“I agree. He didn’t do drugs. It wasn’t an overdose. His coma had to have been caused by something else. The call may be a clue. I want to solve this mystery and I need your help. Help me Obi-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”
Ignoring the Star Wars reference, which in other circumstances I would’ve loved, I shoved back my chair, grabbed my phone, and ran. Christopher called after me, but I didn’t listen. I made it outside and two buildings over before I stopped to throw up. I wanted to be left alone, but, of course, Christopher followed. When I leaned forward, one hand on the rough stone wall, he held my hair away from my face as I heaved. He rubbed my back and made soothing sounds I couldn’t understand for the roaring in my ears. What if I could’ve helped Brandon, and I’d let him down?
Christopher handed me a glass of water and a cloth napkin from the restaurant to wipe my mouth. My legs were rubbery, and I shook all over.
My eyes filled with scalding tears, but I didn’t let them fall. I took a deep breath and barricaded my feelings away. Since my childhood, I’d taken upsetting thoughts or feelings and visualized them behind a barrier. Sometimes it helped.
He stepped back, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.
“I have nowhere else to turn, and I need your help. I won’t say another word about Brandon tonight. I had no idea how badly you’d react. I’m sorry. Come inside and eat. You’re too skinny. Then I’ll drive you home, leave you alone to think.”
I was a coward. I didn’t know how to help, but I let Christopher take my arm and guide me back to our table. He slid a piece of gum across the table and ordered mint tea to settle my stomach. I allowed him to take this much care of me while he chattered about books and movies. He made it easy for me to just sit. He didn’t ask questions or make demands. I’d walked to work, so it was convenient to let him drive me home—I could avoid the darkening streets.
On the walk to his car, I pulled out my phone to text him the address, but he said, “I know where you live. The same place, right?”
I nodded. He’d picked up his brother a few times, long ago. My heart hurt. I wanted to curl up with a romance novel and escape.
At my darkened townhouse, I got out, texted my thanks, and climbed the stairs. I wished I’d left the porch light on. I’d known I might not be home until after dark, as I often worked late. I raised my hand to signal that I was fine, but Christopher didn’t drive away until I’d located my key and unlocked the door.
If I hadn’t found being around him confusing, it could have been a pleasant evening. I hadn’t expected to enjoy his company. I’d felt more normal than I had in a long time. The last two years had been lonely and had seemed like an eternity.
I put down dinner for my kitty and headed for the shower, wishing I could wash my feelings down the drain. It was getting too hard to keep them distant. I had so many regrets in my life and tonight only highlighted them. I’d spent years feeling sorry for myself about Brandon’s disappearance, wondering what I’d done wrong. Afraid I hadn’t measured up. That I hadn’t been good enough. I regretted getting mixed up with Eric. Our marriage had been a disaster. I also regretted the energy I’d spent hating someone who, while over-confident and annoying, wasn’t so bad.
Tonight, my house seemed quiet and too empty. My eyes grew tired from reading and I shut out the light, but the silence pressed inward and wouldn’t let me rest. I tossed and turned for another two hours. Too many thoughts tumbled in my head, like clothes in a dryer. Around and around, going nowhere. My mind went where it always did when I couldn’t sleep—back to the same few jarring moments.
After the accident, my boss advised me to take some time—a leave of absence was usual in these circumstances. Instead, I threw myself into my work, which became my existence. I went through the motions of living. I attended Eric’s funeral, but all I remembered were white flowers and the smell of lilies. After the funeral, I avoided my family. They meant well, but despite the tragedy, it didn’t affect their lives the way it did mine. My family misinterpreted my wall of numb silence as shock or sorrow. They didn’t know that guilt consumed me. Or relief. Or guilt about the relief.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed. It must be years, but it had nothing to do with the accident. It dated back to the beginning of my marriage, when I’d let myself slip away, becoming a cringing, fearful husk without friends. I was ashamed that I’d made such poor choices. I didn’t want anyone to learn what I’d hidden the last four years, locked in the prison of my mind. The real secret was now six feet under.
In moments like this, I believed that keeping secrets had led to one thing. I was alone. I didn’t have anyone to lean on, to confide in. Alone didn’t have to mean lonely, but I was. Nothing seemed to fill the gaping hole inside.
“I’m still ashamed, Ember.” I stroked her soft fur. She didn’t open her eyes, but a rumbly purr emerged. “Eric hurt me and before that, Brandon. When you let yourself care about people, they have the power to hurt you. I don’t know how much more I can take. Being alone is too hard.”
In desperation, I jumped out of bed and grabbed a piece of amethyst from the top of my dresser. A couple of sessions ago, Dr. Maeve had brought out a tray of stones and asked me to select a piece to be my worry rock. I’d thought her request silly, but harmless, and had complied. My gaze had settled on the purple crystals as if they’d spoken. I had expected nothing to come of it but had taken it home. I reviewed her words as I gripped the crystals in my hand.
“All my hardest clients choose something special,” she’d said. “Stones have properties to heal our minds. This may relieve your anxiety. Hold it when you’re sleepless and overwhelmed.”
I didn’t know how it worked, but she wanted me to think of better times and believe I could get through this rough patch. I’d tossed it there weeks ago, skeptical of its use. I’d been unhappy for so long, but news of Brandon’s death was the last straw.
What did I have to lose? Something had to make a difference. It was worth a shot. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as I stared at the ceiling and clutched the purple stone to my chest, its sharp edges etching the palm of my hand. My feelings were impossible to keep at bay at night.
With Ember curled into a tabby-sized ball of fur near my hip, I whispered.
“I don’t know how to change anymore. I’m so alone.”
As I squeezed the stone in my fist, I shuddered and suppressed a sob.
“I wish I had a mulligan so I could redo my life.”
Chapter 3
When I woke, the air was different. A scent, a feel. Something had changed. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Ember. She sat on my chest, touching me with her cold nose, which is what had woken me. I blinked a few times, wondering if I was dreaming, but I wasn’t seeing wrong. She was a kitten.
It was her. Four white feet, a crooked white blaze on her nose, and copper eyes, but she was as tiny as when I’d first chosen her five years ago. I scooped her aloft and stared at her. My mouth snapped shut as I sat up, my eyes still riveted on her small body. How could this be? She squirmed, protesting this unusual treatment, so I pulled her close and cradled her against me. She purred and nuzzled my chin. It seemed she’d forgiven me for sailing her through the air.
The sun shone in the window, golden and warm. I must have forgotten to lower the blinds last night. As the fog lifted from my brain, I glanced around again. I’d slept in my old room? The one I’d moved out of after the accident? I hadn’t set foot inside this room for two years. My skin crawled whenever I considered this space. After the accident, I’d closed the door and bought new clothes, towels, sheets, the works. I never wanted to touch or wear anything Eric may have used. Had I been sleepwalking and ended up here?
That didn’t explain my cat.
