Seeing Julia (6 page)

“Almost sleep with Jake Winston? I can’t believe I almost did that.” I give her an anguished look while the guilt of that chases through me.

“It didn’t get that far,” Kimberley says in a consoling tone. Then, she frowns and shakes her head and gets this serious look. “But no, that’s not what I’m talking about.” Her blue Topaz eyes seemingly penetrate my green ones. “Promise me; you’ll never do anything like this ever again.”

“I promise.”

I’m not convinced of my promise and from the dubious look on her face, I know she doesn’t quite believe me, either.

≈
≈*

“That’s how it started. I had a headache and Evan volunteered to go to the little market a mile away to get more Advil.” I shake my head side-to-side.

“It’s a fifteen minute trip, there and back, maximum. Only he’s not back in fifteen minutes like he promised. I remember the rain whipping against the windows of our beach house and staring out at the churning waves of the Atlantic just counting off the time by one-minute increments. Forty-five minutes went by. Now, I was anxious, headache forgotten. I bundled up Reid and carried him in his baby carrier out to the garage and loaded him in the car. I kept thinking this is silly. This is silly, going to see what’s keeping Evan, but I did it anyway. I kept thinking I’ll see him coming from the opposite direction. He’d pass me and give me that legendary smile of his and shake his head at my angst. He wouldn’t be mad; Evan understood my fears better than anyone else. He’d just tease me. He’d tell me he got a present for the baby or fresh strawberries for me or he stopped at the post office or he saw an old friend, all possibilities in that small town.”

I take a deep breath.

“But something stopped traffic in both directions. All the innocuous errands he could have been doing get obliterated by the punctuating sound of sirens, the flash of blue and red lights. A semi-trailer truck sits jack-knifed in the middle of the two lane road. Police cruisers, fire trucks, and ambulances surround it.” I shake my head and look over at my psychiatrist. “I remember thinking it’s like a prized collection of vehicles—a boy’s playground strewn with Mattel hot wheels left out in the rain, only life-size.”

I close my eyes and the frantic scene comes to life in my mind again. Conjuring up the horrible scene of Evan’s last moments takes my breath away. I gasp for air and open my eyes, disoriented for a few moments. Then, I’m brought back to the opulent office suite of Dr. Bradley Stevenson’s at Lenox Hill hospital.

I look over and find him watching me from one of the chartreuse-colored Thai silk chairs in the west corner. His dark blonde hair haloed by the muted sunlight that’s trying to make its way through the slats of the fashionable gold-tinted blinds at his office windows. I stare at the angelic effect the sun is having on my psychiatrist and try to take some solace in the fact I’m alive and in this room across from him, even though it still feels like my life is over. I struggle to hide the true devastation from him.

“Go on,” he says in this neutral Greek god-like tone. Adonis has come to life, here in Manhattan, in the human form of the exceptionally good-looking Dr. Bradley Stevenson. I mean if you have to be
committed
, if you have to go down the abyss, this is the man to take you there or be accompanied by.

I take a deep breath and start again. “So I parked the car in the middle of the road and grabbed my baby, my purse, and keys. I kept thinking I might need these: Gum. Keys. Mints. Money. Identification.”

I catch my lower lip remembering my weird obsession with having
everything
.
Where was I going to go?

“There was a little boy; he was just standing there in the pouring rain. He was, maybe eight-years-old, crying on the side of the road, next to his bike. I remember that he’s pointing at the accident and sobbing. His bike askew. The front tire flat. The spokes bent at a weird angle. It was as if he’d recently met up with a ditch. I’m looking from the boy, to his bike, to the accident.”

I swallow hard. My breath becomes shallow and I glance over at the good doctor again, trying to find the will to go on with the story. The minutes tick by one by one while he patiently waits for me. I swipe at tear.

“And then, I found Evan.” I shrug involuntarily as if to ward off this bad feeling with the gesture alone. “Well, I found the
proof
of what was Evan’s charcoal-grey Porsche, just an hour before. Now, it was mangled steel caught under the massiveness of a semi–trailer truck that’s wrapped around his sports car, like used tin foil.”

My voice holds traces of bitterness and I can practically feel the bile coming up my throat in evoking this last memory of Evan.
He’s gone. Gone forever.
I clasp my hands together to control the shaking and turn away from the intense gaze of Dr. Stevenson.

“Go on,” he says into the growing silence.

I nod in slow motion and attempt to chase away the nightmarish feelings of terror that the scene of the accident still holds sway in me.

“The firemen worked fast, calling out orders I couldn’t comprehend.” I close my eyes re-envisioning the horror of that afternoon. “I watched them work at a frenzied pace at the twisted metal attempting to pry open the crushed driver’s door with the Jaws of Life. Evan. His Porsche looked too small, half the size of what it should have been,” I whisper.

“I remember the smell of gasoline infusing with the salty air and the smell of the chilling winter rain, unwelcome. So incongruent.”

I push up from the chair opposite from the good doctor and walk back over to the window and stare out through the slats at the bare tree branches just beyond. “Deciduous.” I touch the window, as if I can reach them from here.

“I remember glancing down at Reid and seeing his one-tooth gaping grin,
pure joy
just emanating from him that day. And, I remember thinking: where does it come from? I reached out and touched his face and said it’s going to be okay. I told this lie more for myself than Reid. I said what everybody says to you in a time of crisis. His baby-like sounds seemed to reach at me from so far away,
already
.” I turn back from the window and lean up against the sill and inspect the room, trying to discern its magnificence.

“There were these seagulls. Just calling, cooing, whatever the hell it is they do. These seagulls flew overhead in frenzied formation, diving, seemingly spying at the unexpected activity. They flew away, all at once, disturbed by the building crescendo of unfamiliar sounds, I guess. I kept wondering: why do they do that? Are they frightened? God damn birds.” I take another unsteady breath.

“So, I stood there in the pouring rain, held my hand over Reid’s face, so he’d get less wet.” I look at the good doctor in this conspiring way, acknowledging the futility in that action alone. “Then, this state patrolman came over to me and said. “Lady, you’re going to have to step back.” He’s tall. Tall like Evan. Broad shouldered, steady, and safe, just like Evan. I remember his face. It was so grim, already undone by the reality of being up close and witnessing…
the unthinkable
. I remember trying not to look at him, but I did. I couldn’t help it. The look on his face. It still haunts me.” I push off the ledge of the window sill and step to the center of the room.

“So, I say that’s my husband and pointed toward the Porsche. He’s late. He went to the store about an hour ago.” I remember holding out my wrist to the officer. My Seiko watch glistened in the pouring rain. The gold watch—the first gift Evan ever gave me.”

I take another unsteady breath and look over at the doctor. He just nods, encouraging me. “Evan told me he could hold time in his hands.” I smile at the memory. “And, when he opened them, there was this beautiful Seiko watch for me. He promised to love me forever. Forever. Time,” I say slowly. “Fuck.” I shake my head and grimace at the good doctor in silent consolation for my swearing. He just inclines his head again. “Sorry.”

“Go on.”

“I remember the officer glancing at my watch and then back at my face. “You should sit down,” he said. His voice held such
consolation
. It was the same kind of voice my mother used when my cat, Seraphim, died. I was ten. The end of a ten-year-old’s world when the cat dies.” I try to smile at my weak effort for contrived humor. Dr. Stevenson tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite work. He looks as devastated as I feel.

“I remember thinking,
and this
?
This
really is the end of my world. Lot more than a damn cat.” I lick my lips and traipse back to the window again and stare out at the gloomy semblance of daylight in the middle of December.

“I remember the sound of a saw distracting me then. It made this whirring sound, like a bee does, when it’s pollinating flowers. Not an it. A he? I’d asked the state patrolman about that. “There’s the queen bee and then all the other bees are he’s. Aren’t they?” I nod my head, remembering. “He’d answered, “Mostly he’s, I believe.” I remember his arm sliding through the handle of Reid’s baby carrier and him holding on to my arm with his free one.”

“I said to him, “You rhyme.” I remember trying to laugh. “Mostly he’s, I believe. That’s good.”

I glance over at Dr. Stevenson. His pen is poised in the air; he seems frozen in the moment, dismayed by my awful story. I seem to have broken through his impenetrable shield of emulating everything is going to be okay.

“I remember just nodding my head, up and down, like it wasn’t attached to my body any longer. My head was just pounding; pulsing out of control, just like my heart and lungs, with all this extra energy I no longer knew how to expend. I took in the scene like a gaping teenager, as if witnessing my first horror film, wanting to scream, but willing myself to keep silent. I slept with the lights on for weeks after that movie. And, I remember thinking I may have to employ that technique again.”

I turn back from the window.

“The thing was,
I knew
, even then, I was saying goodbye to happiness. I felt it seeping away from me. Gone forever. Just this feeling of suspended disbelief.
Suspended disbelief.
You know; the feeling you get, after you’ve cut yourself, a silly accident where the carving knife goes astray. You’re cutting tomatoes and then, you’ve cut yourself. It’s stupid, really. And, you stare down at your finger and before the pain starts, you watch the hint of blood ooze from sliced skin. Then, in the next instant, it’s everywhere. The horror…spurting blood that can’t be stopped… the horror takes hold. And then, the pain comes.”