This time I don’t hesitate. “I want to know how I get my girl back. I miss Ryley like crazy, and I want to know my son.”
THE THERAPIST STANDS AND walks over to her water dispenser. My eyes are trained on her every movement and I don’t know why. Do I find her fascinating, or is my mind looking for an escape route? Unfortunately for me, on the other side of the door is a brick wall known as Lois Parker, waiting to stop me.
“You can’t run,” Lois reminded me last night. She stood in front of my door, blocking my exit. We were both crying, our tears meaning something different. My bags were packed and waiting by the door. I was going to leave. That was my answer – to be far away from the place that caused me nothing but pain. It didn’t matter that I have no place to go, or that I’d be ripping my son away from his family. In my mind, running is the easiest answer.
She walks over to me with a glass of water, holding out her hand but keeping her distance. I suppose this is how a therapist stays detached though, isn’t it? I couldn’t do a job like this. I’d become emotionally invested with each person. I’d want to hold and coddle them and tell them that yes, everything will be okay, but it never is. Yes, I’d be a liar.
“How did you meet Evan?” she asks after taking a drink from her glass before sitting back down in her chair.
I can’t help but smile. It was a moment that changed my life. “I was sixteen and had just moved to Bremerton, Washington. My mom, she’s a Navy JAG lawyer, and she had a transfer to the Navy base there. The movers were unloading our truck, and I was in the way, so my dad told me to explore. This was the first time we weren’t going to live on base, so I was a little hesitant to just walk around, but I did as my dad suggested. I don’t think I was two blocks away from my house when I was pegged in the head by a football.”
“A football?” the therapist clarifies.
I nod. “I was walking by a park. It was busy. There were kids swinging and people playing in the pool. I had stopped to look. I was going to go home and ask my dad if I could go swimming, but just as I turned, bam! I was tossed back onto my butt. A boy came running over – he didn’t even look for cars when he crossed the street. He kneeled down in front of me, and his eyes – God they were so full of life – they examined me. He pulled my hand away from my head without saying a word. I knew he felt bad. His shoulders slumped forward, and he started rubbing the back of his neck. His friends were yelling at him to throw the ball back. They were more concerned with finishing their game. They didn’t care that I was dying.” He stood, and I thought “‘Ryley, say something you idiot. Here’s your chance to finally speak to a hottie,’” but my mouth just moved up and down like I was a goldfish begging for water. He threw the ball back but didn’t leave. He kneeled down in front of me again and said, “‘Shit, babe, I’ve gone and messed up your pretty face.’” I was so taken because he called me pretty that I didn’t care what I looked like at that moment.
“He helped me to my feet and didn’t let go of my hand. I can still see us standing there, on the sidewalk in early September hand in hand, Evan looking down at me. It was a
picture-perfect moment that I wish I could go back and capture. I think that’s the day I fell in love with Evan Archer even though I didn’t know him.
“He was the first boy to seriously hold my hand. His fingers slid in between mine and he squeezed them just enough to send chills up my arm. My heart was beating so fast I thought for sure I was going to have a heart attack right there on the sidewalk. He tugged me toward him and cocked his head to the side. It was his way of asking me to come with him and at that point, I’d follow him anywhere he’d ask. Evan walked us across the street and back to the football game. I knew my palm was sweating but there was no way I was letting go of his hand. This moment was all my favorite romance stories coming to life. I was one of the characters off the pages experiencing love at first sight and there was no way I was going to turn away.
“When he looked at me and said, “‘Everyone, this is…’” I thought ‘wow’ my own Prince Charming. I don’t know if he didn’t finish his sentence because he didn’t know my name or if it was because of the way I was staring at him while he smiled at me. And not just any smile, but the kind that makes your knees weak. The one that makes you forget that you’re an educated human being, and even though your mind is yelling at you to scream out your name, you can’t because you don’t remember it. You can’t because you’re lost in the ocean-blue eyes of the guy holding your hand.”
My jaw starts to lock up, the sure sign that tears are on the way. These are happy memories but swallowed up by sad tears. I bring my glass to my lips and drink in an attempt to ward off the impending outbursts. The glass is half empty when I’m done. I’m not a half full type of gal anymore. I take a deep breath and continue.
“‘What’s your name, babe?’” He called me babe from the moment he met me. I had never had a nickname before other than Ry, and I didn’t care what he called me as long as he kept talking. By the gleam in his eyes, he knew that he could call me whatever he wanted, and I’d be okay with it. He also knew, without a doubt, that I was his.
“‘Ryley Clarke,’” I told him proudly and with a smile. He never took his eyes off of me to repeat my name either. It was like we were destined to meet even if it meant him causing me bodily harm.
“‘Ryley, I like that name. I’m Evan Archer. These are my friends.’” He pointed to a group of guys all about the same age as Evan. Even though half were shirtless, dirty with grass stains and mud, I could only focus on them briefly before turning my gaze back to Evan. He had my sixteen-year-old self-mesmerized just by calling me babe and at that moment, it was enough for me.
“He spread his sweatshirt out on the ground and offered me a place to sit. He asked me to stay and watch the game because he wanted to talk to me some more, but needed to finish playing. I sat there with my legs pulled to my chest, fascinated. It didn’t matter – at least not to me – that I was supposed to be exploring. I was content, happy.
“I watched as he ran down the makeshift football field and scored. He had a touchdown dance that made me laugh. After each one, he’d run by me and wink. I didn’t know what I was getting into that day, but I still wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“When he was done playing he sat down beside me, and we waited for his friends to leave, and all but one left. “‘This is my brother, Nate.’” There were two of them, each one as cute as the other. Nate shook my hand. “‘I’m sorry my dumbass brother hit you in the face.’” Before I could respond, Evan whispered, “‘I’m not.’”
“I desperately wanted Evan to walk me home, just like in the movies, but I knew he couldn’t. My dad would’ve flipped out, and I really wanted to see Evan again. He wrote his number on my hand and begged me not to wash it off. There was no way I was going to. I held my hand away from my body, not wanting to smear his handwriting as I rushed home. I tore through my house, running up the stairs to my room to find a piece of paper. My room was still in boxes, and my hand started to sweat. I started to panic. I was so afraid I’d lose his number. I tore through two or three boxes, I don’t remember how many, until I found a piece of paper and pressed my hand down to transfer his number. That was something I had thought romantic.”
I pull at my bottom lip, remembering that day clearly. My heart had never beaten so fast before. A soft smile forms against my will as the image of an old piece of paper tucked in the corner of my dresser comes to mind.
“Funny thing, I still have that paper tucked in my dresser drawer.”
THE THERAPIST STANDS AND walks over to her window to close the blinds. “Is that better?”
I nod, not realizing the sun was shining on my face until she pulled the string. I attempt to relax, but the truth is I’m on edge. I don’t see how she’s going to fix anything today, tomorrow or even next month.
“The late afternoon sun can be blinding.”
“Why not change around your office?”
Her eyes wander as if she’s considering my suggestion. I know she’s not though. You can tell by the faded carpet my feet rest on that the furniture hasn’t moved probably since the doors opened. If I didn’t know better, I’d say her lifestyle is a lot like mine – stationary and afraid of change. Ryley is the exact opposite. Every time I visited her dorm room, it was different from the last time. Her and her roommate’s beds would be swapped around and there’d be new posters or other decorations hanging on the walls. I once told her that one night I was going to sneak in and end up in the wrong bed. I laughed but she didn’t think it was that funny.
“I’m not a fan of change,” she says, confirming my assumption.
“Yeah, me neither.”
“I find that surprising since you’re in the military.”