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“Mom, everything's going to be okay,” I whispered as I embraced her in return. Even though I wanted the words I spoke to be one hundred percent true, I wasn't completely convinced, either.

  Having loosened my grip on my mother, it wasn't until Dr. Richards cleared his throat that my mother released me. When we looked up at him, he indicated to the sofa in the center of the room. Taking me by the hand, my mom led me to the sofa where she and my father sat on either side of me, and Dr. Richards took his place in the leather seat across from us.

  The position I suddenly found myself in unnerved me because I wasn't used to being “the patient.” It seemed to be affecting me on much more than just a psychological level, too, because as I sat with my parents beside me, my arms were tucked in tight to my sides with my shoulders slumped forward. In the back of my mind, I knew that this was the posture of someone who felt defeated…someone who felt like they had nothing left and was trying to guard what little control they still had. I had seen it more times than I could count in my own office. Patients would come in, completely down on themselves and needing my assistance to help them figure out where to go from there. And yet…here I was; completely unable to help even myself. I was in no way capable of counseling others.

  A quiet, dry laugh escaped as I realized this, and I could feel my parents' eyes drift to me. “Sorry.” I shook my head as I issued my apology.

  The three of them waited in silence for me to explain my little outburst, but I refused to share. They already knew I was crazy; I didn't want to cement their feelings on the subject. Instead, I just dropped my gaze to my fidgeting hands and waited.

  “Okay, so, Jack, your parents have told me a little as to why you're here… Would you like to elaborate further?” Dr. Richards finally asked, breaking the maddening silence.

  “Not particularly,” I replied, my tone returning to its previous dark tenor as reality came crashing back down around me.

  Dr. Richards simply nodded, knowing he wouldn't be able to force anything out of me at the moment. “Okay. That's quite all right. We don't need to discuss it today. I'd be more than happy to wait until your first session…or whenever you're ready to talk about it.” He was trying to make me feel at ease. It didn't work.

  I clammed up again, allowing my parents and Dr. Richards to discuss the plans for my “recovery.” Fuck, how had it come to this? I could feel the nausea churning in the depths of my stomach, and had to swallow thickly to try and hold it at bay. My saliva thinned and was unnaturally warm, tasting of bile as it flooded my mouth, and I could no longer hold it back. I threw myself up off the couch and hunched over the trash can that was by the door.

  Because I hadn't eaten anything since…I wasn't even sure, actually…I was mostly dry heaving into the bag. Every muscle in my back and stomach started to ache as my body convulsed, and I could barely hear the muted voices of my parents and Dr. Richards behind me. The tremors in my body finally subsided, and I pushed myself up on shaky limbs before turning back to the worried stares of my parents and an extremely nervous-looking doctor.

  “I'd like to go back to my room now?” I stated, posing it more like a question since I wasn't sure if that was even an option.

  “Of course,” Dr. Richards finally said. “I'd like to see you tomorrow for the first of your private sessions. And if it's all right with you, I'd like to do weekly family sessions. Having them here would be most beneficial to your recovery.”

  It was that word that caused me such distress; I suddenly felt queasy again, but this time was able to hold the sickness at bay. “Of course,” I managed to choke out. “What time tomorrow?”

  “Ten AM.”

  I nodded and reached for the brass doorknob, my anxiety refusing to relent; instead, it seemed to be heightening exponentially by the minute. The reality of Cassie's…of Cassie's…absence was suffocating me. It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room, and I had to get the hell out of there.

  “I need…I need to go,” I stammered breathlessly.

  As I rushed from the room, I heard my father ask something about a medication routine. I probably should have cared, but I just couldn't focus on anything except wanting to see Cassie. The need for her—even if she wasn't real—was all-consuming.

  The door to my room slammed against the wall behind it as I threw it open and rushed inside. I was wrong to find it institutional earlier. It was where I last saw Cassie; therefore it was where I wanted to be. My eyes searched frantically for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. Hot tears spilled forth onto my cheeks as I flopped down on my bed.

  “Jack?” I looked up to find my terrified parents standing in my doorway. “Son, are you all right?”

  “No. I…how…? Why?” My brain was a mess of jumbled thoughts…and memories…and questions… I couldn't make sense of any of it. As my panic and anxiety continued to rise, I could feel the remnants of my earlier dose of medication wearing off.

  My dad understood what was happening and stepped forward, reaching into his pocket. “Dr. Richards will prescribe your regular meds tomorrow, but having discussed everything with him, he's okayed your taking two more Librium to get you through tonight.” He dropped the pills in my hand, and I just stared at them.

  It was ironic, really; pills had started this whole mess, and here I was—medicating myself…with a sedative.

  Not wanting to feel anything for the moment, I opened my mouth and swallowed the pills without any water. My father laid his hand upon my shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I'm in the hospital tomorrow, I'll stop by after your session to check on you,” he told me softly before heading for the door.

  Without saying a word—most likely because there was nothing more to be said, or she was just far too emotional—my mother wrapped her arms around me once again. Before leaving, they turned to me. “We love you, son,” my father reminded me. “We know you can do this. For Charlie.”

  My chin quivered, because I suddenly missed my baby. My baby, who never asked for any of this. She didn't deserve to lose her mother. She didn't deserve to go through everything she was being forced to go through in her short, almost five years of life.

  “For Charlie,” I repeated in a voice barely above a whisper as my mom and dad closed the door with a soft click behind them.

  And then, I was alone.

  Chapter 13 | Making Progress

  Time stands still as I run up the stairs. The sound of the glass shattering from the floor above me haunts me and makes me think the most horrible things. I have tunnel-vision. I can only think of one thing, and it's the most terrifying, mind-numbing thought a person can have. My feet feel as though they are trudging through molasses as I hit the top stair and try to bolt down the hall toward our bedroom.

  The sound the door makes when it slams against the plaster as I throw it open is loud, but I don't focus on it. I'm focused on the empty bed as the tenor of the last ominous note I played on the piano echoes in my head. The blankets are rumpled; Cassie's pillow has an indent where her head probably rested only moments before.

  But the room is empty.

  That's when I see the bathroom door slightly ajar. There's light coming from beneath the door, and I am suddenly frozen in fear. What will I find behind that door?

  I move forward and lay my hand flat on the cool panel of wood and push it open slowly…

  “And then what happens?”

  My hands were clenched tightly in my denim-clad lap as I spoke quietly about the dream I had quite often. Dr. Richards's voice brought me back to the present, and I raised my eyes to his. There was no judgment there. Only empathy.

  After waking alone that morning, my brain still foggy from the Librium my father made sure I took before bed, Dr. Richards had come to escort me to our first private session. Walking back into his office was daunting, and my heart was thundering so loud I was sure he'd hear. Even though I was still feeling the effects of the sedative, it didn't stop my anxiety from creeping in just a little. We crossed the room, and Dr. Richards
indicated for me to have a seat on his leather sofa while he took the chair across from me.

  With him seated in his leather chair, his legs crossed and his yellow legal pad in his lap, we sat in silence for a few minutes before he asked me how I was feeling. His posture conveyed his confidence as he watched me with warm, caring eyes while my apprehension consumed me wholly. I wasn't nervous about his presence; I was nervous because of where I was, and more importantly, why.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes before Dr. Richards asked me how I was sleeping. It was that question that got me talking about my dreams.

  I loosened my hands and offered him a shrug. “I don't know. That's usually when I wake up.”

  “So, you're saying this—what you told me—was just a dream?” Dr. Richards leaned forward in his seat and really focused on me.

  “Isn't it?”

  “You tell me, Jack.”

  His tone was familiar, and it made me chuckle dryly as I sat back and ran my hands through my hair. “Nice one.” As a therapist, I could recognize what he was doing. He waited, as we were supposed to, until I took the bait off the hook he had cast.

  “I honestly don't know what I'm supposed to believe anymore,” I admitted quietly.

  “Tell me about her. Tell me about Cassie.” He sat back in his chair again and set his pen down on his notepad.

  What was I supposed to tell him? Tell him about Cassie when we met? When we got married? How she was after having Charlie? How she was before—

  “I can't,” I croaked, cutting my thoughts off and feeling the tears burning the rims of my eyes.

  Dr. Richards nodded in understanding. “That's fine. I can wait until you're ready.” He looked at the watch that circled his left wrist and frowned. “I hadn't realized our hour was almost up. Is there anything else you want to discuss?”

  With a sigh, I began picking at the sleeves of my grey cable-knit sweater. I could feel my anxiety level start to elevate again, and he must have picked up on it. “Your father said he had been giving you Librium? How do you feel they're working?”

  “They work fine, I guess.”

  “Do they make you drowsy?” I nodded once. “Do you feel anxiety when you're not taking them?” I nodded again. “Do you think you need something stronger?”

  I shook my head quickly. “No. Definitely not.” As a doctor who had prescribed my fair share of anti-anxiety medication, I knew that they could be addictive. I could already feel the effects of this, and I knew that I would have trouble without them…when I was ready.

  Dr. Richards nodded and made a note in my file. “All right, then. I will keep you on them. You'll get them on a schedule. The nurses will bring them around for you when it's time to administer meds. How are you feeling now?” he asked, his eyes dropping from mine.

  I followed his gaze to where I was wringing my hands in my lap nervously. Sucking in a sharp, nervous breath, I parted my hands and rubbed them down my thighs and over my knees before offering him a forced smile. “I've, uh, been better,” I told him honestly.

  Dr. Richards nodded in understanding. “I'll send the nurse around to you soon, then.” He stood fluidly, and I followed his lead. I crossed my arms across my torso and walked with him to the door. “Your father mentioned he might stop by today? I hope the two of you have a good visit. I'll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” I croaked quietly before walking past him. “Tomorrow, then.”

  Even though the walk to my room wasn't terribly long, it felt as though it took ages. Once inside, I sat in the chair I saw Cassie in the day before and stared out into the day. The sky was overcast—nothing new there—but I could see a hint of the morning sun behind the darkening clouds as they threatened rain. The weather seemed fitting with my mood, and as I stared out into nothingness, my mind began to drift until it settled on Charlie.

  “I wonder what she's doing right now,” I wondered aloud.

  “She's with Gayle and Frank for a few more days,” my father responded, startling me as he entered the room without my hearing him. He offered me a smile when I turned to him, and I raised the right side of my mouth in an attempt to do the same.

  “How was your session?”

  With a shrug, I responded. “It was all right, I suppose.”

  His forehead wrinkled with worry, and he seemed to be debating something in his head. “And you're doing…okay?”

  This time, both sides of my mouth turned up, but the sound that came out of me was far from jubilance. My laugh was dry and rough. “I've checked myself into the psych ward…so, I'm going to go with ‘not good.’”

  “Of course. I didn't mean anything… It's just…we're terribly worried about you.” Dad entered the room and planted himself on the edge of my bed, dropping his head into his hands.

  I could see that this entire situation was taking a toll on him as much as it was me. “I know,” I whispered. “I don't know when…or even how any of this happened. I don't… I'm having trouble remembering.”

  My father lifted his head and met my eyes. He looked exhausted—like he hadn't slept in days. His complexion was unnaturally pale, and there were deep circles under his eyes. “You can't remember?”

  I shook my head in response as I prepared to speak. “If it's anything close to what I've been told… I don't know that I want to.”

  “Told? By whom?” He paused momentarily before realization struck. “Cassie,” he breathed softly. “Son, you know she's—”

  “Gone. Yeah, I got that,” I rushed to finish for him. I wasn't ready to hear that she had…that she was… I shook the thought from my mind. I refused to allow that word be a part of my vocabulary. “So, Charlie is with Frank and Gayle? How is she? I mean, does she understand what's happening?”

  At first, my father didn't seem thrilled that I was skirting the issue of Cassie's…absence, but I gave him a pleading look that hopefully conveyed how much I needed to know that my daughter wasn't going to be negatively affected by any of this. He seemed to understand as he clasped his hands in his lap.

  “I spoke with her last night before she went off to bed,” he answered.

  “And?”

  “She's confused by everything, Jack.” He took a deep breath and waited a moment before he continued nervously. “I'd like your permission to explain some of what has happened to her.” Considering where I was, it seemed foolish that he'd have to ask my permission. I understood why he was asking; I had made a pretty big deal about him and my mother overstepping their bounds recently. However, given everything that had happened, I probably wasn’t the one who should be making any decisions when it came to Charlie's well-being.

  “Of course. Do what you think is best. It can't hurt her any more than I already have,” I responded. “I'd, um…would it be all right if I talked to her? I mean, she could call me…here? Or maybe, I could…?”

  For the first time since he arrived, there was a familiar spark in my father's eyes, and his smile was wide and genuine. “I think she'd really love that.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. My heart began to soar as I watched him punch in a series of numbers that I prayed were Frank and Gayle's.

  I sucked in a breath when he held the phone to his ear and waited.

  “Hi, Gayle,” he greeted happily. I could hear her speaking from where I sat, but I couldn't make out what she was saying; all I heard was my father's side of the conversation. “Is Charlie around? I think there's someone here she's been wanting to talk to.”

  My palms began to sweat in anticipation, and when he handed me the phone, I expelled the breath I was still holding.

  “Hello?” The tiny voice chirped into the phone. My tense posture softened as her gentle voice permeated every fiber of my being, and I found myself sighing with relief.

  “Hey, bug,” I said softly.

  Charlie squealed with delight. “Daddy! Gramma! It's my daddy!”

  “Well, talk to him, silly,” I heard Gayle urge.

  “Are you having
fun with Grandma and Grandpa?” I asked, hoping to keep our first talk since…the incident light.

  “Uh huh! We're going to a movie today. After lunchtime!” I could imagine the look on her face as she vibrated with excitement. It was likely that she was turning in circles as she spoke with me—it was something she usually did while talking on the phone, and I envisioned it perfectly.

  “That's wonderful, sweetheart.” I could feel my emotions catching up with me, and I fought to hold back the onslaught of emotions that came over me. However, my quivering voice betrayed me. “I miss you.”

  “Me, too, Daddy. When are you coming home?” she asked, her excited voice turning sullen.

  I lost my fight with the hot tears that were threatening to fall. “I don't know yet, bug. There's some stuff I need to take care of first.”

  “Okay. I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you, too, bug. I'll talk to you soon, okay?” We said our goodbyes, and when I hung up the phone, I didn't feel any better than before. In fact, I felt worse. Like our phone call was merely a tease. I dropped my face into my hands, digging my palms into my eyes to stop my tears of grief and guilt. Everywhere I turned, I was hurting someone else that I loved. I was a monster.

  “I'm sorry, I thought that would help. I didn't mean to upset you further,” Dad said softly.

  “No. It was nice to hear her voice. I'm just pissed at myself for allowing this to happen at all,” I admitted sadly.

  He sighed and stood from my bed. “Jack, you do know that none of this was your fault, right?”

  With a scoff, I rolled my eyes. “You all keep saying that, but I fail to see how I couldn't have prevented any of this.”

  Placing a hand on my shoulder, he tried to offer me some kind of comfort. “I understand how you might feel that way, but you need to know that you didn't do anything wrong.” Looking down at the pocket of his white coat, he groaned. “I'm being paged. Would you be okay with another visit a little later?”

  I nodded. “Sure. I'm pretty tired, anyway.”