A Reason to Stay (24 page)

N
o doubt Faith's cranky disposition had been reported to Dr. Viv, because as soon as the dieticians picked up her lunch tray of uneaten meat loaf and steamed carrots, another nurse showed up at her door.

“Let's get you freshened up for your appointment with Dr. Viv.”

Faith turned up the volume on the television. “That's not until tomorrow.”

The nurse moved to the bed and pulled back her covers. “Your session has been moved up.”

Within an hour she was sitting in Dr. Viv's office, staring at tweed draperies and the world outside the window.

“Faith, talk to me.” Dr. Viv's glasses were pushed up on her head and she had a pencil wedged above one ear. “I'm going to be honest. I don't like what I'm hearing from your therapy team.”

Faith looked back at her. “Am I being scolded?”

Dr. Viv raised her eyebrows and thought a minute. “Well, yes. I guess you are.”

“Don't you have some children you can direct all that at?”

“You're angry.” Dr. Viv stared at her and waited.

She was tempted to just sit there and see how long she could make this game play out. But even the thought of that tired her.
She let her chin drop to her chest and picked at her pants with her fingers. “Yeah, you got that one right.” Sometimes it was amazing how highly educated PhDs could be so simpleminded in their assessments. Of course she was angry. Who wouldn't be?

“Anger is understandable, given your situation. But holding that emotion inside and not dealing with it is counterproductive and harmful to your progress.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and it looks like we've got some work to do—emotionally speaking.”

Faith knotted her good fist and did her best to curl the fingers on her bad hand. “Please don't patronize me with psychospeak.”

That made Dr. Viv break out in a grin. “Indulge me.” She pulled her glasses onto her nose and glanced through her file. “It says here you have no family.”

“That's right.”

“Tell me about them—your family.”

She stared at a rustic blue vase filled with bare twigs. “There's nothing to tell, really. Both my parents are dead.”

“And your brother?”

Faith's head shot up. She scowled. “What does my brother have to do with any of this?”

Dr. Viv pressed, “Does he live close? Your brother?”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “I haven't talked to him in a long while,” she said, mentally willing Dr. Viv to move on.

After making a note in her file, the doctor did just that. “Tell me about Geary's family. Are they a support system you can rely on?” She looked up. “My notes say that your father-in-law pastors a church?”

Taking care not to mention the pending divorce, Faith grasped at a subject that was a bit safer. “Yes, the Marins are very supportive. Geary's dad leads a church congregation out in Lake Conroe—that's where they live. His mom reminds me of that matriarch on
Duck Dynasty
. She cooks and does crafts. She teaches Bible study and runs the local food bank.”

Dr. Viv smiled. “Wow. Makes me tired just listening.”

Faith smiled. “You don't know the half of it.”

“Your husband has a sister?”

“Yeah—Dilly. I suspect she's kind of mad at me.”

Dr. Viv leaned forward. “Oh? How so?”

Faith cringed. How could she have been so stupid? She'd never meant to open any can of worms and invite questions that might lead to the fractured state her marriage had been in when the shooting occurred.

It was bad enough knowing the entire Marin family had likely blamed her for the marital rift. In her weakened emotional state, she'd been lured into believing all was well when they'd visited.

Given their faith, they had no choice but to forgive and come alongside her and love her like Jesus. That was just their way.

“Faith?” Dr. Viv prompted.

She avoided making eye contact. “I misspoke. I didn't mean mad, really. My brain gets confused still. More like busy. She's raising four children all under the age of six.”

“Wow, she must have her hands full.” Not to be deterred, Dr. Viv posed more questions Faith would prefer not to answer. “What is your relationship with her? Are you close?”

She had to give her answer some thought. Her fingers rubbed lightly at the edge of her bandaged head. “We get along. We're just, uh, very different.”

“How so?”

“Dilly is very domestic. She's entirely comfortable in chaos. And her choice in men—well, let's just say Bobby Lee is a nice guy in a lot of ways, but he's definitely not my type.”

Dr. Viv listened carefully. “And what is your type?”

Faith glanced in her direction, letting her confusion show. “Well, Geary—of course.”

“Yeah? How'd you meet?”

Faith told her about that day at the tournament, how she'd wanted to get the perfect shot and climbed out on that bass boat, only to fall overboard when the wake hit the side. “He rescued me. Pulled me right up out of the murky water and settled me on the deck of that boat. I looked pretty goofy, I suppose. I mean, I was sopping wet and had slimy green plant stuff all in my hair.” She smiled at the memory. “I can't believe he was attracted to that.”

She told Dr. Viv about standing him up when the big story on the bridge broke, and how instead of reacting badly, he'd invited her to a crawfish feed at his folks' house. She described how it felt to overhear him tell his niece he intended to be her Prince Charming.

“He sounds like a keeper, like someone you can trust to remain by your side no matter what comes.” Dr. Viv looked at her with those probing eyes.

What did she want her to say? That she'd nearly thrown their marriage overboard? The lawyer's business card on her desk back at the station was proof of that.

“Faith, what's the matter?”

“Huh?” She shook her head. “Nothing's the matter.”

Dr. Viv's expression intensified. “You're crying.”

Faith was as surprised as her doctor to find that true. She lifted her hand and wiped the tears running down her cheeks, hating that her emotions were so vulnerable and left nothing to the imagination. She wasn't used to being so transparent. Managing her image had been a very effective tool she'd clutched tightly in the past, and she wasn't at all willing to loosen her grip on something that had always worked so well. Now she didn't seem to have any choice. She'd lost control of her limbs and her ability to hide.

Dr. Viv gave her a minute to collect herself before forcing Faith to pry yet another finger from her safe shell. “I'd like to know about your mother. What was she like?”

She shifted uncomfortably in her wheelchair. “Mary Ellen Bierman is not an easy woman to describe.”

“Try,” Dr. Viv urged.

“I don't see how talking about my mother has anything to do with getting me out of this wheelchair and back to my life.”

Dr. Viv leaned forward and patted her good knee. “Trust me, Faith. I'm here to help you. Tell me about your mom.”

“Well, it's complicated. I'm not really good at complicated.”

“Don't worry about all that.”

They were quiet for a few moments, and Faith thought of a dozen things she would like to say.

She'd like to tell Dr. Viv about how her mother used to kneel with her on the living room floor and cut out paper dolls from the dozens of magazines she often collected—
Ladies' Home Journal
,
McCall'
s
,
People
, and her favorite,
Modern Screen
.

Or she could tell about the time she came home from school to find her mother splattered in lavender paint, how her mom had covered Faith's bedroom walls with the pretty shade and made a matching bedspread every bit as nice as Marcia Brady's on television.

The accounts would certainly portray her mother in a good light, and the stories were true. Somehow, though, when she opened her mouth, a different set of words came out.

“I was nine years old and on my way home from school. That was back before stranger danger—when it was safe to walk in your neighborhood without adult supervision. Normally, I walked home with Cherie Reay, but on that particular day her mother picked her up at school for a dentist appointment and I was left to head home alone.

“About halfway to my house, I heard a noise in the bushes by old Mr. Tyson's house. Some whimpering. I went to check it out and to my delight discovered a little puppy, one of those little mixed breeds with lots of fluffy brown hair and a face that looked like a teddy bear.

“It took me nearly a half hour to coax that little dog into my arms, but once I held him he nestled against my neck and made himself right at home. He had no tag, and when we asked around no one had lost a dog matching that description. At the time I was convinced God had given him to me as a surprise gift. I begged my mom to let me keep him, and finally she consented. Teddy Jr., who was four at the time, came up with his name—Cocoa Puff, after his favorite cereal.”

Dr. Viv smiled. “Cute.”

Faith's throat tightened as she continued. “Yeah, Teddy loved that dog as much as I did. Which is why he was devastated when he forgot to fully close the front door and Cocoa got out.”

A pained look crossed the doctor's face. “Oh dear.”

“Yeah, my mother slammed on the brakes as she pulled into the driveway that day, but it was too late. The impact didn't kill Cocoa and there wasn't any visible blood, but both his back legs were clearly broken.”

Faith stared out the window at a formation of stark white clouds floating in the vast blue sky. “Both Teddy and I were frantic, of course. I tried to console my little brother while Mom gently placed our injured puppy in a pillowcase—a lavender one from off my bed. She told us to stay while she took Cocoa to the vet.”

Dr. Viv lifted her chin. “What happened next?”

Faith turned to her. “She came home without Cocoa. Told us there was nothing the vet could do.”

“So the injuries to the dog were much more serious than it first appeared? That must have been very hard for you and Teddy. And your mother. I'm sure she felt awful.”

“I thought so too—until a week later when I learned she'd never taken Cocoa to the vet.”

Dr. Viv frowned. “What do you mean? What did she do with the dog?”

Faith shrugged helplessly. “I found my lavender pillowcase washed up on the shoreline behind our house.”

“What? Your dog?”

Faith nodded and focused back on Dr. Viv. “Mother didn't believe broken things could be fixed.”

“Wow. That's quite a—a remarkable story.” Dr. Viv swallowed. Her solemn expression softened. “Tell me more about your brother.”

Sorrow tightened Faith's resolve. “I guess you'd say he's pretty damaged as well.” She rubbed at her limp hand. Her heart pounded as she considered the risk of giving voice to her darkest secret, unable to stay silent even one more second. “We're all broken. Or at least we were,” she corrected. “My mother bailed on us—she killed herself. Teddy was with her when it happened.”

Dr. Viv's hand went to her chest. “I'm sorry that happened to you, Faith. That must have been very difficult to overcome.”

Unshed tears burned in Faith's eyes. “Devastating—especially for Teddy. He was always a mama's boy. He survived by self-medicating. Meth primarily. And heroin.”

Dr. Viv paused, seeming to try to take that in. She stared at Faith with an unfamiliar intensity, narrowing her eyes as she studied her face. “And you?” she finally asked.

Faith blinked away the dull, empty ache. “Me?” She forced a smile she hoped would hide her bitterness. “I became a celebrated news anchor.”

F
aith spent a restless night mulling over why she'd been so free to disclose information she'd kept buried for years. She stared into the darkness of her hospital room, wondering what had gotten into her. Why had she chosen to uncover all that now? She'd known a long time ago that revealing her family junk would do her no good.

The look in Dr. Viv's eyes, while sympathetic, was exactly as she would imagine. She didn't need anyone's pity. Never had.

The discussion held no merit whatsoever. Self-help books would say her inner child had never healed and that was the source of her anger. To buy into that theory meant she'd have to discount a man dressed in army fatigues who had pointed a gun at her head and blown her career—her life—to smithereens.

Now she felt naked—too out there—like she'd let information out of the bottle that could never be stuffed back in.

Clearly, her emotions were out of control. While that was a typical symptom of traumatic brain injury, she couldn't just let uncaged feelings rule over her mouth.

By the time the nurses showed up to help her to the restroom and aid her in getting dressed, she was exhausted and certainly
in no mood for the clumpy steamed oatmeal waiting for her on that dining tray.

She didn't need to step on the scales to know this diet filled with carbs and preservatives was killing her weight control. While she may never again sit behind a news desk, she didn't care to let her figure go.

In fact, she'd given her appearance particular consideration lately. Even started wearing a little makeup again. So when members of her medical team showed up later in the morning announcing it was time for the head bandages to come off, she was thrilled.

At least part of her was thrilled. She was also very nervous. No doubt there was good reason no one had offered to help her to a mirror.

“Good morning, Faith. Are you ready to get those bandages off?” A perky nurse Faith guessed to be in her late fifties bounded in the room with a huge smile plastered on her face. The gazelle of a woman left her feeling even more tired.

“I'm Lawana Maxwell and I'm a huge fan. Watched you every morning, darlin'. When I was on shift, I taped
Faith on Air
. Loved that show.” She brandished a package of sterilized bandage scissors and a bright attitude that was in stark contrast to Faith's own. She glanced at the untouched dining tray. “You're not hungry?”

Faith shrugged her good shoulder. “Not a fan of oatmeal, I guess.”

Lawana grinned as she swooped the tray out of the way. “Well, when I'm finished here I'll make a personal trip down to food service and make sure the dieticians get something edible up here. Bad enough you don't get to sleep in your own bed at night. The least we can do is provide palatable food.”

Faith smiled, liking her already. And she smelled fresh and clean—like the laundry aisle of a grocery store.

“Okay, let's get this done, shall we?” Lawana tore open the
sterile packaging and removed the scissors and a smaller tool with her gloved hands. “This will only take a minute,” she promised.

The scissor blade was chilly against her skin. The nurse clipped carefully, then unwrapped the gauze around Faith's skull. Lawana bent over and took a closer look. “You're healing nicely,” she reported.

Next she took the other tool in her hand. “This won't hurt, but you're going to feel some pressure when I remove the staples.”

She nodded and held her breath.

It was then she noticed Geary standing in the doorway. “Hey, do you guys need me to come back later?” he asked.

“Not on my account,” Lawana said, plopping the first metal staple into a waiting metal bowl. She dabbed at the place on Faith's head with a bit of clean gauze.

Faith waved him in. “This nice lady tells me this is only going to take a few minutes.”

He nodded, came into the room, and planted himself in a chair by the window. “People at the news station have been calling. Clark and some of the others would like to visit. Are you ready for that?” he asked, looking like he believed it might be too early yet.

While she wasn't entirely assured of the fact, she confirmed she was ready. “Why don't you tell them they can come tomorrow?” she suggested.

Lawana pulled the final staple and stripped the thin rubber gloves from her hands. The effort made a snapping sound. “Well, we're all finished here.” She looked at Faith. “Do you want a mirror before I tie your scarf on?”

Faith saw a flash of something on Geary's face that she'd never seen before. Just the ghost of an expression, and in another state of mind she might not even have noticed the hint of alarm cross his features.

Geary was the steadiest man she'd ever known, and when she saw the look on her husband's face, her heart grew cold.

“The mirror.” She pointed. “Could I have the mirror, please.”

Faith drew a deep breath and looked at her reflection.

The sallow color of her skin was still evident, as were the dark circles under her eyes she'd tried to hide with concealer earlier. But as she lifted her hand, her breath instantly caught.

Approximately four inches above her right eye, a large and rather deep divot dented her skull. The skin along the hook-shaped scar running from the front of her ear to the back of her neck was mottled purple and angry pink. The harsh overhead light spotlighted patches of tiny black bristles poking through scabs and flaking skin.

She looked scarily broken—like a monster.

She dropped the mirror to the bedcovers, unable to cry—to react.

Lawana patted her. “Honey, give it time. Your appearance will improve. I promise.”

“Just cover my head, please.” She swallowed and closed her eyes, feeling another layer of despair blanket her soul.

Lawana failed to notice. She wrapped the scarf and secured the pretty fabric in place by tying a bow at the base of Faith's neck, then stepped back to examine her work. “Lovely. Red is your color.” She gathered the bandage pieces and the bowl of staples. “Okay, you take care.”

Faith forced a weak thank-you. The nurse left the room, promising to follow up on the meal concern.

Then the two of them were alone.

She let herself picture her and Geary intertwined with sheets in a bed on a tropical island, their bodies sleek from the muggy outdoor temperature and the heat of their honeymoon.

A snapshot of time never to be repeated. Not when she looked like this.

“Geary, come over here and sit.” She patted her covers with resolve.

Her husband complied and sat on the wedge of space at the end of her bed. He placed his hand over her blanketed foot, the one she still couldn't completely feel. “Everything okay? Did that hurt—removing the staples, I mean?”

“Fine. I feel fine. But that's not what I want to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, looking slightly puzzled. “What's on your mind?”

She swallowed against the fear of being misunderstood. “Geary, why are you here?”

He frowned. “What do you mean? What kind of question is that?”

For a split second, she considered ending the conversation. It would be so much easier to default to the comfortable, the secure—but that would only stave off the inevitable. Eventually they would be forced into a much more difficult situation. And if she let more time pass, she might never survive what would no doubt come.

No, it was better just to face up to the fact that eventually he'd tire of her broken state. How could he find someone like her desirable? And most certainly he'd start to feel burdened with the role of caretaker.

“I want you to listen carefully to what I have to say. You are a wonderful man, Geary Marin. With a whole life ahead that should be spent with someone who can cook you breakfast, stand by the lakeside, and cheer you on, someone who can—”

His pleasant expression rolled up like a window shade. “What—you're breaking up with me?”

“This isn't junior high. This is real life.” She lifted her chin. “Look at me. My head is dented and mangled, my hair in patches. Have you noticed I'm in a wheelchair, that my limbs are broken? I'm broken.” Her voice grew more intense with every word, more emotional. “No matter how much you want to ride in on a white horse and be my Prince Charming, you can't fix this. You can't fix me.”

He stood then, his fists curled in tight knots. He took a deep breath, seeming to weigh his words carefully, finding them too heavy to carry. “I don't understand why you keep pushing me away. I am not a perfect man—far from it. At times I'm thoughtless and demanding.” He combed his fingers through the top of his hair in frustration. “I made plenty of mistakes.” He looked at her with those blue eyes, intense and passionate. His voice darkened with jagged emotion. “But you don't just throw us out. You don't just go to an attorney the first time your relationship hits a hard patch.”

“But—”

“But nothing!” He was raising his voice now. “Life is messy, Faith. People disappoint. Our hopes and dreams sometimes get dashed. At times we're all guilty of selfishly putting ourselves first and we don't consider the feelings of the people we love. Myself included. But that does not give you permission to give up on us. That does not allow you to just toss me aside like I mean nothing to you.”

She realized then how deeply she'd hurt him. She hated herself for that. Even so, how did that change anything?

She was a mess. And she had no idea how to change that.

Geary deserved far better.

He deserved to be able to have children—to marry and create a family like his own. If she let him stay, all that would be lost. She wasn't even sure she could have babies now.

She loved him deeply—always had. She'd still felt a deep connection to him, even when she'd met with the divorce attorney.

Sometimes love required sacrifice. There were too many reasons they couldn't be together—it was true then and it was especially true now. Some reasons she couldn't even begin to explain.

Faith wasn't sure she was capable of being the wife he deserved, and she didn't want to find out. He needed some nice gal who wasn't broken and damaged. She owed it to him to let him go.

The night he'd placed the lock on the fence at the pier in Galves
ton, they'd been naïve at best, never knowing the difficulties that they'd face ahead. It was time to give back that key and unlock his obligation to stay.

He studied her until she had to look away. There was only one way to do that.

Staring down at the bed, she let the bitter words roll out of her mouth. “The bullets—it's likely I can't have children. With me, you'll never have that family you crave. I won't do that to you.”

A hard lump grew in her throat. She looked up at him. “You need to go.”

He stepped back a bit, as if her words had hit hard and knocked him off-kilter. “I know what the doctors said. Do you think that matters to me? You're what matters—only you.” He shook his head in frustration. “Despite what you think, Faith, you are in the process of healing. In all likelihood you will walk again. Even if that weren't the case, I'd want to be by your side. Don't you get that?”

She tried not to let her voice shake. “You need to go,” she repeated, a little more sternly this time. “Please go.”

His hands dropped to his side. Geary looked at her with deep sadness. “Fine, have it your way. I'll leave—for now. But I'm not giving up on us.”

She watched as he slowly turned and walked out the door.