Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
“C’mon Jo Jo, if you want a ride, you gotta get your tail in gear. I got somewhere to be this morning,” I tell her through the bedroom door after knocking for the third time. I head down the hall to the kitchen, topping off my travel mug with a bit more liquid life.
Jo Jo appears at my side, holding her mug out. Without a word, I fill her mug too and watch as she adds milk and ungodly amounts of sugar. I almost want to ask her if it even tastes like coffee anymore, but think better of it.
“Alright, c’mon,” I tell her as she sifts through the fridge, stashing snacks into her cheer bag. “We gotta go, Jo.”
She slams the door shut, and bottles of half-used salad dressing and jars of olives clank together inside. “Don’t worry, you’ll get to Dr. Tanner on time.”
Heat flares in my cheeks, and I focus on buttoning up my plaid shirt, then shoving the tail in my jeans, buckling my belt. She knows I still see Dr. Tanner? I’ve never outright mentioned it, despite the fact he’s called to confirm appointments over the years. Still, she ignores me mostly and has never said a word.
“Oh so when it’s your life, you don’t want to talk about it, but when it’s mine, it’s fair game?” She pops the lid on her mug of milk and sugar with a splash of coffee and flips her hair behind her shoulder. Her dark eyes gleam up at me. “By the way, I don’t go by Jo Jo anymore.”
I place my hat on my head and stuff my wallet into the back of my jeans, snorting at her comment. “No? What do you go by? Sunshine? Sweetheart?” I lightly tease her, nudging her with my elbow. She jumps away from me like my elbow is acid. She shirks away from my touches all the time, and even though it happens often, still always stings. She used to want to spend time with me, beg for my hugs, run to my open arms. And now she doesn’t even want me to use her real name when I talk to her.
“Wh-what do you want me to call you now?” I hedge, turning to the vitamin cabinet where I dig out an antacid and chew it up.
“Lene.” She slings her backpack over her shoulder, propping open the garage door with one booted foot. “I’ll be in the truck.”
When I first started seeing Dr. Tanner, I thought it was temporary. I thought I was just collecting as much good information and advice as possible for the years to come, and that he and I were nothing more than a situational relationship born from tragedy.
But now, ten years later, I still see him twice a month and the truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready to stop seeing him.
It’s gonna sound like bullshit, like something every man says when it’s discovered he tells all his feelings and problems to a shrink, but the truth of it is, I’m not there for me.
Well, not my own problems, I mean.
Well fuck. What I mean to say is that I see Dr. Tanner because I have no idea how to communicate and properly take care of my daughter. Sure I can put a roof over her head–one she complains is too far from town, and I can keep her fed–not saying she doesn’t complain about the food I make, and I can keep her alive. But taking care of her emotional health? Her mental health? Making sure she has someone to share thoughts and feelings with, giving her a place to come with problems and worries? I can do that, but I can’t make her accept me, I can’t make her open up to me. And for that issue, I have Dr. Tanner.
“And how do you feel today, Jake?” Dr. Tanner asks, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he adjusts in his seat.
I drag my palms down my thighs and grip my knees, rolling out my neck with a click and a pop.
“How is Jolene enjoying cheerleading? Has she discussed it with you much?” Dr. Tanner prods into my silence, never allowing me to stay quiet for too long.
I sigh, one of my knees now bouncing as I approach an answer.
“She has told me that it is important to her in no uncertain terms.” I lick my lips and meet his eyes, rimmed in silver circular glasses. “I went to parent night. I paid for all the uniforms and bus trips. I pick her up from practice when she asks. I ask about it, but she doesn’t say much.”
Dr. Tanner slides his glasses down the bridge of his nose, folding them with one hand against his chest. “Jolene is at an age where fitting in and having friends and support is very important. Is it possible this sudden leap to cheerleading is indicative of her looking for a social support circle?”
Dr. Tanner has helped me a lot, so I give him credit. He’s about two good pieces of advice above Dean on the totem pole, but right now, he’s doing the thing I hate. He’s making a normal question sound more intense and fancy. “Did she join cheer because she has no friends?” I restate, leveling a serious glare his way. “I told you, she’s been close with the Brownstock girls her whole life. They had a few classes together this year, too. She has friends.” I shrug. “She told me today she doesn’t want to go by Jo Jo anymore.” Dr. Tanner knows that Janie gave Jolene that nickname when she was just two. “She doesn’t want to work my booth at the market,” I repeat, hearing her pointed tone in my mind over and over. “She doesn’t want to ride horses with me.” An uncomfortable cramp knots my side, and a lump burrows deep in my throat. “And she wants to go by Lene.”
Dr. Tanner nods, bobbing his head like hearing all the ways in which people have their heart torn up is just part of the job. And for him, I guess it is. He scribbles something down then peers over at me. “Change of identity. At her age, maybe she feels frustrated in her current state and wants to reinvent herself for high school. Enter these four years as someone different.”
“Someone different?” I bark back. “She’s fourteen. She doesn’t even know who she is yet, how can she want to be someone else?” I think about my daughter running through the pasture with a sparkler in her hand, her cheeks pink, the moon dancing in her eyes. “Mama! Dada!” she cheered, and Janie was there, dropping to her knees in the grass to catch Jo Jo. Her legs went faster than the rest of her when she was just a little tot, and one of her favorite things to do was run to her mama with a sparkler. “Jo Jo!” Janie laughed, collecting Jo Jo in her arms with a kiss to her head.
“Janie is gone, and has been gone for a long time. I’ve made my peace with that. I ain’t stroking a thumb over some photo of her, talking to her at night or anything like that. I’m… aware she’s gone.” I swallow around the discomfort that comes with telling such a vulnerable truth. “But the name Jo Jo, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t realize until now but it made me feel like Janie was here, for Jolene, you know?”
Dr. Tanner slides his pen over his paper, making a note. When he looks up again he says, “Emotional attachments are important in the initial grieving and healing process, it makes perfect sense that you’d be attached to the nickname. But it is her name, and if changing it is what she wants to do now, the best thing you can do is simply support her.” He closes his notebook and sets it on the desk behind him. A soft smile curves his lips. “Hang in there. No matter how hard it gets, make sure she knows you’re there, no matter what.”
I get to my feet and he gets to his. We share a handshake as he adds, “I had two grown daughters. The teen years are hard enough with both parents. But alone, I can only imagine. Hang in there, Jake. You’re doing what you can and that’s all you can do.”
Dr. Tanner smiles a little before guiding me out the door into the small, tan colored lobby. Two other patients are waiting, and I tip my hat to them as I slip out into the cool morning air. I have two pickups today–a woman coming to get her restitched saddle, and a man picking up his show saddle for an upcoming competition. Other than that, I have a set of trail saddles and matching quirts I’m working on, and for a day in the life of a saddler in a cowboy town, it’s a pretty slow one.
Good.
I’m not in the mood to talk.