We stare at one another, waiting for the other to speak first. From the hint of frustration twisting his face, it’s my turn.
“I really love the nursery.” I link our fingers together. “I love all the tiny details. I love the blanket you picked out.”
I would love it if there were parts of yourself you weren’t afraid to share, because I’m certain I’m in love with you.
FIFTY-ONE
WARREN
Since the baby shower,things have been tense.
Not necessarily between me and Harriet, more like an unpredictable presence polluting the air. A storm lying in wait. It keeps me on edge at night, forcing me out of bed and away from Harriet. There’s always a chance a night terror could strike, and when my body refuses to shut off or my mind drifts somewhere dark, keeping myself busy with exercise is best. The last thing I want, despite her reassurances, is to frighten or hurt her when the past digs its claws deep into my consciousness.
The stress continues piling higher. First, it was the accident; then, it was the copyright suit, followed by me not telling her about my house. With her due date two months away, everything is slipping through my fingers before I can get a grasp on them.
Kevin notes my anxiety as soon as I step into his office.
I tell him everything; he gives me advice yet it doesn’t pacify the worry like it usually does. We both know exactlywhat’s being left unspoken, the biggest cause of my restless nights and racing thoughts.
April thirtieth. A normal day for most, when spring is in full swing, perking everyone up after long winter nights. It’s also our stormiest season.
As a firefighter, we’re expected to attend a vast range of calls. Some are unusual and shocking while others become the norm. We don’t get to choose where our presence is required. Preserving life is and will always be our main priority. Ask any first responder, and they’ll be able to tell you the date of the worst call they’ve ever responded to.
April 30, 2018 is mine.
A date that changed everything.
A date that comes around too quickly, when the one thousand four hundred forty minutes in the day last longer, as if the hands of time take pleasure in torturing me.
Kevin places his notepad and pen on the table and straightens in his seat. “I’d like to try something different today if you’re comfortable with it.”
His judicious tone is enough to make me uncomfortable, but I push past it. “What do you have in mind?”
There are never any dramatic pauses with Kevin, always getting straight to the point. What he suggests next, however, has me wishing otherwise.
“I want you to tell me about that night, in as much detail as possible.”
My spine stiffens, hands sliding against the arms of the chair as my palms clam up. “Surely, the report tells you everything you need to know.”
He nods. “I want to hear it from your viewpoint, not only as a first responder, but as an individual. The choice is yours. If you’d rather we move on to something else, we can.”
I sit unmoving, feeling as if the choice is very much not mine.
“These sessions aren’t mandated, Warren,” Kevin continues. “Last we discussed, you told me you wanted there to be no secrets left between yourself and Harriet. You’ve taken huge strides in opening up to her, something even you didn’t think was ever possible. You’ve maintained a small support network through the years, which now includes Harriet, but she wasn’t here before your diagnosis. Her knowledge of your past is dependent on what you tell her, and I believe sharing with her what happened on the thirtieth of April, twenty-eighteen is a crucial part of this journey.”
Hearing the date aloud is a hammer to the skull. My temples throb. Eyes pulse.
He’s right.
If I can’t relay the events of April thirtieth to Kevin, how can I tell Harriet?
“Okay,” I rasp. “Where do you want me to start?”
He smiles supportively and pours me a glass of water. “If you can, from the moment you woke up.”
My throat strains as I gulp the water down. It does nothing to soothe the tightness in my throat as I transport myself back eight years ago.
A bone achingtiredness presses on my shoulders as I pull up outside the cottage. Today’s session wasn’t longer than usual, but it drained me as if it lasted days, not sixty minutes.
