Wicked Burn

Listless, lifeless . . . vacant, Niall thought automatically. She couldn’t say what had pained her most over the years—Stephen’s manic, agitated, often violent psychotic episodes, or the long periods where he sat and stared out the window without uttering a word, refusing to eat or attend to his most basic grooming and hygiene needs, completely immune to her presence. When he ranted at her it was awful, but at least in doing so he acknowledged her existence.

Against her will the image arose behind Niall’s eyelids of the way her parents looked this morning in the hallway as she stood at the door beside a potently virile, nearly nude Vic. They had remained icily silent about the whole incident, but even a second of considering what they must be thinking of her made Niall cringe internally. Some part of her struggle and mortification must have shown on her face, because Rose put her arm around Niall’s shoulders in a gesture of compassion.

“Niall, thousands of family members of severely mentally ill people have to make similar decisions, and very few of them have suffered the awful extenuating circumstances you have. Didn’t the counselor you saw tell you that there’s no right or wrong to your decision? It’s you who has to be at peace with it. Not your parents. Not your friends. Not me. Not even Stephen. You, Niall.”

“Stephen suffered as well.”

Rose nodded briskly in agreement. “He did. I can only imagine what he must have suffered . . . what he still suffers.” She studied Niall with kind, dark eyes. “He’s responded in the only way he knows how. I can’t say for sure that I wouldn’t have drunk myself into a psychotic oblivion and decided to stay there if forced to face the same circumstances the two of you have. But here’s the thing, Niall . . .” Rose added more gently, “You can say that. You do know. You chose to continue with your life even when it meant you had to carry on alone.”

Niall just shook her head, made speechless by the emotion that gripped painfully at her throat. Why did it always hurt so much when someone said something like that to her? Was it some sort of deficit on her part that she hadn’t crumbled under the stress and grief as Stephen had? Did that mean that she’d cared less for their son than Stephen had, loved Michael less?

No. No, now she wasn’t being fair to herself, just as she hadn’t been fair to herself by stretching out this tragedy for so much longer than need be. Niall wondered if there would be a day in the rest of her life that the thought of her precious little boy’s senseless murder wouldn’t cause such an acute stab of pain that she was left literally breathless.

Tears streamed silently down her face. Rose had only meant to be reassuring and kind by her words. Niall’s lingering doubts about her decisions were the party at fault here.

The tears came from another source, as well. Niall kept so much locked fast in her heart. She had for so long now. Maybe it was foolishness, maybe it was fear . . . maybe it was nothing more than stubborn pride that made her suffer in silence.

Whatever the reason that she kept so much locked up within her, Niall was also starved to talk to someone . . . someone who knew at least something about the circumstances of why her husband—once a funny, intelligent man—currently lay down the hospital hallway, restrained, sedated, almost all evidence of his humanity and vibrancy squeezed out of him by the ruthless fist of grief. Niall longed to connect with someone who had more than just a verbal description of what her husband had become . . . of what Niall had lost.

The clinical psychologist that Evergreen Park had referred Niall to had been kind and attentive, but he’d never really broken through to her. Niall had felt like he was a well-meaning scientist studying a dolphin through a pane of glass. He’d wanted to reach her. But the unavoidable difference in their histories had seemed to make contact between Niall and the psychologist as difficult as communication between members of two separate species.

“Oh . . . dear,” Rose said brokenly when she noted Niall’s expression. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, honey.” She reached into her pink bag and brought out a wad of tissues.

Niall blinked in bleary-eyed surprise when Rose stuffed half the tissues in her hand and used the rest to mop the tears that had fallen on her own ample cheeks.

“Sorry,” Rose offered with a sheepish grin. “Not very professional of me.”

Niall gave a choked laugh that freed her trapped voice. “Maybe not. But human. And I mean that as a very big compliment. It can’t be easy for you to remain so emotionally available.” Niall reached out and covered Rose’s hand with her own. She held up the tissues meaningfully. “Thank you, Rose.”

She was glad to see by Rose’s wide, warm smile that the woman knew she was grateful for much, much more than the tissues.

When Niall had composed herself sufficiently both women stood and dumped their respective wads of tissues in the garbage can.

“Niall, there’s something important I wanted you to know, especially now. I tried to call you last week about it,” Rose said as they picked up their coats.

“I’m sorry. I was in Tokyo all week on a business trip. I just got your message at work late yesterday afternoon.”

Rose nodded in understanding. “I figured it was something like that. You’re usually so prompt about returning my calls.”

“What is it?” Niall asked anxiously when Rose didn’t speak for a second, but just bent to retrieve her purse.

Rose patted her arm reassuringly. “I just wanted to inform you of something. In light of the circumstances, I wish I had gotten hold of you sooner but . . . well, it couldn’t be helped. I was calling you to tell you that I’d received official notice from the state of your impending divorce,” Rose continued. “Now, I have a longstanding principle as a legal guardian that I follow in these situations. If I judge—given psychiatrists’ and other mental health professionals’ feedback—that the person who is under my guardianship is mentally stable enough to hear information like this, I provide it to them in person. People like Stephen aren’t children. They’re adults with clear legal rights. As part of my duty I have to decide if the harm to my client or to others outweighs his right to at least hear the truth about critical legal decisions that impact them. I’ve told you from the very beginning—haven’t I, Niall?—that I’m Stephen’s advocate.”