The Choice Not Taken (20 page)

“Philip,” I whispered. And with shaking thumbs, I wiped tears from the dark circles beneath his still-gorgeous eyes. His face so close, I could see the teeniest specks of color swirling around the pupils. I watched them, mesmerized by the hypnotic bursts of gold, green, and brown.

I immediately wondered why I’d never noticed them before. How in all of our loving moments, had I never, ever detected such a glaring hint of their beauty? And suddenly, the horrifying notion of missing this new-found magic and all of the other things I had yet to learn about him created a numbing sadness. It was just too much–and so horribly unfair–that I almost changed my mind.

“Philip. This can’t go on anymore. Us. It needs to end...now.” And once the words escaped my broken voice, I wanted to take them back.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“I-I can’t see you anymore,” I stated, forcing an image of his children–drawn from a glossy photo on the cottage refrigerator-into my devastated mind. For so long I icily ignored them, but tonight I fought to remember every detail of those two fresh-faced, smiling kids on the pier.

“Why??”

“I don’t want to be with a man who has all of this...drama.” But my secret thoughts betrayed me, and inside I screamed,
I only want to be with you
!

“But I can-we can get through all of that,” he argued. “We already talked this over many times. You said my divorce, the kids...we could do it together,” he anxiously reminded.

“I’ve changed my mind, Philip,” I said softly, rubbing his hand as it rested upon my thigh. Squeezing teary eyes shut, I urgently tried to create a permanent memory of his skin.

I never wanted to forget how he felt.

“I just don’t understand,” he whispered in complete surprise. “I guess I thought you wanted...”

As he spoke, I carefully listened to the melodic layers of his voice. With its sexy pitch and confident tone, I hoped to replay the sound over and over when I was alone.

And already, I feared the day I’d no longer hear him in my head.

“I’ll always have wonderful memories of the time we spent together, Philip.” And now it became my turn to fight back ugly tears. “You’ve given me something so beautiful, and my life will be forever changed by knowing you.”

Under wet lashes, his eyes begged me, and I seriously believed this was the moment I’d break and have to tell him the real truth–that I really wanted him! And I didn’t care if he stayed with his wife! Because when he wasn’t nearby, there was no air to sustain me.

His stare reflected the deep pain I first noticed in that airport so long ago, and I wanted to replace it with our happy times, renew the boyish joy.

Yet the desperate misery would somehow be what I’d remember.

“Courtney,” he sobbed. “My precious Courtney. Please don’t do this. I need you! You’re in my brain before I even wake, and the last image I have when I fall asleep. Give me more time. I’ll work it out, somehow. I promise I will,” he pleaded.

He leaned into me with outstretched arms, and I inhaled him. The mixture of morning cologne and fresh air created an intoxicating blend, and involuntary warmth raced up my thighs.

Even now, I lusted for him!

“Philip. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to,” I declared, wishing to make him finally agree, yet secretly hoping he’d try to talk me out of it. One final time. But he didn’t, and I felt sickening relief knowing I’d no longer need to watch him suffer.

Our last kiss was bittersweet. I lingered, engraving his taste on my tongue, and pulled him back to do it again. And when he finally drove away, every pore in my dying body instantly wished to undo the damage. For now that the inevitable was done, I instinctively believed I should have begged him to stay.

But I couldn’t do that.

I needed to know he tried.

rise

Scorching light streamed through the sheers, and I wrapped downy quilts tight, watching as the rising sun painted my room in cheery shades of yellow and orange.

I rubbed the corners of my inflamed eyes to release any fairy dust that settled overnight. And conjuring the magical name we used with the kids made me remember: today I was to go home. Amidst the obvious excitement of seeing them-
god, how I missed them
-came an underlying uncertainty.

How would it be now? Easier...or harder?

After taking an unusually long time packing and checking out, I headed for Dr. Benson’s office. Roaming cozy streets around the inn provided a simple sense of connection, despite the complex flood of memories. And as I traveled overly familiar roads toward my real life, old disturbances returned with every mile marker left in my wake.

By the time I reached the looming Victorian, my anxiety was at near peak. I stumbled inside the waiting room and when I sputtered hello to the receptionist, she rushed toward me.

“You look faint!” she exclaimed, guiding me into a chair before pouring a glass of water from the pale blue bubbler nestled alongside her desk.

Why had I never noticed it before
? I questioned.

Thirstily I drank it, offered my thanks, and then assured her I was fine-just missed my morning caffeine was all. She smiled sympathetically, and in the few quiet minutes I had to wait I collected myself.

“Courtney! Come on in, please,” Dr. Benson peeked from her door. I dutifully followed her orders and plopped in my now usual seat. And she joined me a few seconds later.

“So, I’ve been told you nearly passed out in the front office,” she said over lowered eyes.

“I haven’t had any coffee today,” I lied, holding up my right hand to show her the shakes were indeed real.

“Alright. Well, maybe you should cut down on the caffeine until we get those panic attacks back under control,” she instructed. “Let’s get to work, shall we? How were the past few days?”

Despite earlier attempts to prepare, I really had little idea where to begin. And yet I was determined to make progress, because I couldn’t continue therapy three times a week and be a good wife, mother, or person. More than tiresome; it was getting old.

“Well, I revisited my relationship with Philip,” I offered.

“Good! Anything you care to share?” she asked, genuinely pleased.

“It was kind of like going through it all over again. I vividly remembered our first meetings, getting to know each other, falling in love...”

“And how did that make you feel, Courtney?”

“Parts of it made me happy. And of course, parts brought the pain back,” I told her honestly.

“At what times were you happy?”

I paused, struggling to think–really hard-about what made me happy.

“When I became so comfortable with him that I willingly gave myself and let the past insecurities over my rape go. And the way he made me feel, not just sexually, but
personally
...as a woman...is something I’ll never forget.”

“So you owe him, in some ways, for your life today as a wife and mother?” Dr. Benson implied.

I nodded, wiping surprise tears.

“And what is it exactly that made you sad?” she asked softly.

The tears rushed faster now, and she automatically reached for a tissue box. I obnoxiously blew my nose and wiped it, inhaling slowly. Today it was the scent of chocolate chip cookies in the air, and my stomach responded. Once again, my morning somehow left no time for coffee or food.

“Telling Philip I didn’t want to be with him. And leaving,” I cried. “Those things made me sad.”

“Why do you think you did that?”

“I-I never wanted to regret not using my power of choice,” I heaved.

“You’re power of choice?” Dr. Benson clarified.

I nodded.

“This was important to you,” she observed, jotting a note on her pad.

“My father...he kept reminding me that even when things seemed unfair, like when I was attacked, the choice was always mine to make about how I wanted life to be.” I sloppily wiped my nose. “He insisted it was something no one could take away from me.”

“And that’s why you let Philip go?”

“It became my choice-to give him a true chance with his wife and make his family whole. He couldn’t seem to make the decision, so I made it for him,” I answered matter-of-factly.

“And how was it for
you
, Courtney, after you told him to leave?”

“Devastating. Because when we were together, for the first time since the rape, I felt almost like a complete person-alive and breathing,” I paused. “He saw me when I was invisible. And once he was no longer there, it was as if I disappeared. Courtney was essentially erased from the daily fabric of life. But even worse, she was suffocating-and dying a slow death without him.”

“But you never contacted each other?”

“Nope,” I said, suddenly over-interested in pulling a small wayward thread from the side seam of my jeans.

“Why not?” she pried.

“We agreed it would be for the best. In fact, I insisted on it. Of course, it helped matters a great deal when I moved out of town. Away from him...”

“Do you ever wonder what might have been?” Dr. Benson again noted something, and this time I couldn’t care less about what she wrote.

I was messed up, and I knew it.

“I used to think about it constantly,” I confessed. “I’d imagine us living together, shopping, cooking, spending quiet evenings at home and long nights making love. In my earlier daydreams, it all seemed idyllic. But then over time, I began to acknowledge the reality of dealing with an ex-wife and children and the baggage which came with it.”

“And you didn’t want to deal with that?”

“No, I probably could have dealt with it,” I countered, “but I didn’t want
Philip
to deal with it. His hands were full enough with a potential broken family; he didn’t need a broken girl as well.”

“Courtney, you may not realize this but had you stayed with him, you would have been taking the cowardly path.” Sensing an argument, Dr. Benson quickly continued. “Because asking him to forgo the chance to re-build a once strong marriage for a fantasy one isn’t brave. Pushing him to work at something which appeared damaged–but could possibly be repaired-takes real guts.”

“Then why don’t I feel brave?” I challenged with sarcasm.

“Feeling brave
now
isn’t the point,” Dr. Benson politely emphasized. “The fact that once again you’ve proven in your past you can make the right choices to overcome adversity is what’s important here. You’re much stronger than you realize. It’s not just a pat compliment either, Courtney. You have an unseen force–an undeniable will to not only
survive
the difficulties that come your way but also the ones you created yourself.”

“Great,” I muttered, completely unconvinced.

“Well, let’s look at the facts, shall we? You overcame a brutal sexual attack at the height of your personal development,” she stated.

“But I developed OCD in an effort to control my environment and became terrified of men,” I argued.

“And you engaged in therapy to get the OCD to a manageable level so you could finish college and get a job. You also learned to trust Philip-physically, mentally, and emotionally.”

“But when we parted, I experienced a major OCD setback from the stress of leaving him and the shame over our affair. Which, by the way, put me back in full-time therapy for almost a year.”

“Which you also overcame, eventually leading you to return once again to society and meet Alex,” she countered smugly, and I debated between slapping her across the cheek or lauding my accomplishments.

“I guess I did.”

“Courtney, please try to understand you’re not alone in your failings. There is not one person out there–myself included–who doesn’t have some imperfections. The key is to admit those and acknowledge the faults. You did nothing wrong by falling in love with Philip–even if he was married–and you did everything right by letting him have another chance with his family. Let go of the guilt, Courtney. It’s time.”

At the mention of time, Dr. Benson glanced at her watch and informed my hour was up. And when she added she’d like to see me again in weeks rather than days, I became relieved.

Maybe there is hope for me yet
, I smiled and exited her office into the bright sunshine.

***

Going home wasn’t as strange as I imagined it might be. It was
mine
, after all. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, colorful schemes within the rooms–each had either been hand-picked or approved by me and thus, the entire space reflected what I hoped to create for my family.

It was our haven, the dream I held onto loosely as a young girl while playing make-believe with my hand-me-down doll house. And even after that dream was shattered–not once, but twice–I never let it go. I needed to dig deep inside me to gather every last bit of strength but once I did, I used its gasping power to rescue my crushed dream from the clutches of a burning fire.