Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“…the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetest reward I could receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have them copy .” ~Louisa May Alcott, Little Women
N at’s heart raced. It actually fucking raced like a stallion rounding the bend at the Kentucky Derby. The last time her heart had beat like this as she sat at the dining room table of her parents’ house was the morning after she’d lost her virginity. Convinced that somehow the recently-sexed pheromones were detectable, her heart pounded throughout their breakfast that day.
“I do love that I married a man who cooks,” Mom crooned as Dad pushed open the door carrying in a glass bowl of taco-seasoned ground turkey.
Agreed. Nat’s lips tugged up with devilish agreement. Not at her father’s culinary skills, which were impressive, but by the many skills inside and outside of the kitchen held by her boyfriend. The novelty of Noah as her boyfriend had not worn off, nor had the queasiness about sharing their relationship with the family in two days’ time, but she’d proceed. They were worth it, after all.
Fear had held her back far too long. No more! She would embrace the bravery that had been hidden within her all along.
“Well, I love that I married a woman who enjoys me feeding her.” Dad bent to kiss Mom on the cheek.
I don’t think I’ll ever tire of feeding you. Noah’s words danced in her thoughts as a far too big smile spread on her face. So, it appeared everything was going to make her think of Noah. Even her parents’ unbridled affection for one another.
“Cut it out, you two, or I’ll never give you grandchildren.” Nat wagged a teasing finger.
“Well, at least I have Fitz and Lizzie.” Mom shrugged, unfolding the blue cloth napkin and draping it on her lap.
“Oh, I have a feeling Natalie will give us human grandbabies someday.” Dad winked at Nat as he took his seat.
Nat shot him an “I will kill you, old man!” look. He just unfolded his napkin and laughed silently at her. Thank the goddess, they’d be telling everyone Sunday because Dad was a week away from spilling the tea. In fact, Noah and she may want to walk through the door holding bedazzled signs proclaiming them as a couple, or else Dad would let it slip before the cheese board hit the coffee table.
After they’d served themselves some of Dad’s delicious turkey tacos, black bean salad, and Spanish rice, they did the obligatory small talk chatting about Dad’s latest detective novel, Mom’s planned shopping trip with Maura on Saturday after the clinic closed, and the scrapbook Nat was making for Elle and Clayton to give them at the bridal shower in November.
“So, Natalie, you called this meeting to discuss some clinic business,” Dad said with an encouraging smile.
Nat dabbed the napkin at her mouth and then placed it on her lap. “Yes. As you know over the years, we’ve discussed the expansion of the clinic to offer mental health services for our patients. With the shortage of licensed mental health providers and resources in the county, most people must drive to Rochester or Buffalo to access resources.”
Mom sighed. “It is so frustrating. We’ve tried to attract a licensed psychologist or social worker to join us, but we haven’t been successful. Even if they live in the area, they can get paid five to ten thousand dollars more a year in the cities.”
Nat turned to Mom. “Yes, but I think if we focused on telehealth services, then we might have a better chance at attracting clinicians who would be open to making less money but having a job that provided them with the flexibility to see patients from home or, frankly, anywhere they can get an internet connection.”
Dad and Mom’s gazes met across the table, indulging in the kind of silent conversations that had annoyed Nat and her brothers. Those eye conversations were usually focused on something Clayton, Evan, or she had done wrong or shaded in a “bless their heart” hue as they passed parental judgment.
“I know Elle suggested Sloan-Whitney.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed. Dad fiddled with his bow tie.
“Which means affiliating with a third party. I agree with both of you that I don’t want to give up control of the clinic. It’s been run by our family for almost a hundred years. I think until there is no longer a Dr. Owens in Perry, it should remain as such. However, I do think there is merit in the idea of telehealth.”
“I agree.” Mom tapped her manicured red fingers on the smooth surface of the table. “We discussed that, but between the equipment, hiring a technician to run it, paying the therapist, the learning curve for patients, and marketing it was something we couldn’t budget for this year. Maybe in a few.”
Nat reached for her sleek, leather satchel, a gift from Elle when she started at the clinic to replace the canvas one she’d always used. Opening it, she pulled out the copies of the application packet she’d drafted. Pushing her plate to the side, she handed her parents each one.
“If you’d flip to the second page of the packet, it outlines the Clark Foundation and how we can utilize their grant program to pay for the startup costs for a telehealth program,” Nat explained.
“Aren’t they only for businesses? We’re a medical clinic.” Mom gnawed on her lower lip in thought.
“That’s what I thought. But I spoke with them at length at…” Nat paused, looking at Dad’s arched right brow. Of course, he knew when and where she’d spoken with the Clark Foundation’s staff, and if she’d shared, so would Mom. Not wanting to raise Mom’s suspicion, she lied. “…on the phone. They’ve never worked with a medical office, but they are very open to it. Their goal isn’t just focused on businesses but cultivating thriving rural communities. A thriving rural community would include access to quality healthcare resources.”
“This is very thorough and well-researched.” Dad flipped through the packet. “I love the statistics about outcome measures related to mental health services and suicide rates in rural populations.”
“What’s this about a parent support group?” Mom asked, pointing to the third page of the documents.
Nat’s giddiness couldn’t be contained. Joy pulsed through her as if she was giving a talk during grand rounds in her Residency Program again. Goddess, she was such a school nerd. How she’d loved giving presentations in her academic career.
“I got the idea from Summer. It’s a group for parents of kids with disabilities. Summer located other parents in the county who would be interested in the group. We reached out to a therapist who would be willing to host a virtual group for them. I’m proposing we get two sets of telehealth equipment to set up one in the third exam room we never use for individual appointments and one in our conference room to be used evenings and weekends for group therapy. We can start with the parent support group and then look at other groups, like for substance abuse or grief.”
Nat’s gaze flicked to her dad at the mention of a grief group. With a small smile, he nodded. Clayton, he, and she had met every Tuesday for the last few weeks while Mom was at her weekly Jazzercise class at the YMCA in Warsaw. The time together had been filled with many tears, hugs, and laughter about Evan. It also was filled with many conversations about how to best approach Mom. The mere mention of Evan seemed to grip her in debilitating grief where she couldn’t speak or even seem to function.
An impressed grin sketched across Mom’s face. “I think this is really good. Something we should explore. What do you think, Chris?”
“Agreed. Good work, Dr. Owens.”
“Thanks.” Nat did a wiggly happy dance in her seat. She didn’t care that she was celebrating much like her five-year-old self when there was chocolate cake for dessert.
I bet Noah would make me chocolate cake to celebrate. She blushed at that. Yup, she was a goner. Summer was so right.
“I wish you’d brought me in sooner. I could have helped you with this,” Mom said.
Nat blew out a breath. “I know. I wanted to show you that I can do both the clinical and the admin side of things. I wanted you to see that I can do it myself. That if Dad and you choose to retire, that I have this.”
“Oh.” A frown yanked down at Mom’s lips as she placed the paperwork beside her plate.
Nat nibbled at her lower lip. Part of her wanted to just let it go, but the sadness almost screamed from Mom’s downcast smile.
“What is it, Mom?”
“Nothing.” Mom waved her hands in front of her face, almost seeming to flick off the idea that anything was wrong.
In the Owens family, if someone said they were “fine” or “nothing was wrong,” then you just smiled and said, “Okay.” It’s how it had always been. Nat had done it so many times.
No more!
“There is something wrong.” She shifted in her seat to face Mom straight on.
Mom’s lips pursed. “Natalie, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” She thumped her chest. “Talk to me.”
“Natalie Joan, I told you everything is fine, so drop it.” Mom’s tone was as firm as her smile. “You did a nice job with this. I’ll go over the application, and we can submit it by the deadline.” She stood up, grabbing the stapled packet from the table.
Nat opened her mouth, but her reply was halted by Dad’s hand resting on her shoulder. The squeeze of his hand was his silent command to stop. Dad knew Mom better than anyone. He’d advised patience, as Clayton and she discussed their concerns about Mom. As much as Nat wanted to yank her mom along with the rest of the family, she knew that everyone healed at their own pace. They waltzed a delicate dance.
“Heidi, please sit,” Dad’s request was gentle.
“This is silly. Everything is fine.” Her face pinched.
“Damn it, Heidi.” His demand, both pleading and firm, halted her steps.
Mouth slack, she swung back to him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Please.” His unwavering gaze turned steely.
While most of Nat’s friends had fathers with stern “Dad” voices that made them cower when doing something wrong, Nat’s dad lacked that particular verbal trick. A raised voice or shouts seldom breached his lips. She’d only ever had one stern-adjacent talking to from Dad. Even his cheers during their sporting events as kids were mild-mannered. A loud sigh or disappointed look was as rough as he’d ever been with them as kids. That had proven more effective than yelling with all three Owens siblings.
“Heidi, why did you frown?” he pushed, his gaze fixed on his wife.
“This is stupid.” She tossed her hands up. “It was just a frown. I don’t know why you’re both making a federal case out of this.”
“Because we’ve spent too long not talking about your frowns.”
An instant protest choked Nat. Part of her wanted to dive over the table and tackle him to stop his words. They should wait as he’d counseled… Be patient. The other part of her sat in stunned awe.
“We’ve spent too long not speaking about things and that neglect has impacted our children.”
“It has not,” she snapped, her eyes narrowed. “Our children are fine.”
“But we’re not.” Nat’s confession came out as a whimper.
Mom’s gray eyes, so similar to Nat’s, glistened with disbelief or hurt. Nat wasn’t sure, but she knew her words had struck as if she’d slapped her mother with her hand rather than the unwanted truth.
“Our children aren’t okay. You’re not okay. I’m not okay,” Dad croaked. “The day we lost Evan, we started losing this family. We take the family photos with smiles. We have all the appropriate family dinners and events. We do all the things that make us look like a happy family, but we’re not. We’re broken.”
Mom’s hand shook as she gripped the papers. Her expression turned stormy, forecasting the coming tears.
“I don’t want to lose my other two children because we don’t talk about things.” With a crack in his voice, tears rolled down his cheeks. “I don’t want to lose you. I love you so much. You are my heart, and for the last ten years, my heart has been breaking every day. We will never be what we were before we lost Evan, but if we don’t talk about it…if we don’t grieve…we’ll never be a family again.”
Mom shook her head. “Chris, no. I can’t. I can’t. It hurts too much. I can’t.”
Nat reached out, taking Mom’s free hand. “Mom, you can. I know you can because I did, and everyone says I’m like you. That means you’re like me…You’re brave.”
The tears slipped down Mom’s face as she looked at Nat.
“Dad, Clayton, and I have been talking about Evan. We want to help you…help us…move forward.”
“Help me do what? Forget him? I can’t forget him…there is a hole in my chest where he should be.” She slammed her palm against her heart.
“Not forget. We’ll never forget. But to forgive. To forgive yourself,” Dad said, swallowing hard. “Just like I must forgive myself. The only reason he came home that weekend was to attend that father/son golf tournament with me the next day. He’d told us he was swamped with his residency program, but we pushed him to come home anyway. If we hadn’t, he’d be alive.”
“No.” Nat shook her head in unwilling disbelief, vision shimmering with tears.
“I know,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. “I know it’s not our fault, just like it isn’t yours, my dear girl.”
Over the last two weeks, Nat had shared the knotted-up feelings of guilt, resentment, anger, and regret that had marred her grieving heart. Sharing the unspoken with Clayton and Dad was like rubbing alcohol on an emotional wound. It hurt like hell, but the ache started to dull with the sterilizing impact of talking.
Mom’s gaze shifted to her. “What? What is your father saying?”
That painful lump attempted to choke the words away, but she pushed it down. “I was supposed to go on a run with Evan that night but didn’t because we got in a fight. If I had gone running with him, we’d have been at the park. He wouldn’t have been on that road…not meeting with that truck.”
Mom shook her head. “It’s not your fault…. it’s not your fault.”
“I know…well, I’m trying to know.”
“Heidi, our children are hurting because we don’t talk about things. For ten years, grief, pain, and guilt have imprisoned our daughter, our other son, and us.” His glistening eyes warmed.
Mom swallowed thickly, no words coming. Her face was ashen.
“I’ve started seeing a counselor. It’s helping. It hurts. I’m not going to pretend that there aren’t lots of tears and times I don’t want to do it. It’s like any wound; it’s going to hurt even while healing,” Nat said, squeezing her mom’s hand.
Rising, Dad walked to his wife’s other side. Kneeling beside her, taking her other hand. “My love, even though we will heal, we will still have scars, but we’ll learn to deal with them…Together. Our Evan wouldn’t want this. That boy was joy in motion. Smiles and laughter followed him wherever he went. Let his leaving us to go to Heaven be the same. Even if we’re not smiling, we need to talk about him. We need to do it as a family, and I think we need to see a therapist. It’s time…it’s time to talk.”
Mom let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”
“Mom, we’re strong enough for you. Let us support you. Let us hold your hand while you do hard things. Just like you held my hand until I was ready to walk on my own,” she said, clasping her mom’s delicate hands in her own, hoping each stroke coaxed her to say yes.
Gnawing on her lower lip, Mom looked between Nat and Dad.
“My love, we need you. You are our heart. We can’t work without you,” he said, brushing her satiny hair behind her ear.
“Alright.” One breathless word laced with every emotion etched across Mom’s face: sorrow, guilt, anger, longing, and the tiniest flicker of hope.
Rising, he pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “That’s my warrior queen.”
“I’m so proud of you, Mom.” Amazed pride spread in Nat’s chest. For both her parents.
Letting go of Nat’s hand, Mom held up the packet of papers in her right hand. “And I’m so proud of you, my girl. You don’t need me anymore. That’s what the frown was about. My children don’t need me anymore. I know it’s silly. Clayton used to need me to watch Fitz, but that stopped when Elle came along. Now, you don’t need me to run the business side of the clinic,” she sniffled.
Nat’s face lit with a silent chuckle. “Mom, we’ll always need you, but more importantly, we want you. I don’t want our relationship to be grounded in you taking care of me.” She looked at her dad with a smile, and then back to Mom. “I know it’s a tightrope to walk. You’ve been my mom longer than my colleague. You’ll always be my mom, and I’ll always want you, but maybe we can shift to friends. A relationship less about you taking care of me and more about just being with me.”
“Can I still harass you about the shortness of your dresses?” Mom asked with a watery laugh.
“They are a little short.” Dad chuckled.