Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
T ROY
Shannon’s face is bright red, wisps of her hair falling out of her bun as she frantically sweeps into the room.
“I’m so, so, sorry. I’m not usually like this,” Shannon says. Like a whirlwind, she flies into her seat on the couch next to me, drops her bag on the floor, and leans forward with her hands clasped. Her gaze is laser-focused on Dr. Linden. “I’m here. I’m?—”
“Ms. Willson, it’s okay. Troy and I were going over Olivia’s evaluation, which was okay. She seems to be coping appropriately with the changes in the house.”
Shannon nods, and her shoulders relax. “Thank God. Also, please call me Shannon.”
Dr. Linden smiles politely at her, then removes her glasses and straightens her posture. “Before we go further, can you tell me a little bit about how you told the children you were divorcing? It sometimes helps give me some insight into what they might be feeling.”
My upper abdomen tightens as worry fills me about whether we did something wrong with how we told the kids. Is there even a good way to do it? It’s like a no-win situation. I glance over at Shannon to see if she is going to talk and find her looking at me, wide-eyed, and biting the inside of her cheek. It’s something she does when stressed. I guess I’ll take this one as she’s already had a rough afternoon with running late. She hates running late.
I turn toward Dr. Linden and clear my throat. “We, um, we asked Shannon’s sister, Shyley, and her husband—he’s my best friend, too—to take Chase for a few hours so we could be with the older kids. We weren’t sure how to do it, so we went out for pizza, and then when we got home,”—I pause and take a deep breath as I feel a lump growing in my throat and moisture welling up behind my eyes—"When we got home, we sat them down in the family room and told them.”
“Do you remember what you said, the words you might have used?” Dr. Linden’s voice is kind, without judgment, but overwhelming sadness fills me as I remember the looks on their faces when we told them.
I lean forward, rest my forearms on my knees, and hold my head in my hands as I stare at the floor. I need a minute to gather myself. I’m pretty sure I hear Shannon sniffle next to me, but I don’t look.
“We kept it simple. We said that we loved them more than anything in the world but that our love for each other had changed into a type of love that was different than moms and dads should have for each other.” Shannon’s voice is hushed, yet her words cause bitter frustration I’m not used to feeling toward her. It overcomes me, and I can’t stop myself before a huff escapes me.
From the corner of my eye, I see Shannon turn toward me, but I don’t move, my eyes glued to the floor.
“What?” she practically whispers.
“Nothing. Go on.”
“No, Troy, if you have something to say, then go ahead?—”
“Fine,” I snap. “ Our love didn’t change, Shannon,”—I turn my head to face her—“ yours did.”
Shannon inhales a small gasp, her eyes misty, and I expect Dr. Linden to intervene, but she doesn’t. I stare at Shannon, then shift my gaze back to Dr. Linden.
“We made sure we stressed that we loved them and it wasn’t their fault.”
Dr. Linden nods. “And with Chase? How did you tell him?”
I hesitated for a second before it strikes me we didn’t tell him. I glance over at Shannon, and her eyes are wide. I assume she’s also concluding that maybe we should have figured out how to express it to him in a way he’d understand instead of not telling him anything.
“We didn’t,” Shannon whispers. “I think we thought he was too young and that it wouldn’t be appropriate to tell him. But... but that was a mistake.” Shannon’s face pales. “He’s had a few bedwetting accidents. That’s new. Plus, it’s harder to soothe him to sleep some nights, and he,” she turns to me now, no longer aiming her words at Dr. Linden, “he cries for you sometimes when he’s really tired.” A fat tear falls from her eye, and I watch it as it streams down her face, followed by another.
I’m pretty sure my heart cracks in my chest, and I can’t stop myself from reaching up and wiping a tear off her cheek. “He cries for you, too, when he’s at my place.” My voice is soft. I don’t want to hurt her with my words. I love this woman with every bit of my soul, and seeing her in pain devastates me, even if a part of me is angry at her for giving up on us.
I want to pull her into my arms as she weeps for our children, to tell her it’ll be okay. They’ll be okay. But I don’t because I don’t know if it’s true. It’s possible nothing will ever be okay again—at least, that’s what my heart says.
Dr. Linden passes some tissue to Shannon, and Shannon takes a few moments to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. When she is done, Dr. Linden begins again.
“We can talk about some ways to help Chase at his level. For now, though, let’s talk about Chelsea. I believe she’s struggling with the changes in your home situation and could benefit from some play therapy sessions. It could help her process how she’s feeling about the divorce. Is that something you two would be open to?”
“Of course,” I say. At the same time, Shannon vehemently nods her head. I know from loving this woman for eighteen years that she’s going to struggle with the fact that our baby girl is hurting, and it’s going to take her a moment to be able to speak. Especially after she just stopped crying. I’m guessing she’s likely fighting back tears again.
“Good, we can talk about getting that set up before you leave today.”
My heart starts to pound in my chest as she picks up the final manila folder in front of her and opens it. She takes several long seconds to read over it before she closes it again, sets it on the table, and peers at us.
A slight frown tugs at her lips. My chest tightens.
“You were right to be concerned about Oliver. He’s having a very difficult time with the changes in your family.” She pauses, and I assume that last sentence was a warning shot of tougher stuff to come. “Would it be okay to share some of the themes that came out of our time together?”
“Yes, please,” Shannon whispers. Her voice shakes.
I’m not sure she’s aware of doing it, but she scoots a few inches closer to me. She’s gripping the edges of her skirt with her hands.
Dr. Linden clears her throat.
“When I met with Oliver, I could definitely see the serious and quiet young man you told me to expect. I think that his natural personality traits are contributing to him feeling an undue amount of pressure.” She focuses on Shannon. “Oliver shared with me that he is the man of the house now, and he’s been trying to find ways to take the stress off you since Troy is gone.”
Shannon’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand. I haven’t noticed anything.”
“Apparently, he’s been trying to clean up Olivia’s room so that it will be less work for you. And he’s been washing clothes?” It comes out as a question, and I worry she’s wondering how we don’t know that. I’m wondering how we don’t know that.
“What?” Shannon whispers. She whips her head toward me. “I thought Livvy was finally listening to my pleas to put her clothes in the laundry hamper. I-I assumed you were throwing an occasional load in on the mornings you get the kids breakfast and take them to school for me. No?”
My mouth goes dry. “No, Shan. Not that I’d mind doing that. I just don’t want to overstep.”
Her eyes mist over, and she stares at me for what feels like forever before turning back to Dr. Linden, who searches our faces. When she thinks we’re ready to hear more, she speaks again.
“He also isn’t sleeping well. He wakes up during the night, usually twice but always at least once. He says he hears noises or the dog barks and gets up to check the doors are locked. Then he goes to everyone else’s rooms—including yours, Shannon—to make sure everyone is safe.”
I scrub my hands over my face and hold them there for a second, needing a moment. “Jesus Christ. He’s scared. He’s ten years old, and he’s trying to be the man of the house because I’m not there for them. Fuck.”
The women are silent for a moment, and Shannon scoots even closer to me. I’m confused. I know we’ve been communicating a bit better lately, and she’s lifting out of her sadness, but I don’t know what to make of her drawing nearer.
“I think we should start with weekly sessions for Oliver, and then we can do some joint sessions with one or both of you, depending on what is coming up in the weekly sessions. I know it’s painful to hear your child is hurting, but the fact Oliver was able to express some of what he’s feeling in only two sessions is a good sign.”
“Thank you.” My voice is thick, and I force myself to swallow past the lump in my throat. “We’ll do whatever we have to.”
“There is one more thing.” Dr. Linden looks back and forth between Shannon and me. “I know you two are working off a temporary custody agreement, but Oliver would benefit from some one-on-one time with you, Troy. He referred to the special time you and he apparently had regularly but don’t anymore. He said it has a special name, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He said it was a secret between you and him, and no girls could know.” She smiles kindly. “He’s desperately missing it. He thinks?—”
“Man Tool School.” I’m so quiet I’m sure they missed it. I’m looking at the floor now, so when they don’t respond, I lift my gaze to Shannon first, then Dr. Linden. “It’s called ‘Man Tool School.’ He wanted it to have a special name like I had for my time with the girls—Dinners with Dad—very unoriginal, I know. We spent the time in my workshop... my old workshop, and we tinkered with tools. I teach him something. Then we practice, and we talk. So, we named it ‘Man Tool School.’ I... I didn’t know it meant so much to him.”
“It definitely does. If you two could work out an hour or two a week where Troy could have extra time with Oliver, it would help. It would go far to show him you’re not upset with him, and it’s not his fault you’re gone.”
I whip my head up to look at her, panic clawing at my chest.
“What?”
I can feel Shannon staring at me, but I keep my focus on Dr. Linden.
“Oliver gave me the impression he thinks this,”—she pauses and gestures to Shannon and me—“was somehow his fault. He doesn’t understand the complexities of relationships ending at his age and perceives it as you leaving, Troy. Since you haven’t been able to have your one-on-one time with him, he’s connected that to you leaving and translated it into meaning it’s his fault you left.”
I can’t speak. My ears are ringing. I can hear Shannon and Dr. Linden’s voices, but so many thoughts and feelings are flying at me at once that I can’t understand their words. I can’t function. All I can do is think about my dad leaving and knowing it was because of me. I think about how that made me feel and hate that my boy feels even an inkling of that.
“I’ve gotta go.” I don’t wait for a response before I bolt from my seat, and the next thing I know, I’m outside, sucking in the cool, early evening fall air.
As I get to my car, I realize my hands and entire body tremble, and I’m probably not okay to drive yet. I need a minute to calm my brain. I don’t want people leaving the counselor’s office to witness my current state, so I walk to the passenger side of my car and drop to the ground. It provides me a shield from anyone coming out.
I lean my head back against the cool metal of the car door, close my eyes, and try to focus on my breathing. After four breaths, I open my eyes and focus on a point in the distance, keeping my breathing exercise going. It takes several minutes of doing this until I’m finally able to quiet my mind some. I’m trying to put into practice some of the techniques I’ve been working on with Marissa in my counseling, so I keep going.
I feel Shannon before she speaks... before she plops herself on the ground next to me as if she isn’t still in her work clothes.
“You okay?” Shannon’s voice is gentle, pained even. When I don’t answer right away, she continues. “I-I never meant for it to seem like you left. I’m sorry. I didn’t see that coming.”
I turn to look at her, and even though she’s frowning and a solitary tear rolls down her cheek, she’s still so achingly beautiful. I can’t stop myself, and I wipe the tear from her cheek with the pad of my thumb. Even that slight touch makes me long for more. I miss her so fucking much.
“It’s nothing you did, Shannon. Fuck though, it hurt hearing what he’s going through.”
I turn to face forward again, and we sit in silence for at least a solid minute.
“Your reaction, though understandable, was intense. It makes me wonder if there’s more to it. If you maybe want to talk about it.”
My first instinct is to clam up. But I think about my last session with Marissa when she asked me what I would do differently if I could go back in time. I instantly told her that I wouldn’t have kept secrets from Shannon. I would have let her see the pain in my heart from when my dad left and how that shaped the way I communicated as I got older. Even though it won’t fix what’s happened between us, I want to let her see that piece of me now.
When I turn my head to look at her, she’s also resting her head against the car and looking toward me. Our faces are only about six inches apart. We stare at each other, holding eye contact.
“I reacted so strongly because I know what it feels like to be a boy around Owlie’s age and have your dad leave because of you. To have it shape who you become. My dad left because of me?—”
“Troy, you were a boy. It wasn’t?—”
“No, wait, it’s okay. He did leave because of things about me, but it wasn’t until recently that I realized it was a him-issue, not a me-issue. I was the child. Dads should be strong enough to love their kids through challenges. But knowing how that feels when you’re the kid and don’t understand it, I hate that Oliver thinks it’s about him for even a second.”
Shannon’s quiet at first, and her eyes fill with moisture. Damnit, I’m not trying to make her sad.
When she finally speaks, she says the last thing I expect.
“My parents aren’t bringing the kids home until eight. I was thinking, would you... would you want to get off this cold ground and maybe meet me for a drink?”