Chapter 20 - Winter #2
Grace’s hand went to her hair. “Panicked . . . hopeless . . . like a rat trapped in a maze. You know those light-colored wooden boxes that have mazes inside? Except toward the end, especially in the corners, it gets so dark.”
He nodded, leaning forward again. “Tell me about that.”
“The closer I get, the narrower and darker it gets, then I can’t find the answers.
I try to think, but I can’t make my mind go there.
” She looked away. “Robby didn’t deserve any of this.
He was so patient. He was giving me space.
But when I started packing, everything got darker and more confusing.
I felt closed in . . . and I just couldn’t do it.
” She turned back to Gene. “Why? Why do I keep screwing up relationships? Is this going to happen every time?” Long silence.
“I don’t know how to fix things anymore .
. . my life. I just don’t.” Grace put her head in her hands. She was beyond tears.
“Sometimes that happens. Sometimes, the problem is too big. We have to put it aside, stop thinking about it — stop trying to figure it out. Stay busy, let ourselves feel the feelings that come . . . be sad . . . cry . . . and our unconscious will come up with a solution.”
Grace lifted her head. “I can’t believe that.”
“I’m not saying it will happen quickly or easily.
You may feel terrible in the meantime. Let yourself feel that.
Your subconscious needs time.” He was so calm and sure and somehow caring.
“Talk therapy is hard work. Sometimes a person needs to add medication. Sometimes in-patient treatment. But try this first. Don’t try to figure anything out.
Don’t try to fix anything. Put it aside and stay busy.
Rest your mind. That’s your homework. Let’s set up another meeting in a few days.
We’ll keep exploring your feelings. Make sure you’re feeling them.
Keep the subject alive, in front of your subconscious.
You can call or text me if you need to before then. ”
She’d seen him regularly since that day.
At first, she could barely work. She had a hard time focusing.
Maybe she couldn’t do it this time. Maybe it was already too late.
It was so hard and painful. And the guilt .
. . what she had done to Robby. He’d been incredibly patient.
He’d loved her. He didn’t deserve any of it.
She was ashamed, and just like with Cam, she knew everyone blamed her.
And they were right. She should never have gotten involved with Robby.
But Gene kept saying, “You will feel better. One foot in front of the other. One hour, one day at a time. Give your subconscious a chance.” And she kept on, walking everyday even if it rained, lying on the rocks between her house and the harbor.
She was living. She didn’t want to stop living.
She emailed both Margie and Jim, saying she was coming back to Minnesota, and she was seeing a therapist. She was sorry.
She didn’t know yet where she was going to live.
It might be Ely. And they had both said they wanted to see her!
They didn’t have to say that. She could hardly believe it.
She told Gene. “Everyone makes mistakes. Your older friends know that. You’re going to make more mistakes.
You may feel lost. But you can find your way.
That’s how you learn. You need to make your peace with making mistakes.
Learn to forgive yourself. If only because if you can’t forgive yourself, you won’t be able to forgive others.
And if you want other people in your life, at some point, you’ll need to forgive them, because we all make mistakes. ”
“What if you can’t forgive yourself?”
“Then, you’re stuck. You can’t go forward.”
“I’m stuck.”
“Yes. But now you’ve realized that, and we can work on it.”
********
Early on, Gene said, “You inflicted a lot of pain on yourself too, leaving like you did. That was an extreme step. Extreme steps are caused by something big. What were you feeling?”
“Afraid.”
“You say that quickly.”
“It’s something that’s always there.”
“Was it there at the end of your marriage?” Grace nodded. “Tell me about that.”
“About how it was at the end?”
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath, looked off, remembering.
“Dark. I didn’t know where we were headed, but I knew it wasn’t good for me.
I know the afraid feeling you have when you try something outside your comfort zone.
It wasn’t that. That’s exciting. Exhilarating.
This was descending . . . into a dark, narrow place.
Alone. Cam couldn’t see anything was wrong.
I saw a therapist. Then Cam and I together saw another one.
But I guess I couldn’t explain it well enough because no one helped me .
. . Cam was busy . . . he didn’t take it seriously .
. . that I was really unhappy. He wasn’t.
He didn’t want to change anything. We separated.
He fell in love with someone else so quickly.
I wasn’t expecting that. We divorced.” She took a breath.
She hadn’t realized she’d been talking fast.
“Grace.” She looked back at the screen, focused on Gene’s face. “Tell me some more about what happens in these relationships to make you afraid?”
“I feel myself getting lost. I forget my plan, or it gets derailed, or I can’t hold to it and the relationship.
There’s no one to ask how to do that, and I can’t figure it out on my own.
I have no control over other people, but I do over my career.
I’ve figured out if the other people are going to leave, I need to have the career, so I’ve got something. ”
“You say there’s no one to ask. Was there ever someone?”
“Yes, my dad. He always helped.”
“You said he died. Can you talk about that? How old were you?”
Grace looked at Gene and said in a monotone, “Almost twenty-two. Home from college on Spring Break. He had a heart attack at home. I didn’t know what to do, so he died . . . right there . . . in front of me.”
“Are you thinking CPR could’ve saved him? Did someone tell you that?”
“No, but I don’t want to ask. I don’t want to hear the answer.”
“Was anyone else present?”
“My mother.”
“What did she do?”
“Stood on the other side of the room. I think she was in shock.”
“Has she ever said she blames you?”
“We’ve never talked about it . . . but I think . . . she might.”
“So how did you feel in the months after your father died?”
“I went back to school. Took exams. Graduated. Got married. We moved away for graduate school.”
“That’s what you did, not how you felt.”
“Oh. Well, I was busy. There was lots to do. I don’t remember much.
I got through exams, then came home. Mom was not functioning well.
I took over. Downsized the wedding. Had appointments with lawyers, at banks .
. . all that. Cam and I found an apartment near the university, got married, and moved. ”
“Okay. We’ll come back to this next time.”
Grace closed her eyes.
“What are you feeling right now?”
“Tired. Confused. Sort of numb.”
“Go outside. Walk. Look around. Don’t think, just pay attention to what’s going on around you.”
************
A gray February day. Cold and windy. The house was closed up.
Grace needed space. She needed to breathe fresh air.
And something physical to do. To take her mind off him.
Was she ever going to stop missing him? Was she ever going to feel peace?
She couldn’t remember a time she’d felt that since the cabin.
She bundled up . . . down jacket, hair inside as an extra layer, knit hat, insulated gloves, Bean boots .
. . and opened the beachside door, which, once she turned the old, ceramic knob, blew open by itself, as it often did this time of year.
The cold air hit the exposed skin on her face, but it was welcome, like an ice-cold drink on a hot day.
She walked down the long path she’d worn these past five months, across the empty yard, bare except for a fringe of wild grass and mowed weeds, to the rocks that lined the beach between the houses and the harbor.
She turned left, into the wind. Whenever she passed a washed-up board, she’d drag it back to her path.
That had not been her plan. She’d had no plan.
But it was something physical to do. Maybe she’d have a bonfire.
She walked a quarter mile up to the Revolutionary fort, going back and forth from the beach to her path for hours, dragging dozens of boards, a ramshackle pile.
Then she hauled them into her yard and began placing them end to end, two by two, starting at the foot of the porch steps.
When she got to the end of the path, there were only two boards left.
She put them off to the side. They could be spares.
She stood up to look back at her work — a double-board boardwalk — and was astonished to see her mother, walking towards her, dark hair blowing out behind her, treading carefully on the worn boards, in her Birkenstocks and socks, the wind off the harbor pressing her long, brown-flecked tweed coat against her straight, slim body.
She stopped about six feet away from Grace.
“Hi. I’ve been calling. I figured I ought to come check.” Elizabeth paused. She and Grace looked at each other. Grace didn’t speak. “You don’t lock your house.” Grace shook her head. “How are you?”
“Okay.”
“Are you finished with this?” She looked down at the boards. “Can you go inside now? Maybe have a cup of tea?”
“I guess.”
“Let’s go inside. It’s cold in this wind.”
“Okay.”