A Lover's Lament(11)

“Fuck you, Katie!” she yells. My heart slams against my ribcage as I wait for her to tear into me some more. Lord knows I deserve it. “Shit,” she hisses. Her eyes squeeze shut and she drops her head. “This isn’t about me, it’s about you.” Her voice is softer but still strong, and I’m both proud and jealous that she was able to control her emotions when I wasn’t. “I’m worried about you, because you’re my sister and I love you.”

“Don’t worry about me, Bay. I’m fine.” That’s a f*cking lie. I’m far from fine, but I’m dealing with things the only way I know how. I have to get through this in my own way and on my own terms.

“You’re not fine.” Bailey’s eyes are hard and unyielding when they find mine. “You’re losing weight and you have dark circles that have become permanent fixtures under your eyes. You work all the time, and when we do see you, it’s nothing more than ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ on your way out to the barn. You’re running yourself ragged and you’re going to kill yourself, Katie.”

“Right,” I say with a snort. Tossing the shovel to the side, I tug the gloves off of my callused hands. “I would hardly consider mucking stalls life-threatening.” Arguing the other points she made is useless because they’re all true.

“It’s not just mucking stalls, it’s everything. If it’s your day off, you’re here in the barn from the asscrack of dawn until well past sunset, and if it’s your day to work, you’re here before and after you put in a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. Seriously, do you even see Wyatt anymore?”

“First, don’t worry about my relationship with Wyatt,” I warn, my blood boiling at the mention of his name. “It’s none of your business. Second, I come here because it’s peaceful and it gives me time to think—”

“Dwell,” she interrupts. “It gives you time to dwell. I get it, Katie. I get that you’re hurting. I’m hurting too, and so is Mom. But what you’re doing isn’t healthy.”

“Healthy? I’m not healthy, I’m in pain! Drexler killed our daddy, Bailey,” I yell, running a hand through my hair. “How does that not bother you? He was selfish, and his actions are the reason that Mom will grow old by herself and our future kids will never know their grandpa.”

Bailey’s shoulders slump. “I get that,” she concedes, sadness in her eyes. “I know that Andrew Drexler is to blame, but you need to forgive him so that—”

“What did you say?” I hiss, taking a step back as though she’d slapped me across the face. “Forgive him? You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not joking, and yes, I think you should forgive him. Look at you,” she says, waving a hand in my direction. “You’re angry and bitter over something that you can’t change. You can yell and scream and cry, and you should do all of those things. Hell, you could even hurt the man that did this, but you know what?” she asks, tossing her hands up at her sides. “It won’t bring Daddy back. So you can be angry and keep living this shell of a life that you’ve been living the past month and a half, or you can grieve with the rest of us and remember all of the good things about Daddy.”

The air swirls with tension so thick I could choke on it. We stand for several seconds just staring at each other, and I eventually have to look away or risk breaking down—and I do not want to break down. Not now, and certainly not here.

My silence must be too much for Bailey because she says, “I don’t want to fight with you, Kit Kat.” I flinch at her use of my childhood nickname. “We’ve just been tip-toeing around you for too long and I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ll drop it, and I’ll leave you alone—for now—but just know that when you do let go of the anger, the pain will still be there. It’s not going away … not until you deal with it.” She spins on her heel and walks toward the door, and when I finally gather the courage to talk, she stops but doesn’t turn to face me.

“I’m dealing with it, okay?” I sigh, mostly because I’m tired of arguing, and I hate that my baby sister is schooling me. “I’m going to therapy just like you and Mom wanted. I’m trying to work through it. What else do you want from me?”

Bailey turns around, her face void of any emotion, and she shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t want anything from you, Katie. That’s the thing, I just want you. I want my sister back.”

“I’m trying.” Why the hell can’t they see that?

“Well, try harder.” She shakes her head before turning away from me and walking out.




“How did that make you feel?” Dr. Perry asks. Folding her hands, she places them neatly in her lap atop a yellow legal pad and looks at me curiously. Apparently, my argument with Bailey this morning softened me, because normally I’m a tough nut to crack—or at least I’d like to think I am. But nope, not today. Today, I sat down on this horrid floral-print couch and spilled my guts before the expert nut-cracker even said a word.

“You know I hate it when you ask me that question,” I quip, earning a genuine smile from my therapist. A low growl rumbles from my chest and I toss my head back on the couch. It took me three sessions with Dr. Perry to learn that she can read me like a book. I also learned, after a very ugly screaming session—the screaming was totally me—that she has the patience of a saint, and if I truly want to move past the wall I’ve put up, then I have to first open up. “It made me feel like shit. It made me feel like I’m letting them down.”