I nod.
He drags a stubby finger across his desk. “Line drawn. Now we just need to figure out what your amends look like.”
Chapter 15
June 2010
“We haven’t spent much time talking about the girl who survived. What was her name?”
“Kacey Cleary.”
“Right. And how often do you think about this Kacey girl?”
I shrug, twisting a shoelace between my fingers. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s a lot. Sometimes not so much.” Such an ambiguous answer. Such a lie. I wonder if Stayner sees it. He probably does. The shrewd doc never seems to miss anything.
If he does, he lets it go for now. “That’s normal. You feel like you’ve wronged her.”
“I have wronged her.”
He doesn’t argue with me any more about that. “Your father told me that you went to visit her once in the hospital?”
“Yeah. But I didn’t have the guts to actually see her.”
“Have you thought about trying to see her again?”
I’m guessing lying won’t do me any good here. “Yeah.” I pause. “Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t?” He’s going to tell me that I shouldn’t. I really f**king hope he doesn’t, because I damn well already know that I will.
He shrugs. “From what your father told me, it sounds like she’s had a rough go of things. She might not be so receptive to seeing you. And if you’re not completely at peace with where you’re at, I’m afraid it could set you back down a dark path that you don’t want to be on. You need to focus on yourself right now.”
I sigh. He’s probably right.
“You feel you need some form of closure from her?”
Another nod. “Or something.” I’m afraid to say more.
Pulling a pad of lined paper and a pen out from a drawer, he tosses them on the desk in front of me. “Write it out. Everything you want to say to her. I don’t need to see it. But get it all out, and then leave it at that. In time, she may seek you out. You can give it to her then, if you want. Or you can say it out loud.” He pauses. “Just be prepared that she may not ever want to meet you and she deserves to make that call. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I sigh. It’s not exactly what I want to hear.
I lie in the twin bed in my sunny little room, pondering everything that Stayner has said. That’s one thing he gets me doing. Thinking. It’s like the guy has a wizard’s wand.
I think about Kacey Cleary as I always do—wondering how she’s doing right now, hoping that she’s not getting herself into trouble. How much farther can she spiral? I guess she could hit rock bottom, like I did. Maybe she has already. What if I’m released from here to find out the worst? All of my time with Dr. Stayner will have been worthless; I’m sure of it. For so many reasons, both selfish and not.
Because I want her to be free of this.
And because while I can make as many amends as I want, I don’t think I’ll ever truly move on until she does.
Until that sparkle in her eye comes back, that smile shines bright again.
The pad of paper lies across my chest; where it has stayed for hours, rows upon rows of scratched-out sentences. Because there just are no words.
Only a wish.
Stayner’s handshake is as firm as I would expect from a man of his integrity and strength.
“You ready to be released into the wild again?” he asks, a proud smile on full display. He should be proud. He’s given me strength and focus.
A purpose.
I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess.” It feels weird, leaving these walls five weeks later, considering the state I entered them in. But I think I’m ready.
Stayner frowns. “What’s going on in your head, Trent? You’re hung up on something, aren’t you?”
Damn guy. I can’t say no or he’ll probably shred the release papers. Not that I can’t leave of my own accord—this isn’t prison. But I promised my parents that I’d see it through and I have every intention of doing that. So I admit vaguely, “I’m nervous. About everything. About seeing people again. About seeing my parents after what I put them through.”
He slaps my shoulder, like I’d imagine a father would do to his son. “Do you know how happy they are today, waiting out there in the parking lot? Knowing that they’re getting their son back?”
I bite my tongue against the urge to argue that I’m not the same person anymore. “Yes, but they’re still divorcing. They’ve still lost their entire retirement fund. I can’t change that.”
He nods solemnly. “You’re right. You can’t. That’s a challenge that the two of them—and their relationship—must face. But any good parents will give all the money in the world to keep their child alive and well. I’ve met your parents. They’re good people, Trent. So, you just focus on you. You have a solid recovery plan in place, people who love you, and, most important, you have amends to make.”
I nod. He’s right about that.
Pushing through the doors of the clinic, I see my dad’s SUV parked out front. He and my mom slide out of their seats, hopeful smiles on their faces.
All it takes is a returning smile and my mom’s eyes water.
Holding up my finger—asking them for a minute—I slip my phone out of my pocket and hit number three on my speed dial.
“Hello?” It’s as hollow as ever, but it’s her voice.
I hit the “end” button and feel relief wash over me. Kacey’s still here. She’s still hanging on. That’s all I can hope for right now. I can feel the folded note in my back pocket, the one that maybe I’ll be able to give her one day. Maybe. But Stayner’s right; it’s not fair that I seek her out for my own healing.
So I’ll stay away from her.
For now.
Chapter 16
September 2010
Her hands rub the transfer onto my back with slow, smooth swipes. “What language is this?”
“Latin.”
“Huh . . . Sit up straight. Is this good?”
I follow her instructions and use the mirror in front to see the reflection in the one she’s holding up to my shirtless back. The heavy black lettering stretches from blade to blade. “Perfect.”
“Okay, Trent. Ready for your first tattoo?” I see the sparkle in her gaze, the sensual curve of her smile, as she holds the tattoo gun in one hand. I wonder if she’d still be giving me those f**k-me eyes if she knew I was in an inpatient rehab for attempted suicide only a few months ago.
Not that it matters. My attention is on one girl now and I won’t let it get divided.
“I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
“Hello?” Impatience fills her voice.
And I immediately break out in a sweat. “Is James there?”
“James? No. There is no James at this number. Learn how to dial!” Full irritation now. But she’s sober. I’ve called on three different Saturday nights and she’s been coherent each time. That says something. Maybe her spiral has stopped. Maybe she’s getting better.
I need to know.
She hangs up on me, as she has the last two times I phoned and asked for James.
The next call I make is to Rich. “Hey! Cole! How’s it going?”
I grit my teeth but say nothing. Rich knows me as Cole. That’s never going to change and I can’t expect him to just start calling me by something different. Stayner helped me rationalize that. Holding onto some ties to my past, as much as I’m not really that guy anymore, will keep me grounded. “I’m good.”
“I tried calling a couple times.” Did he hear what happened? I figure my mom might have told Derek’s mom. They still talk, occasionally.
“Sorry, man. I’ve been busy.” That’s not a lie. When Stayner’s clinic doors closed behind me, I stepped out, running. Within days I had located and attended my first PTSD support group. I go to it weekly. Through that, I’ve made connections with a local-area high school and two elementary schools. I’m in discussion to give presentations to some of the classes about the dangers of drinking and driving. I’ll probably shit my pants, but it’s something I need to do. Stayner was one hundred percent on the mark. I can’t change what happened, but I have a story to tell, one that could make an impact on other people’s lives. What better way to start making my amends?
“You’ve gotta come down again, soon.”
“Maybe in a few months?” It’s taken me everything not to jump in my car and head straight for a certain brick house just outside of Grand Rapids. But it’s too risky. I don’t know what seeing me would do to Kacey. Or what it might do to me.
“I’m still in the apartment. Decided to do my PhD.”
I chuckle. “Derek always said you didn’t want to join the real world.” It feels good, being able to share a laugh about my friend again, without my insides burning. “Listen, I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Shoot. Whatever I can do to help.”
I hesitate. This idea of mine may be crazy—in fact, I know it is. I can’t recall exactly when I came up with it. Probably around the same time that I realized keeping tabs on her would be impossible from five hours away. “Do you still have that hacker friend of yours?”
“Uh . . . yeah. Why?”
“What does it cost to get into someone’s email account?”
Chapter 17
June 2011
“I’m glad I caught you.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“How’s condo hunting? Did you check out that neighborhood I was telling you about?”
I can hear the hopefulness in her voice. That neighborhood is a seven-minute drive from her house. When I first told her that I felt it was time to invest in a place of my own, she struggled to hide the panic. As well as I’m doing—genuinely; it’s not an act this time around—she still rushes to get home for dinner every night. She still calls me every afternoon if I haven’t called or texted her yet; I wake up to a door creak almost every night, sensing her hovering over my bed, listening to me breathe.
She never used to be like this. Stayner warned me to expect it. From both her and my dad. I’d get a lot of questions and concerned looks and general overprotectiveness, for a long time. They almost lost me, after all. Twice.
“Uh . . . yeah. We’ll see, Mom. Listen, I may stay over at a friend’s house tonight.”
“Oh? Which friend?”
“Mom.”
She sighs. “Right. Sorry. Okay, just text me so I don’t worry. I miss you.”
Between the courses I’m taking at a local college and all the work I’m doing—both for my mom and some freelance stuff for small businesses who can’t afford to run print ads but might need a logo or marketing pamphlet design—plus the weekly group sessions and M.A.D.D. stuff I’m involved in, and a healthy gym schedule, I’m barely home.
“I will. Love you.” The truth is, I’m getting to the point when I need more space, more freedom to come and go without explanation.
Without having to lie.
Like today, when I strolled out the door at six a.m., I had to tell her I was heading to the gym. I was lucky she didn’t ask why I had bothered showering. And now, here I am, almost six hours away in this Caledonia Starbucks, having lied to her. I’ve been here since noon, making myself comfortable in a back corner, with a steady stream of caffeine to keep me going, my laptop open in front of me.
Kacey Cleary’s private email in-box staring at me.
I should feel guilty about invading her privacy—a small part of me does—but I’m not doing it to hurt her. And, I have my limits. When Rich’s hacker connection offered to hack into the webcam that’s connected to her family’s home computer for an extra grand, I told him I’d hunt him down and beat the shit out of him if he did that.
What it’s given me is a small glimpse into Kacey Cleary. A small window. Not one that I could actually fit through, but at least now I know just a tiny bit about Kacey Cleary. Information that I jot down in a little notebook. Things I can’t possibly forget.
Like, that Kacey has no friends.
Well, maybe that’s not fair for me to say, but in the eight months since I’ve been keying the password “douchebags” into her Hotmail account, I haven’t seen a single email from a friend. Maybe they just don’t email each other.
To be honest, there isn’t much in her in-box for me to work with. Mostly spam, including all the counseling newsletters and support group information blasts I signed her up for. That she hasn’t bothered to even delete, let alone open.
I know that she finished her senior year of high school, even if it was a year late. Based on a few old emails from her counselor, requesting meetings to discuss her grades and what options she has for improving on them, she didn’t do it with flying colors. I have to commend her for not quitting, though. Not like I did.
He drags a stubby finger across his desk. “Line drawn. Now we just need to figure out what your amends look like.”
Chapter 15
June 2010
“We haven’t spent much time talking about the girl who survived. What was her name?”
“Kacey Cleary.”
“Right. And how often do you think about this Kacey girl?”
I shrug, twisting a shoelace between my fingers. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s a lot. Sometimes not so much.” Such an ambiguous answer. Such a lie. I wonder if Stayner sees it. He probably does. The shrewd doc never seems to miss anything.
If he does, he lets it go for now. “That’s normal. You feel like you’ve wronged her.”
“I have wronged her.”
He doesn’t argue with me any more about that. “Your father told me that you went to visit her once in the hospital?”
“Yeah. But I didn’t have the guts to actually see her.”
“Have you thought about trying to see her again?”
I’m guessing lying won’t do me any good here. “Yeah.” I pause. “Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t?” He’s going to tell me that I shouldn’t. I really f**king hope he doesn’t, because I damn well already know that I will.
He shrugs. “From what your father told me, it sounds like she’s had a rough go of things. She might not be so receptive to seeing you. And if you’re not completely at peace with where you’re at, I’m afraid it could set you back down a dark path that you don’t want to be on. You need to focus on yourself right now.”
I sigh. He’s probably right.
“You feel you need some form of closure from her?”
Another nod. “Or something.” I’m afraid to say more.
Pulling a pad of lined paper and a pen out from a drawer, he tosses them on the desk in front of me. “Write it out. Everything you want to say to her. I don’t need to see it. But get it all out, and then leave it at that. In time, she may seek you out. You can give it to her then, if you want. Or you can say it out loud.” He pauses. “Just be prepared that she may not ever want to meet you and she deserves to make that call. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I sigh. It’s not exactly what I want to hear.
I lie in the twin bed in my sunny little room, pondering everything that Stayner has said. That’s one thing he gets me doing. Thinking. It’s like the guy has a wizard’s wand.
I think about Kacey Cleary as I always do—wondering how she’s doing right now, hoping that she’s not getting herself into trouble. How much farther can she spiral? I guess she could hit rock bottom, like I did. Maybe she has already. What if I’m released from here to find out the worst? All of my time with Dr. Stayner will have been worthless; I’m sure of it. For so many reasons, both selfish and not.
Because I want her to be free of this.
And because while I can make as many amends as I want, I don’t think I’ll ever truly move on until she does.
Until that sparkle in her eye comes back, that smile shines bright again.
The pad of paper lies across my chest; where it has stayed for hours, rows upon rows of scratched-out sentences. Because there just are no words.
Only a wish.
Stayner’s handshake is as firm as I would expect from a man of his integrity and strength.
“You ready to be released into the wild again?” he asks, a proud smile on full display. He should be proud. He’s given me strength and focus.
A purpose.
I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess.” It feels weird, leaving these walls five weeks later, considering the state I entered them in. But I think I’m ready.
Stayner frowns. “What’s going on in your head, Trent? You’re hung up on something, aren’t you?”
Damn guy. I can’t say no or he’ll probably shred the release papers. Not that I can’t leave of my own accord—this isn’t prison. But I promised my parents that I’d see it through and I have every intention of doing that. So I admit vaguely, “I’m nervous. About everything. About seeing people again. About seeing my parents after what I put them through.”
He slaps my shoulder, like I’d imagine a father would do to his son. “Do you know how happy they are today, waiting out there in the parking lot? Knowing that they’re getting their son back?”
I bite my tongue against the urge to argue that I’m not the same person anymore. “Yes, but they’re still divorcing. They’ve still lost their entire retirement fund. I can’t change that.”
He nods solemnly. “You’re right. You can’t. That’s a challenge that the two of them—and their relationship—must face. But any good parents will give all the money in the world to keep their child alive and well. I’ve met your parents. They’re good people, Trent. So, you just focus on you. You have a solid recovery plan in place, people who love you, and, most important, you have amends to make.”
I nod. He’s right about that.
Pushing through the doors of the clinic, I see my dad’s SUV parked out front. He and my mom slide out of their seats, hopeful smiles on their faces.
All it takes is a returning smile and my mom’s eyes water.
Holding up my finger—asking them for a minute—I slip my phone out of my pocket and hit number three on my speed dial.
“Hello?” It’s as hollow as ever, but it’s her voice.
I hit the “end” button and feel relief wash over me. Kacey’s still here. She’s still hanging on. That’s all I can hope for right now. I can feel the folded note in my back pocket, the one that maybe I’ll be able to give her one day. Maybe. But Stayner’s right; it’s not fair that I seek her out for my own healing.
So I’ll stay away from her.
For now.
Chapter 16
September 2010
Her hands rub the transfer onto my back with slow, smooth swipes. “What language is this?”
“Latin.”
“Huh . . . Sit up straight. Is this good?”
I follow her instructions and use the mirror in front to see the reflection in the one she’s holding up to my shirtless back. The heavy black lettering stretches from blade to blade. “Perfect.”
“Okay, Trent. Ready for your first tattoo?” I see the sparkle in her gaze, the sensual curve of her smile, as she holds the tattoo gun in one hand. I wonder if she’d still be giving me those f**k-me eyes if she knew I was in an inpatient rehab for attempted suicide only a few months ago.
Not that it matters. My attention is on one girl now and I won’t let it get divided.
“I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
“Hello?” Impatience fills her voice.
And I immediately break out in a sweat. “Is James there?”
“James? No. There is no James at this number. Learn how to dial!” Full irritation now. But she’s sober. I’ve called on three different Saturday nights and she’s been coherent each time. That says something. Maybe her spiral has stopped. Maybe she’s getting better.
I need to know.
She hangs up on me, as she has the last two times I phoned and asked for James.
The next call I make is to Rich. “Hey! Cole! How’s it going?”
I grit my teeth but say nothing. Rich knows me as Cole. That’s never going to change and I can’t expect him to just start calling me by something different. Stayner helped me rationalize that. Holding onto some ties to my past, as much as I’m not really that guy anymore, will keep me grounded. “I’m good.”
“I tried calling a couple times.” Did he hear what happened? I figure my mom might have told Derek’s mom. They still talk, occasionally.
“Sorry, man. I’ve been busy.” That’s not a lie. When Stayner’s clinic doors closed behind me, I stepped out, running. Within days I had located and attended my first PTSD support group. I go to it weekly. Through that, I’ve made connections with a local-area high school and two elementary schools. I’m in discussion to give presentations to some of the classes about the dangers of drinking and driving. I’ll probably shit my pants, but it’s something I need to do. Stayner was one hundred percent on the mark. I can’t change what happened, but I have a story to tell, one that could make an impact on other people’s lives. What better way to start making my amends?
“You’ve gotta come down again, soon.”
“Maybe in a few months?” It’s taken me everything not to jump in my car and head straight for a certain brick house just outside of Grand Rapids. But it’s too risky. I don’t know what seeing me would do to Kacey. Or what it might do to me.
“I’m still in the apartment. Decided to do my PhD.”
I chuckle. “Derek always said you didn’t want to join the real world.” It feels good, being able to share a laugh about my friend again, without my insides burning. “Listen, I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Shoot. Whatever I can do to help.”
I hesitate. This idea of mine may be crazy—in fact, I know it is. I can’t recall exactly when I came up with it. Probably around the same time that I realized keeping tabs on her would be impossible from five hours away. “Do you still have that hacker friend of yours?”
“Uh . . . yeah. Why?”
“What does it cost to get into someone’s email account?”
Chapter 17
June 2011
“I’m glad I caught you.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“How’s condo hunting? Did you check out that neighborhood I was telling you about?”
I can hear the hopefulness in her voice. That neighborhood is a seven-minute drive from her house. When I first told her that I felt it was time to invest in a place of my own, she struggled to hide the panic. As well as I’m doing—genuinely; it’s not an act this time around—she still rushes to get home for dinner every night. She still calls me every afternoon if I haven’t called or texted her yet; I wake up to a door creak almost every night, sensing her hovering over my bed, listening to me breathe.
She never used to be like this. Stayner warned me to expect it. From both her and my dad. I’d get a lot of questions and concerned looks and general overprotectiveness, for a long time. They almost lost me, after all. Twice.
“Uh . . . yeah. We’ll see, Mom. Listen, I may stay over at a friend’s house tonight.”
“Oh? Which friend?”
“Mom.”
She sighs. “Right. Sorry. Okay, just text me so I don’t worry. I miss you.”
Between the courses I’m taking at a local college and all the work I’m doing—both for my mom and some freelance stuff for small businesses who can’t afford to run print ads but might need a logo or marketing pamphlet design—plus the weekly group sessions and M.A.D.D. stuff I’m involved in, and a healthy gym schedule, I’m barely home.
“I will. Love you.” The truth is, I’m getting to the point when I need more space, more freedom to come and go without explanation.
Without having to lie.
Like today, when I strolled out the door at six a.m., I had to tell her I was heading to the gym. I was lucky she didn’t ask why I had bothered showering. And now, here I am, almost six hours away in this Caledonia Starbucks, having lied to her. I’ve been here since noon, making myself comfortable in a back corner, with a steady stream of caffeine to keep me going, my laptop open in front of me.
Kacey Cleary’s private email in-box staring at me.
I should feel guilty about invading her privacy—a small part of me does—but I’m not doing it to hurt her. And, I have my limits. When Rich’s hacker connection offered to hack into the webcam that’s connected to her family’s home computer for an extra grand, I told him I’d hunt him down and beat the shit out of him if he did that.
What it’s given me is a small glimpse into Kacey Cleary. A small window. Not one that I could actually fit through, but at least now I know just a tiny bit about Kacey Cleary. Information that I jot down in a little notebook. Things I can’t possibly forget.
Like, that Kacey has no friends.
Well, maybe that’s not fair for me to say, but in the eight months since I’ve been keying the password “douchebags” into her Hotmail account, I haven’t seen a single email from a friend. Maybe they just don’t email each other.
To be honest, there isn’t much in her in-box for me to work with. Mostly spam, including all the counseling newsletters and support group information blasts I signed her up for. That she hasn’t bothered to even delete, let alone open.
I know that she finished her senior year of high school, even if it was a year late. Based on a few old emails from her counselor, requesting meetings to discuss her grades and what options she has for improving on them, she didn’t do it with flying colors. I have to commend her for not quitting, though. Not like I did.
