Chapter 45
CHAPTER
Ten months later
H ow was your week this week?” Dr. Sterling folds her hands on top of her notebook, the one that’s always on her lap.
“It was good. I slept through the night twice with no sleeping pill.”
“Oh, wow. That’s a big deal.”
I nod and smile. “It is.”
Ten months ago, when I returned from Louisiana, I expected things to improve—things like my mental health and insomnia.
Minton Parish was behind me, and there were no more chapters coming in since Mom was gone, and, well, dead people take their tales with them.
So I assumed I’d settle back into the way life had been before Hannah had thrown it into a tailspin.
But too much has changed. I’m no longer only Elizabeth Davis.
I’m also Jocelyn Burton—she didn’t stay down south like I’d hoped.
Neither did my mother. I’ve felt a lot of guilt for not being with Mom at the end, when it turned out she’d done so much for me.
So instead of my mental health getting better, things got worse.
I wasn’t hungry and couldn’t sleep. My ability to concentrate was virtually nonexistent.
Grading exams for a class of forty students went from taking me two hours to almost two weeks.
And then there were the physical manifestations of stress—heart palpitations, muscle fatigue, and the worst heartburn.
I went to the doctor a few times. But with all the new symptoms, she wanted me to see a psychiatrist or a therapist—get to the root of the problem.
I’d yessed her at my visits, like I was going to look into it.
But after she wouldn’t prescribe me sleeping pills anymore, I had no choice but to actually do it.
So I made an appointment with Dr. Sterling.
I figured she already knew I had some pretty big issues, so she wouldn’t be a hard sell to get what I needed.
I had no intention of letting her dig into my psyche, but I did need someone to prescribe me those pills so I could sleep.
As it turns out, she’s done a lot more. I think she’s actually helping me.
“So tell me about your week,” Dr. Sterling says. “You’re finished with classes now, right?”
I nod. “Thursday was my last day of the spring semester.”
“Will you teach any summer courses?”
“Not this year. It will be the first time since I started teaching that I have three full months off.”
“I think it’s good you’re taking a break. Do you have any plans for the summer?”
“Not too many. I’m mentoring a student who just completed my full-year novel-writing seminar. She’s shown a lot of promise, so I’m going to keep reading the chapters she writes and giving her feedback until she finishes. I really think she has something, and the book could sell to a publisher.”
“That’s wonderful. It must give you a sense of accomplishment to see your students succeed.”
“I guess.” I look out Dr. Sterling’s window, my mind already wandering to a new topic. “I went into a church the other day, Saint Paul’s.”
Her brows lift. “Really? Tell me how that came about.”
“I’m not sure. My hairstylist moved, so I had to take the train uptown to her new salon for my appointment.
After, I decided to walk home since it was so nice out.
I passed this small church, the door was open, and I just wandered in.
There wasn’t a mass going on, and I didn’t talk to anyone or anything.
But I sat in the back pew, watching people go in and out of the confessional for an hour. ”
“You’ve mentioned your mother urged you to go to confession. Did you consider going in yourself?”
“Maybe for a second.” I smile. “But instead I decided to go to the local bar and pick up a guy to take my mind off my sins.”
Dr. Sterling chuckles. “Whatever brings you peace, I suppose.”
“I met a guy who was just my type—older, a corrections officer, burly and tough. But I didn’t wind up going home with him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he reminded me of my ex too much.
” I stare off once again, thinking of Sam.
I never heard from him after the funeral.
Not that I can blame him. He dropped everything and flew 1,500 miles to support me, and I turned him around and delivered him back to the airport.
He was a nice guy. Decent. Just not right for me, at least at the time.
“I’ve always been attracted to a certain type of man—older, self-assured.
I’m not the psychiatrist here, but even I can see there’s a reason for that. ”
Dr. Sterling nods. “It’s called trauma bonding.
Abuse victims form a distorted perception of what a healthy relationship is and find themselves drawn to people that remind them of that relationship.
In your case, you might not have been able to recall the details of what happened for almost two decades, but the pull to a certain type of partner could still stem from what your mind perceived as an idyllic mate.
Sadly, victims who escape one abusive relationship often find themselves in another abusive relationship. ”
I sigh. “I guess I’m lucky I didn’t do that.
But now that I’m aware of the tendencies I’ve had over the years, I’ m making an effort to date a different type of man.
” I nibble on my bottom lip. I’ve been keeping something from Dr. Sterling, and I’m not sure why.
She already knows the ugly parts. “I’ve actually been . . . talking to someone.”
“A man?”
I nod. “He doesn’t live in the city, so it’s mostly been texts and phone calls. But he’s coming to visit for the weekend. He arrives tonight.”
“Is this someone that you think might have potential as a partner?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I’m not sure. But the more I talk to him, the more I like him. Though the long-distance thing probably wouldn’t be easy. Or maybe that would be ideal—planned visits every once in a while rather than the expectation of seeing someone on a daily basis.”
“Tell me about your prior relationships. We’ve talked about Sam, but have you ever had a long-term relationship with a man, perhaps committed to exclusivity or lived with one? Someone you grew close to and maybe leaned on and he leaned on you?”
I shake my head. “I never dated anyone for more than a couple of months. Sam was probably the longest.”
“Do you think that perhaps you’ve never had a serious relationship because the men you pick are older and self-assured and that relates back to your abuser?”
“I don’t know.” I smile. “Can’t you tell me that?”
Dr. Sterling laughs. “I definitely don’t have all the answers. But talking about things, giving a new perspective to consider, can help you figure it out.” She tilts her head. “Do you think you’d like a long-term relationship with a man someday?”
I smile. “I already have one. Mr. Hank.”
“That’s your old neighbor, right?”
I nod. “He’s always been there for me. And I’ve been trying to do a better job of being there for him since I got back from Louisiana. He’s older than my mother was, and I guess her dying was a reminder that he won’t be around forever, either.”
“That’s wonderful that you’re visiting him more. But what about a relationship with a man your own age—a romantic relationship of some kind. Do you see that in your future?”
I stop, really considering the question. It might be the first time in my life I have to take a moment. Because the answer for two decades was always absolutely not . But now . . . I shrug. “Maybe?”
Dr. Sterling picks up her pen, scribbles a note in her notepad. “That’s good. Progress. You’ve been let down by more than one person you placed your trust in—your mother, a teacher. It will take time to open yourself up, to allow yourself to trust someone new.”
“But how do I fix something I didn’t break?”
Dr. Sterling smiles warmly. “You’re already doing it. You’re here, and we’re talking about it. Acknowledging you’ve been hurt is the first step, and it’s a big one. You’re doing great, Elizabeth.”
I’m nervous. But it’s a different kind of nervous than I’ve been plagued with this last year.
These nerves are the good kind, anticipation instead of dread.
I can’t remember the last time I looked forward to a date.
Is tonight even a date? I’m not sure. But I’ve shaved my legs and have on lacy panties—not that I’m certain I’ll be having sex, but a girl can never be too prepared, and, well, old habits die hard.
My buzzer rings at ten till eight. For once, my heart races with excitement. I push the button for the intercom to make sure it’s him, then open the downstairs door lock remotely and check my face in the bathroom mirror.
It’s just a date, Elizabeth .
Relax.
A minute later, there’s a soft knock on my apartment door. I take a deep breath before wiping my palms on my pants and opening it.
He smiles. “Hey.”
“Hi, Noah.”