Cut Too Deep (8 page)

“Hadley…”

She cut him off before the doctor convinced her.

“I accidentally threw it out, anyway. I see that as the universe’s way of saying what a bad idea it was in the first place.”

“Or your subconscious way of avoiding it,” Dr. LeClair countered immediately. A frustrated growl rumbled deep in Hadley’s throat. She palmed her forehead with both hands and leaned forward on her elbows. Dr. LeClair actually laughed at her from across his desk. Anger coiled deep inside of her. “You know, Hadley.” She lifted her head and looked directly into her therapist’s warm green eyes as he continued. “You’ve been through a lot, but I assure you the universe is not out to get you.”

“It sure as hell feels that way some times. What can I possibly tell him about myself? He’ll think I’m nuts.”

“You don’t have to start out sharing your life story with him, or anyone else for that matter. You assume it’s necessary to justify what you think is odd behavior. Most people don’t notice your anxiety. You can get to know people, and if one day that leads to you being comfortable with telling them about what you’ve been through, then fine, but it doesn’t have to happen day one.”

Hadley thought about the little she revealed regarding her past to Mac. She understood what Dr. LeClair meant. It had taken years, but Hadley felt comfortable with Mac, which reminder her, she wanted to tell Dr. LeClair about her night out.

The intercom beeped before she had the chance. Donna’s voice filled the room, letting Dr. LeClair know his next appointment had arrived. Hadley felt grateful for the interruption. Dr. LeClair had intended to push her further than he ever had, and she was more than certain she hadn’t been ready for him to.

“We aren’t finished discussing this. Come back and see me this Tuesday, same time.” Hadley frowned and nodded, hoping she would be ready to discuss it by Tuesday, because he was clearly not letting it go. “And, are you still okay with Thursday evening? I don’t want to pressure you.”

She forgot about her appointment to start regression therapy. There were details about the night of her parents’ deaths Hadley couldn’t remember. Dr. LeClair suggested hypnosis as a way to jog her memory. Hadley agreed, but wasn’t entirely convinced it would work, mostly because she thought hypnosis to be a bit of hocus-pocus.

“I’ll be here,” Hadley answered and got up from the chair.

“And, Hadley—let me stress, again, that I think it would be good for you to write him.”

“I can’t write him. I don’t know what to say.”

Hadley had thought about it plenty, but where to start simply eluded her. The last letter she wrote was ridiculous.

“Be honest.”

He smiled broadly before Hadley turned and left his office.

Honest? Really? How would that go over?

Dear Mr. Genetti,

I'm obsessed with you and want to get to know you, but I'm too fucked up to do it face to face. I know you're a hostage in a third world country and all, but what do you say? Do you want to get to know a girl with a shit ton of baggage, even though you have thousands of letters from “normal” women?

Sincerely,

Psycho Girl from Hell

Yeah, definitely not writing him.

The insane amount of work piled up on Hadley’s desk made the workday zoom by. She never made it to lunch and hadn’t spoken to Mac the entire day, which had been somewhat intentional on her part. Her friend believed, as Dr. LeClair did, that her writing Miller was a good idea.

Hadley popped into Mac’s office to tell him to have a nice weekend. With a phone to his ear, Mac held up a finger, signaling for her to wait. She sat in one of the hard, uncomfortable chairs in front of his desk.

After Mac placed the receiver in the cradle, he smiled at her.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to say goodbye.” Hadley realized why he looked confused. It wasn’t her typical routine to seek out her friend for goodbyes at the end of a workday. The only other time she had done it was the evening they had plans. Suddenly feeling awkward, she stood up, slung her purse strap over her shoulder, and bowed her head. “I’ll see you Monday.”

As she walked to the door, Mac called her name. Hadley turned around, and he asked, “Do you want to dance tonight?”

God, more than anything Hadley wanted to go dancing, but she couldn’t risk it. She tried to smile, but it didn’t come.

“I can’t,” she finally replied timidly.

Hadley’s response clearly didn’t mesh with her reaction the other night, and Mac saw right through her. His head tilted questioningly. She felt exposed as though a clothesline full of her dirty laundry hung between them. He saw in her eyes the truth was off limits, but pushed anyway. She had opened up to him before.

“Do you have other plans?”

“No…” Unless a microwave dinner and cable television counted as ‘plans’. “The parties are illegal, and, for reasons I won’t talk about, I can’t risk getting into any kind of legal trouble.”

His teeth sparkled like a goddamn toothpaste commercial when he laughed, and then Mac pulled Hadley into a tight hug.

She shoved against him, scowling up at her obnoxious friend.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

Mac released her and smiled.

“The police don’t give a shit about these events, and if they did show up, they would only send everyone home. The organizers may be charged with a misdemeanor permit infraction, but that’s it. You won’t get into trouble.”

Hadley wanted to trust her friend, but she couldn’t. The stakes were too high. Trust led to trouble, and, in this case, trouble led to Harold Duwatski.

The slightest hope filled her heart, and she smiled on the inside. She wouldn’t go tonight, but she would do a little research. If she could prove Mac correct, then she would definitely be dancing her ass off the next time he extended an invitation. She may even decide to send the big ape a picture to taunt him with her fun.

“Thanks, but I can’t tonight. Maybe next time.”

“Okay, but you’re missing out.”

“Believe me, I know, but I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m grumpy and won’t be much fun anyway.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. Hadley didn’t sleep much after Miller invaded her dream.

“I doubt that. I always have fun with you, but it’s cool.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Mac not pressuring her came with relief. He didn’t believe her story, but as the friend she needed, he refused to make her uncomfortable.

H
adley changed into some yoga pants and slid her feet into pointe shoes. She drew all of her dark hair back, twisted it, and then rolled it into a tight bun on the back of her head before fastening it with an elastic band.

Her knees creaked and popped on her way to the floor to stretch. Dancing had been hard on her body, particularity her knees, but the minor discomfort would never cause Hadley to quit dancing.

She stretched for twenty minutes before standing and playing some music on her iPod. Hadley choose the playlist she created years ago to honor her mother who loved music from the fifties. “That’s Amore” by Dean Martin started to play. Hadley squatted beside the barre and began a series of arabesque to warm up.

Halfway through the song, banging on the door overcame the music. When Hadley looked out the peephole, Mrs. St. Armont’s stretched face made her look more aggravated than usual.

Before the door fully opened, Hadley’s angry neighbor shouted to turn the music down, her perfect English wrapped in a thick Creole accent. The tiny speaker Hadley plugged into her iPod didn’t exactly blast the music. She’d played it much louder.

“I mean it! Turn that song off!” the irate woman ordered, pushing her way inside.

After her initial shock over the woman storming into her apartment, Hadley crossed the room to her iPod and turned it off. Mrs. St. Armont sat on the couch, staring at the wall. Tears streamed down the old woman’s cheeks like raindrops. Her ashy and delicate fingers trembled in her lap.

Hadley had no idea what to say. The soul before her appeared fragile and vulnerable, which wasn’t typical. The two women had never talked, but even after her husband died, Mrs. St Armont appeared unbreakable. Hadley often wondered if her neighbor ever truly grieved her loss.

Mrs. St. Armont’s head finally moved, and she looked over at Hadley. The sad expression on the woman’s face made it hard for Hadley to smile as it mirrored a well-known pain, one of loss and sorrow.

“He was my best friend. I miss him dearly.”

Hadley nodded understandingly and sat next to her sad neighbor. She didn’t know how to offer comfort to a friend, let alone a stranger. Should she hug her, or pat her knee, and offer some kind words? Let’s face it, affection and Hadley weren’t exactly on friendly terms. Mrs. St. Armont ended up patting Hadley’s knee. Hadley rested her hand on top of her neighbors, noticing the contrasting colors of their skin.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

What a generic thing to say
, she thought, but being in unfamiliar territory, Hadley could think of nothing else. She hardly knew this woman, but she did feel for her.

“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. St. Armont swiped a stray tear from her cheek. “He liked you.”

Hadley’s body stiffened with the woman’s words. She assumed she misunderstood them. Mr. St. Armont never spoke to her, although he always smiled when she would see him at the mailbox or in the laundry facility. Her heart ached. She kind of missed the old guy and his kind eyes. Before Hadley could argue, her neighbor continued. “He used to say to me that we needed to keep an eye on you, that you’d had a tough road, but were a good girl. He would say you were a girl that had lost her way. I used to think he was crazy, but since he died, I’ve watched you, and he was right. What happened to you, dear? Where is your mum?”

Mrs. St. Armont’s words brought on a rash of unwelcomed emotions that burned her skin. Her initial reaction, laced with anger made her want to shout at the woman to butt out, but she knew lashing out was wrong. Mrs. St. Armont wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt her. Hadley’s aggravation centered on the fact that apparently no matter how much she tried to hide her past, it was more transparent than she thought.

“Why would you think something happened to me?”

“It’s easy to see a girl who’s missing a mother’s love.” Mrs. St. Armont’s lips pressed flat. Her expression turned to one Hadley hadn’t seen since she was a small child, one of an understanding parent. “Did she pass away?”

“Yes.” Hadley smiled at her neighbor’s sincerity. “I was very young.”

“Ah…and papas don’t provide the same kind of love. I’m sorry for your loss too, dear.”

When a hand squeezed Hadley’s, she startled. Comfort and reassurance were completely foreign to her. No, ‘Papas’ definitely didn’t offer ‘the same kind of love’, especially her
papa
. Hadley swallowed the enormous lump in her throat and forced an awkward smile. She wasn’t about to share her life story. Instead, she shifted the conversation back to why the woman barged into her home.

“Was it the song?” Hadley asked softly.

Her neighbor lifted her gaze from her lap. She smiled brightly and said, “It was our wedding song. Stanley loved the King of Cool.” After a long pause, she continued. “Do you know that I haven’t cried once since he died? Then, I heard that song, and, for the first time, I understood he’s never coming back. After spending fifty years of your life with someone, it’s not easy to accept they’re gone and move on. I’ve been living as though he’s still alive. What a silly old woman I am, huh?”

Hadley shook her head faintly. The love Mrs. St. Armont felt for her husband twinkled in her light brown eyes. The raw emotion touched Hadley in a way she’d never felt before. She certainly never saw that kind of love in her mother’s eyes for her father.

“I bet it was love at first sight.”

“Oh, God no!” Her neighbor laughed heartily. “It was lust at first sight.” She winked. “If you know what I mean.” Hadley thought about Miller and understood exactly what her neighbor conveyed.
Did lust become love for some people?
“He was a looker, but I was intimidated by him. When I finally found the courage to speak to him, I ended up calling him names that I shouldn’t repeat to a girl as sweet as yourself.”