Off the Deep End (21)
He’s said a lot of stupid things since we started meeting together, but this is by far the stupidest, but I’m not surprised. I was just hoping things might be different this time, but he’s just like the others. “I was driving the car, and I crashed into the lake, so I’m the one that’s responsible.”
“You’re not responsible for Gabe’s death,” he repeats himself like a dummy.
It doesn’t matter how many times he says it: his proclamations won’t make it true. It’s not like he’s Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz and he can tap his ruby-red slippers together three times and be home. That’s not how it works. But that’s the thing. That’s why none of them can help me. They all think I’ll feel so much better once I get over the guilt about feeling responsible for Gabe’s death, but it’s not a feeling—it’s a fact. I’m responsible for Gabe’s death.
I won’t negate my responsibility so that I can feel better about myself. I was driving the car that night when I was exhausted. I was the one who slammed on the brakes when the deer jumped out in front of us on the road, despite knowing that’s the last thing you want to do on ice. I was the one who couldn’t control the car and let it go flying into the lake.
What I need is someone to tell me how I’m supposed to live in a world where I’m responsible for my son’s death. That’s all. I don’t have any trouble accepting I’m the reason he’s gone. They’re the ones that have a problem accepting that fact. I came to terms with it a long time ago. Maybe almost immediately. The first time the doctor told me.
Shane had been sitting next to my bedside twisting and twirling his hands in his lap since I woke up after being unconscious for six hours. My entire body felt like it was being pricked with needles. Blinding and shooting pain everywhere. My fingers and toes felt like frozen pieces of meat. None of that mattered, though. All I cared about was Gabe.
“Please, Shane, what’s going on with Gabe? How is he?” I kept asking.
“We need to wait for the doctor.” It was the same answer every time. I might’ve had a head injury, but I understood that wasn’t good, and his refusal to look me in the eye only heightened my suspicions. It felt like days instead of hours before the doctor finally made his way into the room. He was an elderly man with kind eyes and white tufted eyebrows. Age spots dotted his nearly bald head.
He stuck his hand out to mine, and the touch of his skin sent piercing needles down my spine and made me cringe.
“That’s going to happen with hypothermia,” he said, noticing my reaction. “Your body is going to be sensitive to touch, and your body temperature is going to be dysregulated for quite some time. It—”
“Okay, okay,” I said, interrupting him and waving him off. I didn’t care about any of that. All I wanted to know was what kind of shape Gabe was in. He’d been underwater so much longer than me. “How’s Gabe? Tell me everything.”
He blinked twice, then spoke in a soft, even voice. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hart, but Gabe did not survive the accident.”
In that instant, it was as if a gaping sinkhole just opened up and swallowed my normal life. Gone. Just like that. Never to return.
And now I’m here.
Trapped in this purgatory of sorts with a psychologist who’s about as clueless as he was when we started, but at least he’s cute.
“I appreciate you saying that,” I tell him, referring to his original point about me not being responsible for Gabe’s death, “but I think we’re going to have to disagree on that one.”
I’m responsible for all this. He just doesn’t know that yet.
SIX
AMBER GREER
My phone buzzed next to my head and startled me awake instantly. I pulled up Katie’s FaceTime. Her face filled the screen. She gave me a tiny smile. There was color in her cheeks. That was good.
“How did you sleep, sweetie?” I asked, pulling myself upright on the couch so I could see her better. I’d meant to go back upstairs last night, but I’d fallen asleep here instead.
“Good. Grandma let me sleep with her again.” The sound of her voice made me smile.
“I knew that’s how the two of you would end up.” She’d had her grandma wrapped around her fingers since she was born. Both my kids did, but my mom didn’t mind. She loved her grandkids, and she was an amazing grandmother, even moved to Minnesota so she could be closer to us after Katie was born.
“She’s making pancakes and eggs right now. Can you smell it?” She tilted her phone toward the kitchen, and I spotted my mom’s back in front of the stove. She was wearing the bathrobe we got her last Christmas.
“Smells delicious,” I said, but in reality, the thought of food made me nauseous.
She turned the phone back on herself. “Mom, do you think it would be okay if I stayed with Grandma for a while today before I come home?” She said it softly and carefully like she was afraid she’d hurt my feelings by asking. “It’s just that . . . well, it’s just not as sad over here, you know?”
“Oh honey, I know,” I said, my emotions thickening my voice as I did my best not to cry and to stay strong for her. “It’s really sad in the house right now, and it looks like a block party outside with all the media trucks and vans, so I understand if you want to hang out over there longer. It’s a total circus here. Stay away from the craziness. Give yourself a break today.”