The Telling (20 page)

Jay nodded, a sad smile upon his lips. “Yeah, she said leaving him was the best thing she’d ever done, but also the hardest.
He’s gotten a lot worse since she left.”

“I never knew she felt that way.” Yeah, she could have married someone nicer, but one of her best traits was the ability to play
whatever hand life dealt to the best of her ability. She also had a knack for seeing only the good in other people. Sometimes even seeing good where none
existed. But to put up with the likes of Crawford because she doubted herself? How could she not know her own strength?

Jay’s hand idly stroked Michael’s stomach. “She loves you and Angie so much, you know, only wanted good things for you. It
nearly killed her when she heard your unit was hit. She immediately thought the worst.” Jay grew quiet, staring at a movie poster hanging on the
wall.

“Damned the fucking media circus!” he suddenly growled. “We knew that ten troops were killed that day and your family thought
you were one of them until they got the call. Your granddad had to take it, your mom was practically hysterical, thinking they were calling to confirm your
death. Angie just sat there white as a sheet, and your grandma was in her rocking chair, reading the Bible and praying.”

“What? You mean you were there with them?”

“Where else would I be? I wouldn’t have told them for the world but I was scared shitless, too”

“What? Why?” Michael shot up from the couch, turning to face a now furiously blushing Jay. “I know you care for my family but
‘scared shitless’? You hadn’t even met me then.”

Jay smiled sheepishly and urged Michael to lie back down. Then he proceeded to tell about a lonely young man far from home, the strange red-haired woman
who befriended him, the warm loving family that took him in and treated him like one of their own, and a picture of a handsome young man in an army
uniform. He concluded with, “So now you know. I was smitten before I even met you.”

Michael grinned.

“What?”

“Angie told me about that picture but I didn’t believe her. Do you really keep it in your sock drawer?”

“How did she…?” Jay seemed to think on it a moment, then shrugged. “It’s no longer in my sock drawer. I
figure it’s safe to keep on my dresser now.”

“And what would you have done if I’d turned out to be a total asshole?”

“You forget, I know your family and I’ve heard all their stories. There was no way you were an asshole.” With that
pronouncement Jay leaned in and kissed him, slowly and gently at first, then more passionately, as if he never wanted to stop.

“Hey guys, I hate to break up a tender moment, but you think you could go home now? I need to lock up.” Terry stood in the doorway,
jangling a ring of keys. Although the tone was probably intended to be arrogant, as was the accompanying sneer, Terry had exposed his soft underbelly
today. Now that Michael knew what to look for, Terry would never fool him again.

But he’d keep the secret to himself. If Terry wanted people to think him an arrogant prick, who was Michael to dispel the notion? But Michael now
knew what Angie meant by the man possessing a decent side.

It didn’t escape notice, though, as he left the store arm in arm with Jay, that Terry’s eyes followed their every move, the look on the
man’s face akin to envy.

Chapter Sixteen

Michael missed his weekly counseling session but it gave him time to reevaluate the scene with Crawford and see through the eyes of an adult rather than
the frightened eyes of a child. Never again would he let Crawford, or anyone else, intimidate him. Bad enough that Jay and Terry bore witness to his
humiliation, though neither mentioned the incident afterwards.

However, whenever Michael thought of Crawford, Jay seemed to know, lending silent support, be it with a look, a touch, or with sex. But that led to
problems also. Michael anticipated their time together, dreading the end of the evening when Jay left to go back to the Zoo. He didn’t sleep very
well alone. Did that make him needy? Would Jay tire of him and wander off in search of someone not so broken?

Yet, if Michael needed to go shopping, to the doctor, or even to visit family, Jay showed up, smiling and happy to play chauffeur. And when
Michael’s next counseling session rolled around, Jay dropped him off at the door. “I have to run an errand, but I’ll be
waiting in the lobby when you come out,” he promised.

Michael paused in the doorway of his therapist’s office. When Jay’s car slipped completely out of sight, he sighed and entered the
nondescript brick building.

The middle-aged receptionist smiled when he signed his name on the appointment book before sitting down to wait. He’d just picked up a copy of
Great Outdoors
when the heavy oak door beside the reception desk opened and his therapist stepped out, smiling and beckoning him to enter.

When Michael stepped past, his counselor closed the door. “So, Michael, what did you bring me today?”

Gideon Rafferty was a tall, imposing black man who reminded Michael of a pro basketball player, with his long fingers, lanky limbs, and shaved head. He
couldn’t help imagining this powerhouse dribbling a ball down center court to execute a stunning slam dunk. He certainly hoped the man could help
him slam dunk his emotional issues as easily.

In answer to his counselor’s question, Michael crossed the room to the now-familiar stereo and inserted the customary CD he always brought to his
sessions, relying on a musical selection to set the mood.

Gideon ‘call me Raff’ sat on a comfortable looking leather chair, long legs splayed, elbows on knees, leaning forward and facing the
couch Michael normally sprawled on for their sessions. He was a big man and if he didn’t have such a relaxed manner Michael would have found him
intimidating. It wasn’t often that he came across someone bigger that he was, and Raff was huge.

A pensive look was replaced by one of pleasant surprise as the first strains of music filled the s office. “Rob Thomas?’

Michael set the CD case down on the bookshelf and took his customary place on the couch for the next hour, to the strains of
Get Back to Good.

“That’s an interesting choice for you, Michael, so I’m assuming there’s a special meaning. What are you trying to
tell me today?” The deep rumble of the Raff’s voice had a soothing quality that seemed out of place with his dominating presence.
Michael guessed that if he didn’t do something to offset his imposing size, he wouldn’t be very good as a counselor because clients
would be afraid of him.

Michael sighed and settled back into the couch to begin his plea for help. “I want to get better. I’m tired of being this
way.” He sincerely meant it with every fiber of his being. He wanted to live a normal life, free of panic attacks, free of nightmares, free of
guilt and self-recriminations.

“And what way is that, Michael?”

“Weak, needy, afraid… helpless.”

Rafe scribbled on a notebook. “I want you to think about each of those things, and explain why you use these terms to describe yourself.
Let’s start with the first one, as you mentioned it first. Why do you feel weak?”

“Because I am,” Michael huffed. “I can’t do one damned thing for myself. I can’t shop for groceries,
drive—hell, I missed my appointment with you last week because I couldn’t walk a few blocks to get here.” He ran one hand
through his hair, tightening his fingers in the strands.

Raff mused for a moment, then replied, “Okay, you’ve told me what you can’t do. Now tell me the things you can.”
His voice remained calm, soothing, unaffected by Michael’s obvious annoyance.

“I just told you, I can’t do anything. I’m useless.”

“Michael, you’re not useless. You’re simply looking at things from one direction and not at the big picture. We’ll
try another approach. Let’s start with this week. Tell me what you did on Monday.”

Michael revisited the last few days, sorting Monday from a tangle of memories. “I cooked breakfast for me and Mom, then I went to work in the
bookstore.”

“Ah, so you can do some things after all,” Raff commented, a wry smile exposing even, white teeth that appeared even lighter, in
contrast with his dark skin.

“What? I made breakfast and helped out in my mother’s store. It’s not even a real job. She’s only letting me help
out because I can’t do anything else.” He knew he sounded like a whiny child, but dammit, he was tired of being such a burden to
everyone.

“I doubt that very seriously. Is she always there at the store watching your every move, worried you’ll make a mistake?”

Michael’s silence answered for him.

“That’s what I thought. Is she making up excuses to go out, leaving you in charge so that you’ll feel needed?

Again Michael remained quiet.

“Has it even occurred to you that not only does she like having you near, but that she might actually need the help? Let me ask you this: if you
weren’t there would she have to hire someone?”

“Yes,” Michael answered. “She had someone there who quit on her two weeks before I came home. Sometimes she has to run
errands, or go to an appointment. She’s this tiny little thing, no bigger than a minute. Stocking the shelves is hard for her. Not to mention
it’d take her like a million trips to haul the books back and forth.”

“And why is that?”

Michael shrugged and raised an eyebrow. Where was Raff leading him? “Because I’m stronger and can carry more.” He resisted
the urge to add, “Well, duh!” He respected the man too much for sass. Still, he hoped they’d get to the point soon.

Raff leaned back into his chair, smiling as if he’d achieved some great goal.

“What?” Michael demanded.

“You admitted that you’re strong, not weak.”

“Physically stronger than Mom, but who isn’t?”

“It’s not muscles that make you strong, Michael, it’s the desire to use those muscles to help others who aren’t as
strong. Tell me, who have you been physically strong for this week?”

Michael thought back over the past few days, remembering helping his mom in the bookstore, moving the refrigerator for Grandma so she could clean behind
it, and helping his grandfather work on his tractor out in the barn. There was no way Gramps could have managed the hoist on his own.

Raff must have gathered from his expression that several examples had come to mind, for he moved on without waiting for a verbal answer. “Now,
who have you been emotionally strong for this week?”

Again, there were plenty of instances to choose from. Although he hadn’t driven himself, he’d gone to his grandparents’ when
they needed help, even driving the tractor for a while, though still uncomfortable being out-of-doors. He also recalled the conversation with his mother
when he’d tried to absolve her of any guilt over his former stepfather, artfully keeping the conversation with Jay out of it. And then there was
Ryan, who was finally coming to terms with the past, and had begun entertaining thoughts of a future.

“See, you are strong. You’re strong for your family and you’re strong for your friends. You’ll do for them what you
won’t do for yourself. Am I right?”

Raff had a very creative way of making a point sometimes, but Michael had to admit, “Yeah, you’re right.” He should have
known the man wouldn’t leave well enough alone.

“And why is that?”

After a moment of careful consideration, Michael admitted, “I don’t know.”

Raff disagreed. “Ah, I think you do, Michael. We’ll continue our session, but I want you to think about that, and before you leave I
want an answer, all right?”

Michael nodded. Maybe a reasonable response would occur to him sometime within the next forty minutes or so.

“Let’s move on, shall we? Why do you think you’re needy?”

That question didn’t require a lot of thought, the issue constantly plagued his mind. “I need someone to drive me everywhere I go, for
one. Gramps loaned me a perfectly good car, but I’m scared to drive it. I can’t go anywhere alone without freaking out. And
I’m clingy,” he added as an afterthought.

Rather than address Michael’s self-recriminations, the counselor abruptly changed tactics. “I’ve met your grandparents, did
you know that?”

Michael wondered what this had to do with anything, but answered truthfully, “No.”

“I attended a bake sale and auction to raise money for the volunteer fire department out their way.” He settled farther back into his
chair. “Your grandmother makes wonderful apple pies. That must take a lot of work, don’t you think? Picking the apples and peeling
them. Especially with her fingers like they are. Her arthritis is pretty bad, isn’t it?”

Visualizing the bent and twisted hands that so lovingly cooked dinner every Sunday, Michael replied, “Yeah, but she doesn’t pick the
apples herself, and if her hands are bad she gets Mom or Angie to peel them for her.” He still didn’t see what this had to do with him
feeling weak and useless, but was more than happy to discuss his grandmother with a fellow admirer.

“Who picks the apples?” Raff asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Well, I used to. I don’t know who does now. I suppose Angie or some of her friends. Jay might do it.”

“Jay. I don’t believe you’ve mentioned him before. Is he family?”

Michael almost snorted at the inadvertent double-entendre, but managed to cough instead. He couldn’t help smiling, though, thinking of the
dark-haired Texan who had become so important to him and his family. “Oh, he’s a friend of the family,” was all Michael
divulged for the moment. There’d be time to discuss that aspect of his life later. Although he suddenly found himself eager to do so, he
didn’t want to interrupt what his counselor was trying to accomplish with the Grandma analogy.

“So, you, your sister, or Jay picks the apples, Angie peels them, then your grandmother bakes the pies?”

“Yep,” Michael answered, stomach rumbling in response to thoughts of those pies, which were a personal favorite.

Out of the blue Raff asked, “Michael, what kind of car does your grandmother drive?”

“She has a Buick, but she doesn’t drive anymore.”