“I’ve got a lot of unpacking to do,” I told Declan.
He eyed my bag, which wasn’t that big, but he didn’t say anything. I could feel Cole’s eyes on me, and I was afraid that if I looked up and met his gaze, I would burst into tears. And I was not going to cry in front of him.
“I better get going,” I finally managed to say. “You two have a good night.”
“We will,” Cole said softly. “You, too.”
I knew he was watching me as I walked away, and I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and not turn around, not look over my shoulder, not do anything except get my purse out of the car, find my keys, and let myself into the house.
Inside, the house felt stale, unlived in, like I’d been gone a lot longer than a few days. There was a glass and a cereal bowl still sitting in the sink, a magazine that I’d tried to read when I’d been eating breakfast sitting there, open, on the kitchen table. I left my bag and purse in the hallway and went around, opening windows, trying to let some fresh air in. But now with the windows open, I could hear Cole and Declan from the backyard; it sounded like they were playing whiffle ball.
“Good hit!” I distinctly heard Cole yell.
I went into the bathroom and took a long shower. So long that I did not get out until the hot water turned icy cold. At least by then I figured they’d be inside; it was dark, and Declan would probably be going to bed soon. And if it was quiet and I didn’t overhear them playing outside, I could at least try to pretend that they weren’t there.
Chapter Thirty
Cole
A part of me felt relieved now that Allie was back, like I found comfort in knowing she was just next door, only part of me, though; the other part was telling me that I was a fool for thinking about her in the first place since we weren’t together anymore. I wasn’t the only one thinking about her, either. That night, when I put Declan to bed, he wanted to know when we were going to see Miss Allie.
“We just saw her tonight,” I said. “We saw her getting home.”
He yawned. “No, but I mean when are we going to get to do something with her?”
I hesitated, not quite sure what to say. I didn’t want to string him along, tell him that maybe tomorrow, or maybe next week, or Miss Allie must just be busy; that’s why we weren’t able to hang out with her. For the briefest of seconds, I entertained the idea that maybe after a little time had passed we could hang out, except it would be a platonic thing; people did that, didn’t they? Some people were able to remain friends with an ex. I knew, though, that wouldn’t work. It was a nice thought, but there was no way.
“I don’t know if we’re going to be hanging out with Miss Allie anytime soon,” I said finally. “Maybe not ever again.”
“Why? Did you guys have a fight?”
“Um... something like that.”
“You can make up. That’s what friends are supposed to do when they have fights. That’s what they tell us in school.”
“I know, bud. And it’s good to make up with someone after you fight. This wasn’t really a fight though.”
“What was it, then?”
“It was more...it was more like a decision. It’ll make sense to you when you get older, but sometimes people become friends, and then... and then they become more than friends... but sometimes it doesn’t work out, so they decide not to be friends anymore...” I let my voice trail off. I was not explaining this very well.
“How can you be more than friends?”
I sighed. “Listen, Declan, it’s late, okay? This isn’t a conversation to be having right now; maybe we can talk about it some other time. But I just want you to know that I don’t think we’re going to be hanging out with Miss Allie anytime soon, okay? I just don’t want you to be expecting that.”
He frowned and yanked the sheet up to his chin. “That’s dumb,” he said. He rolled over onto his side, his back facing me, and I knew that, unless I told him we could go over and see Miss Allie tomorrow, that the conversation was over.
“Goodnight, bud,” I said, leaning over to give him a kiss. I gave his shoulder a squeeze, but he didn’t bother to turn and give me a kiss on the cheek back, like he usually did.
As a doctor, I understood the connection between mind and body, and I firmly believed that an unsound or unsettled mind could and often did manifest as a physical ailment. It could be as disease, could be as weakness; either way, I didn’t want to get sick and I didn’t want to get injured, and it was with that in mind that I forced myself to call a therapist.
Which was how I found myself sitting here on a Thursday evening. Ben had left work early to hang out with Declan so I could drive over to Gardner for this appointment. Lisa Farrell was someone whose name I knew, though the two of us had never met, which was good. I didn’t want to go see someone I already knew.
She was an older woman, probably somewhere around my mother’s age, and she sat in the wingback chair opposite me with a notepad poised on her lap.
“No one is forcing me to be here,” I said, “though with that said, I’m not sure that I should be here to begin with.”
She nodded thoughtfully, though I was pretty sure she’d probably heard some variation of that line hundreds of times.