The Clay Lion (10 page)

“What reaction will I need to portray?” I asked.

“We will need you to exhibit signs of clinical
depression based on unresolved issues stemming from your trip.  You will
need to lose some weight, stay out of public places, and keep to yourself. 
I’ve scheduled half a dozen visits for you with Dr. Richmond to discuss your
‘condition,’” he explained.  There was a pause, and then he continued
carefully, “Brooke, even though you may not be clinically depressed to the
point where the government would allow you a second trip, I genuinely think you
would benefit from taking your sessions with Dr. Richmond to heart.  Your
mental state seems to have come a long way from where you were immediately
following Branson’s death in your original timeline, but there’s no shame in
taking care of yourself given the opportunity.  So promise me you will
take him seriously… it’s the only way I’ll agree to this.  Do we have a
deal?”

Dr.
Rudlough
thought I
was depressed. 
For real.

“Okay,” I said.  “So you’ll do it?”

“No,” he answered smiling, “
we’ll
do it.”

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

On the way to Dr. Richmond’s office the following
week, I found myself humming along with the radio and feeling as content as I
had been in years.  It was not that I missed Branson any less, but I had a
plan.  The fact that the plan included another six months of time with him
probably helped, but nonetheless, I was in good spirits as I pulled into the
parking lot.

Dr. Richmond was in his mid-forties with greying
temples and a lean physique.  He greeted me warmly as I entered his
office.  As I had expected, there were diplomas and achievements covering
the walls, but the décor was bright and cheerful, quite different from how
psychiatrists’ offices were typically portrayed.  There was no mahogany
wood paneling or bookshelves lined with heavy volumes of text.  There was
no requisite lounge chair.  Instead, the walls were painted a buttery
yellow and vases of fresh flowers were scattered about.  I immediately
felt at ease.

Dr. Richmond led me to two upholstered chairs
facing each other in the center of the room.  After the introductions, he
spent the majority of my session talking to me, instead of the other way
around.  He discussed what he knew of my case and invited me to interject
if there were corrections to be made or information to add.  Apparently,
Dr.
Rudlough
had given him extensive background
material because I could think of nothing else to include.  With only a
few minutes left in our session, he finally questioned me.  “So Brooke,
why are you here?” he asked with great sincerity.

I looked straight into his eyes for a moment, but
I could not hold his gaze.  Why was I there?  On the surface, it was
simply a means to an end.  If I wanted to use my mother’s trip to go back
and save Branson, Dr.
Rudlough
said we needed a paper
trail documenting my clinical depression.  It was as simple as that.

But then, I realized that he was not asking me
why I was there, in his office, at that moment.  He was asking me what had
brought me to the place in my life where I thought it was okay to thwart
government protocol, place other people’s careers in jeopardy, put the hopes
and dreams of my own life on hold for what could amount to years, and most
dangerously, risk making changes to the past that could destroy my life as I
knew it?  What made
all of that
okay in my own
mind?

The truth was, I did not know.  I had always
been a law-abiding citizen.  I followed the rules at school.  I did
not play hooky.  I drove the speed limit - most of the time.  I made
curfew.  I held the door for elderly people.  I valued life in all of
its forms.  I respected authority.  I wanted to become a veterinarian
and had spent the last few summers interning at the local clinic.  I was a
good person with a bright future, but I put it all on indefinite hold without a
second thought.  I had never even reflected upon the gravity of my
decisions until that very moment. 

Finally, I met his gaze again.  “He would do
it for me,” I answered.  “I’m here because if there were any chance of
saving my life, Branson would do it.  I owe him the same.”

The doctor considered my answer, pausing for some
time, and then said, “And what if you can’t save him this time?”

I quickly replied, “I don’t know.”

“Then that is what I will leave you with
today.  Before we meet next week, you need to decide what comes next for
you
. 
When do you let Branson go?”

“Okay,” I said.  “Thanks.”

I grabbed my bag and started for the door.

“Brooke,” Dr. Richmond called.  I turned
toward him.  “I had a brother too, once…”

I did not know what to say, so I continued
through the door and shut it quietly behind me.  I found myself sprinting
across the parking lot into the safety of my car.  Once inside, I sat
without putting the key in the ignition.  Fifty-five minutes of nothing
and as the final minutes ticked by, somehow Dr. Richmond had rocked my entire
world.  The line of questioning I had just experienced was not what I had
expected.  I had no doubt that attempting to save Branson was the right
thing to do, and it infuriated me that Dr. Richmond was trying to convince me
otherwise. 

Suddenly filled with paranoia, I wondered whether
my mother and Dr.
Rudlough
were in cahoots with Dr.
Richmond in an attempt to thwart my plans.  Perhaps all three were
conspiring together with the hopes of getting me to change my mind about going
back a second time.  I pounded my fists on the steering wheel and let out
a yell.  Sadness had plagued my days for so long that anger came as a welcome
release.      

After several minutes, I started the engine and
began driving, but instead of going home, I headed out of town.  I drove
over twenty miles, out into the mountains, and stopped at one of the scenic
overpasses that most locals took for granted.  I parked the car and made
my way on foot to the edge of the overlook.  Then I climbed over the
railing.

It was beautiful as I made my way down the ravine
into the meadow below.  With no regard for my lack of food or water, or
the fact that I would eventually have to climb back up, I just continued
hiking.  Forsythias were blooming and the smell was almost
overpowering.  I could make out several different species of songbirds
chirping above my head, busying themselves with their nests.  Under my
feet, small shoots of this and that were pushing their way out of the forest
floor.  Anyone looking at me from afar would have thought I was delighting
in my self-made excursion.

Unfortunately, I was unable to get out of my own
head.  The wonder of my surroundings was lost on me in my anger and
frustration.  Paranoia clouded my mind and thoughts of my family’s
deception enveloped me.  Could my mother have set me up?  Was it all
a part of a larger plan to fix what they thought was broken in me? 

After miles and miles of wandering, both through
the forest and within my own head, I decided that my mother’s intentions for me
to use her trip were genuine.  Similarly, Dr.
Rudlough
could have easily sent us on our way after listening to our requests, but he
had not.  I reasoned that they both genuinely wanted me to succeed in
saving Branson.  Dr. Richmond was the wild card.  “I had a brother
too, once,” he had said.  I was unsure of how to interpret his
comment.  Was he sorry he did not attempt to do anything about it? 
Or was he sorry that he did?

My stomached growled, pulling me from my
thoughts.  I tugged my phone from my pocket to check the time.  It
was 2:47 in the afternoon.  I had been hiking for over four hours.  I
had no idea how far I had gone or how long it would take to get back to the
car.  I took notice of my surroundings for the first time that afternoon
and was pleased that I recognized where I was.  Branson and I had hiked
the exact area of the valley on many occasions.  With new resolve and a
new outlook on my situation, I took my bearings and headed east, back up the
ravine to the overlook where my car was waiting.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

Having decided that both my mother and Dr.
Rudlough
wanted me to succeed, I was left with Dr.
Richmond’s “homework assignment” reverberating in my brain.  I had agreed
to the therapy sessions as a means of paving the way towards using my mother’s
trip.  With television as my reference, I assumed each visit would be
spent with me recounting how sad I was after my brother’s passing or describing
how difficult it was for me as I learned to live without him.   Dr.
Richmond, for his part, would nod his head in affirmation week after
week.  I had not bargained on actually having to confront my own
demons.  Until the first session, I was unaware that there were any to
confront.

After almost a week of stewing, I decided that,
rather than allowing my anxiety to be my undoing, I would discuss Dr.
Richmond’s assignment with my mother.  I approached her the night before
my second session as she was preparing supper, a part of the day that I was
happy had become routine again since my return from the past.  Her hands
were covered in buttermilk and breading as she coated the fish to bake in the
oven.  She looked older than I remembered, but content as she placed the
last of the fillets onto the baking sheet.

“Mom,” I began, sitting down at the table, “what
happens if the roof thing doesn’t work?  What if he still dies?”

She
stopped,
her back
toward me, hands in midair.  She moved slowly over to the ceramic
farmhouse sink and washed her hands methodically.  She dried them on her
apron and finally turned to face me.

“What if he does?” she returned.

“I think I would probably keep trying,” I said
honestly.

“Okay,” she said.

I waited for her to continue, but she remained
silent.  Finally, I added, “Dr. Richmond wants to know when I will
stop. 
When I will go back to my life.
 
My regular life.”

My mother looked at me.  She sat down at the
kitchen table beside me, taking my face in her cool, damp hands.  “Are you
ready to do that now?” she asked.

“No,” I replied.

“You will know when you are.  And when that
time comes, your life will be waiting for you.”

I smiled at my mother.  Somehow, she always
knew what to say.  I had never appreciated that about her before.

“Do you think Branson would want me to do this
for him?” I ventured carefully, afraid to allow the thought to escape my lips.

“I think he would want you to do whatever gives
you peace,” she replied sensibly.

“Me too.”

I slept soundly that night.  For the first
time in weeks, I felt secure in my path.  I was ready for Dr. Richmond at
our second session the following day, armed with my resolve and my mother’s
blessing.  He seemed excited to see me and greeted me at the door to his
office, shaking my hand and leading me to the same armchair from our first
session.  We sat for several moments in silence, as if he was waiting for
me to begin.  Finally he spoke.

“Tell me about Branson,” he said.

There it was. 
The
“shrink” thing.
  I let the air out of my lungs and held my breath,
listening to the sound of my heart beating within my chest.  For a moment
it was all I could hear. 

I said nothing for what seemed like hours but I knew
in reality was only seconds.  I allowed air into my lungs and, with
nothing to lose, spoke candidly for the first time ever about my brother.

“He was my best friend.  He teased me
constantly, but never spitefully.  He understood me and I understood him. 
We used to fight sometimes, but only because one of us was being stupid, not
because we didn’t like each other.  I can’t explain how he filled my life,
but he did, and now there’s a hole where he used to be.  At first, it was
as if the hole would never fill back up, but I guess it has been, a little at a
time, without me even knowing.  It was good to see him again when I went
back. 
Hard, but good.”
  I paused,
considering my own revelation.

Dr. Richmond did not say anything, so I
continued.  “I have to go back because, well, it just feels so wrong that
he’s gone.  He’s not going to grow up and get married and have kids and
do
all the stuff he had planned.  I guess it’s selfish
that I want to see him do all those things.  And I want to have him there
when I do those things.  He was just snuffed out, you know?  Like a
candle.  He was there and then he wasn’t, and it feels so random and
unfair.  I’m
gonna
make it right because I think
I can.  And if I can’t, then at least I tried, you know?  Then I can
keep on living, knowing that I did all I could.  I guess that’s why I’m
going back.  I owe him.”