6. Avery
6
AVERY
T he lawyer’s office sits behind the town hall, matching the grand style of the surrounding hall and municipal buildings.
I take the stairs two at a time and push through the heavy wooden door that leads into the foyer. My mind is stuck on Ed and our disastrous session today. My initial enthusiasm has waned, and I wonder if I should speak to Maria. She told me to speak up if there were any concerns. But the stubborn part of me doesn’t want to hand over my first solo patient.
I can help Ed. I feel it in my bones. If only he’ll let me.
Mom sits on a leather armchair in the foyer and Dad stands beside her. Mom has dark smudges under her eyes, and there’s more silver in her hair than there was six months ago, before Jake.
She gives me a smile, as stoic as ever. Mom knew what marrying into a military family meant. She never let her anxiousness show when Dad was away. But when both her sons enlisted, I noticed things I hadn’t when I was a kid. Like how she kept herself busy while they were deployed. She joined every committee at her church, volunteered at the local VA center, and became militant about her rose garden.
But all the distraction couldn’t save her from the loss of Jake.
“There’s my girl.” Dad’s voice booms across the foyer. He was a rear admiral before he retired from the navy, and now he stands beside Mom with his hands behind his back in military posture.
I give him a kiss on the cheek.
“How was work today?”
I think about Ed in my office. The awkwardness of being close to him and his refusal to do the exercises. I don’t want to tell my parents about any of that. Besides patient confidentiality, Ed was Jake’s best friend. They have a soft spot for him.
“It was okay,” I say brightly.
Mom turns a critical eye on me. She can spot when I’m lying, but she says nothing.
The door opens and Amos, my eldest brother, strides across the foyer. He pinches his eyebrows together, and his mouth forms a thin line.
“Let’s get this over with.”
He took Jake’s death the hardest of all of us, not that he’ll admit it. The Navy signed him off for compassionate leave, but he asked to return early. He was back with his unit a week after the funeral. He’s only back now for a few days for the reading of the will.
Dad offers Mom his arm, and she leans on him to stand up. I hate to see her weak like this, brought down by her grief. She tries to hide it, but I notice the way she leans on Dad more than she used to.
There’s an elevator to the lawyer’s office on the third floor, and we head over there. While we’re waiting, the main doors swing open again and Ed strides into the foyer.
My breath catches in my throat. “What’s he doing here?”
Amos grunts. “Jake left him some shit, apparently.”
“Language, Amos.”
“Sorry Mom.” Amos may be a six foot five Navy SEAL, but he’s not too old for a telling off from his momma.
Ed stops when he sees us at the elevator. His shoulders slump and he hunches over, turning the scarred side of his face away. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to turn around and walk right back out the door. Then Amos strides over to him.
“Hey man.”
Ed extends his arm for a handshake, but Amos pulls him into a bear hug. “Glad you could make it.”
Amos slaps Ed on the back, and there’s something tender in his gesture. It’s the same way I saw him and Jake man hug a hundred times. A brief hug, a slap on the back. A man’s way of connecting with his buddies.
Tears spring to my eyes. Amos will never man hug Jake again.
Memories of the two of them play fighting as kids flash through my mind. Then wrestling as teenagers and the sparring as they both trained to be Navy SEALs. Amos went off first, and Jake couldn’t wait to follow. All Jake ever wanted was to be like his big brother.
My chest squeezes, and it’s hard to breathe. Grief strikes like that, unexpected and harsh. Tears spring to my eyes and I look away, not wanting Mom to see in case it sets her off.
“How have you been, Ed?” Mom asks, and of course Ed can’t speak. He smiles at Mom and nods his head.
“He can’t talk.” Amos speaks up for him. “From the injury.”
Ed nods at Mom, and the compassion in her eyes is instant.
There must be a hundred questions she wants to ask. Ed was on the same mission as Jake; he was injured in the same blast.
Mom’s eyes fill with tears, and she takes Ed’s hands in hers. I notice how thin and bony her fingers have become.
“You come and see us anytime, okay? You need anything, anything at all, you come and see us.”
Ed looks away, but not before I glimpse anguish in his eyes. It must be frustrating not being able to speak.
“You should be seeing Avery,” Dad says. My neck spins around so fast I almost crack it. “She’ll get you talking again.”
Of course, he means professionally. I glance at Ed, and he’s looking at me. He’s lost the hard expression from today. Instead he looks troubled, or maybe contrite.
He pulls a notebook out of his pocket and a pen. I raise my eyebrows at him. He could have brought that out in the session today. He had a way to communicate with me, and he chose not to. I try not to read too much into that, but darn, it hurts.
Ed scrawls something on the notepad and holds it out so only I can see. I read the words.
I’m sorry.
When I glance up at him, his expression is sincere. He’s apologizing for being as ass today. It’s a start.
Maybe there is hope for him.