28. 28
28
Bo
D ad sets the therapist up in one of the unused offices on the second floor. This one was supposed to be used by Gunnar and me—as if it were possible for Gunnar to share a room with anyone.
He would take it over with framed pictures of himself with famous women and evidence of his racing exploits. Although, seeing him at dinner last night with Stella suggests she would be front and centre of pictures he’d want to show off now.
I like them together. But I wouldn’t want them to be staring me in the face all day because then I’d have to think about what I’m missing.
Hettie.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and finally look at the therapist. I’ve been looking at everything else in the room, and there’s not much here. There’s not even a window from where I can plot my escape.
The second floor isn’t that high and there’s still snowdrifts to break my fall.
Dr. Louise Patel is a woman in her thirties with a faint English accent. Which is surprising because I never would have expected the British to put much faith in therapy .
I’m not sure I do, but Dad suggested it. And Hettie is on board, so I really don’t have a choice. She didn’t say that there’s no second chance with us if I don’t do this, but I got that vibe.
What am I supposed to say to this doctor?
It’s been five minutes since I came in and shook Dr. Patel’s hand, taking the uncomfortable wing chair across from her.
If this was my office, I would definitely get better furniture.
I haven’t managed to say anything, mainly because I don’t have a clue what to say. Do I blurt out some of the lowlights of my life, like losing Mom? Losing Hettie? And then we could start the discussion about how it’s all my fault.
That doesn’t sound productive. Or fun. Plus, I’ve already stepped up to take the blame. What’s going to change there?
I give her a weak smile and she takes that as encouragement.
“How are you, Bo?” Dr. Patel breaks the silence and my spiral of thoughts. “Or should I call you Your Highness?”
“Bo. Just Bo.”
She glances at the notebook she’s holding. “Prince Bowden Eugene Jerome Leif Erickson. That’s quite the handle.”
“Just Bo,” I repeat. I’ve always wondered how my parents came up with our names. As far as I know there’s no one on either side of the family with the name Eugene. Did they just decide on random names? Pick a letter—let’s do Jerome for J.
“I would say you’re more than ‘Just Bo.’” D. Patel flips through the notebook. “You’ve been quite successful in the lumberjack world. I’m afraid I don’t know much about the sport, but I saw videos of you. It’s quite exciting—very impressive.”
I shift in the chair. “Thanks. I don’t really do that anymore. ”
“No? Championships three years running and suddenly you retire? Were you injured?”
“No.”
“Too much attention put on you. You don’t like the spotlight, do you?” Her brown-eyed gaze holds me and suddenly, it’s like I’m stripped naked and sitting here, shivering in the chill of the castle. “Is that true? Your brothers and Princess Lyra have always seemed to seek the spotlight, but not you. You tend to stay in the background. Why is that?”
I lift a shoulder. How am I supposed to answer that? “The—the others,” I stammer. “They’re better at it. The people and the pictures and the questions. I’ve never been good at it.”
“And does that mean you’re less important? That you’re not a full committed member of the royal family because you don’t like talking to reporters?”
“Jeez.” I rub the back of my head. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
Dr. Patel chuckles. “I don’t see any reason to wait until you’re more comfortable with me or this process because I doubt you will be.”
“Got that right,” I mutter.
“And, Bo, there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way. Being put on the spot? Forced to share personal things with complete strangers? That’s never easy for anyone, so if you think your siblings are better at it, it’s just because they’re able to develop a persona that can deal with it.”
“A persona? ”
She nods. “We’ll get into that. But I just need you to understand you’re not alone with being uncomfortable dealing with the press.”
“Okay.” I’m totally confused now.
“Have you ever spoken to your siblings about how they feel about being a member of the royal family?” she asks.
Have I…? There’s always been comments about this reporter or that, complaints about being forced into suits and ties to attend an event or a meeting that will inevitably put me to sleep. But has anyone asked? Have we ever really talked about what being part of this family means?
“I guess not,” I admit. “I know Kalle doesn’t love it, but he can handle things.”
“I get the sense that you don’t think you’d be an effective ruler. Is this solely because you don’t like talking to the press?” she prompts.
That question feels like she’s kicked my shin to get my attention. “It sounds stupid when you say it like that,” I protest. She cocks her head at me, and I feel my face flame. I rub the back of my head like the answers are going to be found there. “It is stupid.”
“It’s not at all stupid. You’re an introvert, Bo. Possibly shy. Definitely reserved, and you prefer to limit communication until you’re comfortable. None of these traits mean you would not be a successful king of Laandia, if it ever came to that.”
“It won’t.”
“It could,” she corrects. “I think that’s the problem. You were born the third son. Middle children always get a bad rap, but that’s not the problem here. You were born into a family who has a responsibility to govern a country and its people. You didn’t ask for this; none of you did. But as a third son, you never expected to take over after your father. No one expected it, and therefore you have lived your life never imagining it.”
“That’s my problem? I have no imagination?”
“Not at all. You grew up knowing your brothers would take over. And then your mother’s death—”
“That was my fault,” I blurt out.
Dr. Patel pauses. “Why is that?”
“Because I told her I married Hettie, and then she left and got into an accident. She must have been so mad at me, and then…” I squeeze my knees tightly, welcoming the pinch of my fingers as punishment.
“Why do you think she was mad at you?” Dr. Patel asks in a quiet voice.
“Because I got married without telling her.” I sound like a broken record. I said the same thing to Hettie, to Odin. To Dad. And they all care about me, so of course they would protest and try to change my mind, but there’s no point. If I hadn’t married Hettie—
If I had never married Hettie, there would be no Tema.
“What’s going through your mind, Bo?” Dr. Patel urges. “You’ve just realized something.”
“Are you a mind-reader?” I mutter.
“No, but your posture just changed. You can tell me if you like. Or not.”
“Or not.” But then she doesn’t say anything, just sits there with a tiny smile on her face like she’s waiting for me to break.
I last about thirty seconds .
“I’ve always felt like I needed to regret marrying Hettie like that because if we hadn’t, then Mom wouldn’t have died. But if we never got married, then there would be no Tema,” I relent.
Another glance at her notebook, and I wonder if there’s a full dossier on me in there. “Ah. Tema, the daughter you didn’t know about until a few days ago.”
“Yeah.”
“How do you feel about suddenly being a father?”
“Surprised.”
Dr. Patel chuckles. “I’m sure that’s an understatement. What I meant is, are you happy about it? Angry?”
“Why would I be angry? Tema is an amazing kid. I’m lucky to have her as mine.”
“Yes, she is yours, but Hettie kept her a secret. How do you feel about that? Take your time.”
There’s that smile again. With a huff of resentment, I think back to when Hettie appeared out of nowhere and showed me the picture of our daughter. How did I feel at that moment?
Shock… rage that she never told me. Wonder that we created such a perfect little human. Grudging respect for Hettie because why would she have told me when I pushed her out of my life?
Relief that I wasn’t the only one who did something wrong in this relationship.
“I was glad that I wasn’t the only bad guy,” I tell her finally. “She should have told me. It’s inexcusable that she never contacted me. But it’s also inexcusable that I forced her to leave. I didn’t give her any other option.”
“It kind of makes you even, you mean?”
“Sort of.”
“Interesting way of looking at it,” she muses.
“Does that mean it’s bad?” I demand.
“Not at all. None of your opinions or thoughts are either good or bad. They’re just yours. Now, back to your mother.”
I exhale, frustrated. Here comes the attempt to get me to change my mind.
“I can see how your mother might be disappointed that she wasn’t at your wedding,” she begins. “I don’t have children, but if I did, and one of them got married without telling me? I’d be annoyed. And maybe some anger, but not enough to cause an accident. Was there something about your relationship that she didn’t approve of? Did she not like Hettie?”
“No, but her family—Hettie’s family…”
“How do you feel about her family?”
“They don’t deserve her. No one is good enough for Hettie. Her mother abandoned her, her brothers don’t care, neither does her father—”
“It sounds like you’re angry with them, not your mother.”
“I… She deserves better. She’s so good, and smart and sweet, and they’re… not.”
“It’s understandable for you to be upset when someone you care about is hurt. But that doesn’t mean you can assume you know what your mother was feeling. And that’s what you’re doing. Assuming,” she adds.
I don’t say a word.
“You can’t know what your mother was thinking that day,” she reprimands gently. “But there is someone who might have some insight.”
“Who? ”
“Your sister was in the car with her. Have you ever talked to Lyra about this?”