Building From Ashes
Page 17
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She took a deep breath. “I’ll go.”
Kinvara, Co. Galway
September 2005
The dark night wrapped around her like a blanket, and the sea air carried the scent of salt and seaweed from the south shore of Galway Bay. Brigid stood at the open window and resisted the urge to flee down the small road that led to town. Even if Anne didn’t stop her, where would she go?
Brigid had sweated out the worst of her physical withdrawal in her aunt’s house in Wicklow. She’d wanted to die. Even though she had been careful with her heroin use, her body had come to depend on it far more than she realized. She’d never been as sick as she had those first weeks. At one point, she’d begged Deirdre to kill her. She hadn’t, thankfully, but when Brigid thought about her first “talk” with Anne that she was supposed to have that night, she reconsidered the idea.
“The road or the bay?”
Brigid turned. The silent water vampire had entered the glass-enclosed room behind her and was already sitting in an overstuffed chair.
She couldn’t help but smile. “The road. I’m not a very good swimmer.”
Anne smiled. “Well, definitely don’t take the watery escape route, then.”
Brigid shook her head and moved to the other chair. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The two women, one mortal and one vampire, both stared out the windows that surrounded them. The study was a small room that faced the water. In the morning, the light would stream in, and it was a pleasant place to drink a cup of tea or read a book. At night, the glass-enclosed room was surrounded by stars and the scattered lights that lined the western Irish shore. It was full of bookcases and stacked tables. Deep comfortable chairs and warm, woolen blankets. It didn’t look at all like a doctor’s office, but that’s what it was.
Anne said, “So, a man goes to see a psychologist. ‘Doctor,’ he says, ‘you have to help me. My wife says I’m obsessed with sex.’ The doctor sits down and gets out some ink blots and shows them to the man. ‘What do you see here?’ the doctor asks. ‘A couple on a bed, having sex.’ The doctor nods and shows him another one. ‘And this one?’ ‘A man and a woman on a couch, having sex.’ ‘Interesting,’ the doctor says. ‘And how about this one?’ The man squints and says, ‘That’s a picture of a man and a woman having sex on a boat.’ The doctor finally says, ‘Well, you do have a problem. It appears you’re definitely obsessed with sex.’ The man stands up, outraged. ‘What do you mean I’m obsessed with sex? You’re the one showing me all the dirty pictures!’”
Despite herself, Brigid snorted.
Anne spoke again. “How are a hooker and a psychiatrist the same?”
Brigid remained silent for a moment, then decided to play along. “How?”
“They both turn to each other after an hour together and say, ‘That’ll be two hundred, please.’”
Brigid fought back another snort. “So, are psychiatrists like lawyers? Lots of jokes about their noble profession?”
“I don’t know. I think my secretary finds them on the internet. I get a new one every night on my desk.”
“And I’m supposed to take this process seriously? Now I’m just going to be imagining you in fishnet stockings, saying, ‘Looking for a good time, big boy?’”
Anne threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Brigid, it’s nice that you have a sense of humor. Humor is important.”
“Is it now?”
“Yes.” The counselor turned to her with a wide smile. “It’s very important. Truth is important, but so is laughter. Never be afraid to laugh, even when you’re crying. Sometimes the two go together.”
“Well, I’m trying to think of some junkie jokes, but I’m coming up short. Heard any good ones lately?”
Anne settled into her chair, looking back out the windows. “I’m afraid not. Should I have my secretary look tomorrow?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Do you think you were a junkie?”
She started to say “No,” but halted. Did she? “I’m not a junkie, but I was weak.”
“Why do you think you were weak? From what your friends and family say about you, you’re one of the strongest people they’ve ever known.”
“They…” She took a deep breath, and her voice came out like a whisper. “They don’t know me.”
“Does anyone know you?”
Her mind flashed through the faces of her friends. Her family. Ioan. Deirdre. Sinead. Emily. Mark. “Probably not.” The last image was a pair of vivid blue eyes, but she shoved it away.
“Do you want to be known?”
A sick, oily feeling twisted in her gut. Shame. Even after so many years. Shame piled on top of shame, because she was ashamed to even feel the emotion itself. She bit the inside of her lip and muttered, “Probably not.”
“Well, I’d like to know you.”
“Because you want your two hundred in the morning?”
“Of course.” Brigid’s head jerked up, and a smile lifted the corner of Anne’s mouth. “I like strong, interesting people, too. And I think you are. Interesting. And strong. Very strong.”
“I’m not strong. If I was strong, I wouldn’t have had to use drugs.”
Anne paused. “Tell me about your father.”
Kinvara, Co. Galway
September 2005
The dark night wrapped around her like a blanket, and the sea air carried the scent of salt and seaweed from the south shore of Galway Bay. Brigid stood at the open window and resisted the urge to flee down the small road that led to town. Even if Anne didn’t stop her, where would she go?
Brigid had sweated out the worst of her physical withdrawal in her aunt’s house in Wicklow. She’d wanted to die. Even though she had been careful with her heroin use, her body had come to depend on it far more than she realized. She’d never been as sick as she had those first weeks. At one point, she’d begged Deirdre to kill her. She hadn’t, thankfully, but when Brigid thought about her first “talk” with Anne that she was supposed to have that night, she reconsidered the idea.
“The road or the bay?”
Brigid turned. The silent water vampire had entered the glass-enclosed room behind her and was already sitting in an overstuffed chair.
She couldn’t help but smile. “The road. I’m not a very good swimmer.”
Anne smiled. “Well, definitely don’t take the watery escape route, then.”
Brigid shook her head and moved to the other chair. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The two women, one mortal and one vampire, both stared out the windows that surrounded them. The study was a small room that faced the water. In the morning, the light would stream in, and it was a pleasant place to drink a cup of tea or read a book. At night, the glass-enclosed room was surrounded by stars and the scattered lights that lined the western Irish shore. It was full of bookcases and stacked tables. Deep comfortable chairs and warm, woolen blankets. It didn’t look at all like a doctor’s office, but that’s what it was.
Anne said, “So, a man goes to see a psychologist. ‘Doctor,’ he says, ‘you have to help me. My wife says I’m obsessed with sex.’ The doctor sits down and gets out some ink blots and shows them to the man. ‘What do you see here?’ the doctor asks. ‘A couple on a bed, having sex.’ The doctor nods and shows him another one. ‘And this one?’ ‘A man and a woman on a couch, having sex.’ ‘Interesting,’ the doctor says. ‘And how about this one?’ The man squints and says, ‘That’s a picture of a man and a woman having sex on a boat.’ The doctor finally says, ‘Well, you do have a problem. It appears you’re definitely obsessed with sex.’ The man stands up, outraged. ‘What do you mean I’m obsessed with sex? You’re the one showing me all the dirty pictures!’”
Despite herself, Brigid snorted.
Anne spoke again. “How are a hooker and a psychiatrist the same?”
Brigid remained silent for a moment, then decided to play along. “How?”
“They both turn to each other after an hour together and say, ‘That’ll be two hundred, please.’”
Brigid fought back another snort. “So, are psychiatrists like lawyers? Lots of jokes about their noble profession?”
“I don’t know. I think my secretary finds them on the internet. I get a new one every night on my desk.”
“And I’m supposed to take this process seriously? Now I’m just going to be imagining you in fishnet stockings, saying, ‘Looking for a good time, big boy?’”
Anne threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Brigid, it’s nice that you have a sense of humor. Humor is important.”
“Is it now?”
“Yes.” The counselor turned to her with a wide smile. “It’s very important. Truth is important, but so is laughter. Never be afraid to laugh, even when you’re crying. Sometimes the two go together.”
“Well, I’m trying to think of some junkie jokes, but I’m coming up short. Heard any good ones lately?”
Anne settled into her chair, looking back out the windows. “I’m afraid not. Should I have my secretary look tomorrow?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Do you think you were a junkie?”
She started to say “No,” but halted. Did she? “I’m not a junkie, but I was weak.”
“Why do you think you were weak? From what your friends and family say about you, you’re one of the strongest people they’ve ever known.”
“They…” She took a deep breath, and her voice came out like a whisper. “They don’t know me.”
“Does anyone know you?”
Her mind flashed through the faces of her friends. Her family. Ioan. Deirdre. Sinead. Emily. Mark. “Probably not.” The last image was a pair of vivid blue eyes, but she shoved it away.
“Do you want to be known?”
A sick, oily feeling twisted in her gut. Shame. Even after so many years. Shame piled on top of shame, because she was ashamed to even feel the emotion itself. She bit the inside of her lip and muttered, “Probably not.”
“Well, I’d like to know you.”
“Because you want your two hundred in the morning?”
“Of course.” Brigid’s head jerked up, and a smile lifted the corner of Anne’s mouth. “I like strong, interesting people, too. And I think you are. Interesting. And strong. Very strong.”
“I’m not strong. If I was strong, I wouldn’t have had to use drugs.”
Anne paused. “Tell me about your father.”
