The End of Forever (16 page)

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Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.

—M
ATTHEW
5:4 (KJV)

“By your silence I sense that you’d rather be anywhere but here talking with me. And I’m also assuming it wasn’t your idea to come.”

Erin Bennett glared at Dr. Roberta Richardson and released an exaggerated sigh. “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t need a psychiatrist to pick my brain apart.”

“I’m not a psychiatrist; I don’t dispense medications in my practice. I’m a professional counselor, a family therapist, and your parents are concerned about you and thought I could help—”

“Help how? I’m perfectly fine. It’s my parents who need counseling.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because they’re the ones who’re making me come here. There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s
them”
.

Dr. Richardson pressed her fingertips together and leveled soft brown eyes at Erin sitting on the other side of the polished oak desk. Quietly she said, “ ‘Perfectly fine’ seventeen-year-old girls don’t have incapacitating, unexplained headaches.”

Erin winced, remembering the fierce pain that
carne on with little warning. The doctors had referred to them as “migraines,” even though they weren’t altogether typical of most migraines. Erin didn’t care what they called them. She only knew that they were interfering with her senior year at Briarwood. “I’m sure there’s a good explanation,” she said stubbornly.

Dr. Richardson opened the manila folder on her desk. “According to all the testing you’ve undergone in the past two months, there’s no physiological reason for them. ‘No reasonable medical explanation,’ ” Dr. Richardson read from the open file folder. “Looks as if they covered everything from brain tumors to epilepsy.”

Erin shuddered, remembering how they’d injected dye into her veins and taken endless X-rays of her head while she lay perfectly still on a hard metal table.
Like a corpse,
she thought.
Or a person in a coma
. “They just haven’t found the cause yet. Doctors don’t
know
everything. Just because they can’t figure it out is no reason to tell my parents that I’m some kind of a nut case.”

“I know you’re not a nut case, but aren’t you concerned about your headaches?”

Erin felt her anger and resentment turning into tears, but she held them back. “Yes,” she whispered, miserably, wanting to add, “More
than anything”
. In the past month Erin had gotten sick twice at school and had to go home. Sometimes she had bad dreams in which her head was hurting, and when she awoke, she really did have a severe headache. “But I’m taking medicine for them,” Erin told
Dr. Richardson. In the previous few months, Erin had been popping aspirin every day, and when her parents dragged her to a specialist, he gave her stronger pills that relieved the headaches but also wiped her out.

“Sometimes medications only relieve symptoms and never deal with the cause,” Dr. Richardson continued. “Good health is more than treating bodily ailments. Human beings are made up of
soma
—body—and
psyche
—soul. I believe that you shouldn’t treat one without treating the other.”

“Are you saying that my headaches are all in my imagination?”

“Absolutely not. They’re real enough. But it’s important to look at the whole person, not just the malady, before seeking a cure.” Dr. Richardson shoved the folder aside and said, “I’m glad you’re here, Erin, and I’d like to get to know you better.”

Erin felt like saying, “I don’t want to know you better,” but thought better of it. She didn’t want her parents coming down on her the way they were always coming down on each other. Her mother was forever working at her boutique, and when she
was
at home, she was yelling about something or other at her husband.

Erin didn’t think her father was doing so great either. He stayed away from the house, using his teacher’s job at Briarwood as an excuse, but when he was home, he acted so withdrawn that he might as well be gone. Maybe if Amy were still around, things would be different.

It had been a hard summer after Amy’s death, but with the new school year half-over, life was back to normal. If only her parents would stop their fighting. And if only she didn’t have these blasted headaches—

“How’s school going?” Dr. Richardson was asking.

“All right,” Erin said, forcing herself to concentrate. The topic seemed safe enough, so she continued. “Ms. Thornton—she’s the dance teacher at Briarwood—announced today that we’re doing a joint play production with Berkshire Prep.”

“The boys’ school? When?”

“After Easter.”

Dr. Richardson glanced at her desk calendar. “Only two months from now. Sounds like a big task. What’s the play?”

“West Side Story.”

The willowy, brown-haired therapist smiled. “That was always one of my favorites. I saw the movie five times when it first came out in the sixties. Are you going for a part?”

Erin fidgeted with the buttons on her blouse. “I love to dance. I’d like the lead—Maria.”

“You sound as if you may not try out. Why?”

The headaches,
she thought, refusing to meet Dr. Richardson’s eyes. “No reason. I guess I’ll go for it. Auditions are next Monday, and the Berkshire drama department is supposed to come to our school for them.”

“I guess it makes sense to do a joint production. It wouldn’t be much fun playing a love scene
with a girl dressed up like a guy, would it?” Dr. Richardson leaned across the desk and added, “I hope whoever gets the role of Tony is
gorgeous
”.

Erin hadn’t thought about the male lead until then. “It doesn’t matter to me. Just so long as he’s good.”

“Do you have a boyfriend? Maybe he won’t want you to play opposite some other guy. Would that be a problem?”

Erin felt herself tense up. The last boy she’d cared about had been Travis Sinclair. Dark-haired, brown-eyed, Berkshire Prep senior, Travis. Amy’s Travis. The betrayer. “No. I’m too busy with dance and school. I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”

“Really? You’re so pretty—”

Erin stood. “Look, I don’t want to talk anymore today. I’ve got stuff to do, and I’ll bet you have other people to see. People who really need a shrink.”

Dr. Richardson rose and stepped forward. “Your hour’s not up, Erin. You don’t have to leave.”

“This is a stupid idea, coming here to talk about my headaches. I feel fine, and I haven’t had one in a week.”

“Until we figure out what’s causing them, they won’t stay away. Won’t you let me help you, Erin?”

The bright, airy office seemed suddenly small and confining. Erin wanted out. But she kept seeing the stern set of her mother’s mouth as she’d told her, “You’re going to see this counselor, and that’s final. We’ve spent a fortune on medical tests, and everything’s come back negative.”

Erin had shouted, “Would you rather they’d found some horrible disease?”

“How could you suggest such a thing?” Her mother’s eyes had filled with tears, and Erin wished she could have taken back the words. “We have to get to the bottom of this. I’ve already lost one daughter.…”

“ … week, same time?”

With a start Erin realized that Dr. Richardson was talking to her. “What?”

“Can you come back next week, same time?”

“I—uh—guess so. Sure.”

Dr. Richardson smiled brightly. “Good. We can get rid of these headaches, Erin, if you trust me and let me help.”

Erin didn’t believe the therapist for a minute, but she’d go just so her parents would stop nagging her and shouting at each other. “Nobody has to know that I’m seeing a counselor, do they?” She dropped her gaze to the sea green carpet.

“Our discussions are in strict confidence, Erin. Only the people you choose to tell need ever know.”

Fat chance!
Erin told herself. She’d never let anyone find out. It was humiliating. “I still think the other doctors gave up too soon.”

“Then prove it by working with me.” Dr. Richardson’s voice held a challenge.

Erin stared straight ahead as her mother’s worried face floated in her mind’s eye, along with the distant memory of her father crying over the decision
to turn off Amy’s life-support machines. “I guess I don’t have any choice, do I?”

“See you next week.”

Erin left without answering.

“How did your meeting with Dr. Richardson go? What did you think of her?”

Erin shoved the food around on her dinner plate, figuring the best answer to her mothers question. “She was okay.”

“Just okay? I liked her a lot when I met with her. I honestly think she can help you, Erin—”

Erin let go of her fork, and it clattered against her plate. “Look, this whole thing is your idea, you know. I never wanted to go see a counselor in the first place.”

“Its for your own good. We only want to see you happy and well again.”

“Tm
happy
going to school, dancing, planning for graduation and college, and doing things with my friends.”

“Now don’t go making too many plans. I’m not convinced that you need to go away to college. After all, the University of South Florida is a perfectly fine place, and it’s right here in Tampa, so you could live at home—”

Here we go again,
Erin thought. She interrupted her mother. “But USF doesn’t have the
dance department that Florida State does. I’ve told you that before.”

“And if you’re not well by September, you can’t possibly consider moving away,” her mother said stubbornly.

“I’ll be okay, Mom.”

“It’s not a stigma to need help, Erin. There are lots of people—”

“Stop it,” her father said curtly. “Erin, calm down. And Marian, get off Erin’s back.”

Mrs. Bennett glared at Mr. Bennett. “It was
your
idea too. We both agreed that she needed counseling.”

“That’s the point. It’s
her
counseling. We agreed not to discuss her sessions, that she could talk about them only if she chooses.”

“She’s my daughter, my
only
daughter. I just want her to get well and lead a normal life again.”

“It’s her life, isn’t it?”

They continued arguing, but Erin had stopped listening. She’d heard it all before over the past months, and no matter how it started, they always ended up in a yelling match, with Erin feeling like the catalyst. They argued about her, around her, because of her. Sometimes she heard them well into the night, and she had to cover her head with her pillow to shut them out.

It hadn’t always been this way. They’d been happier together once, even as much as a year ago. Before Amy’s accident.

“That’s right,” Mrs. Bennett was shouting, “lust walk right out in the middle of supper. That’s
the way to solve the problems—run away from them.”

Mr. Bennett threw his napkin on the table and stood. “I’ve lost my appetite. I’m going to the library. I have papers to grade.”

Mrs. Bennett followed him out of the dining room. “We certainly wouldn’t want your family to get in the way of your job now, would we?”

“Me? What about you? You’re always working late at that store of yours.”

“I own my own business, and I have to manage it. I’m the boss, and the place would fall apart if I wasn’t around.”

“Well, since you’re so indispensable, you won’t miss me tonight.”

“You’ve never turned down the money the store brings in, have you? And besides, it’s going to take ten years to pay off our medical bills.”

Erin squeezed her eyes shut, as if to block out the voices. What was happening to them? Why had her parents turned into strangers, and why was her family falling apart?

When Amy had been alive, their dinner table had been fun. She could still see Amy making them all laugh with her silly faces and involved stories about school. Sometimes, the way Amy hogged the limelight had irritated Erin, but now, looking back, she saw that Amy had definitely brought their family together. She’d acted as a kind of unifying force, compelling them to interact whether they wanted to or not! Erin suddenly realized that she’d give
anything to have meals together again where they laughed and kidded instead of fought and argued.