Hell on Heels(48)

Doctor Colby didn’t react for two reasons. One, it was her job to remain impartial, and two, she already knew I’d slept with Dean.

I had but one secret from her.

“Why do you think that changed everything, Charleston?” she asked. “Why do you feel like the need for closure didn’t end there?”

My mind worked double time, seeing flashes of him on my floor that night. “I couldn’t forgive him.” I shook my head. “He wanted my forgiveness, and I couldn’t forgive him.”

“Do you feel burdened by that?”

I rubbed my palms down the tops of my thighs. “Yes.” I nodded. “I want to be able to give him that, but I can’t.”

A tear slid down my cheek and darkened the blue of my denim jeans.

“Forgiveness doesn’t have a road map, Charleston, and neither does letting go.”

I choked on the lump in my throat.

“I think what’s important to remember is that you’re trying, and that is a very brave thing to do.”

Swiping at the tears with the back of my hand, I lifted my eyes to look into hers.

To tell her the one truth I’d kept from her in all these years.

“Henry talks to me.” I started to cry a little harder. “I hear his voice in my head sometimes.”

Her face drew the tell-tale signs of sympathy. “Oh, Charleston. For how long?”

“Since he left me,” I divulged. “It’s not like when I have memories of him. Those are different. But sometimes he talks to me.” I winced. “Am I crazy?”

Standing up, she moved and sat down on the table across from me. “Is that what you’ve thought all this years?”

I nodded.

It couldn’t be normal to hear the voice of your dead brother so often.

“Sometimes, our subconscious develops a way to help us through difficult times,” she started. “We all hear voices to a certain extent. Some of us hear our mothers reminding us not to eat that second piece of cake. Some of us hear our grandparents reminding us to smile. Some of us hear our teachers reminding us to study. It’s how the human brain copes with everything it’s seen.”

The tears came a little quicker now. “I’m not crazy?”

“No, Charleston. You’re not crazy. Your subconscious took on the voice of Henry, because you trusted him and you loved him.” I hiccupped. “The person you’re really hearing from is you.”

I broke down and leaned forward into her hug.

I wasn’t crazy, but I was sad.

It meant that Henry was still gone.

“I miss him,” I sobbed into her.

She rubbed my back and whispered, “And that won’t ever go away.”

“Will it get easier?”

Squeezing my upper arms, she pulled me back to look at her. “It may never get easier, but you will get better at managing it, Charleston. With all this work you are doing, you will get better at letting go.”

I prayed she was right.

“Grief is unpractised emotion. There’s no way to prepare yourself for it,” she said. “You just have to ride the wave and find your own way to make peace with that.”

“I’m trying,” I promised.

And for the first time in my adult life, I meant it.

I was trying like hell to find me in all the rubble of my suffering.

Our session concluded, and I confirmed my appointment for the following week with Maureen, also taking the time to advise her of the days I would be in Mexico.

Then, I walked one block from Doctor Colby’s office building to the small tree lot they’d set up on the corner. It didn’t take long to find a tree, this one as per Leighton’s request, but maybe a little less pathetic and larger than she’d have liked. The family running the lot seemed thrilled with my choice of the ugly tree.

“If I bring my car around, will you load it for me?” I asked the man.

He smiled. “Sure thing, Miss.”

It took me about fifteen minutes to walk back to the building, head down to the garage, and pull my Range Rover up the block. We struggled for a minute, eventually needing to lay the backseat down just to fit the poor spruce in there. After ten minutes, we succeeded, and I was on my way to the store in search of decorations.

I didn’t have any at home, given my growing dislike of the season, or if I did, I hadn’t a clue where they were and I always spent Christmas with my parents. They had a spectacular tree.

Settling on a tree stand, a few boxes of gold bulbs, some white lights, and a star for the top, I was on my way home. It was a weekend, and shouldn’t have taken quite so long to make the drive to my building, but for some reason, every winter season, the entire city forgot how to drive in the snow.

I mean, we lived in Canada, in a city that got so much precipitation year-round we could solely support the rain boot trade, but still, everyone acted as though they’d never seen rain or snow before.

Turning the engine off, I slid from my seat and popped open the backdoor, looking at the tree.

I leaned in, grabbing it by the trunk, and pulled. I underestimated the weight, my hands slipped, and I fell ass first into the slush on the road.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” I looked up to see Dean standing on the sidewalk, arms crossed over his chest and a shit-eating grin on his face.