I don’t bother asking her who the guy is. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. I don’t take it personally, either. If it’s not a public date, he’s probably a politician, or maybe a lobbyist, or an industry professional, or someone else high-profile she prefers not to be seen with because of the potential appearance of impropriety or conflict of interest. In thatcase, she wouldn’t tell me who the guy is even if I ask, because then it’s plausible deniability on my part if there are ever any repercussions. I know he won’t be a married guy, because that’s totallynother. That much Idoknow.
If it was a public date—one of a revolving door of guys she’s dated—she’d have no trouble telling me who it is.
Except that’s the way she’s always been since college.Then, she cycled through a string of guys, never dating the same one for more than a few weeks. I thought once she graduated law school and started working with me that maybe she’d settle down, but no.
I do hear things from others, though, whether I want them to tell me or not. Seems to get volunteered to me, almost like people think I should have a say in it. She’s still a serial dater. Whenpeople comment to me about her going out with someone, usually she was seen at an event that Nashville’s movers and shakers attended.
When she wants to flaunt it, she does.
Somehow, I have the feeling she’d never feel like that about me. Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t, because I’m not good at sharing. Considering her track record with men, I’d rather not be another hash mark on her scorecard.I was with Ellen for nearlytwenty-fiveyears, total.
I doubt Case has ever been with the same guy for more than twenty-fivedays.
“Youwilltake a Xanax today, George,” she says, in that gentle tone. “You’re cycling too hard right now. If you won’t let me find you someone to talk to, you’re going tohaveto listen to me and let me manage this for you.”
Some Dominant I am, huh?
I’m also exhaustedbeyond a physical, emotional, and spiritual level.
I am approaching a low point that makes my mind once again drift toward other options. Options I’ve only resisted before now because I knew it would break my children’s hearts, and they’ve suffered enough pain.
One of these days, I’m afraid my own pain will grow too great, too heavy for me to bear any longer.
That some night, when I close myeyes, the sound of the screaming and the wind will finally prove too much for me to tolerate.
That being unable to sleep will drive me insane.
Case has made me promise if I ever hit that point to please call her first.
Unfortunately, it might be the first promise to her I ever willfully break.
* * * *
By the time we’re finished for the evening, I’mdone. I shake everyone’s hands and thankthem for their work before retreating to my office as I pretend to take a phone call on my cell. I know if I was in a better frame of mind I’d be able to fully appreciate everything they’re doing for us.
I remove my glasses and I’m sitting with my head down on my arms on my desk when Case softly double-taps on my door before opening it. I know it’s her just from the sound of her knock. She closesthe door behind her.
I hear hertskand soft sigh, and the sound of her heels on the hardwood floor as she crosses my office.
“Here, sweetie.” She nudges my hand with a cold bottle of water.
Without looking, I turn my right hand palm-up and accept the tablet I hear her shake out of the bottle into it. It is my prescription, thanks to my GP, but Case holds on to them for me.
That was by herdeclaration. I think she’s afraid I might one day be tempted to chase the entire bottle of pills down with a couple of bottles of vodka and go to sleep forever.
She is not wrong.
Which is why I don’t fight her holding them for me.
The temptation is too damn great, the method too easy.
I sit up and accept the bottle of water from her. Then I down the pill and chase it with a couple of swallowsof water. It’s a stronger dose, because at six-two I’m sort of a big guy. I’ve regained the weight and muscle mass I lost during my ordeal. I am, ironically, in better shape than I was. Best shape of my adult life.
Spending time working out in my home gym in my basement is one of my ways of exhausting myself so I can get what little sleep I do manage. The benefit being that I now have what Casecalls a DILF body. I always kept in shape, because Ellen and I loved hiking, but I’m now physically in the best shape of my life.
Mentally and emotionally, however…
Falling asleep isn’t the problem—stayingasleep is. Either I wake myself up when I hear the sound of the wind screaming, or I scream myself awake reliving the nightmare of Ellen dying while holding my hand.
