Chapter 12 #2
Stirring milk into my coffee, I turned and leaned against the counter and locked eyes with Gina.
“Just so you know, I’ve had enough therapy and grief counseling to last me a lifetime.
They built me back up to what I am now. I’m not perfect.
I have my scars. I’m not going to stand for one of those sessions where you break me down in order to build me up. ”
“I’m not in psy-ops,” Gina said, amused. “I don’t handle the brainwashing part.”
There’s a brainwashing part?
Gina turned in her seat to face me. She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. “I’m not really certain that division exists. My job at the agency is to ensure the effectiveness of an asset.”
“At all costs, I presume.”
Gina couldn’t miss the sarcasm in my voice. “Yes. But we’re not here to talk about me.”
“Let’s get this over with.”
“All right.” The other woman leaned forward. “Tell me about your mother.”
The morning passed, but Gina had not once asked about Drake. Over a breakfast of croissants and coffee, I told her about my mother, Carmen Rodriguez. I had fond memories of Ma.
“She had a flair for styling hair and applying makeup,” I said proudly. “She was in demand for weddings and photo shoots.”
“She never thought to open her own salon?”
“No. She preferred to rent space, to be her own boss without a lot of overhead.”
“And your father?”
Sadness tweaked my heart and I studied the bottom of my coffee mug. “He wasn’t in the picture. Ma loved with all her heart, but she kept falling for the wrong men.” I glanced at Gina. “She had a brief affair with my father who was a married man.”
“Ouch.”
“Yup. When she got pregnant, he wanted her to have an abortion. My mother was horrified, not only because she was Catholic, but that she could have fallen for such a man. The rose-colored glasses came off quickly, and she kicked him to the curb.”
Gina nodded as if filing the information away. “You got into an Ivy League school for college?”
“My mother was a proud woman. She never accepted a dime from my father, but she broke her wrist at an inopportune time when she’d made poor investments and she lost most of our savings.
” I shook my head at the memory. “I was in my third year of high school and our house was under threat of foreclosure. She approached my father.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“He doesn’t want to meet me.” I shrugged. “I’ve long accepted it.”
“You know who he is, though?”
“Yes,” I sighed. “He’s from a political dynasty in the Midwest. Old money. His wife is old money too. Ma didn’t feel guilty about blackmailing him to get me into Cornell. She said it was years of child support and my father was running for governor.”
“Perfect timing.” Gina chuckled.
“It was.”
“She wasn’t afraid that your father could send someone to silence her? That was risky.”
My mother was a contrary woman. “She didn’t say it. But she believed my father truly loved her.”
“And when she asked for the money?”
“He didn’t think twice. I think it was because he loved my mother, but he loved his political career more.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Ma died a year after I graduated.”
“So she met Drake?”
Hearing his name spurred a wariness that changed the tone of our conversation from easy nostalgia to the purpose of this meeting. Well played, Doc G.
“Yes, she did, albeit only briefly. She had lung cancer. And no, she wasn’t a smoker. Her oncologist thought it was from her years of cleaning houses and the exposure to the chemicals.” My heart ached at my mother’s sacrifices. “The chemicals at the salon didn’t help either, but it was too late.”
“She loved what she was doing at the end, though, right?” Gina said.
“She did.” I puffed out a brave breath to keep from crying. “Anyway, I visited my mother’s gravesite the week after her burial, and there was a single white rose at the headstone.”
“You think it was from your father?”
“I know it was. Every year on the day of her death, there is one perfect rose.”
A contemplative pause hung between us.
“Hmm…” Gina steepled her fingers over her coffee cup. “You don’t seem to have abandonment fears or daddy issues. Your mother raised a strong, self-confident woman and, from what Drake told me, you handled his deployments well.”
“It wasn’t easy, but I knew what I signed up for when I married him.”
“I don’t need to remind you how tough it is for SEALs and their spouses to stay together,” Gina said dryly. She checked her watch. “I think we’ve talked enough for this morning. How about we take a break and take a walk on the grounds? It’s a gorgeous neighborhood.”
“A couple of my designs were optioned by the builders in this subdivision.”
“More like an estate community.” Gina rose from her chair. “Shall we?”
It wasn’t the brain-draining or grueling therapy session I’d been expecting. Remembering my mother reminded me of the strength she’d instilled inside me. I didn’t know what Gina was up to, but I was up for more.
It was later in the afternoon over tea and sweet biscuits when Gina made her move.
We began with a baking session. The shrink had a penchant for French sweets and suggested baking madeleines.
Surprised, I watched her unearth an antique madeleine baking tin and a hand-held mixer from her shopping bag.
This was followed by the requisite dry ingredients.
Then she walked to the refrigerator and pulled out the butter and eggs needed for this traditional small cake of northeastern France.
I wasn’t complaining. I loved baking. Drake’s favorite was the tres leches cake.
A recipe Ma passed down to me. Buttery fragrance permeated the air of the kitchen and wrapped around my heart like a comforting blanket.
There was no doubt the walk and the baking exercise were part of Gina’s efforts to put me at ease.
When the madeleines were done and Gina suggested we partake of all our hard-earned work in the sunroom, my guard slammed up again, though not as closed off as it had been when we’d first met.
This time Gina brewed tea to go with the sweets.
The shrink smiled as she poured me a cup. “It’s Midnight Lychee. Nothing to worry about. Nothing mind-altering in it.”
“Sorry.” I did look suspiciously at Gina for a minute there.
I also tried not to swoon too much when the first bite of the petite cake melted on my tongue. Still, I couldn’t help gushing. “Ohmigod.” I swiped my mouth with a finger to keep a crumb from falling. “This is so good.”
Gina’s eyes clouded and she gave a small smile. “It was my daughter’s favorite.”
Was?
I finished the cake and took a sip of tea, forcing a smile when I looked back at her. “Was?”
“I had a daughter, Bobbi. She was eleven.” Gina picked up a sugar cube and dropped it into her tea and stirred.
“She loved flowers, baby goats, and sweets. She loved running barefoot in the dirt and climbing trees. But the one thing she loved the most was baking with her gram.” She nodded to the plate of madeleines.
“My mother was French and that’s her antique tin I inherited from my grandmother.
” Gina’s eyes grew glassy. “I had hoped to pass it on to Bobbi.” Giving one shake of her head, she continued.
“We never thought Bobbi would have such a severe allergic reaction to bee stings. She’d been stung before and the swelling wasn’t much.
That summer, my husband and I took a much-needed vacation and left Bobbi with my mother on her farm.
She wandered off into the woods, which was something she always did anyway.
We believe she’d stumbled upon a beehive. ”
I found myself reaching out to Gina, covering the other woman’s hand that was wrapped around her teacup.
“You don’t have to tell me this,” I whispered. “I understand why you are, but…”
“Bobbi’s death broke our family,” Gina said.
“My mom blamed herself. My husband blamed me, and our marriage didn’t survive.
I’m a psychiatrist and yet I couldn’t help the people around me because my grief made it difficult to see theirs.
Eventually, my mother forgave herself. I never blamed her…
but I lost her there for a while.” Gina flipped the hand I was holding and clasped ours together.
She looked me straight in the eye. “I think Drake’s return yanked the bottom bricks from the foundation you’ve built to move on from him and your baby’s loss. ”
Talons of anguish clawed up my throat, making it difficult to speak.
I nodded rapidly instead, controlling the tremble in my lips.
Exhaling raggedly, I said, “Knowing I was pregnant helped me hang on to that last thread of sanity. Losing the baby and Drake within months of each other was almost too much to bear…” I gulped back a sob.
“There were so many times I prayed to God to take me as well…” My voice trailed off.
“Why didn’t he just take me so I could be with Drake and our baby? ”
“Oh, Izabel.”
“You’re right in a way. All my grief, all the strength I drew within myself to survive had become a joke. I was consoling myself that Drake left a part of him with me when he died, and then I lost our daughter.”
Resentment scratched close to the surface of my skin.
“Now I’m angry at him for not being there when I needed him the most.” I withdrew my hand from Gina’s, crossing my arms and hugging my biceps, wanting to disappear into myself like the many times I retreated from life when the pain became too much to comprehend.
“I also feel guilt for not being supportive of the sacrifices he’s made.
I knew he thought it was what was best for us.
My mind is telling me he did the right thing, but I can’t help what I feel, you know? ”
“Like he abandoned you?”
“Yes. I married a SEAL. I understood what I was taking on and yet he didn’t trust me enough to share the burden with him. That’s why it makes me so mad that he did this to me…to us.”
“He was desperate to return to you,” Gina said softly. “He’d hit rock bottom when I met him. His injuries were severe and he’d spent days going out of his mind thinking about what he was putting you through…”
“He should have found another way. I would have gone into hiding with him.”
“He didn’t have much choice then.”
“He told me and…I should understand him.” Tears scalded my eyes. “But it hurts too much and I’m afraid to be his wife again.”
Understanding showed through the other woman’s eyes. “If it makes any difference…when he found out you lost the baby, he was determined to come home to you.”
“Then why didn’t he?!” I rasped.
“They shot him with a tranquilizer and kept him locked in a room for days,” the shrink stated baldly.
“What?” Outrage fired through every fiber of my being; it was the feeling of outrage of a wife for her husband. “How could they? After all that he had been through?”
Gina sighed. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell him I told you that. The last thing Drake wants from you is pity. But I felt you should know, when it came down to it, Drake chose you.”
“But…” Still reeling from this bit of information, I looked everywhere until I forced myself to focus on the teapot in front of me. Drake was a proud man. He wouldn’t use pity to get me back. But Gina’s revelation chipped away at my fear and awakened an ache…a fire to fight for our marriage.
“Tell me honestly. Do you think there’s hope for Drake and me?”
“Yes,” Gina answered without hesitation. “I have no doubt about Drake’s determination to win you back. That man isn’t a quitter and you need to experience his devotion on your own. I can’t tell you that. I’ve seen his strength and now I’m beginning to understand yours. I’m optimistic.”
“So, as our therapist, what do you suggest should be our next steps?”