“What? Absolutely not. I love that house. That’s our house. If it means redecorating, so be it. The first things that can go are those dumb couches in the living room. I’m sure they’re covered in blood.”
“So you finally tell me what you think of them.” We share a smile and, with my help, she scooches over in the bed so she can lay in my lap. I’d rather she stay put, but if the position makes her feel better, I’ll do whatever she wants. So much for Edith taking it easy.
“You can buy those leather sectionals you wanted.” If I’m not mistaken, my girl is almost purring with couch envy.
“Really? What else can I buy for the house?”
“I’m willing to negotiate.” A cheeky smile cracks her face and I squeeze her, excited with the possibility. She winces. “Ouch. Not so tight.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just get me out of here.”
“Let me go find a nurse and spring you, baby.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Edith
It’s been a few days since the attack. Daniel is currently spending his days making orange look good, and I’m eagerly waiting to testify to prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law. Sam says I won’t have to get on the stand, but when I tell him I actually want to, Jack flips out and suggests I see his therapist friend, Fleur, to “process shit”. Honestly, I think Jack needs to process this more than I do. To keep him busy, I give him the task of hiring professional cleaners for the house. The couches are no longer an item of contention. In the meantime, we’re living in his apartment downtown.
“So tell me about your relationship with Jack.”
Fleur is tiny with keen, gentle eyes. A part of me is resentful for having to be here at all. I keep looking at the door, knowing Jack is on the other side. If I don’t stay here for the appointed hour, I wonder if he’d cart me off to some remote location out of his own fears.
“Why don’t you tell me about your relationship with Jack?” I don’t hate this woman, but I don’t like her much, either. Even though she’s been nothing but nice, her being Jack’s ex kind of gets to me.
“Edith…,” she chides.
“I only studied the basics of psychology f
or my business degree. Was he any good?” I deflect because it’s what I’m good at. I don’t want to talk about me.
“Jack is a good man and he cares about you. I’m happy you make him happy but, for the sake of argument, let’s tackle the elephant in the room.”
“Miss Pink.”
“What?”
“Pink. We call our elephant Miss Pink.”
“All right, Edith. Miss Pink elephant is looming. Let’s dive in right there.”
“That’s like the deep end of the swimming pool. I can’t swim there yet. I don’t really know you well enough for that,” I tell her, picking at an invisible piece of lint on my jeans.
“Fair enough. Supposing we had a swimming tube and we were wading just up to our toes, where would you like to go?”
Fleur is smart. I will give her that. She’s also nice, and is definitely not the broken, complicated mess I am It hurts, but I trust Jack enough to know he wouldn’t have pushed this if it wasn’t important. I don’t go into counseling gently. My personality is defensive by nature, making me a bull in a china shop at times.
I talk about the last year. Meeting Jack. Being with Jack. Learning that Dean Andrews, who found out about us, told him he wouldn’t say anything if Jack didn’t return to teach at the university, and Jack agreeing to it. The guilt. The shame. The attack. My anxiety of getting up on the podium to accept my long-awaited diploma. There’s so much to take in and so much unfinished. Fleur listens. She doesn’t tell me what to do. She doesn’t berate me when I tell her that I still crave the pills I took at my lowest moment, but I don’t have the desire to hurt myself anymore. I can’t believe I had such dark thoughts over an issue that was out of my control and not my fault. She encourages me to join a support group she runs one night a week and, miraculously, I agree. I figure if I’m crazy, let me be crazy with some like-minded people who get where I’m coming from.
It probably helps that when I leave the session, Jack is there to scoop me into his arms. “Missed you.”
“I was in there for fifty-five minutes, Jack.”
He holds my hand and we walk to the car. “Yeah, but an hour without you is an hour my heart hurts.”
“Okay, Professor Sappy. I was kind of hoping it was the dress you were thinking about.” Jack carefully pins me against the car. My ribs still hurt, and my hand is still in a cast to stabilize the broken fingers.