Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [46]
He was also certain that each message would be the police calling to say they had found his sister’s body. In spite of his certainty that she was dead, he dreaded receiving that call.
He pulled himself out of bed, dragged himself to the bathroom, bathed, and shaved in a haze, hardly aware of what he was doing, as though he were sleepwalking. He forced himself to look at the answering machine. To his relief, there were no messages.
Hands trembling, he picked up the phone and called his therapist. After leaving a message, he felt what little will he had draining away with each passing minute. He went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and tried to imagine desiring food. No coffee, not today—when he was this jittery, caffeine was the last thing he needed. He stared at a bowl of bananas on the table, but they looked uninviting. He sat down at the piano but couldn’t focus on the notes in front of him.
Finally, the phone rang. He picked it up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Lee, it’s Georgina Williams.” Her voice was cool and yet intimate, with just the right amount of professional detachment.
He got right to the point. “Do you have any openings or cancellations today?”
“Actually, I have one in an hour, if you can get here that quickly.”
“Great. I’ll see you in an hour.”
He put the phone down and forced his breath all the way down into his belly, making himself exhale slowly. Then he went to the kitchen, snagged a banana from the bowl, and forced himself to eat it.
An hour later he was seated in the familiar office, with its comforting collection of objects, books, and paintings. A vase of carnations sat on the table next to Dr. Williams, casting off an aroma of nutmeg.
“Okay, you’re anxious today,” Dr. Williams was saying in her smooth, cultivated voice. “But are you anything else?”
“Sad, maybe.”
“Anything else?”
Lee looked at her. “Like what?”
“Like…angry, perhaps?”
His stomach burned—boiled with—yes, rage.
“Okay,” he said, “so I’m angry. What do I do about it?”
“Well, allowing yourself to acknowledge it is a start. Then you might tell me all the things you’re angry about.”
Lee felt his jaw tighten.
“Okay,” he said stiffly. “I’m angry at my mother for not recognizing the truth: that Laura is gone, that she’s never coming back. She just can’t accept that Laura is dead.”
“So you’re angry at your mother for holding on to hope.”
“Yes. There’s a time to let it go, to see reality for what it is.”
“What if reality is too painful?”
“Reality is often too painful. That’s not a good excuse. You still have to face it.”
“So you wish your mother had your courage?”
“Yeah, I guess I do. Because then I could—I could grieve with her. It’s something we could go through together, instead of living in these parallel realities.”
Dr. Williams nodded, sympathy stamped across her high-cheekboned face. “Yes, it’s hard when people we care about continue to disappoint us.”
“There’s something else.” How to say it? “I’ve met someone.”
Dr. Williams folded her elegant hands in her lap and leaned back in her chair. “Well, that sounds like a good thing.”
“It sounds great—but it feels scary.”
“Why don’t we talk about why it feels scary?”
“Well, it’s a chance to have something I want, but it’s also a chance to fail, to lose what I want.”
“So as long as you don’t want anything you’re safe?”
Lee considered the question. “Yeah, pretty much. That’s no way to live, though. The thing is, I’m not sure I’m ready for something like this. I mean, the timing—I feel caught off guard.”
“Wouldn’t it be great if opportunity only knocked when we asked it to?”
“Do I sense a little sarcasm?”
“No, not at all. Just irony. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to feel that way at all, but life often throws you a curve just when—”
“When you were hoping for a fastball.”
Dr. Williams