Chapter 8
Caleb
To say that I’m a little annoyed right now is a gross understatement.
I’m fucking pissed off.
After the way I left things with the distinguished Dr. Seymour yesterday, I was sure it would be the last time I’d ever see her again.
So, imagine my fucking surprise when her receptionist called me up today telling me—no, fucking ordering me—to come to St. Francis Church after practice. Her boss even went as far as getting Coach Byrne to drive me here like I was some kind of runaway bride or something.
I must have miscalculated how fucking invested the good doctor is in seeing this whole therapy charade through. That, or she’s under a lot of pressure from the GM to get my head on straight.
Whatever her reasoning, I resent my presence here.
I thought she was smart enough to understand that I don’t play nice when I’m backed into a corner. Whatever she thinks she has in store for me, she has another thing coming.
I’m a lost cause.
So, if this is her way of punishing me for my behavior yesterday, she can get back in line with everyone else.
“I don’t have all day, kid. Dr. Seymour said she’ll be inside waiting for you,” Coach Byrne says when I make no move to get out of his car.
I curse under my breath and put a baseball cap on before getting out.
“I’ll be back here to pick you up in an hour,” he yells out the window before driving off.
Great.
Now I have a babysitter.
Well played, Roxie. Well fucking played.
With my hands tucked in my pockets, I navigate through the bustling crowd on the sidewalk until I reach the church’s steps. When I look up at the church’s grandiose double doors, a flood of memories begins to overwhelm me, transporting me back to the last time I visited this church as a young boy.
“Stop messing with your tie,” Jack says beside me, looking like a damn grown-up in his blue tie and blazer.
“I can’t help it,” I whine as I continue to fidget with it. “It’s choking me.”
Jack lets out an exhale as he stares at the poor excuse of a knot I made.
“Here, let me fix it,” he says patiently, while everyone who passes by us gives their condolences to our mother before entering the church. I pretend not to see the pitying glances they throw our way while my big brother loosens my tie and fixes it for me.
“Didn’t Dadever teach you how to tie a tie?” he grumbles, his fingers fast at work.
“He tried … once,” I mumble.
Dad always taught things once.
He was a big believer that if you didn’t get something the first time, then he wouldn’t bother teaching you a second.
And as luck would have it, I was the kind of kid who never got things on the first try.
Dad never had much patience with me.
Not like he had with Jack.
But then again, Jack never needed him to. Jack just knew what to do all the time. He was good at everything he did.
Unlike me.
I’m a hardhead.
And an eejit.
Dad’s words. Not mine.
The only one who has a bucketful of patience for me is Jack. That’s why he’s the best big brother anyone could have.
“There. All better.”
“Thanks.” I smile, happy to be able to breathe again.
Jack returns to his spot at my side as everyone continues to pay their respects to our mom.
“I didn’t know Dad had so many friends,” I whisper, not recognizing most of the people who’ve shaken Mom’s hand.
“He didn’t. But when a cop falls dead on his feet with a heart attack while walking his beat, people tend to show up to pay their respects. Don’t worry. You won’t see these people’s faces ever again. Soon enough, they’ll forget Dad even existed.”
I frown at that.
I may not have had a great relationship with my dad, but he was still my dad. I loved him.
How can anyone forget him? Like he was never here?
“Hey, are you okay?” Jack asks with concern when I start sniffling.
“I guess.” I shrug.
Jack, being taller than me by a good ten inches, lowers himself to my eye level.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, placing his hands on my trembling shoulders.
“If I die, will people forget me, too?”
My brother’s expression turns even sadder than it was before.
“Of course not. Why are you asking me that?”
“Well, you just said everyone Dad ever knew will forget him,” I try to explain, wiping my runny nose with my sleeve.
“They might, but who cares? We won’t. That’s what’s important,” he tries to reassure.
“You’ll … never … forget me, will you, Jack?” I hiccup, my tears free-falling down my cheeks.
“Hey!” he blurts out assertively and gives my shoulders a good squeeze. “Never. I’d never forget you. You might be a pain in the ass, but you’re still my baby brother.”
“Promise?” I sob
“I promise.” He nods with a soft smile. “Would you ever forget me?”
I shake my head with all my might.
“Never.”
“See?” Jack smiles warmly. “That’s because we’re family. And family never forgets. Never.”
“Caleb?” I hear someone call out my name, successfully pulling me away from the memories of the past.
As the fog lifts from my sight, I see Roxanne standing just a couple of steps above me, staring at me with morbid fascination.
“I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”
Like the first time we met, her amber gaze is just as scrutinizing and evasive, like she wants to seep into my subconscious and pull out every hidden secret.
It’s so unnerving that it takes me a second to get my shit together and reply.
“Well, it’s not like you left me much choice, Doc,” I snap, glad that my voice has a little bite to it.
“I could say the same thing about you,” she counters without missing a beat, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “But now that you’re here, how about you follow me so we can get on with it,” she adds, quickly turning around and walking up the stairs before I have time to say anything to the contrary.
“If you brought me here so I could confess all my sins to a priest, then we’ll be here a while,” I joke once we’re inside.
“No confession will be needed,” she responds with a flat tone, dipping her fingers in holy water before making a cross.
Great.
That’s all I needed—a Catholic girl.
If my mother and I were on speaking terms, she’d be all over me to date her.
Argh.
“Why are we here, Roxie?” I ask, purposely using the nickname I came up with since I saw how much she despised it.
“You’ll see in a minute,” she says dismissively while heading towards the altar..
“I don’t like surprises, Doc. Not ones I don’t see coming anyway.”
“Duly noted,” she replies with her no-nonsense tone.
I shove my hands back into my pockets, uncaring for the baseball hat still on my head inside God’s house. When I was younger, my mom would have slapped me across the head for insulting her beloved church in such a way. But as we’ve covered, she couldn’t care less what I do nowadays.
However, my curiosity is piqued when Roxanne turns a corner and heads to a closed door at the side leading to the church’s undercroft.
What the hell is she up to?
The faint feel of spiders’ legs crawling up my spine tells me that whatever the good doctor cooked up for me, I won’t care for one bit.
When we approach another set of doors, these ones wide open, Roxanne stops midway before I can look inside, only to turn around to face me.
“Now, I know this is a lot to ask of you, but I need you to be on your best behavior. There are people inside that room who won’t appreciate your brand of sarcasm. Is that understood?”
I really wish I didn’t find her so good-looking.
It would make things so much easier for me.
Even now, staring daggers at me, she’s sexy as hell.
I guess the upside of feeling numb is that I have no wish to flirt with her.
Piss her off?
Yeah, I’d be up for that.
Make a move on her… not so much.
“Hopefully, on the sacred ground, you’ll be a little more respectful than you have been these past two days,” she can’t help but add.
“Don’t count on it, sweetheart,” I grumble.
With burning embers in her gaze, she pulls my t-shirt down by the lapel and gets right into my face.
Honeysuckle.
She smells like honeysuckle.
Fuck.
“If you can’t find it in yourself to respect the process you’ll see today, then all I ask is for your silence. Can you do that?”
I think about it for a pregnant pause and nod, letting curiosity win.
Or maybe it was the sweet, decadent scent of honeysuckle that scrambled my brain.
“Thank you,” she says, releasing her grip and taking a step back. “Follow me then.”
I’m about to say I’m not a puppy for her to shell out orders to when a priest suddenly appears before us, about to close the doors.
“Roxanne, what a lovely surprise,” he beams, stepping out of the hall to greet her.
“Good afternoon, Father McDowell. Are we late?”
“Not at all, child. You’re just in time,” he says, throwing me a curious glance.
I don’t say a word, preferring to trail behind them as we enter what looks to be the main hall below the church. My anxiety peaks to new heights when I see a bunch of people all gathered around, seated in a perfect circle.
“Please take a seat,” Father McDowell ushers us both as he takes a seat of his own.
I sit beside Roxanne, wondering what kind of bullshit kumbaya she’s got me into.
“Good afternoon, everyone.” Father McDowell starts merrily. “I see a few fresh faces here today and some all-too-familiar. As we gather here today to share our stories and support one another in our grief, let us remind ourselves that we are not alone in our sorrow. May this space be one of healing and compassion for all who seek solace. As you all know, no one here is forced to bear witness if you don’t want to. Having said that, who would like to go first?”
On cue, everyone sitting in this fucked-up circle begins telling their sob stories about how they lost a loved one and how they have been coping with said loss.
A husband mourns the loss of his sick wife.
A mother cries over her unborn child.
A friend tears up after her best friend took her own life.
One by one, I sit here listening to their stories of how they lost the person they loved most.
It’s at this moment that I decide that I hate Doctor Roxanne Seymour.
Yesterday, I made her hurt, and today, she’s sought out her revenge in the most diabolical way.
I try not to fidget in my seat while doing my best to tune every sob story out of my head.
When the woman next to me is finished with her sorrowful tale, I feel all eyes on me, waiting for me to pour my heart out like they have done.
“Pass,” I say with a snarl, kicking my feet forward and crossing my arms over my chest.
“Very well,” Father McDowell says, far too agreeable for me. “Like I said before, no one is forced to bear witness. Some of us need a bit more time than others.”
“Geez, thanks,” I reply sarcastically.
“Roxanne, would you like to share today?” he asks, stunning the shit out of me.
“Actually, I would. Thank you, Father.” She smiles.
The fuck?
If she’s going about to tell everyone about me and my brother, then not only will I get to leave this place, but I’ll fucking sue. It’s got to be some kind of breach of doctor-and-patient confidentiality.
Right?
“Hi, everyone. My name is Roxanne.”
“Hi, Roxanne,” everyone parrots.
“Oh, wow, where to begin,” she says with a slight crack in her voice, a sharp contrast to the confident woman I have known these past couple of days.
“It’s been a year since I’ve come to one of these, so I feel like I might be a little rusty.”
“Take your time, child,” Father McDowell says patiently.
She offers him a shy smile and nods.
“Well, I guess I should start by saying how grateful I am for this support group when I needed it most. You wouldn’t know it by the look of me today, but seven years ago, when I first walked through those very doors, I was a complete and utter mess.” She lets out a tiny self-derisive laugh. “I’m ashamed to say that those first few reunions, I would just sit here and listen to everyone talk about their loss and think to myself that no one could possibly feel a fraction of the misery I was in. I mean, how could they? It was just so inconceivable to me,” she explains while staring into my eyes before turning her gaze away to continue on with her story. “It was just too big,” she mutters more to herself than to her attentive audience.
“It also wasn’t fair,” she explains with a shy smile. “Gregg was… he was so full of life.” She smiles as if she could see his face before her. “He had so much energy that sometimes I found it hard to keep up with him. I was more of a homebody, while Gregg was always looking for the next exciting thing to do. And believe me, he did everything under the sun. Hiking, skiing, surfing. You name it, he did it.” She laughs as she continues to reminisce. “After we finished college and got married, I wasn’t the least bit surprised he wanted to get a job that would give him the freedom to pursue his other outdoor activities. So we decided that Gregg would become a substitute teacher while I was getting my doctorate. It was the perfect scenario. Not only would it offer him the freedom he desired, but Gregg absolutely loved kids. Teaching came second nature to him.”
It’s when her face loses its light that I know she’s about to tell us how he died.
“I can still remember that morning like it was yesterday. I had just handed in my thesis and was running late to meet my advisor when he texted me that he got called to substitute a history teacher at Northridge High.”
Fuck.
She doesn’t have to tell the room what happened next.
I was sixteen at the time, but even I remember that school shooting.
The names and faces of all the teachers and students who died that day flash before my eyes, leaving me to wonder who Gregg was amongst all those faces.
Any previous hate I might have had for her vanishes into thin air, allowing me to see her, really see her for the first time.
“I lost my husband in our third year of marriage. That’s all we had before he died. Just three years. We were just starting our lives together. I should have been planning vacations and date nights, but instead, I was planning a funeral,” she says, her eyes lowering to the floor like she’s right there back at that place, living it all over again.
I’m not sure why I do it.
I’m not sure why I even care.
But suddenly I feel my hand reach out for hers and squeeze it tight.
She turns to face me, her beautiful, whiskey-colored eyes welling up with tears.
“I was so angry,” she tells me. “So very angry. There was so much hate and rage in me that I thought I’d choke on it.”
My chest tightens as she pulls my hand to her heart and holds it to her with both hands.
“There were times that all I wanted was to see the whole world burn. I wanted everyone to feel my pain. And then there were times I felt nothing. I was empty. Completely void of all emotion.”
When a tear escapes from the corner of her eye, I’m quick to wipe it away with my thumb.
“All I had were my routines. Wake up. Work. Eat. Visit the cemetery. Cry. Sleep. Only to do it all over again the next day. My routines were the only things keeping me sane. Until they didn’t work anymore. Until they weren’t enough. Sound familiar?” she whispers the last part to me.
I nod, releasing my hand from hers so she can finish her story for the group.
“It was only when I pushed everyone I ever cared for out of my life that I realized I could no longer live like this. It was only when I got help that I got better. This group helped me get better, and for that, I’ll be eternally grateful.”
“Thank you, Roxanne, for speaking your truth,” Father McDowell says after she’s done with her heartfelt testimony. “Would anyone else like to go next?”
As Father McDowell picks his next victim, Roxanne leans into me and whispers in my ear.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” I croak, still overwhelmed with everything she just told to a room full of strangers.
“For listening, Caleb. Sometimes the best thing anyone can do for someone else is just… listen.”
I stare deep into her eyes, and for a moment, I lose myself in them.
They’ve seen the same crippling pain I have.
Experienced it firsthand.
And yet… they still haven’t lost their shine.
“Maybe one day you can teach me how you do that,” I say softly, my words belying the rapid pace of my heart.
“Do what?” she retorts, confused.
“Make me believe that everything will be okay. That I… will be okay.”
“And you will be. I promise you, Caleb. One day, you will be. It just takes time,” she consoles, threading her fingers with mine.
I stare at our entwined hands and feel a sudden ache in my chest.
Something new is carving its way inside me, and I just can’t seem to put my finger on it.
But instead of trying to decipher what that is, I give her hand a tiny squeeze and offer my undivided attention to the next person sharing their story.
If it worked for her… then maybe, just maybe… It can work for me too.