Obsessive Compulsion (23 page)

“Mary,” she whispers then slumps into my
arms.

Picking her up, I carry her back inside,
knowing the real pain is only beginning. This was her body’s
initial reaction to the repressed memory coming back. When she
wakes up, Charlotte will have to deal with the aftermath of what’s
been remembered.

I pause in the entryway while Brandon takes
off her boots then mine so I don’t have to put her down. In the
living room, Carol is distraught but Emma is there, hugging her for
what I think is the very first time. I have a feeling Emma’s always
known Carol and John were keeping a secret from Charlotte.

John puts his big hand on my shoulder and
nods, but words are out of reach for him right now. He leads me
upstairs to Charlotte’s room then leaves, trusting me to take care
of his daughter. Crawling into her double bed, I prop myself up on
the headboard with pillows and tuck Charlotte against me. My cheek
sets against her forehead as I hold on and wait for her to come
back to us.

Hours pass. Carol brings in a TV tray and
sets it next to the bed before loading it down with food and
drinks. My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten anything but half a
bagel this morning, but I’m not ready to let even one hand move
away from Charlotte’s body.

In the dim light from the bedside lamp, I’ve
counted the polka dots on Charlotte’s comforter three times and the
books on her shelves twice. The counting attempts to ground me so
that I can be calm for Charlotte. I’m hoping she’ll wake up soon,
but I’m afraid that she’ll hate me when she does.

We had to do it this way. When John and
Carol told us the truth last night, and what their therapist had
recommended they do years ago, I knew it had to happen today.
Charlotte couldn’t be given another chance to run. They had to tear
down everything to its very foundation so they could spend the rest
of this week rebuilding their family.

Charlotte jerks awake in my arms and leans
up, her face full of confusion. I remain unmoving, waiting. The
shift that slowly etches over her features hurts so much to watch,
and I witness the very moment it all comes back to her.

“Oh God,” she shudders then collapses back
against my chest. “God. Mary… I killed her! Oh, God!”

Her yells are muffled into my shoulder but
it’s loud enough to bring John and Carol to the doorway. They stand
in silent mourning, reliving the loss of one child barely born
while their other child shivers in unimaginable guilt. Carol sits
on the edge of the bed next to my legs with John standing next to
her, and together we continue to wait out the storm.

Charlotte’s body doesn’t stop shaking, but
she slowly stops weeping. I brush the hair from her face and she
opens her eyes, aware now of her parent’s presence. “Momma? Oh,
Momma, I’m so sorry!”

Carol pulls Charlotte into her arms and
rocks her gently. “It wasn’t your fault, sweetie. I was distracted
and not watching you like I should’a been.”

“Wasn’t your fault, neither,” John finds his
voice again. “You an’ I both know they said the wheel-locks on the
stroller weren’t workin’ right, an’ I’m the damn fool who put the
thing together.”

Carol takes her husband’s hand and kisses it
as John kneels down next to the bed. His arms wrap around his girls
with a heavy sob. I feel as if I should leave the room and give
them privacy, but I can’t make myself leave Charlotte’s side. John
gives me a look, opens his arm a bit and suddenly I’m being pulled
in.

They know about my OCD, but that look from
John was all my brain needed to check out for a few minutes to
allow me to be there for this family. Charlotte’s family. Our
family.

Charlotte’s latched onto me again as John
and Carol pull away after uncounted tears are shed. This wound is
old, cut back open so it can heal properly. It’s not the only scar
on Charlotte’s soul that she and I need to deal with if we’re ever
going to have a chance at
us
.

John and I share another understood look,
and I wonder how different my life may have been if my father had
been half the man John is. They leave their daughter’s care in my
trust once more and my world starts to feel proper again. Kissing
her forehead, I prepare myself for her reaction to my
involvement.

“I’m not going to apologize, as you keep
telling me not to,” I start as my fingers trail through her hair.
“After Emma told me you lost your teaching position yesterday, we
called your parents. When John figured out I was serious about us,
it all just sorta… came out. They told us about Neil, and then they
told us about Mary.”

She flinches when I say Neil and Mary, but
remains silent. I think her brain is still trying to catch up with
everything, so I take the opportunity to say what I need to say. If
she hates me afterwards, then I’ve done all I can do.

“They love you so much, Charlotte, but they
thought it all had to finally be brought to the surface. They think
it’s why, deep down, you always blame yourself for every little
thing and why you’re always so quick to run. I agreed. You lost
your job on Monday and thought I was better off without the
trouble?”

She sniffles and nods. “I got no job. No
car. Come next month I won’t have no studio and no place to live.
You got enough mess without me makin’ more of it all over the damn
place.”

“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I
like your messes?” I try to lighten the heavy air. “And you do have
a place to stay. You can live at The Stables or with me for as long
as you want, though if you choose my place I may not let you move
back out. A car is no big deal.”

“I still lost my job,” she fights back, some
of the fire returning to her voice. She’s trying to hold onto that
blame. It’s become a shield she uses to guard her heart.

“I think that’s my fault, not yours. You
told Emma the University cited ‘actions unfitting a faculty
member’, right?” She nods and I sigh. “Forester’s been following
all of us. I found that out yesterday from Vincent. Forester has
several reasons to focus his anger on me, and I think you were
collateral damage.”

She sits up slightly. “You think he told the
University about what I was doing on Fridays?”

I nod. “We’re investigating the possibility.
I also have Rabbit contacting the University for possible wrongful
termination. She can’t promise anything, but she’s a damn good
attorney. She should at least be able to find out the exact reasons
for your termination and get it expunged from your teaching
record.”

She stares at me while she tries to think of
an argument to steal back the blame. I don’t give her the chance.
“Neil…” I pause, trying to find a way to say this without letting
my anger take over. I can’t. I hate the bastard. “Neil was a
selfish prick who asked you to marry him then chose death over you.
He
made that choice.
He
leapt off that bridge.
He
left you alone to pick up what was left.”

“It wasn’t his fault. He had severe
depression, and I,”

“He chose to go off his meds,” I interrupt
her. “Your parents read the same doctor’s report you did,
Charlotte. I have no doubt that his mental illness helped drive him
to do what he did, and I will never compare our love to what you
had with him. I refuse, however, to let you take the blame for
something you had absolutely no control over. I also refuse to let
you put me in Neil’s shoes.”

She gasps and pushes away, but I hold on
tight. “I’m
not
Neil. I will never run from us. I promise to
stay right here next to you for as long as you’ll put up with me,
and even then you may be required to get a restraining order should
you ever decide you’ve had enough of the damn twitching.”

Her eyes widen, she blinks then she’s biting
her bottom lip to keep from smiling. Fuck, she’s so damn stubborn.
I love it. “I love you, Charlotte.”

I think I’ve gotten through, but then she
drops the other shoe. “Even though I killed my baby sister?”

Tugging her back into my arms, I try to fill
the hole this truth has put in both our hearts. “You didn’t kill
Mary. It was an accident. A horribly tragic accident. I can’t ever
hope to understand your pain from learning this, but your parents
do. This is something you’re going to need to repair with them, not
because it was anyone’s fault, but because it was a loss all three
of you suffered.”

“I can’t believe I forgot,” she hiccups,
burying her face more deeply into my shoulder.

“It was your mind’s way of coping.” My hand
circles her back. “And you were three. I don’t remember anything I
did that young.”

“I think I always knew there was something,”
she finally lets herself admit. “Something that always says it’s my
fault. I never thought… could never imagine…”

As her words dissolve back into tears, I
silently renew my vow to never let her go. I know there is still a
long way to go for recovery, but I think the worst is over. I’m
going to be here for her, for her family, for however long it takes
to give Charlotte her wings back.

“I love you, too,” she whispers, and I smile
because that’s all I need to hear to know we’re going to be
okay.

The unmistakable smell of my momma’s
homemade potato soup permeates the darkness, and the gentle warmth
of Ian’s arms provides safety as I will myself to wake up. I’m
having a nice dream – Ian and I are on a picnic. The scent of
lilies is everywhere. He smiles at me and lets out a little snort
while handing me a container of strawberries.

I hate strawberries.

Dear God
. Now I know why I hate
strawberries.

I jerk awake in the dim lighting of my old
bedroom, my heart erratic and the tears already reforming. Ian is
in bed with me, holding me as tight as I’m letting him. His fingers
catch the tears and he stares into my eyes, searching for a way to
help me.

He looks as helpless as I feel, but he
smiles and kisses my forehead. “Carol brought in some soup just
now. You should try and eat something.”

I sniffle back hard and give a weak nod.
Sitting up, I try to put everything into perspective, but my head
hurts and the room spins. “What time is it?”

“A little after six,” he groans through a
stretch of his lean figure.

I glance over my shoulders at the two bowls
on the TV tray next to the bed. “You haven’t eaten yet?”

“No,” he kisses my forehead again then
plants both feet on the ground. “I do need to go to the bathroom,
though. Be right back… Unless you’d rather have some time
alone?”

“No,” I glance from the soup to him and his
soft smile comforts me even more than Momma’s ‘liquid hug’, as my
daddy calls it.

He dips his chin then disappears, his
presence immediately missed. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I
glance around my old childhood bedroom and am thankful Momma took
down all those boy-band posters from the wall. Not that Jason or
Corey could ever compete with Ian, but I’d like to at least be
spared the embarrassment.

The faded polka-dot bedspread is
comfortingly familiar, as is the bedside lamp that’s shaped like a
tulip. Everything feels like coming back home, but at the same time
everything feels just this side of wrong. Like this room belonged
to someone else. Some other girl. A girl who walked into the house
this morning then shattered into a thousand pieces.

A girl who didn’t push her little sister’s
strawberry-print stroller down a wheelchair ramp and onto the
street.

The soup’s aroma curdles in my stomach, both
awakening my hunger and making me nauseous. Staring at the milky
white, I try to remember that day, but nothing comes to me except
strawberries and a car horn’s blaring wail.

No… There’s something else…

The sound. The wail. Screaming. My momma
was screaming
.

I dart down the hallway, rushing past Ian
and into the bathroom. Kneeling before the toilet, all I can manage
is dry heaving while Ian holds my hair back. He doesn’t say
anything as I sit there until my legs start to ache. He leaves me
so I can use the bathroom, then he picks me up into his arms like
I’m feather-light and carries me back to the bedroom. Cradled in
his support, I try to stop my body from shaking.

“Can you try a spoonful for me, Charlotte?”
he softly asks, holding a cooled bit of soup to my lips.

If this had been any other day, or any other
man, being coddled like this would have pissed me off. I’m not some
weak little girl who needs to be spoon-fed soup. Only, today I am.
I am that little girl. I can’t get unstuck from that moment.
Trapped in the haze of incomplete memories, I let Ian be my
caretaker.

“Another?” he asks patiently after I force
the first swallow down. I nod and he offers me a second
spoonful.

I swallow the thick, warm liquid. A bite of
carrot is welcome. The smallest things become magnified.

A tinge of pepper, the metal of the spoon,
the way Ian’s mouth is slightly upturned on the left side as his
unique hazel eyes watch over me. Blues and greens and a circle of
brown – they help pull me from the edge where I teeter between a
painful unwanted past and a future that requires me to face that
pain and accept what I did.

I killed Mary Lynn.

My stomach convulses. Ian sets the spoon
down and carries me back into the bathroom where the soup is
expelled. This time, when he carries me back into the bedroom, my
momma is waiting there. Ian starts to set me down, but I fight it
and cling to him.

He sits on the bed again with me in his lap.
Momma pats my forehead with a cloth and tries to feed me just like
Ian did. I let her, because I really am that little girl who needs
her momma.

“Momma,” I meekly cry and move from Ian’s
arms to hers.

“I’ve got you, sweetie,” she rubs my back
like she used to do when I was sick. “Ian, sweetheart, can you go
into the kitchen and grab me the bottle of motion sickness pills
that are in the top cupboard to the left of the sink?”