Kismet (8 page)

Stevenson.

I’d forgotten it was a session day. I dreaded them because all he does is talk
at
me, and tries to reassure me that what I’m feeling is completely normal.

Yeah, like he would know.

I don’t care that he has a Ph.D., or that he knows the steps in the grieving process, just because someone is an expert on something doesn’t mean that they know it all when it comes to that subject. No one could ever understand what I’m going through unless they have been through it themselves, and I highly doubt Stevenson has lost his whole world.

He waves when he sees me. I roll my eyes without waving back, turning to go get Onyx settled in her stall. I’ve been having a good day, but knowing I have to do “work” pisses me off to no end. I take my time and hope rises in me when he doesn’t make his presence known in the stable. He usually follows me around, no matter what I’m doing. One day, he actually conducted our session while I walked through the fields. He was relentless.

Maybe he’s just here to check on things. Maybe there won’t be a session after all. I quickly brush out Onyx’s coat and slip her back into the stall. She brays with approval. Walking out of the barn, I can’t help but feel accomplished. It feels nice to take care of someone again. My mind has been busy, and I haven’t thought about things.

“Gorgeous horse.”

For the second time in as many hours, I nearly jump out of my skin. What is it with people scaring me? Do they enjoy lurking? I turn to see Stevenson leaning up against the doorway of the stable. He’s more handsome than I remember, at least for an older guy. I usually find myself wondering about him, and his family, while I pretend to be uninterested during our sessions.

“I’m glad to see that you’re out of the house, Katie. Shall we go inside and get started?” He motions toward the house with his left hand. My high hopes come crashing down. Obviously there will be a session today. So much for that idea.

Without any sort of acknowledgement, I turn towards the house and walk inside, the good doctor following closely behind.

When we enter the foyer, Stevenson exchanges some pleasantries with my mother, who has just returned from town, and I become increasingly annoyed with each minute that passes by. I just want to sit down and listen to him talk so that he can leave already. I leave them to their pointless chatter and head to the home office to sit down and wait.

I hear Stevenson say he should “get to it” before he appears in the doorway. He has a briefcase in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. Juggling the two as he crosses the room, he blows gently on the steam coming from the mug I know my mom just handed him. “So your mother says you’re making some progress,” he says as he sits in the chair next to mine. “Or at least, it seems that way to her.”

Mom is always full of hope. An optimist through and through, it wouldn’t take much for her to think I was making headway with the nightmare called my life. It may sound strange, but I’ve started to hope that I’ll wake up and it will all be over. But maybe that’s a good sign? At least I’m starting to believe in something again.

“So you’re gearing up to close out your first month of being back here.” He pulls out his yellow legal pad from his briefcase. “Things must seem familiar for you.”

I laugh to myself. He has no idea how familiar things seem. Too familiar for my liking, but what choice do I have really. Nobody had thought me fit to be alone and I had agreed with them—I was a head case, and that was putting it lightly.

“It’s really gorgeous out here. You must have had a fantastic childhood growing up on this farm.”

Looking back, I did. I lived outdoors. My brother and I were always on an adventure somewhere on the acreage. Sure, we had our fair share of chores to ensure that the farm ran smoothly, but we played just as hard. I only had one bad memory growing up here, and that was becoming more of a thorn in my side than I’d planned on. The fact of the matter is that I left for a good reason.

“So,” Stevenson continues, “the horse. You like to ride? Working with the horses?” He pauses hoping that I might contribute something to our conversation. “I bet you’re excellent at it.”

I let out an annoyed sigh. I suddenly want to go take a nap.

Stevenson echoes my frustration. “I know you don’t want me to be here, I can tell that much, I’m not stupid. But I’ve got to try to help you, Katie. People care.
I care
. I want to understand you, and help you learn to cope. This doesn’t have to be your defining moment. This isn’t a life-ender. You can grow from this, move on from the hurt. Pull yourself to a version of your former self, and be somebody you can be proud of. We all just want to help you help yourself.”

Not wanting to acknowledge his words, the fields outside becomes very interesting and I look out of the office window. He doesn’t have a clue. He thinks he understands but he doesn’t. I don’t deserve a second chance. I don’t deserve to be able to move on. I’m getting exactly what I was supposed to. This is my kismet.

“The quicker you give me just a little bit to work with, the quicker I will be out of your hair,” he smiles. “That way we both win, in our own way.”

I roll my eyes. Okay, maybe I’m digging my heels in about this a little more than I should. I want to have things my way, but I’ve obviously met my match. He smiles smugly, like he’s reading my mind and knows that he’s slowly breaking me down.

“So, the horse riding,” he starts. “You think that might be good for you?”

I take a deep breath and redirect my gaze. His eyes are hopeful. Screw it. A little interaction won’t kill me.

I lift my left hand and give him a thumbs up, and he immediately smiles, reveling in my communication, albeit non-verbal. “All right. I’d love to watch you ride sometime.”

Over the next hour I listen to Stevenson talk, occasionally responding with a thumbs up or down, depending on how I feel about what he has to say. The majority of the time it’s a thumbs down.

He urges me to reconnect with some of my friends from the city. Big thumbs down. That won’t be happening solely because my family doesn’t know how to get in contact with them, and hell will freeze over before I pick up a phone and call them. Besides, I know it would be too painful. Most of them have families of their own and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be around happy families without hurting. He tells me to really rely on the people who surround me daily, for they are the ones who will be my greatest support.

“Have you gone to see them yet?” he asks.

I can’t believe he’s gone there… again. I thought my panic attack last time made it pretty clear that I wasn’t ready to cross that bridge yet.

I stop breathing. Just the thought of it is too much. My heart aches, and my stomach churns with nervousness. Thumbs down immediately, although I briefly consider giving him the middle one instead, but my anger is cloaked with sadness, and I can’t find the strength to be mean.

“You should go, Katie. Sooner rather than later. It’s important for you to say good-bye. You already missed an opportunity to say good-bye with the support of all your family surrounding you when you missed their funeral. Now you need to do it alone.”

Tears stream down my face. I hate thinking of them like that. Cold. Dead. In the ground. Tears continue down my cheeks, and I shake my head. I feel myself approaching the edge. He needs to stop before I lose it, again. I hope that my tears will make him feel bad for me—that they’ll serve a function besides just being a release of pain. But he continues to push me. This must be the “work” he spoke of.

“You need to go to those graves, Katie. You need to say good-bye to Michael. And Zoe.” Their names cut through me, the pressure in my chest returning in an instant. “And that sweet baby boy.”

I hear myself gasp. Anger rips through me and before I know it my hand reaches out and strikes him across his face. He looks shocked and perplexed. He obviously wasn’t expecting that. What he was looking for, I’m not so sure myself. Realization spreads across his face.

“You didn’t know. Did you?”

It’s all too much, and I throw my head into my hands, sliding down off the couch and crumpling into a heap. My shoulders jerk with each sob, and I can feel my insides being kicked around by remorse. The sweet innocent baby that I had been carrying had been a boy.

During the pregnancy I had loved not knowing the gender of the baby. There were only a few true surprises left in life, and that was one that I wanted to experience.

A boy.

It would have been everything Michael wanted, but more than he bargained for at the same time. He hadn’t wanted more than one child—as an only child himself he hadn’t seen the need for siblings. But I insisted. I wanted to give him a boy. Someone to carry on his name. And ultimately I got my way. But I hadn’t won. This was my punishment for being so greedy. I pushed for more and instead ended up with nothing.

I feel Stevenson gently place his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Katie. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have said that otherwise. But regardless, you owe it to them to say good-bye. What do you think?”

I’m wary now he’s broken me down. So many emotions. Too much to handle. With my head still in my lap and tears still streaming down my face, I give a half-hearted thumbs up.

“Is there someone that you feel comfortable taking with you?”

He’s not going to give me a chance to back out of this. He obviously wants me to go now, while my guard is still down.

Without so much as a second thought, I give him another thumbs up. I need someone who knows me. Someone who understands the person I am… well, the person I was. But deep down I know that it can’t be somebody too close. I don’t need my family pawing me, talking to me while I’m trying to say good-bye. I need someone who will understand what I need. And there’s only one person I know that fits all of the above.

“Great, Katie. That’s great,” he says excitedly as he rises from the chair. “I knew you could do this. You want me to go get your mother?” Obviously he would think she would be who I wanted to take me to their graves. But it’s not.

I shake my head. No, not my mother. I grab a piece of paper and pen from the desk and scratch one word across it.

Parker.

I sit on the hallway floor listening to Stevenson speak to my mother. Despite trying to keep their voices low, I still manage to hear what they say. I’m surprised by how well I seem to be taking the whole thing. Knowing what I’ve agreed to do, I figured I’d be having a major meltdown. But I feel nothing. It crosses my mind that I’ve been trying to shut my emotions off for so long that I might have actually succeeded in completely shutting down, and I may never truly be able to feel again.

“She’s agreed to go visit the graves,” he whispers.

I suspect that they realize I’m listening.

“Well, great!” My mother is excited. “I’ll get ready to go.” I imagine her dropping her cleaning and heading for her pocketbook.

“Well, that’s not what I need from you Mrs. Garvin. She’s requested that someone else take her.”

“Well, Tommy’s working,” mother interrupts.

My poor mother has no idea of the bombshell that is about to be dropped. I don’t want any of them to be the ones. “No, not Tommy, Mrs. Garvin, and I’m hoping you can help me with her request. Can you tell me who Parker is?” Stevenson questions.

The scraping of wood on tile lets me know Mom has pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. I imagine that she’s confused by my request. “Parker? He’s Tommy’s best friend. He’s like a brother to Katie. Tommy and Parker were always so good to her, making sure that she was always looked out for, even after her quiet time.” I hear her exasperated sigh. “But why Parker? Why would she want him to be the one to take her?”

“I had been hoping that you could give me some insight on that, but you’re obviously as dumbfounded by this as I am.” Stevenson pauses, seemingly trying to piece things together. “I’m going to venture a guess here, but I think Katie just wants someone that she’s comfortable being around to take her. And perhaps someone who won’t put pressure on her?”

It annoys me how good Stevenson is at figuring me out, especially since I’ve never actually said a word to him. He’s hit the nail on the head. Parker was someone I felt at ease with, but I knew he’d let me control the situation. He was great in that respect. Parker didn’t care about a whole lot. I knew that from first-hand experience.

I expect Mom to start arguing, saying that
she
won’t pressure me, that
she
can be that person for me, but she doesn’t.

“All right,” she sighs, “I’ll call Parker.”