Chapter Twenty-Two
I WAKE IN my bed, the studio dark but the city light from the windows casting a silvery glow. My head aches from crying so hard and for so long. My eyes don’t want to open. I can’t imagine how terrible I look, but Zach is still here, sitting on the floor next to my bed. He’s dozing; his chin rests on our clasped hands, like Jack from Titanic , freezing to death while Rose is safe on the door.
My heart aches that he’s here. That he stayed. Fresh tears well up and then fall. I don’t have the power to hold them in anymore, and I realize now, holding back pain never brought me anything but more pain. And seeing Zach’s sleeping face, I don’t want to hold anything back.
“Hey,” I whisper, my throat still thick and raspy.
His eyes open, and the smile that comes to his lips is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “How are you doing?”
“Better, I think,” I say. “Thanks to you, my meltdown was only witnessed by half of Culver City. Thank you for coming to get me.”
He smiles. “I was in the area.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly seven,” he says, and winces. “I think my leg has fallen into a coma.”
“Come here.”
I scoot over on the bed, and Zach lies on his side, facing me. He brushes a lock of hair from my face, then traces his fingertips down my jaw. “I’m sorry for what I said the other night.”
“Me too,” I say. “Clearly, I was wrong. You could have any supermodel or actress you want, instead of this soggy, ugly-crying mess.” More tears fill my eyes and spill over. “But you’re still here. With me. Why?”
“Can’t you guess?” he asks gently. “Look, I don’t know where we stand but—”
“I’m falling in love with you,” I blurt. “That’s where I stand. You don’t have to say it back or say anything at all. And hearing that from someone who just had a breakdown over her old boyfriend is probably the last thing you want, but it’s true. I…I’m falling in love with you, Zach. How could I not? You make it so damn easy.”
Zach takes my face in his hands. “I’m falling in love with you, too.” His thumbs swipe the tears on my cheek. “ That’s why I’m here, Rowan. There’s nowhere else I want to be.”
My swollen eyes fall shut and he pulls me into his arms. For the longest time, he just holds me against his chest, his lips on my forehead, and I sink into him. Boneless and exhausted and wrung out with grief.
“If we make this real,” I say against the soft cotton of his T-shirt, “they’re not going to be kind to me. I’m afraid I’m going to fail you.”
“You can’t fail me,” he says softly. “But I wish I could protect you from any ugliness.” He pulls back to meet my eyes. “Is it all too much right now?”
“No,” I say. “I’m done living a half-life. And no amount of internet trolling is worth giving you up.”
Zach’s eyes glint with mischief. “Stop the presses. Rowan Walsh just said something romantic.”
I give him a nudge. “I’d roll my eyes, but they’re too puffy.”
“You’re beautiful. Get some sleep.”
“It’s so early,” I protest, but I’m already sinking under, wrapped in his arms. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to poke around your place, eat your food, and rifle through your personal belongings.”
“Okay,” I murmur. “Sounds good.”
He chuckles, a soft rumble against my cheek and then I sink into a warm, safe sleep where there are no dreams.
When I wake, the sun is up, and Zach is making coffee. He’s in the jeans and T-shirt from yesterday, his dark hair askew. I watch him move his tall frame around my kitchen area, pulling mugs down from the cupboard and generally looking about as sexy as a man can get.
And I told him I loved him.
Not quite, but almost. And he not-quite-but-almost said it back. I sit up and pull my knees to my chest, wondering if he regrets it. Wondering if I’m strong enough to be good for him the way he’s good for me.
“Good morning.” My throat sounds like I gargled rocks, and I probably look like I’ve been punched repeatedly in the face. But Zach’s smile when he sees me reflects none of that, and I realize how thoughts—especially self-deprecating ones—can be so insidiously automatic and how we listen for no other reason except they’re there.
“Good morning,” he says. “How do you take it?”
“Black, splash of cream, please.”
Zach brings me a mug—a cheap blue one from IKEA—and kisses my forehead. He’s poured one for himself and peruses my small living area, peering at photos on the wall by the door.
“Is this you and your dad at the cabin?”
I nod. “One of the last ones before he died.”
Zach studies the photo of me, age twelve, leaning into my dad, who was tall, and sturdy. Like an oak tree that was felled too soon.
“He looks like a kind man,” Zach says.
“He was. The kindest.”
“What’s your favorite memory of him?”
I sit back. “Most people don’t ask me stuff like that. As if it might hurt too much to be reminded that he’s gone. But you can’t remind me of my own dad. And I love talking about him. I just never get the chance.”
Zach sits on the edge of the bed. “Tell me.”
Good lord, this man. Dad would have loved him.
“Every October, he’d take me to Julian. Ever been?”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s this really pretty place in eastern San Diego County. Lots of trees and fallen leaves in the autumn. My mother didn’t like the drive, so my dad took me for cider and cherries, and we’d pick a pumpkin to bring back for Halloween.”
I smile at the memory that aches, but it’s a sweet ache.
“One year, we were walking in the woods, and we passed this couple sitting on a log. Dad and I rounded a hilly bend, and he suddenly lets out this huge roar. Then he hustles me back around the bend and says loudly, ‘Did you hear that bear? Sounded like a big one!’”
“I didn’t realize there were bears in San Diego County,” Zach says, chuckling.
“Neither did I,” I say. “My nine-year-old-self is completely mortified, but the couple on the log got up and all but ran away. Dad thought it was the funniest thing ever. He was quite proud of himself for that one.”
“Your dad sounds like he would’ve been good friends with my dad.” Zach smiles, then glances down into his mug. “Speaking of, I’m going to St. Louis to visit my family. I’m long overdue.”
“When?”
“Soon. Tomorrow, maybe,” he says. “I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”
“Oh,” I sit back.
“Too much? No pressure. I just thought it might be nice for you to meet them.”
I hear his unspoken words. That it would be nice for me to be around a family after going so long without.
“Plus, I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who could put Jeremy in his place. You seem to speak the same dialects of sarcasm. But mostly, I just don’t want to stop being with you.”
I set my coffee on the nightstand and scoot close to Zach. My arms go around him as I kiss his neck, his chin, his lips. “Thank you for the offer. It means a lot more than I can say.”
“But…no? I don’t want to pull you off your job.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to show my face there, but no, that’s not it. I need to think it over. I know you don’t think I can fail you, but the thought scares the crap out of me. Can I have a day or two? There’s something I need to do.”
I sit down in Dr. Baldwin’s “crying chair” and immediately start crying.
The therapist is wearing a mint green suit and delicate silver jewelry. Her smile is as gentle as ever, and I realize I missed her. Being in her presence makes me feel like it’s not just me fighting against my demons alone. I have reinforcements.
She hands me a tissue.
“Thank you. Now that I’ve started the water works, I can’t seem to stop.”
“I view that as progress,” she says, sitting across from me and assuming her Power Listening pose. “What happened?”
I tell her about the assignment that reminded me of the March Hare costume I was drawing the night Josh died. I tell her about my breakdown and how ten years’ worth of pain came pouring out.
“Losing it over Josh felt really necessary and overdue,” I say. “Like I can mourn him a little more cleanly. But I’m not…”
“Cured?”
“Right.”
“There’s good news and bad news,” Dr. Baldwin says. “The bad news is you will never be ‘cured.’ The good news is you’re not supposed to be. Not in the precise definition of the word. It’s not our duty to get over the events of our lives or forget the loves that we’ve had and lost. Rather, the idea is to integrate these experiences, learn from them, grow from them. Pretending they never happened or stuffing the pain away is never a good long-term solution.”
I nod. “I learned that the hard way. I’ve been seeing someone. Not one of my usual sleazeballs but a truly good guy, and I feel like I’m always on the verge of messing it up.”
“You feel deeply for this man?”
“I love him,” I say. “I told him I was falling in love with him, but it’s not true. I’m already very much crazy in love with him. And I thought that was impossible. That I’d never love anyone after Josh.”
“Does it feel like betrayal?”
“Yes and no. I know that Josh would want me to be happy, but it feels unfair that I should get a happily ever after when his life ended before it could really begin. I mean, what am I supposed to do with this knowledge that I’m responsible?” I look to her, half angry, half desperate. “Are you ever going to tell me it’s not my fault?”
“Would you believe me?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“I could tell you all sorts of things, Rowan, but unless and until you believe them and feel the truth of them yourself, they won’t take. But for the record, I know it wasn’t your fault.” She smiles gently. “But I think perhaps you need more than one session to arrive at that yourself.”
I nod and stare at the crumpled tissue in my hand. “I’m sorry I never came back. For the first time, I had help—your help—and I just took it and ran.”
“It’s quite common for people who’ve benefitted from a little bit of therapy to feel bolstered enough to keep going without it.”
“They bolt after one session?”
Dr. Baldwin tilts her head with a smile. “Maybe not after one session. But when white-knuckling through pain is all you know, getting some relief can feel like the boost you need to go back to white-knuckling it. Like a marathon runner grabbing a little cup of water. Except this marathon doesn’t end. Learning and growing is a lifelong journey with no finish line.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
She smiles. “So, this truly good man of yours. Does he feel the same about you?”
“I think so. Maybe. Though sometimes I find it hard to believe that he could.”
“Because you’ve been so hard on yourself for so long,” Dr. Baldwin states.
I glance up at her uncertainly. “He wants me to visit his family.”
“Are you asking my permission to go?”
“Yeah, I think I am.”
Dr. Baldwin sits back, thinking. “Were this a brand-new relationship, I might say to take things slow, but you’re already in love with him and he’s in love with you. Your heart is healing, but your mind is stubbornly clinging to the old programming. So long as you have good communication with him and are aware of the potential pitfalls, I wouldn’t stand in the way of you living your life. It’s been on hold long enough, don’t you think?”
I nod and ease a sigh of relief, but an ugly feeling twists my guts.
“There’s something else I’d like to ask you about,” I begin. “This man…I think something bad may have happened to him.”
I tell her what Zach told me about Eva on Oscar night, leaving out all names and details that would give Zach away.
“I see,” Dr. Baldwin says, frowning. “You’re describing a potential sexual assault.”
The words punch me in the heart. “He doesn’t know for sure that anything happened, and he doesn’t want to find out. I just want to be able to support him however he needs me to. I think I already pushed him too hard about it, but only because the idea of anyone hurting him...”
More tears well and I choke my words back. I read somewhere that therapists have to report if a patient intends to harm someone; better to keep my thoughts about Eva Dean to myself.
Dr. Baldwin is still frowning in concern. “The way to support him is to let him come to his own decisions in his own time. If he’s struggling, I recommend he talk to someone, of course, but whether he decides to pursue the truth of that night is entirely up to him.”
“You wouldn’t want him to seek the truth? For clarity or…closure?”
“My professional standpoint is to work with people where they are, not try to push them over their edges. If his edge is not knowing , I wouldn’t push him to know unless he wanted to go there.” She offers an encouraging smile. “Being there for him is the best thing you can do.”
Being there for Zach, loving him as best I can with my cracked and tattered heart, is all I want to do.
“I’m not used to being good for someone else,” I say. “Kind of hard to imagine. And scary. I don’t want to let him down.”
Dr. Baldwin smiles. “Let’s keep working together, yes? That’s how you don’t let yourself down. That’s how you keep being good to you .”