy already thinks I’m a rude bitch; now he can add in sad to the title.
“It’s a bit of a long story. I’ll take it easy on you and make it a tad shorter. I’m here with my parents to celebrate what would have been my husband's thirty-seventh birthday. Having made a deal with my therapist to not spend it alone in my bed drinking wine, I’m spending it by celebrating him and doing something small with someone else. Which brings me here. My parents are over there somewhere,” I gesture to the blanket about a half a mile down the beach, “reading a letter my dead husband left me. I received said letter last night. It’s been one hell of a fun day. I’m being sarcastic by the way.” As if I needed to add the sarcasm comment. “I’d rather have spent it in bed with the wine.”
Shit. Now he probably thinks I’m a rambling, crazy-ass lady. A drunk one, too. He should take this chance and run. Far away. Instead, he does the exact opposite of running. He steps closer to me.
“Now, I don’t want to scare you or anything, it’s why I’m telling you first. I’m going to hug you, Tenley. I’m going to hug the fuck out of you. I’m going to give you the biggest teddy bear hug on the face of the planet because you need it. You deserve it,” he says.
Without waiting for me to respond, he pulls me close and wraps me up in those muscled arms of his. Those tattooed muscled arms. Holy shit. Letting out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, I place my arms around him and hug him back. He still smells of clean linen but now there’s a hint of coconut. I’m not sure how long I stand here letting this virtual stranger hug me, but it’s the best damn hug in the history of teddy bear hugs. Exactly as he said it would be.
We’re still standing here, hugging when mama comes over to us a few minutes later.
“Baby girl, we’re ready to leave if you are. Unless you want to eat here. Or discuss the bombshell Michael left in the letter.”
She’s still in shock. She has to be. She hasn’t asked one question about who Case is or why he’s hugging me.
Slowly pulling out of his arms, I gaze up into his dark coffee eyes to find him already staring down at me. “Thank you, Case. You were spot-on, I did indeed need the hug. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my parents now. I’ll see you later?” Yes, I ask it as a question, not a statement because I find myself truly wanting to see this man again.
“You can count on it. Goodbye, Tenley,” he says while we walk away, putting distance between him and mama.
“Who was the young man, baby girl?” Mama questions as we walk back up the beach toward where we left daddy.
“He’s a man who came into the bookstore yesterday. We exchanged a few words. Honestly, I thought he didn’t like me. I didn’t want to seem rude when I saw him today, therefore I didn’t turn away when I saw him because he had already seen me as well. When he asked what I was doing here, I blurted it all out. What you walked up on was his offering me comfort. I don’t know anything more about him other than his name.” And he’s gorgeous, gives great hugs, needs a haircut, has countless tattoos, and reads all genres.
She doesn’t ask anymore and I don’t offer it, not wanting to get into how great his arms felt wrapped around me. Those are thoughts I can deal with at another time, a time when I’m alone.
Taking a seat on the blanket, I open the cooler. I’m hungry and we may as well eat. They have questions, I’m not sure I have the answers, since they read the same letter I did. Michael and I may have shared a life together but obviously he had his secrets. If he was keeping something this huge from me, what else was he keeping hidden from me? Did he ever love me? Was our whole life a lie? Or only his sickness? Fuck, I hope all he was lying about was his illness. I’m not sure I could take knowing my whole life with him was a lie instead of merely a few months. Stop this nonsense, Tenley. Michael loved you. He only lied about his illness. He couldn’t fake his love for you. His passion. Love as strong as ours couldn’t be faked.
“Well…y’all read his letter. He was dying and none of us knew about it. He hid everything from not only me, but you. The people he should have counted on when he needed them most. He must’ve felt incredibly alone in those last few weeks. I’ve been depressed and slowly killing myself over losing my husband, who it turns out killed himself. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Grabbing a sandwich from the cooler, I pass it on to daddy, grab another, and hand it to mama before grabbing one for myself. No one has commented on my word vomit yet. Great. What did I say, but the truth?
My sandwich is halfway gone before Daddy speaks. “He killed himself because he loved you too much, Tenley.”
Excuse me? Rewind and say it again. He killed himself because he loved me too much. Yeah, sure, because it’ll make much more sense hearing it again.
“He killed himself because he was a coward. He took the easy way out and crashed the plane into the ocean instead of facing his death head-on with me. Instead of loving me enough to face it with me. He killed himself and took the choice from me. The choice should have been mine to make. The choice to sit with him and love him like he deserved. The choice where I could have healed properly after he died instead of slowly killing myself with this darkness. But no…he took the fucking coward’s way out of this life. He left me, Daddy. He. Left. Me,” I rant.
Grabbing a new bottle of wine from the cooler, I uncork it and start drinking it straight from the bottle. Mama makes a tsking noise, but I don’t care. She’s only voicing her displeasure of my not acting like a lady and drinking from a glass. Fuck it, this is another time calling for straight from the bottle drinking.
Wishing I could erase the last twenty-four hours from my life, I get up and walk back toward where I left Case. Bottle of wine in hand and not a single fuck to be given.
He’s sitting in a small beach chair he’s entirely too massive for, under an umbrella shielded from the sun, and he’s reading one of my books. Shit, shit, shit. I didn’t notice his choice of reading material earlier. My shadow covers his feet from the sun; it’s too late to turn back now, he knows I’m here. Again.
“Hey, didn’t think I’d see you again this soon. What brings you by, beautiful?” he asks.
Instead of answering, I sit down on the sand near his feet and take another swig of wine from the bottle.
“Straight from the bottle bad, huh?” he asks.
“You could say that.” Holding the bottle out toward him, I ask if he’d like any. Manners and all. “Want some?”
“Nah, you drink it. I’m sure you need it more than I do. Your parents are staring over here. Would you like me to go over and tell them you’re okay?”
He’s sweet. Not only does he give ah-maze-ing teddy bear hugs, but the guy is sweet. Not to mention sexy as sin.
He laughs, a deep hearty full-on belly laugh. The sound is rich and fills my belly with warmth. Or maybe it’s the wine. It’s then I realize I must’ve said all of it out loud.
“No, don’t you dare say you're sorry for saying it. I’m taking it all as a compliment.”
“Oooookay, I won’t say I’m sorry. Which I wasn’t going to say by the way. Okay, maybe I was. But I can blame my loose tongue on the wine. Would you mind if I crashed your reading party? I won’t be a bother. I’d like to sit here and drink my wine, if it’s okay.”
Apparently, I need to spend today with someone. If I sit here and drink my wine, I would be with someone. He’s here, I’m here. It’s technically with someone. And I did spend a few hours with my parents. All checks on the positive side as far as I’m concerned. Besides, it’s not like Dr. Beesley said I couldn’t spend the day drinking wine straight from the bottle sitting on the beach. Right?
“Can’t say I’d mind at all. I’ll be back. I’ll go and speak to your parents and let them know I’ll get you home safely later. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
While he goes to talk to my parents for me like I’m a twelve-year-old girl, I drink more wine and burrow my toes deeper into the sand. His towel is lying next to his chair, I grab it to use as a makeshift pillow, placing it behind my head and lie back. It’s how he finds me when he comes back a few minutes later.
“Your parents were worried, but I convinced them I’m not an axe murderer. They have my number, license plate, and last name. I believe they’re okay now. At least enough to leave. Your dad may be calling the police to run my plate, but overall I think we’re okay.”
“You jest but he probably is. And I still don’t know your last name...” I leave it open for him to give me the information. He knows mine, he’s reading my book after all. Shit, he knows my middle name, where I grew up (here), and a few of my hobbies.
“Yeah, but you know more important details. You know I’m sexy and give ah-maze-ing hugs, and it’s all that matters.”
“No comment.” I’m blushing. I’d blame it on the wine and the sun, but I know it’s from his teasing comments. There’s no denying he heard me call him sexy, I tried blaming it on the wine once already, but he’s not going to believe it twice. He knows I think he’s hot. He had to have felt the way I was staring at him in the store yesterday. Not to mention the way my eyes hungrily ate him up this afternoon. On today of all days.
“If it helps at all, I think you’re sexy as hell. My last name is Ballantyne and I’m from Austin, Texas. Where I was born and raised for a time. We moved around a bit, Michigan, Kentucky, before finally landing back in Texas. I’m here in the area for a few weeks as a guest artist at a local tattoo shop. If you haven’t already guessed, it’s what I do. I’m thirty-six as of yesterday. I’m an avid reader and lover of words. When I’m not drawing on people for a living or painting on canvas, I dabble with playing the guitar. I’ve never been married but came close once. And you’re more than welcome to have my number, Tenley Grace.”
He’s given me more about himself in those few sentences than I’ve given him. He knows my husband is dead and today is his birthday.
“I walked over here to drink my wine because I promised my doctor I wouldn’t spend today by myself. Michael died a little over two years ago, he would have been thirty-seven today. When he died, I thought the world fell out from under my feet. It’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling this second. It turns out everything I thought about his death was a lie. I’ve been living in a lie for two years and slowly killing myself over a man who did kill himself. My life is a mess, Case, and I don’t think you want to be involved in it. Maybe I should run and catch my parents before they’re too far and we can leave this where it is right now. We’re still basically strangers and it’s probably for the best we stay that way.”
Making to get up, I feel his arms pushing me back down before I see them. “You’re staying right here where you are. I think I can make the choice of who I want as a friend for myself, Tenley. And it sure seems like you could use a friend. It just so happens I’m a kick-ass friend. That’s all I’m asking for anyway. Friends.”
Alright then, he put me in my place. Literally. Lying back down, I make myself comfortable. He doesn’t say anything as he sinks back into his chair. We stay quiet for a few minutes, it seems the silence between us speaks volumes. Friends, I can do friends, at least I think I can. The few I had before Michael have faded away and the few we had as a couple have disappeared since he died, as well. One friend, Savannah, has stayed, but she’s away in France preparing for her new life with her husband. She’s only been available on the phone or via text. Last Christmas she left to spend the holidays there with her niece and returned engaged. It goes without saying our lunch dates have dwindled down to nothing. We’ve met up once in the last year. She’s now blending her life here with his life there and currently helping him move back to the states.
After nearly an hour passes, I decide to fill him in a bit more on myself. Let him in a tad more. If we’re going to be friends, we may as well get to know one another.
“I’m thirty-five and was married to Michael for twelve years. As you can tell, he committed suicide. But I didn’t find out about the suicide thing until last night. He left a letter for me to be opened today, with a few other gifts. I’m not entirely sure why he waited this long for them to be given to me, but he did. From what his letter says, he had an incurable brain cancer. He flew his brother’s plane into the ocean and his body has never been recovered. Today, I should be in the south of France with him celebrating his birthday, instead of drowning my sorrows in wine. Which is better than where I was this time last year, I guess.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Tenley. It sucks he put you through any of it. To think I was sitting here before you came along, thinking about how lonely I was. And how sad it was that all I received for my birthday this year was a signed book from a feisty author in a small bookstore. A few minutes later, you stumbled down the beach in front of me. It was like my lonely called out to you. Then you opened your mouth and out flew all your sad. I couldn’t help but hug you. In that moment, I knew I wanted to be your friend, Tenley. No matter what happens. Lonely recognizes lonely. Any way you spin it, you’re lonely, I’m lonely. We may as well be lonely together.”
His hand reaches the short distance across the sand for mine and twines our fingers together. We don’t say another word for the rest of the afternoon. It’s the most un-lonely I’ve felt in over two years. I find he’s correct...lonely recognizes lonely.
My alarm goes off the next morning and all I want to do is throw it across the room. Forget hitting snooze, it’s not good enough, only breaking it will do. If I didn’t have an appointment to keep, I would break it. Or turn it off and bury it under my pillows. Whatever, same difference.
Groaning, I throw my blankets back and push myself out of bed. Might as well get this day started. Dr. Beesley would frown upon my cancelling an appointment. She’d probably make me book two to replace the one I’d miss.
Yesterday wasn’t nearly as horrible as I made it out to be. Yeah, the whole letter thing sucked. It was made worse when daddy mentioned his thinking Michael killed himself because he loved me too much. After spending the day in comfortable silence with Case, I can see how maybe daddy was correct. He may have been onto something.
Our love was all consuming.
To outsiders observing, it may have looked like we loved each other too much. Maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. Who’s to say if how much a person loves another is too much? Did I love Michael with every fiber of my being? Yes, I loved him with all of my soul. It’s not a stretch for me to say he was my soul mate by any means. Hence why I felt like my world was ripped apart when he died. Why I feel like I died.
When I arrived home last night, my parents were sitting in the living room waiting for me. They looked like they hadn’t moved since they walked in the door from the beach. The shock of reading Michael’s letter was still shining in their eyes. All I did was shake my head, letting them know I didn’t want to talk about it. Shortly after, I heard them talking amongst themselves through my bedroom door. They’re worried about me.
I get it.
Doesn’t make it any easier to talk about.
Foregoing a shower, I dress quickly and make my way into the kitchen to consume a gallon of coffee. Today I’ll tell Dr. Beesley whatever she wants to hear, after she reads Michael’s letter. Any question she asks will be answered. And to prepare myself for it, I need coffee.
I’m thankful to find the house blissfully empty. I may have vowed to talk in my appointment, but it doesn’t mean I’m ready to face my parents.
Three cups of coffee later, I walk into Dr. Beesley’s office to find complete and utter chaos. There’s a young man behind the desk instead of Gabby, phones ringing off the hook, two patients waiting near the check-in desk, and a dog. Yes, oddly there’s a dog in her office. Instead of waiting in line, I lean over in front of the beautiful redhead and sign my name on the sheet. There’s no need for me to bother the busy man behind the desk. All my information is on file and I’ve only ever needed to sign in before.
Sitting down, I browse through the newest gossip magazine, not paying attention to one word of what it says. The dog, who’s actually with the redheaded girl, comes over and lies down near my feet. He must be tired. It seems like he’s the calmest thing in the office besides me. “It’s crazy in here huh, bud?”
“His name is Dog, I like to call him Rusty Sprockets. My boyfriend gave him a lame name like Dog. He must have sensed you’re an animal lover, or he wouldn’t have laid down near you. Sorry if he’s bothering you,” the girl says as she walks over toward me.
“He’s no problem at all. I was only saying to him how crazy it is in here today,” I tell her.
“Yes, it is. I’m Morgan. Like I said already, this giant guy here is Dog. I didn’t realize Gabby wasn’t in today and we were in the area and stopped by to see her. Looks like we picked a bad day all around,” she informs me.
“The poor guy behind the counter looks frazzled. I’m Tenley, and don’t take this the wrong way...it’s nice, but slightly odd to meet you.” Because you know, it is. I mean, I’m in my shrink’s office. It’s odd to meet someone new in their office, true? And wait a second, did she say her name was Morgan? Red hair, crazy beautiful, young…she has to be Savannah’s niece.
Laughing lightly, she replies, “No offense taken, it is strange. Gabby enjoys visiting with Dog, I thought she’d enjoy seeing him, but she’s out sick today. He had puppies a few years back and she adopted one. My boyfriend, Harrison, stops in with Dog to see her from time to time. I’ve been tagging along the last few times.”
“It’s sweet. I’ve always wanted a puppy, but never gotten one. Maybe someday it’ll happen. I’m afraid at the moment, I wouldn’t be able to keep a plant alive let alone an animal.” I can barely keep myself alive.
Before she can reply, Dr. Beesley opens the door to call me back for my appointment. As I’m getting up, Morgan stops me with a gentle hand at my wrist. “Hey, Tenley?”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to grab lunch sometime? It’s probably totally bizarre, but something tells me you could use a friend.” Case said the same thing yesterday. Do I wear it written across my forehead? Does it blink on and off? Need friend, need friend, need friend.
“Um...okay, sure.” Quickly rattling off my number, I proceed to make my way over to Dr. Beesley. I’ll have to text Vannah and ask if Morgan has a boyfriend named Harrison to know positively if this is her Morgan. Storing away the information for later, clutching my purse, I push my way through the door leading back to Dr. Beesley’s office.
Taking my normal seat in her office, I toss my purse down on the floor, forgetting I needed to grab Michael’s letter from inside to show her before I can talk about anything else. Sighing, I reach for it. Today needs to be over already. I’d love a redo of the last week. Scratch that, the last three years. If I erase the last three years I could go back and be with my husband before he gets diagnosed and spend his last few months with him, loving him, caring for him.
“I see you’ve met Morgan and Dog; I’m quite surprised you haven’t before now. She or Harrison bring him by the office a few times a month. Or did you already know her?” she asks as I’m opening my purse searching for his letter. I could’ve sworn I placed it precisely on top. Where the hell did it go?
“Oh, yeah. I mean, no. Wait, what?” I’m confused, what did she ask me again?
“Tenley, what are you trying to find?” she asks.
“A letter from my dead husband.” It’s in here somewhere. “Michael left me a letter, but I brought it for you to read because I have way too fucking much to say about what he said. Now I can’t find the damn thing!” I’m sort of screaming at her. Did I leave it on the kitchen island? It doesn’t make any sense because I remember putting it back in my purse at the beach yesterday and I haven’t removed it since. Not once. His other letter I’ve left in my nightstand drawer where hopefully no one will find it.
“Why don’t you take a deep breath and stop searching for a moment? I’d like you to put your purse aside and inhale, Tenley. One large deep inhale. Concentrate on the sound of my voice,” she instructs.
Doing as she says, I toss my purse aside, close my eyes, and take a deep breath in.
“Great, hold it for a few seconds. Now, exhale.”
Doing exactly as instructed I feel much better in the few seconds it’s taken to take a simple deep breath.
“Great job, Tenley. And now out with the bad,” she coaches.
Before she can tell me to repeat myself, I take another breath in. Hold it for fifteen seconds and release it. Already I feel calmer. What set me off was Morgan saying it looked like I needed a friend. It’s basically word for word what Case said to me not twenty-four hours ago. Granted, I’m positive I could use a new friend or two. My best friend was ripped from my life without my permission. I’m off kilter without him. After a few deep breaths, I feel more like this shadow of myself again.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you and for freaking out. It’s been a rough couple of days to say the least. Strange doesn’t begin to cover what’s been happening,” I say.
“Would you like for me to see if I can find what you were searching for? Or would you like to try searching again now when you’re a bit calmer?” she suggests.
Good question, doc. “I’m positive I’ve overlooked it. I placed it there yesterday afternoon and haven’t removed it since. It should still be there.” Now when I’m not as freaked out, maybe I can actually find what I’m searching for. It feels like I’ve lost my fucking mind and not merely his letter. Hopefully, both are in my purse when I open it this time. Taking another deep breath, I grab my purse to search again and see the letter sitting on top. It fucking figures. Now I not only feel insane, I know I am.
“I’ve found it. I’d like for you to read it,” I admit.
Nothing like making a complete and total ass of yourself, Tenley.
Handing it over to her, I feel like a hundred-pound weight has been lifted from my chest as she quickly scans over the contents. It feels like I’ve handed over my burden to someone other than myself. Why didn’t I feel the same when I handed it over to mama and daddy? Maybe because they knew him and Dr. Beesley didn’t.
“Do you feel like he killed himself because of you?” The moment she asks it, all the air leaves my lungs and I feel myself begin to panic again. The weight a moment before I felt was lifted comes hurtling back.
“Before you start to overreact, take a deep breath again; I see the answer to my question in your reaction. Let me ask you this then…would you have stayed with him through his sickness if given the chance?” she inquires.
“Why would you ask me a question so stupid? Of course, I would have. I meant my vows when I took them. I would’ve loved him in sickness and in health with no questions asked. It was his choice to leave me. Not mine to leave him. When he killed himself, he killed a part of me. Knowing what I do now completely slays me. How could he have gone through what he did alone, without me? Instead of pulling me closer when he needed me, he pushed me away. He was killing himself before he truly killed himself!” I scream out. And this time I mean to yell at her. What kind of right does she think she has to ask such a vile thing?
“The problem you have most with this letter is his taking the choice from you? His choosing to hide his sickness when he found out there was no cure? It’s what you’re saying, correct?” she asks.
“Hell, yes, it’s what I’m saying. After over two years of believing my husband died in a plane crash, I find out he was dead before he stepped foot on the plane. He planned his death. He knew he was leaving me before he left me. And he never told me. Not one word. I knew of the headaches but nothing more. They went away and he was moving on. He told me he was feeling better! Clearly, he wasn’t. He was worse. How could I have lived in the same house and slept in the same bed as him and not have seen he was dying? For months! Damn months. I’ve been a fool. His letter proves to me that I was and continue to be, a fool. I’m a fool for dying with him when he died because I loved a lie. The last few months with him I was living a lie. And now I’ve lost precious moments of my life. Moments I can never get back because I’ve been a fool. My parents are older, I’m older. I’ve lost friends, my career, I’m a shell of who I used to be all because of a damn lie.”
“This one letter is enough to erase twelve years’ worth of love? He may have lied about his illness, but from the way you’ve spoken about him in our past sessions, he sounds like he was a wonderful man. A man who was worthy of your love. A man I feel from reading this letter kept it from you to protect you. He shielded you from his sickness. In my opinion, this letter shows how much he loved you. He didn’t want you to see him die, therefore he did the only thing he knew to make it easier on you. He died swiftly instead of slowly. I think he waited this long for the letter to come to you to give you time to heal from his death. He believed in the time he provided, you’d have moved on. If you had come to me for help before now, you would have been healing. This letter wouldn’t have come as such a shock to you. It would have been received in love and not in anger. What did you do after you read this? Cry? Yell? Throw something? All of the above? All of those actions are considered healing and grieving actions. If you would’ve been further on in your healing process the anger wouldn’t have been this consuming. You would have felt more love in your heart and if you threw something, you may not have thrown it. He mentions another letter...did you receive one?”
All of her questions make me dizzy. Choosing to ignore most of them I answer the last one since it’s the easiest. “Yes, it’s more of a note than a letter, and it’s extremely personal.”
She nods her head in understanding and stares at me waiting for me to continue. I’m not sure why I feel intimidated by her stare but I do. Consequently, I give her more words. “I threw a glass against the wall, and when it shattered, it felt fucking amazing. Therapeutic. Those pieces of glass felt like the pieces of my heart lying broken on the floor. The way it made me feel not only hurt but felt great. Screaming felt great. The tears I cried at first weren’t tears of heartbreak but of anger. Now, I’m heartbroken. The night I read it, I was incredibly angry, but more at myself. Now, I’m still angry at him but I’m heartbroken. Used. Foolish. Ridiculous. And a whole thesaurus full of words you can use to call me stupid. That’s how I feel.” My words are flying out, but it’s the truth. I do feel stupid, ignorant, and foolish.
“My dear, you’re not stupid. It’s not your fault he chose to take his own life. It’s no one’s fault but his own. He’s the only one who can answer for that. What I do know is you are in no way stupid. I know no matter what you say, this letter doesn’t erase the love you had for Michael. If anything, it makes you feel more love for him. It’s why you’re angry with him. You’re angry because you loved him so much and he took everything from you when he died. Now is the time you start living for yourself again, Tenley. You know this. It’s why you’re here seeing me. It’s why you’re taking the steps to get better. To be yourself again. To find your happiness. And you will get there. It’s not a race.”
It’s not a race. Her last words echo throughout my head over and over again.
It’s not a race. It’s not a race. It’s not a race.
It’s like they’re on a never-ending loop.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
“Am I crazy?” I whisper, not truly wanting her to hear, but yet wanting her to hear it all the same.
“No. You’re not crazy. You’re depressed and a tiny bit lost. But we’re working on it all. You’re going to be fine, Tenley. Trust me to help get you there,” she says.
“I do, it’s why I’m here. I may not have been opening up much, but I’ve been working on it. It’s taken a while for me to get used to the idea of seeking help. Once I was here, it took longer for me to adjust to accepting it and for acting like such an ass, I’m sorry.”
“No apology is necessary. It’s another thing I’d like you to work on. Stop saying you’re sorry. Eliminate those words from your vocabulary. Also, try something that scares you. It could be opening your laptop and writing fifty words, or it could be painting your nails a bright neon color. Anything. It doesn’t have to be huge, it can be small. As long as it’s something scary to you. Take a risk, Tenley. Since we don’t see each other for a few days, try doing it before we meet again. And work on not saying you’re sorry. We’re making progress, even if it doesn’t seem like it to you.”
Taking in another deep breath which seems to rattle my rib cage, I nod my acceptance. How the hell am I going to stop saying ‘I’m sorry’? It appears I’ve been apologizing for things as long as I can remember.
“All I can do is promise to try. As far as doing a thing scary to me, I have a few ideas in mind. Therefore, I believe it’s attainable.”
Leaving her office, my troubles may not be lifted, but I feel a bit...lighter.
At peace.