Paradise Valley (Virgin River #7)(93)

“You think I shouldn’t be angry?” he asked, tears sparkling in his eyes. Tears that Jerry knew Rick would not let fall.

“Oh, heavens, Rick. Anyone would be angry. But it’s up to you whether you drive the anger or the anger drives you.”

“What the f**k does that mean?”

“It means, you have a right to your anger. Every right. So what we should look at is—what is the object of your anger? Jack? Your old girlfriend?”

He shook his head. “I’m not mad at them, man. Well, if I’m mad it’s only because they want everything to be all right, and it’s not.”

“I see. How much of your anger do you direct at yourself?”

“Why would I do that?”

Jerry shrugged. “Why would you? Good question.”

“Well, I’m not mad at myself. I’m doing what has to be done, that’s all.”

“Ah. And that is?”

“Listen, ass**le, I have to cut Liz loose, before she wastes her whole life on me. And she would, she’s that kind of girl. She hasn’t gotten much good from me so far.”

“Rick, do you have any respect for anyone?”

He stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Do you respect Liz, for example?”

“Of course. If I didn’t respect her I wouldn’t—”

“If you did respect her, you’d probably assume she could make her own choices. I’ve suggested this before, I think.”

“Don’t you listen to anything?” Rick demanded.

“Raptly,” Jerry answered. “You are doing what you think has to be done.”

“Exactly!”

“Except, what if you’re just plain angry about the way things went in Iraq? What if the actions you’re taking are a greater punishment on you than anyone else?”

“What bullshit,” Rick said, wiping impatiently at his eyes.

“That life you miss, Rick? It’s right where you left it. But you’re too angry and afraid of disappointment to let yourself return to it.”

“That would be stupid,” Rick said. “I’m not stupid, and I’m not just afraid of a little disappointment.”

“I didn’t say little,” Jerry pointed out. “In your case, weighing in combat, disability, death, I’d say the disappointment is substantial. Life altering.”

Rick ground his teeth. Okay, so what if that was true—he was afraid that if he assumed he could slip back into his old life, he’d not only let everyone else down, but it would kill him to see any of them hurt any further? “You are the most annoying jerk I’ve ever known,” he said to Jerry.

“It’s a dirty job,” Jerry said with a shrug. “Since our time is nearly up, I’d like you to think about that for next time—that you’re angry and afraid, which is reasonable, and also potentially destructive. If we can explore where that anger is directed, for next time, maybe we can—”

“I know where the f**king anger is directed!” Rick nearly shouted. “At everything that happened for the last twenty years! My parents, my girl, my baby, my war!”

Jerry gave him a second. Then he said, “Yourself.”

“No!” Rick insisted. “No!”

Jerry did not look at his watch or break eye contact to look at the clock. Finally, in a low voice he asked, “Did you let them all down, Rick? By getting wounded and disabled?” Rick looked at four or five different points around the room, looking high, like the answer would be in the ceiling of Jerry’s little office. “If this hadn’t happened to you,” Jerry went on, “would you be able to pick up where you left off, carry on, with your best friends and your girl?”

“You are totally nuts,” Rick said, but the tears that always gathered in his eyes began to roll down his cheeks and he swiped at them.

“Does the anger drive you or do you drive the anger?” Jerry repeated. “Are you mad at yourself because you got hurt?”

“That’s just stupid,” Rick said, but he said it more softly. Then he put his face in his hands and his shoulders shook a little. It was a full minute before he lifted his head and turned glassy eyes at Jerry. “Face it. If it hadn’t happened, things would be all different. It was like the straw that broke the camel’s back. I might have never seen that it’s all on me, that I’m the one—” And then he put his face in his hands again.

Jerry let him simmer for a while, pretending not to cry when he was actually coming apart. He knew Rick wouldn’t reach for a tissue, that would be too telling. His shoulders trembled, but Jerry could hear the desperate mewling sounds of a man trying not to give in. When things calmed down just a little, he spoke. “Rick, there are some facts that have nothing to do with you that eventually you have to accept. One—a drunk driver caused your parents’ deaths. One hot little sperm and one determined little egg made your baby on the first strike. Most of the stillbirths recorded have no known cause—a very tragic statistic. And—someone threw the grenade that took you out. Everything could have been different, but there was nothing you could have done to make it so.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, lifting his head.

“You’re not going to get much satisfaction from blaming yourself. You’ll keep going in circles because you’re faultless. You’ve had some rough deals, but you’ve also had some extremely lucky events.”