My Brother's Best Friend (4 page)

“May I ask what it is pertaining to?”

“Well, I need to look into filing for divorce.”

“Okay, I’m going to transfer you to someone who can help.” She thanked me before I transferred the call to Susan Kingly. She was one of the office secretaries for the lawyers who focused mostly with divorce cases. She would be able to help.

My cell phone vibrated on the desk next to me. It was from Devin.

Was it someone important?

——————————————

Sent from ‘my phone is better than yours’

Just some lady wanting a divorce.

And I already know your phone is

better than mine, jerk.

Why don’t you get a new one then?

——————————————-

Sent from my stuffy studio at work

How ‘bout you get me one, Mr. Moneybags.

And why don’t you air out the room?

Does it smell? Haha!

I’ll get you one for your birthday. :)

And of course it smells.

It’s a foul stench, that’s for sure.

———————————————

Sent and paid for by my top-paying job

Jerk. Stop bragging about the money you make.

You make pretty good money too.

You’re just really frugal about it.

———————————————

Sent from ‘Mr. Buys Everything He Wants’

Ha ha. You’re so weird sometimes.

And as for the phone, I want a pretty one,

something colored. Maybe blue.

Or green. Or red!

What am I getting you? M & M’s

or an iPhone? Some of the Android

phones are really good too…

——————————————-

Sent from my iPhone

I want an iPhone fully loaded with

tons of apps. Are you texting someone else

Mr. ‘sent from my iPhone’?

Yes, my boss. And you do realize that the

iPhone only comes in black or white with

the option of colored covers?

——————————————

Sent from my iPhone

Well, you have your ways.

You’re Mr. Hollywood.

You’d figure it out.

You’re crazy, but I probably would be

able to figure something out…

because I’m so great…

——————————————-

Sent from my iPhone

S
o today’s session with Dr. Stone was interesting. Not bad. Just interesting. I came into Dr. Stone’s reception, and his secretary directed me to go straight in. I had my notebook in hand and when I walked into the office he was sitting in his usual seat, looking down at his notes.

“Good afternoon, Christy. How are you?”

“I’m okay.” I don’t think he was expecting me to finish the assignment or even do it, for that matter. But I had. For the first time, I’d actually written about what had been going on in my life the last few days. “Don’t you want to read my assignment? I brought it just like you asked.”

His head jerked up, and surprise showed on his face. His eyes widened. “You did it?”

I wanted to laugh, but instead I shrugged my shoulders. “Yeah, here you go.” I opened it up to the right page, and he gratefully took it.

“I must say, Christy, this is a pleasant surprise. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll just start your hour after I’ve finished reading your assignment.”

I nodded my head and watched as he immersed himself in my writing. It didn’t take him very long to flip through the pages. He was closing the journal before I figured out he had finished. I thought I had written more than just a few minutes of reading.

“Well, I want to thank you for completing the assignment. Now let me ask you: first, how did you feel while I was reading it? And secondly, how do you feel now after having written it?”

I paused for a moment.

“Be as honest as you can,” he continued.

“Well, I was nervous, I guess. I wasn’t sure what you were thinking. Was it good? Was it bad? What I wrote, I mean. I was afraid you’d analyze it and see what a head case I really am.” I stopped and waited for his response.

The corners of his mouth rose. “You are not a head case, Christy. You are just a girl—” I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t a girl anymore. A girl implied innocence, someone who was looked after because she wasn’t old enough to be on her own. “A woman, excuse me, who experienced something traumatic and is trying to take steps to overcome her fears and anxieties. You are not a head case. And seeing a psychologist does not make you one either. Do you know how many patients come to see me? Lots. You are one of the few I actually enjoy seeing.”

Despite the anxiety I felt about being a nutcase, Dr. Stone was doing a pretty good job of calming those fears.

“So, let’s talk about how you feel about what you wrote. Was it hard for you?”

“Surprisingly, no. Once I started writing, I just sort of went off. It probably didn’t even make sense.”

“No, it was perfect, just what I wanted. Don’t underestimate yourself, Christy. Even though you think things haven’t worked out, you have a loving family and wonderful friends who would do anything for you.” He smiled then continued, “You have a job you use to help support your family, you are also going to school and getting your degree. Your parents would be proud.”

He couldn’t know that. How can anyone, really, claim that people they love, people who have died, would be proud of them? People can say it, but it doesn’t mean it’s true. It doesn’t mean they really know. It’s impossible. No one can know how a dead person might feel.

“Christy,”

I looked up at Dr. Stone. “You can’t know what they would be feeling.”

“They were proud of you before the accident. And after everything you and Mitchell did to keep your family together, I know they would be proud of you.”

I shook my head. I didn’t believe him.

“I have two assignments for you this week. I want you to talk to your brother, your sister or even Devin about what we just discussed.”

“You want me to ask one of them if I think my parents would be proud of me?”

“Yes.”

“They would think I was crazy or worse, that I was a pathetic loser. I can’t do that!”

“I want you to try. No one who truly loves you will ever think you are crazy or pathetic.”

I sighed. I wasn’t sure I could do it. “And the second assignment?”

“I want you to write about high school—”

My sharp intake of breath alerted him to my anxiety.

“Not what happened. I want to know what it was like for you before and after The Incident. You don’t have to tell me about anything you don’t want to talk about.”

That didn’t sound too bad. “I can do that, I suppose.”

“Good. Now I want to talk about what you’ve written. You obviously look up to your brother. You’re what? Three years apart? Yet, you talk as if you were the same age.”

“So? We’re close.”

He chuckled softly. “I don’t doubt you. I’m just curious why you feel so differently about your sister.”

“You’re the therapist,” I answered.

“Well, what do you think the reason is for the tension between the two of you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about Devin?” he prompted.

“Unlikely.”

Dr. Stone pursed his lips. I realized he only does this when he thinks I’m not being honest and he doesn’t want to press me too hard. “What about her cheerleading? You said you don’t like it. Does this have anything to do with—”

“No. I just think cheerleading is for girls who want to showcase their bodies. It’s just another stupid way the “cool” kids create high school social classes.”

He pursed his lips again, and I shook my head. He wasn’t right. I don’t hate cheerleading because of The Incident. It had nothing to do with that.

“I want to talk to you about Mitchell and Megan.” At least he was moving on. “You care about both of them, right?” I nodded my head. “What if it doesn’t work out? How would you feel?”

“It will work out, I have no doubt. They are perfect for each other.” I began to prattle off the reasons why they meshed well together when Dr. Stone stopped me.

“Let me ask you, how often do you talk to Mitchell or Megan about their relationship?”

I was confused. “Not that much. Why? What are you getting at?”

“I just noticed how much you wrote about them as a couple in your assignment, but you yourself have no relationship.”

“I care about both of them. I’m not weird. I’m not living vicariously through them.”

“No, you’re not. I agree. I think you’re hiding behind them. You’ve been hurt once and now you’re using your brother’s relationship to hide behind.”

I opened my mouth to junk his theory, but I couldn’t. He was right.

“Let me ask you, what is going to happen when they finally get engaged or even get married? You won’t have their relationship to hide behind. You won’t have a project to work on.”

“They’re not a project to me, and when they get married I’ll be happy.”

“What will you focus your attention on next? Your own personal life? Because I think you’re scared of putting yourself out there. You’re afraid you’ll get hurt. Now I don’t want to push you, but…”

I knew what he was getting at. “Yes, it has to do with The Incident. But you’re right, I’m not ready to talk about that.”

“Let me just ask one question, if I may?” I nodded. “If Devin knows about The Accident does he know about The Incident?” The Accident was our code for attempted suicide. Accident just sounded better to me than attempted suicide. And The Incident, well, that was a completely different thing. The Incident was the cataclysmic event that led to The Accident. The thing I had sworn never to tell anyone, not even Devin.

“He only knows a little bit, he doesn’t know everything that happened though.”

“Would you ever tell him?” Dr. Stone asked.

I shook my head. “No. Not unless I had to. He would just overreact.” I paused for a moment and thought about what I had just said.

Dr. Stone looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“And okay, maybe trying to kill myself was a bit of an overreaction on my part, but I wouldn’t put it past Devin to find Eric and kill him,” I said dramatically. I believed it too.

“Christy, I think you’re blowing this a little out of proportion. I highly doubt Devin would kill Eric. That being said, I won’t push you to tell him. I mean, I’m still waiting to hear the full story, but I won’t force it out of you. I want us to go at a pace that is comfortable for you. So you have your assignments, I will see you next week.”

I stood up, bag in hand, and tucked my notebook under my arm.

On my way back home, I decided to complete my assignments. Maybe I would ask Devin. He wouldn’t have a problem giving me an honest answer.

Mitch and Megan had left early that morning to beat traffic and get to the hotel as early as possible. It wasn’t until after Emily was gone that I realized how long it had been since I’d been alone, I mean truly alone. No brother listening to his music loudly in his room, no sister talking to her cheerleading friends about that week’s ‘hot’ guy, no one around to bug me. Closing my eyes to the silence was almost like the muteness one feels when they are swimming underwater. Perfect and yet lacking. It was what I had wanted, peace and quiet, but at the same time I wasn’t sure I truly liked being alone.

I walked around the house, looking into all the empty rooms, and the familiar darkness began to encompass me, sucking me back into the lonely world where I had no one. I turned on the lights as if the brightness would somehow bring me out of the dark vortex slowly sucking up everything around me. My breathing quickened, coming in short fast pants as I gripped the sink counter of the downstairs bathroom. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to gain control over my body. Flashes of what happened four years ago forced my eyes open and I could remember the pain, the isolation, the hopelessness and I knew what had driven me to The Accident.

I heard the front door unlock and open before it even registered in my brain that someone had come inside the house.

“CJ!” Devin called out, and it was like I was reliving that night all over again. I could visualize the blood gushing from my wrist, the broken shard of glass in my hand. I could smell the rusty musk of the blood as it pooled on the tile in my bathroom, I could hear my sobs of anguish and despair closing in on me.

“I know you’re here, your car is parked in the driveway!” Devin called.

“Devin.” My voice was strangled, how I remembered sounding that night. I fell to my knees and strained my voice to yell for him. “Devin!”