I didn’t know who was responsible for Montrose’s and Fielding’s deaths. I didn’t know if Tom Bennett had been part of that mess and was murdered. I didn’t know who sent the lunatic text message to Brynne’s old mobile or who called in the bomb threat the night we were at the Mallerton Gala. I didn’t know a lot of shit that I really needed some answers to.
I had fear inside of me.
Batshit, crazy-as-fuck, have-me-committed, I’m-petrified-out-of-my-bloody-skull fear.
18
? "I slept for about three days straight once we got back to London. I needed it, and returning to my familiar surroundings did help a great deal,” I told Dr. Roswell. “I’m starting the research project the university approved for me, and have good friends around me helping to plan this wedding.”
“How are the night terrors now that you are off the medication?” she asked.
“It’s inconsistent. I started having them again after I stopped the pills, but now that this stuff—now that my dad has died—they’ve stopped again. Do you think it’s because my mind is now full of something worse to take the place of what I dreamed before?”
Dr. Roswell looked at me carefully and asked, “Is the death of your father worse than what happened to you when you were seventeen?”
Whoa. Heavy question, that. And one I had never pondered before. My first urge was to say that of course, the death of my father was worse, but, if I was honest with myself, I don’t think it was. I was an adult now and could see things with more experience than when I was a teenager, but I had tried to kill myself over the rape video. I had no thoughts even in the same realm as that now. I wanted to live. I needed to live my life with Ethan, and especially to take care of our baby. There were no other options. As I sat there in Dr. Roswell’s office, everything sort of illuminated for me all in an instant. Finally seeing the light helped me realize that I would be okay. I would get through this, and the joy would return for me—in time.
I shook my head and answered my therapist truthfully. “No. It’s not worse.”
She wrote that down with that turquoise fountain pen I thought was so beautiful.
“Thank you for helping me to see everything with clarity for what I think is the first time,” I told her.
“Can you explain what you mean by that, Brynne?”
“I think so.” I took a huge breath and gave it my best shot. “I know my dad loved me and I know he knew how much I loved him back. We had the kind of relationship where we shared our feelings all the time, so there are no regrets there. I’m heartbroken our time was cut short, but there is nothing to be done about that. It’s just life. Look at Ethan, who lost his mother at the age of four. They basically had no time together and he barely remembers her. I got my wonderful loving father for almost twenty-five years.”
Dr. Roswell gave me a beaming smile. “It makes me so happy to hear you talk like this. You’ve cracked the secret code, I’m afraid. Pretty soon I won’t have any excuses to keep sending you a bill for my services.”
“Um . . . no, that won’t be happening, Dr. Roswell. You will be stuck with me for years yet. Just imagine all those mommy guilt trips I’ll be taking soon.”
She laughed in her gentle way. “I look forward to those chats very much.” She closed her notebook and capped her fountain pen. “So tell me about these wedding plans. I want to hear every detail . . .”
? Facebook was quite a nice tool for planning a wedding, I had discovered. Elaina had suggested it to me because she was deep into planning her own and knew what she was talking about. I sat down with my Cranberry Zinger tea and logged into my account.
I’d set up a private group for sharing photos and business links that consisted of me and my small army of foot soldiers: Gaby, Ben, Hannah, Elaina, Marie and Victoria, the official wedding planner, who actually made her living at what had to be a very challenging job, in my opinion. Things were coming together amazingly smoothly for what was now an impossible deadline of only five weeks. Considering I was hormonal and pregnant, and coming off a devastating personal loss, I decided I was doing pretty damn well for myself.
Ethan had been so crushed at his job we barely saw one another, and the majority of our conversations were via text message. I know he worried about me and tried to give me as much of his attention as he could, but there just wasn’t any time to spare. I understood the pressure he was under, and I mostly needed time to come to terms with everything that had happened in the last weeks anyway. He came home very late, and pretty much wanted only two things once he got there. To make love, and to have me within reach while he slept. Ethan’s need for physical contact was still as strong as ever. I did not mind a bit. I needed it just as much as he did, I think. We both worried about each other.
I shot off a quick message to Elaina about the pictures of floral arrangements she’d posted and joked that we talked to each other more on Facebook than we did in person. Stupid, really, especially when she lived in the same building as I did. Elaina and Neil were just as totally swamped with their jobs at Blackstone Security International as Ethan was. Nobody had much time to spare.
I left there and checked my main profile to find some new messages had been left for me. There were some donation notifications from the Meritus College Fund in San Francisco that my dad had supported for years. It was a nice charity pledged to assist disadvantaged but motivated kids to get a university education. I knew he would have wanted it, so I had announced that in lieu of flowers, donations could be sent directly to Meritus instead. The fund kindly sent me a notice whenever someone left a gift in my dad’s name. Paul Langley had left a gift, as had the staff at the Rothvale Gallery, and Gaby’s father, Rob Hargreave. Their thoughtfulness touched me deeply, and I told them so in my personal thank-you messages back to them.
I posted a nice photo on my Facebook profile of my dad holding me when I was a baby. I had been busy scanning pictures from the photo albums I’d taken from his house and brought home with me. In this particular one, we were both dressed in what looked like pajamas, so it was probably a morning shot. Daddy had me sitting in front of him on his desk, facing the camera, big grins on both our faces. I wondered who had taken it. My mom? Daddy was so young in the photo . . . and looked really happy. At least I had precious memories like these to hold close to my heart.
I got sad when I realized there would be no grandpa pictures of him and my baby. Not now . . . The familiar pang hit me in the chest and I had to close my eyes for a moment and just breathe.
The pain you get when you have to remind your brain that you will never see them, hug them, laugh with them, or talk to them again . . .
Sucks.
Jonathan will have grandpa pictures, though. Yes, he would. I knew that Ethan’s dad would be a hands-on grandparent. It made me glad just thinking about Jonathan and Marie babysitting for us. I had my aunt to be “grandma” to my baby even if my own mother showed no interest. Ugh. Change of topic please.
A new message popped up with the little blip sound and a message box.
Karl Westman: Hi there. I just logged in and saw your green dot. I’ve made it to London for the Games and hope we can reconnect while I’m in town. Just got in yesterday morning, actually. Still recovering from jet lag. :/ How are you?
Karl . . . He’d found me on Facebook shortly after the funeral and we’d chatted a tiny bit since then. I remembered he said his company was sending him for the Games, and Jess had reminded me too. She was disappointed, really, that she wasn’t able to come with him, as she was a huge sports fan. The Olympics were her thing far more than they were mine. Still, having the Games of the XXX Olympiad in your home city is exciting stuff, no matter how you look at it.