“What else do you think I could be doing?”
“My suggestion would be to keep this conversation going. But not necessarily with me. Do you journal?”
He made a face. “You mean like a diary? No.”
“It can be a great way to get what’s happening here,” she pointed at her head, “out. And you can put anything you want on paper. It’s just for you. No one else will ever see.”
The thought intrigued him. “So, this isn’t like homework?”
She laughed softly, a pleasant sound. “Nope. It’s just for you. If you want to do it.”
“I write all day. Or at least I try to. What makes you think this would work?”
“Maybe it won’t. Hard to say until you try it. But the fact that you write for a living makes me think this approach would be particularly effective. It’s a medium you’re familiar with, and one you excel at using.”
“And you’re not going to ask to see any of it?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. If you want to show me, that’s fine, but I wouldn’t expect to be privy to what you write.”
He liked that. “How would I start? Just sit down at the computer and—”
“No. Longhand. In a notebook or whatever you like but find a way to separate it from your job. Keep the personal you different from the work you. That’s something else I think will help with the book writing. Right now, those two sides of you are blurred. On some level, it’s very possible you blame your writing for your distance from Jeanie at the end. Even though you changed that behavior, you told me yourself you felt like it was too little, too late.”
“I still do.” He exhaled. “I never thought about it that way.” Made sense, though. “Okay, I’ll try journaling. Before bed or what?”
“I’d suggest first thing in the morning. Clear your head by putting it on paper. Make peace with what you write, too. Don’t judge yourself for any of it. That journal is your own personal confessional. It’s a vault.”
“I’ll try it tomorrow then.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. He was still tired, but he felt better even though he was exhausted. Unburdened. Less awful than he had before they’d started talking. Although he’d done nearly all of the talking. “Thank you for this. For listening. Did you do this for Arlington?”
She smiled demurely. “I can’t answer that.”
“No, of course not.” He smiled, too. “I think…I might be able to write a few pages today. At the very least, I’m going to read over what I’ve already written and work on that. Flesh it out a bit or something.”
“That’s great. If you decide you want to talk again at the end of the day, about the book, or anything, just text me. You have my number. Now, I should go home and check on Archie. Thank you for that very thoughtful gift basket of dog treats, by the way. That was really kind of you.”
He couldn’t take credit for all of it. “The basket was Joyce’s idea. I was going to send flowers.”
“Joyce is pretty amazing, in case you didn’t already know that.”
“Yeah, I know. She is. Jeanie adored her.”
“I’m sure Joyce adored Jeanie right back.”
He nodded, thinking of better days. “Joyce has done so much for us.”
“She still is doing a lot for you.”
“True.” He leaned his elbows on his knees. He couldn’t fathom where he’d be now if Joyce hadn’t been around then.
“I’m sure you pay her very well, and that’s great, but have you said thank you to her recently? She’s been grieving, too. This can’t have been easy for her.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re right. I don’t know why that never occurred to me. She never even took time off. Just kept on doing what she’d always been doing.” He sighed and put his face into his hands. “I’ve been so wrapped up in myself. I’m a terrible person.”
“No, you’re not. You’re just a grieving person.”
He huffed out a breath. “Am I ever going to be anything different?”
“Eventually, yes. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
