Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Deanna
D on’t get too used to it. Don’t depend on it. Don’t let your guard down.
Lately, my inner voice has been nothing but a real bitch. I’m sitting on a bench in the park, watching Luke push Addie on the swings while the remainder of her ice cream sits melting on the picnic table next to me. This is what having a family of my own was supposed to look like. It was supposed to be fun outings and watching my daughter bond with a man she trusted—with a man worthy of her trust.
I never had this with Kyle. The first time he laid hands on me was the morning after we’d gotten married. He was hungover and I hadn’t fixed his eggs just the way he liked them. He’d backhanded me so hard I fell against the cabinet door and broke it.
Why does she stay with him? Why does she put up with it? I’d never let a man treat me like that in front of my kids! She came from a good family! For a decade and a half, I heard everyone whispering those things. But their definition of a good family and mine were very different. I had begged my parents for help. Malcolm had been just a baby then, still in diapers. I’d shown up on their doorstep with a broken arm and six stitches on my forehead where Kyle had shoved me against the corner of the kitchen counter. All I’d gotten from them was platitudes about being a good and obedient wife and cleaving to my husband. Their self-righteous bullshit had a lot more to do with convenience than with any actual piety.
Addie lets out a squeal of pure delight as the swing goes higher and higher. It makes my chest hurt, just watching her. So many things could go wrong. She could fall. She could get cocky and jump. A dozen catastrophic scenarios are spinning like crazy in my head, and all I can do is just try to breathe through them. I do all the things my counselor has talked to me about—grounding myself, paying attention to things I actually know instead of things I “believe,” taking things at face value instead of trying to determine every possible way it could go wrong.
A minute later, Addie is off the swing and running full tilt toward me. “Mom! Mom! Luke says we can get pizza if it’s okay with you!”
“That’s too much!” I protest. “You’ve already spent your whole day off teaching us self-defense, you’ve bought Addie a ridiculous amount of ice cream, and now you’re gonna pay for pizzas? Luke, you can’t keep doing this.”
He laughs. “Baby, it’s a couple of seven-dollar pizzas from the gas station. It’s not a big deal. And it’s kind of a selfish thing for me…. No cooking and no clean up after dinner means more time for us.”
“How can you be this good?” It’s a question that I keep coming back to over and over again. Things this good don’t happen in my life. Or at least they haven’t. On the one hand, it’s exciting. On the other hand, it’s terrifying. Because what do I do if or when this all goes away?
“I’m not,” he says. “I’m a man, Dee, with more than his share of flaws. Neither of us is perfect, but we might just be perfect for each other.”
I want to believe that so badly.
—-
After dinner—the pizzas Luke picked up—I’ve got Addie all tucked in. Malcolm is on a date with his girlfriend. But when I walk into the living room, I see something unexpected. Luke is mostly dressed, slipping on a bulletproof vest over a white undershirt.
“I thought you were off,” I say, surprised at the sight.
“I was,” he replies, sounding more than a little disappointed. “Bad accident on the highway. It’s all-hands-on-deck. I’m sorry, Dee.”
“Don’t be sorry! Just be safe,” I tell him. “That vest won’t save you from getting mowed down by a careless driver rushing by on the highway.”
He slips his shirt on, buttoning the polo all the way up and tucking it into his pants. When he’s done, he walks over and puts his hands on my shoulders, bringing me in so that I’m pressed against the Kevlar-covered wall of his chest. “I’ll be careful. Hopefully, it’ll just be a couple of hours and then I can get back here to you. In the meantime, why don’t you get naked in your bed and think naughty thoughts until I can get home and do something about them.”
I probably will do that, but not immediately. Short-term, I’m going to do something else that I’ve been needing to do for the past week. I’m gonna check in with my therapist. I know she keeps late appointments on Wednesday nights so I have a good shot at getting in to speak with her.
When Luke leaves, I open the app on my phone to see if I can squeeze in an appointment. Luckily, I can get a call back from my therapist in about half an hour. So I tidy up the living room and start a load of laundry. By the time my phone dings, letting me know it’s time for my virtual visit, the house is livable again and I can focus.
“Hey, Deanna. Everything okay?”
“Hi, Michelle. Yeah. Oddly enough, things are really good. Fine. The last incident with Kyle breaking in and just vandalizing everything appears to have been isolated. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”
I can see Michelle’s frown—the one she always pulls with me when she’s getting ready to push for some hard truths. Then the bombshell. “Deanna, you do not look, sound, or act like a woman who feels like everything is just fine. And this isn’t our scheduled biweekly session, which also makes me question whether or not things are good on your end.”
I can’t stop the sigh that escapes me. “I’m realizing something about myself that I don’t like very much.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know how to be happy,” I admit. It feels like a weight is lifted off of me just saying that, even though I know such a loaded comment is going to inspire a lot of questions.
“That’s not so unusual,” Michelle answers with a sympathetic smile. “You’ve spent a decade and a half going through absolute hell. Every single day. Happiness—and hope—are hard to trust.”
“Yes,” I agree. “I’m so afraid that I’ll get used to this—that I’ll start to depend on it and then it will all go away.”
“That’s a possibility. None of us knows how things will turn out. The ability to predict the future isn’t something any of us can really have. Would it hurt to lose all of that now?”
“Like an absolute bitch,” I admit. Because I love him. I haven’t said it to him. I haven’t even really been brave enough to say it to myself, but it’s always there, always hovering around the edges of my mind.
“So you walk away now and the benefit of that is what?”
“Getting to know exactly when and how it ends.”
Michelle nods. “And the cost?”
“Never knowing what might have happened if I gave it a shot.”
Another nod. “That’s not a choice anyone can make for you, Deanna. You have to decide for yourself which outcome you can live with. But whatever route you choose, you’ve been incredibly brave and strong. You are more resilient than you know. I think, instead of asking yourself what you can have, you should ask yourself what you want to have.”
Him. Just him. “Thank you, Michelle, for making me ask myself the hard questions.”
“I’m just the sounding board,” she replies with a soft smile. “Text or send a message through the portal if you need me. I’m always just a phone call away.”
We end the session after reviewing all my deep breathing exercises for panic and anxiety, my mindfulness exercises for short-circuiting the panic attacks before they can take hold. She throws in a few affirmations for good measure, and then I’m alone in my living room, just wondering if I’m brave enough to say three little words to the best man I’ve ever known.