He gives a small nod. “How long have we known each other, Meredith?”
The question surprises me. “Four, maybe five years?”
He nods again. “And how long have we been friends?”
I hesitate, not because I don’t know the answer, but because I’m uncertain where he’s going with this. “Since day one.”
The barest hint of a smile lifts his lips. “Since day one. We’ve been through a lot together, yeah? We’re like family, you, me, and Ivy. Kieran now too. Celia, Bridget, David, Piper. You have so many people who love you. Who want the best for you. Who want to help you.”
My throat tightens. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice shaky as tears start falling. I hate myself for crying. I hate myself for not being able to pull it together. I hate myself for making my friends worry, for being the reason they’re sitting vigil at my side while I fall deeper and deeper into despair.
“Hey.” Hugh’s rough fingers brush my cheek, wiping away my tears. “Don’t be sorry. You need to stop beating yourself up for being human, Meredith.”
I have no idea how to respond, so I just hold his hand in place against my cheek, enjoying the warm, comforting contact.
“I’m not sure you’ll want to hear this, but I think you need to see a professional. Get help dealing with everything you’ve been going through since your mum was diagnosed.”
With a groan, I close my eyes, squeezing them shut until stars fill the darkness behind my eyelids. “But I have you guys. You just said it yourself. What if I lean on you more? Talk to you about what’s going on, open up and…and…stop bottling everything inside?”
I peek through my eyelids in time to see him give me a sad smile. “We’re past that point now, don’t you think? There’s no shame in needing help, Meredith. No shame in needing a professional to help you work through the complex maze of emotions you’re feeling.”
“Butyou’rea professional. Can’t I just talk to you?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not licensed in Canada. And even if I were, I’m too close to the situation. Too close toyou.”
My breath hitches as I attempt a deep breath. He’s right and I know it. “I don’t want to go on medication.”
One side of his mouth quirks. “I knew you’d say that. You don’t even like taking headache tablets. Medication might not be necessary, though. A professional will work with you, assess where you’re at, and make suggestions from there. I’ve a feeling therapy will be a good fit for you at this point. Maybe a few changes in lifestyle. Leaning on your friends, as you said. Starting with letting me help you financially.”
“What? No, Hugh. I can handle this.” The words fall flat between us. He has the grace to keep his expression neutral, but he can’t quite hide the sympathy in his eyes. Clearly Ican’thandle this or we wouldn’t be lying here in my bed having this conversation.
“Let me do this, Meredith. For you and your mum. I’d give anything to have my own parents back, but I can’t imagine going through what you’ve gone through. I can’t imagine the pain of knowing your mum is still alive, but grieving for her as if she’s gone. I can’t take away your pain, but I can ease the financial burden and make life a wee bit easier for you.”
There’s no sense arguing with him. This is why I never mentioned it to him; I knew he’d insist on helping, and I don’t want a handout. My mom always worked hard andI’vealways worked hard, so that’s all I’ve ever known.
“It’s not charity,” he says, as if reading my mind. I must look skeptical because he insists, “It’s not. It’s not charity when it’s someone you love. It’s not charity when it means saving your sanity and improving your quality of life. If you don’t let me help you, I’ll just buy the place and let your mum live there for free.”
I laugh for the first time in what feels like forever. It sounds weak and it hurts my throat, but it also feels like progress. Because the thing is, Hugh could afford to buy Birch Hill. He wouldn’t actually do it, and yet saying it has gotten his point across. Why be stubborn when he’s offering help? He’s right about it having the power to save my sanity and improve my life; I won’t have to scrimp and save anymore or worry myself through sleepless nights about paying my own bills and Mom’s. “I’ll pay you back. Somehow, someway, someday.”
He lifts one shoulder, completely unconcerned. “Aye, well, we’ll talk about that when someday comes.”
“I’m still going to pursue the funding options Mr. Lattimer told me about,” I tell him.
“Go ahead if it makes you feel better. Just know I’ve got it covered for now.” He studies my face as I nod wordlessly. “I’m going to reach out to a few doctors and find you the best help possible, okay? And in the meantime, I’d like to offer you paid leave from work. It’s up to you whether you take it or not. I’m not sure if the time off would help or if you’d rather be busy at work.”
Being busy at work is tempting. But that’s part of what got me to this point in the first place. Working myself hard so I wouldn’t have a spare moment to examine my feelings or acknowledge the growing cracks in my heart…and in my mind. “Some time off might be good. Just for a little while, though. I love my job and I love working for you and Ivy.”
“And we love having you work with us. You’re a valuable asset to the Village. But you take as much time as you need without worrying about money or anything else. We’ll discuss you coming back when you’re ready.” He leans in to kiss my forehead, then rolls to the edge of the bed and stands.
“Hugh?”
He pauses before he reaches the door.
“I don’t know how to even begin to thank you.”
“Just get better, Meredith. Find your way back to yourself and back to us, and that’ll be all the thanks I need.”
*****
