Chapter 13
FLYNN
“Do you want some?” Holding out the candy, I dangle it just out of Angie’s reach. “Are you not hungry?”
Her eyes flash and she surges up from the doctor’s examination table, her hand outstretched and eager for the candy.
Just as she reaches it, I pull it away with a light smile and a frustrated grunt escapes her. Just as her lips twist into a pout, I place the candy in her waiting palm and a bright smile spreads across her face.
Then she sits back down with a huff and draws her giraffe into her lap as if intending to share it with her.
Now that she’s happy, I step away and approach the doctor on the other side of the room.
“How’s she looking, doc?”
“The incision’s healed incredibly well. To be expected given her age,” she replies, rubbing at her jaw. “There’s a little redness, but I’m not concerned because it’s likely from her day-to-day activities and clothes rubbing against sensitive skin. Everything else has healed really well.”
“And her voice?”
Amanda turns to face me with a pleasant smile that doesn’t quite mask the sympathy in her eyes. “You’ve had no luck with her therapists?”
I shake my head slowly, leaning back against the counter. “We’ve seen two new ones since my accident.”
“Your accident?”
My voice lowers and I turn my head away to mask my words from Angie. “I was poisoned, and she walked in on me in distress. She called my name. I remember it so vividly.”
“Hold on—.” Amanda clutches at my forearm. “Poisoned? Are you alright?”
“I am now. My own doctor took care of everything, you know how good our team is.”
“And yet you still come to me,” Amanda points out.
“My wife trusted you more than anyone else. A loyalty like that can’t be ignored.”
Amanda’s smile wavers slightly and she squeezes my arm. “Some people would kill to know how soft you can be, Flynn Gallagher.”
“Don’t I know it. So about Angie…is there really nothing more I can do?
I’ve paid for the best doctors in the country, had her in and out of more psychiatrists than I can count, and nothing is working.
I don’t—.” A sudden wave of breathlessness cuts off my words, and my head dips. “I don’t know what more I can do.”
“You’re impatient, Flynn,” Amanda says gently.
“And it’s understandable but we spoke about this, remember?
When twins are parted, it’s painfully common for one to shut down like this.
I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you should focus on the positive: it’s only her speech that’s affected, not anything else. She’s still eating, yes?”
“Like a horse,” I murmur.
“She’s sleeping okay?”
“She is now. We haven’t used a prescription in about a week.”
“That’s good. That’s really good. The fact that she called out to you is also very promising and it could be a sign that she’s healing to a place where she feels safe.”
“So you’re telling me there’s nothing I can do?
This is my fault and I can’t fix it?” Amanda preaches positivity and relief, but her words don’t breach the constant knot that exists in my chest or the guilt that eats away at my very soul.
I’d give up everything I have left to change what happened, but all my attempts so far have been met with a deafening, aching silence.
“I know you blame yourself.” Amanda’s grip tightens briefly on my arm until I pull away.
“There’s no one else to blame.”
“Not everyone agrees with you on that,” she remarks.
“I can’t advise you on anything other than your daughter’s health and so far it looks like you’re doing everything you can to help her heal.
Most parents would hold out and just wait, but you’re caring for her and it’s working.
She’s reacting and responding to you like any healthy child.
Flynn…she doesn’t blame you and you shouldn’t either. ”
“She’s a child,” I whisper weakly. “She doesn’t understand enough to know who to blame.”
Amanda’s lips press together, then she turns and walks away from me toward her desk. Remaining at the counter, I watch Angie happily chew on her candy while adorning her giraffe in a new sparkly wrapper hat. Amanda returns momentarily and presses a card into my hand.
“This is the number of a friend. He specializes in active childhood trauma. It’s not quite anything that aligns with what Angie is going through, but he’s excellent at getting kids to open up. If you really want to try another solution, then he might be able to help.”
I stare down at the card and run my eyes over the gold writing adorning the name and address decorating one side. “Thanks.”
“But remember,” Amanda says as I push up from the counter. “No promises.”
“No promises,” I repeat. “I know how this works.”
“You might single-handedly be financing the entire children’s mental health business at this rate,” she chuckles. “Just don’t forget to take care of yourself. My office is open if you need to book a session.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” With the card safe in my pocket, I approach Angie without outstretched arms. “Hey darling, ready to go home?”
Angie thrusts her giraffe toward me and grins, then holds her arms apart and lets me scoop her right up into my hold.
Once she settles against me, she clutches her giraffe tightly and scrunches up its new hat in her palm.
“Say goodbye to Amanda, sweetie. She’s been working hard.”
Angie glances over her shoulder and waves at Amanda with a close fist, then she tucks into my chest and remains there while I walk out of the clinic and meet Frank just outside.
He stands in the sun, his hands on his hips and his suit jacket open, letting the subtle wind cool him against the late-evening summer heat.
“How did it go?” Frank asks, falling into step beside me as we walk toward the cars.
“Good. Angie was amazing, weren’t you sweetie?”
She huffs against me but doesn’t move.
“Any luck?” Frank’s subtle question is weighed by what he really wants to ask, and our eyes meet over the top of Angie’s head.
“Not yet,” I reply. “But we have options.”
“Options are good.” Frank gives me an encouraging smile and holds open the car door for me, but the moment he does, Angie’s distress rises.
She kicks out her legs and starts to writhe against me in an attempt to escape my arms.
Months ago, I would have scolded her and sat her in the car immediately so we could go home, but Amanda made it very clear that making Angie feel in control will help her feel better, so I immediately set her down on the sidewalk.
Clutching her giraffe to her chest, she grabs my wrist with her other hand and attempts to drag me away from the car.
“Angie, sweetie. It’s okay. We talked about this, remember? You’ll be safe in the car just like you were safe on the drive here.”
She doesn’t listen to my words, whining slightly as she fights to drag me away. I allow it for a few feet and then anchor myself.
“Angie, remember what we said? If we’re together then everything will be okay, won’t it? Frank is with us too and he got us here without any accidents. No one got hurt. Look, I’m okay aren’t I? And so are you. And so is Mr. Giraffe.”
Angie’s eyes sparkle slightly from rising tears, but she stops trying to drag me away.
“We need to go home to get some food and to sleep, don’t we? Florence is making mac and cheese for dinner, your favorite. We can’t leave her waiting, can we?”
Angie slowly shakes her head.
“So will you get in the car with me? I’ll be right there with you and Frank will be driving. You can sit in the middle and keep an eye on him. Will that make you feel better?”
Angie stares at me with her large eyes, staring directly into my soul, and every second she hesitates is another scar deep in my heart.
I’ve spent my life doing everything I can to protect my family, and yet here I kneel with my now traumatized daughter and guilt crushing my heart.
Never have I felt more of a failure.
Finally, Angie nods slowly and I take her hand in mine.
When she tugs at me, I scoop her back up into my arms and together we slide carefully into the car.
As promised, Angie takes the middle seat and remains upright so she can watch Frank as he drives, and I never once take my hand out of hers.
Getting her into the car this time didn’t take as long as it used to, so Amanda is right. She’s healing.
I just wish she didn’t have to.
Halfway through the journey back home, tiredness takes over Angie and she loses her alert, upright posture to a more comfortable slouch against my chest.
Keeping one arm around her, I start talking to her about what I’m seeing out the window to keep her informed, but as much as she’s enjoying it, my voice and the motion of the car end up lulling her off to sleep.
Given that she used to be incredibly upright and alert for car journeys after the accident, I take this as a small win.
By the time we arrive home, Angie’s fast asleep and I don’t have the heart to wake her.
Forgoing dinner with a gentle instruction to Florence to keep some of the food aside for tomorrow, I climb the stairs and carry Angie to bed, get her into her pajamas, and tuck her in.
Then I sit with her to ensure she remains sleeping peacefully.
Amanda’s words swirl around my mind, and I dig out the card from my pocket.
Maybe one more doctor won’t hurt, but at the same time maybe it’ll be one doctor too many.
Will he really be able to tell me something different from every other therapist I’ve had on hand?
Part of me aches to call him immediately in the hopes that he has some magic cure for Angie, but deep down I know the truth.
Losing a twin isn’t like losing a sibling.
There’s a bond there I can’t hope to ever understand.
When they were little, I was over the moon that they would always have someone in their corner.
Now, because of me, Angie’s alone.
And I’m failing at fixing it.
I sit by her bedside, watching her sleep until my eyes grow heavy, then I slowly stand and leave her room.
By the time I reach my office, I’m more awake but the burning ball of guilt beneath my ribs is twisting hotter with each breath.
“How is she?” Frank asks as I enter the office, finding him already pouring me a Scotch.
“Sleeping.”
“Here.” Frank hands me the drink and clasps my shoulder. “Today was good. She had two car rides and didn’t panic. You talked her down quickly. She’s healing, Flynn.”
“It’s not enough,” I reply flatly. “Have we heard anything from Antov?”
Frank slowly shakes his head. “I put out feelers, but he hasn’t responded.”
“Fuck.” Moving to my desk, I drain my glass in one gulp and close my eyes. Frank takes his cue and hurries from the room, leaving me to my churning thoughts.
He hasn’t responded, huh?
I hate silence. I hate being ignored.
If that bastard thinks he can ignore me, then I just have to be louder.