Chapter 26 #2
So, the bottle had stayed and is now featured prominently next to a few get well soon cards and a large vase of flowers sent over from the other therapists in her office.
Kat stirs and Rae helps her sit upright, gently brushing her long hair back over her shoulders.
Once she is situated with plenty of pillows behind her, Kat readily accepts the food and coffee.
I watch her with renewed hope. Each time she sleeps, she wakes with more life behind her eyes, more color in her cheeks and lips.
She’s going to be alright.
We are going to be alright.
The headline from The Seattle Times screams out from the page where it lays folded on the edge of Katherine’s bed:
“TERROR RETURNS: DEMON OF THE PNW ESCAPES TO EXACT REVENGE.”
Kat’s eyes immediately fall to the newspaper, and she reaches for it.
“Are you sure you want to read it?” I ask.
“Why not,” she replies. And holds out her other hand for her glasses.
I nod as I hand them to her. She’s got this.
Realizing that Kat isn’t going to freak, Rae excuses herself to head downstairs to return a work call. I turn my attention back to Kat, watching her eyes quickly scan over the article. She mouths a few words and rolls her eyes once or twice.
“Dr. Pearson has denied providing a comment at the time of this article’s publishing… Yeah, no shit, I’ve been mostly unconscious, haven’t I? Fucking assholes,” she murmurs under her breath. But despite it all, a good-natured little smile plays across her lips.
In the beginning we were swarmed by reporters and media outlets.
Law enforcement wanted Kat’s official statement on her kidnapping and any comments she could provide from her evaluation of Eastman.
I think Kat was borderline catatonic for most of it.
It took me looming over the detective and fixing him with a back the fuck off glare for them to finally leave Katherine be.
And she has been different since that night. Since I pulled her up from that well. It’s as if her worst fear coming true has set something free inside of her.
She is fearless now.
I toss the newspaper aside and fix her with a warm smile. The smile is bittersweet, as I know we still have a tough conversation ahead of us. I need to talk to her about her father. I need to explain myself. I owe her that. No more running. No more hiding. No more lurking in the shadows.
“Katherine,” I start. “Look, about your father’s diagnosis...”
“It’s okay, Zayn, really,” she says, cutting me off. “You don’t need to.”
“But I do need to, baby. I owe you this.”
She sighs. “The only thing you owe me is a new pair of black Sarah Flint heels. Size eight.”
Huh? My brow cocks and I shoot her a quizzical look.
“Never mind, baby,” she says, taking a small sip of her coffee, and humming in approval.
Still confused, I shake my head and start again. “So, about your father, Kat…”
“You two knew each other,” she inserts.
“Well, yes,” I say, “I knew Mr. Pearson. I spent a great deal of time with him before he died. Every week, we’d play chess.
He talked openly with me about his diagnosis.
When he decided that he wanted a second opinion, I gave him the name of the doctor who had treated my mother, when she fell sick.
Although her treatment was ultimately unsuccessful, I had appreciated how Dr. Wagner treated my mother with dignity and such loving kindness.
I wanted to offer the same care to your father if he chose to take it. Which as you now know, he did.”
And I pause there, allowing Kat to absorb and process my words. I brace for her to call me a motherfucker. To take back her “I love you” even. But she doesn’t.
“Yeah, I figured as much,” she says simply, offering me a soft smile. “I’m glad he had you to talk to, Zayn. I really am. I just wish I would have known, and that he would have trusted me more. I could have moved back here sooner; I could have tried to help him to—”
“No,” I say firmly, taking her hand. “You can’t do that to yourself.
You were exactly where you needed to be, doing the work that you needed to be doing in Seattle.
Your father didn’t tell me because he trusted me more than you.
” I look down at my lap for a moment before meeting her eyes once again.
“Your father told me because I was there, Kat. He told me because I was there, and he was lonely, and there was no one else to tell. And that,” I add, “was not your fault either.”
Kat’s eyes flicker back and forth between my own. I see a small teardrop gather and fall from her long lashes. She smiles again, as though finally trusting my words.
“He made me promise not to tell you, and I tried to keep that promise to him, baby. I really did. But once I saw how much you were struggling, I knew I needed to let you discover it on your own, thereby not breaking my word to him.”
She swipes at a few more tears as I continue.
“The truth of the matter is your father helped me as much as I helped him. I was in a bad place after coming home. After my discharge. Having regular time with your father, playing chess, helped me ease back into civilian life. He was my friend. And I miss him, too.”
“I’m,” she starts, clearing her throat, “I’m grateful that he had you. That you had each other.” She squeezes my hand.
Tears fall fast and steady now across Kat’s face. I go on, unable to stop now that the veil has been lifted.
“You’re a lot like him, you know. Proud, stoic. Strong. He didn’t want you to see him vulnerable and weak. He didn’t want you to have to see him dying.”
She squeezes my hand again. The gold bracelet slides down her slender wrist. My fingers gently turn over one of the delicate hanging charms. I meet her eyes.
And I can see it there on her face. In this moment, she finally knows the truth: her father loved her. I love her, too. And that as messy and complicated as our story has been—it is real, and supremely ours. And I have the feeling it’s healing us both.