Chapter 18
O n the sixth day after the newspaper article came out, Ben paced back and forth in his living room, phone in his hand. He’d almost texted Nell a dozen times this morning, but each time he’d stopped himself.
He hadn’t left the house since coming home from her place a week ago. He’d gotten himself in the front door, called Cameron, and canceled all his in-person appointments. Then he’d stopped answering his phone. Calls came in from the clinic, presumably to talk about the article, and he’d let them all go to voicemail.
The one thing he’d wanted to avoid had happened, his worst fear manifested, in the way phobias had of showing their faces, just when you thought things were safe. Now, not only had he failed to defeat his anxiety, he’d failed to hide it from the world.
People would assume something was wrong with him, after reading that article. They might even think he had a serious physical illness, but then, he couldn’t correct them because they’d want to know what else it was.
And on top of his complete failure in the mental health department was the way he’d failed Nell. Her frozen face, the way she’d stood, still and quiet, when he told her they weren’t dating anymore. That they never had been. He’d hurt her in the worst way possible, leaving her exactly the way she’d been left before.
Marco’s horrified expression also wouldn’t leave his mind. He’d been scared, and Ben had been the cause of it.
And that was one more reason he couldn’t be around them, couldn’t be close to them anymore. He couldn’t have a breakdown if he was helping take care of a child. He had to be able to hold things together, be strong enough to take care of someone else.
After seeing his massive panic attack, Nell had to know it was the best choice for them to be apart. He’d thought he was getting better, but he wasn’t. Maybe he never would.
His phone buzzed with a text and he hurled it onto the couch and continued pacing. She’d said she would support him still. But how could she mean that?
I would want that person, if that person was you , she’d said .
Bitter guilt made his breath come shorter. He wanted her still, with a deep ache that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he ran on the treadmill or buried himself in research for his next writing project.
Even though he wasn’t well enough to be with her, it didn’t stop his stupid heart from loving her.
The night before, he’d lit yahrzeit candles at sundown to mark the anniversary of Leah’s death. He’d watched the candles burn and remembered her silly laugh, her sense of humor, and how her face lit up every time he visited. How he’d loved taking care of her.
After saying a Hebrew blessing for the candles, he’d said a few words just for her, reaching for their connection.
“Leah. I know you wouldn’t want me to be like this. I fell apart a little bit, after you left. I always tried so hard to hold everything together for you. But maybe I had to fall apart, so I could be put back together in a different way. This new version of me will always have a hole in the shape of you, though.”
With his eyes on the flame, he focused on memories of them reading books together, their long walks and conversations. When the candles went out, he’d gone up to bed, and woken this morning feeling ready to consider what he’d done a week ago.
He couldn’t fix it, but he could at least stand to think about it, where before today, he’d shoved it as far out of his mind as possible.
His phone buzzed again, muffled against the couch cushion. He grabbed it, saw Vanessa’s name on the screen, and swiped right to answer the call before he could think better of it.
“What.”
“I’m coming over there. Now. You better be wearing pants.” She hung up on him.
Ben frowned down at himself. Of course he was fully dressed. No matter how bad things got, he got dressed in the morning.
Twenty minutes later, his doorbell rang. Vanessa shoved past him, staggering under the weight of several canvas shopping bags with the handles looped over her arms. In her hands, she cradled two potted plants, which she set on his kitchen counter before rounding on him.
Her face was red with exertion and irritation, and her sharp green eyes pinned him in place.
“What is all this?” he asked.
“Shut up and listen to me for a few minutes without interrupting. I know you already think you’ve got this situation all figured out. But you haven’t been in the clinic the last week, so therefore, you know nothing.”
“Okay.” Ben shut his mouth, staring at her. Vanessa in full fury mode was something he’d rarely witnessed.
“‘All this’ is a fraction of what’s been pouring into the clinic.” She lifted one of the canvas bags and upended it onto his kitchen floor. Several dozen cards, letters, and wrapped gifts fell out of it, sliding to the floor with a swish.
“And this.” She dumped out the next bag. “And all of these.” With a flourish, she tossed the empty bags to the floor. A few cards skittered under the cabinets.
“Are those …”
“For you? Yes. They’re all for you. Would you like me to read you one? No, don’t answer that. I will.” She bent and picked up a random card, opening it with a fingernail.
“‘Dear Dr. Friedman, I’m so glad you’ve been able to return to work. Wishing you all the best.’ Here’s another. ‘You have our support, no matter what you’re going through. We are thinking of you and sending our love.’”
“Stop.” Ben held up a hand. “I get it.”
He cleared his throat. “It was very kind of people to send those. But I never wanted them to know in the first place. I don’t want their pity.”
She glared at him. “It’s not pity. It’s called support. It’s what people do when they care about one another.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Did it never occur to you that people would support you, as much as you’ve supported them all these years?”
“I—”
“And you teach them how to take care of themselves, but you refuse to do the same for yourself.”
He looked over her shoulder, out his kitchen window to avoid her gaze. “That thought had occurred to me lately. And not just about me. All of us need to take better care of ourselves.”
“Then listen to yourself. So you have problems, like the rest of the world does. What kind of example are you setting, shoving all your own issues down like this and hiding away in your house?”
“I know.” His voice came out sharper than he’d intended. “I know that’s what I’m doing. But I can’t do anything else. I tried to get better, and I failed. I read that stupid article and had a massive panic attack in front of Nell and her son. The worst I’d had in months. I really thought …” He swallowed. “I thought I was dying.”
“Oh, Ben.” Her voice softened.
“And I’ve been taking my medicine and doing my breathing exercises and none of it worked. It’s … I’m afraid it’s stronger than me. I’ll never get better.” His voice broke off. Vanessa stayed silent, waiting for more.
“I broke up with her,” he added.
“No. You didn’t. Ben, you did not. Not because of a panic attack.”
“What else could I do? I’m not well enough to be with anyone right now. I’m not even sure I can go outside without it happening all over again.”
She raised a brow at him. “Have you been outside since that day?”
“No.”
“But you were, before. You were going to work every day. You were absolutely making progress. You’re not in the same place as you were a month ago.”
“I might be. I might be right back where I started.” He shoved a hand through his hair, grinding his palm against his forehead. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not making sense. I don’t know what would happen now, if I tried going out. I think I didn’t want to find out.”
Vanessa picked her way through the pile of cards on the floor, her pointed heels stabbing holes in a couple of the envelopes.
When she got close, she put a tentative hand on his forearm. “Would you like to find out, with a friend?”
He looked up, finally meeting her eyes. There was no judgment in them, only kindness. “Yes. I think I could do that.”
He followed her out the front door. She sat on the bench on his porch, the one where he’d sat with Nell after she’d dropped the flowers. Vanessa patted the cushion next to her, and he sat.
His neighborhood was peaceful this time of morning, with everyone already at work. Birds sang in the branches, and a brisk breeze swirled around them, lifting Vanessa’s hair.
He felt normal. No panic attack, no accelerated breathing or heart rate.
He drew in a shaky breath. “I made a mistake, didn’t I? A really big mistake.”
Vanessa nodded in agreement, gazing out onto his street with a serene expression. “Yes, you did. But the good news is, some mistakes are fixable.”
“What do I do? What can I say to her, after what I did?”
She patted him on the shoulder. “I can’t tell you that. You’ll figure out the best thing. But maybe I’ll see you at work next week?”
“Yes. I’ll call and let Cameron know. And Vanessa … I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’ll come with me to Chicago. To accept the award, if we win it.”
Her brow furrowed. “But why? There’s no need for both of us to go.”
“I think there is. For one thing, you started the clinic with me. You’ve been just as instrumental in its success as I have. You’ve been running the place alone without me this month. The social media posts were your idea, even if they led to that stupid newspaper article.”
“That stupid article brought in a dozen new patients last week.”
“It didn’t.”
“It did. I’m telling you, people care about you. And they like seeing the clinic as a place where doctors care about their patients as people. It’s going to save our business.”
Ben processed that for a moment. “That’s really good news.”
“It is.” She gave a knowing nod.
“But about the trip. There’s another reason I’d like you to come. I’m doing what you said, and I’m asking for help. I don’t think I’d like to travel alone right now.”
Her smile lit her whole face. “I’d love to go with you. That would be … very nice.”
He watched from his place on the porch as Vanessa got into her car, gave him a wave, and drove off.
Back inside his house, he eyed the mess of cards and plants and gifts. In the middle of his kitchen counter stood the ficus tree Nell had given him, bright green and sporting several new leaves.
She’d been right. The thing kept growing, no matter how little sunlight it got.
* * *
Ben always advised his patients, when making an apology, to do four things. One, offer an explanation, but no excuses. Two, be sincere in your regret. Third, ask for forgiveness. And last, tell the person what changes you plan to make in the future.
He could do all of the first three without a problem, but he was stuck on the fourth. What could he tell Nell he’d do differently in the future? He’d keep taking his medicine, but beyond that, what could he offer? That they’d just have to hope he never got worse again? Because he might. He’d lived with anxiety all his life, and now he knew how bad it could get. What could he promise to do for her, if that happened?
On an airplane, they told you to secure your own oxygen mask before trying to help others, but he’d always tried to help others first. And he was the one who’d needed assistance all this time.
Maybe the reason he’d walked out on Nell was that he hadn’t fully admitted, to anyone, that he wasn’t okay.
At his desk, he drafted two letters. One was an open letter to his patients, which he would send out in the clinic’s weekly newsletter. In it, he gave a brief explanation of why he’d been absent. Without telling them every detail, he let them know he’d been struggling with anxiety issues. He concluded the letter:
Thank you for your support, which means the world to me. It’s one thing to talk about needing community, and another thing to experience it. I’m humbled by how much our clinic’s community cares for one another. It’s what makes The Well Space so special.
The second letter he directed to the staff of the clinic, containing a slightly different message. He outlined a couple of employee policy changes which might raise eyebrows, but which would be the best thing for everyone.
He made several phone calls. A plan had formed in his head, a way he could apologize and ask for help and show Nell how much he loved her. That she was needed, and it was safe for her to trust him again.
She could depend on him now, because he’d admitted his own limitations, and it hadn’t broken him after all. It had made him stronger.
But he was impatient. A week without hearing her voice had weakened his resolve. He dialed her number. It rang multiple times before going to voicemail. At the sound of her bright voice in the recorded message, he drew in a sharp breath, pain and regret lancing him again.
“This is Nell. I’m sorry I missed your call, but I’ll return it as soon as I can. Have a wonderful day.”
She wouldn’t return his call, and he didn’t blame her. He’d hurt her, the one person in the world he should never hurt. If she didn’t accept his apology … He wouldn’t let himself think that far.