Selective/Memory: The "Depth of Emotion" Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion) (10 page)

Dr. Sumner sat back into her chair to more effectively state the suggestion.

“Write,” she said.

“Write?” Aria echoed back to her incredulously.

“Yes, write,” the doctor repeated.

“Write a heartfelt letter to Declan. You may want to write several in fact.”

Aria continued to look at the doctor as if she had three heads. After a brief moment of disbelief and shock, she enunciated her reply so there would be no misunderstanding.

“I…am…not…writing…to…Declan,”
she said very calmly, slowly, and succinctly.

“It isn’t for him, Aria,” Dr. Sumner said, “but for you.”

“What?” She laughed in disbelief. “Just how would that benefit me? Only if I tell him what a lousy bastard he was and how he hurt me—oh, and let’s not forget ungrateful!”

She jumped up, stood, and then started pacing in anger.

“Yes. That’s what you’d tell him,” Dr. Sumner said. “That and many other things.”

Aria couldn’t believe her ears and stopped what she was doing to stare at the doctor.

All at once, the hidden sadist in her jumped to life with pompoms, and the doctor noticed the moment the reaction hit her.

“Unleash my beast?” Aria asked.

The thought caused venom to surface and exude, as her shoulders squared and her lips tightened.

“Yes!” the doctor shouted enthusiastically. “Unleash your beast—or at least, the beast that has been eating at you from the inside, but there is one thing…” Dr. Sumner slowed her voice.

Aria hesitated. She heard the deliberation in the doctor’s voice.

Of course, there was always a catch.

“…You must pour out everything in those letters, Aria. Everything! Love, hate, malice, disappointment, hurt—don’t hold anything back. You write every spiteful, despicable, and hateful thing that you can
never
forgive of Declan. In those letters, you tell him every cruel thing that he ever said or did to you, and you purge yourself of those toxic emotions—but
you will never mail them.
Never.
”

Dr. Sumner was now wearing a humongous, megawatt smile.

Aria wasn’t amused. The first word that came to her mind was
safe
; the next word was
nonproductive
. Then she thought of what this could mean for her emotional state. “How does that help if I never get to say those things
to
him?” she asked, confused. “He’s the one that hurt me? He’s the one that all these feelings are directed toward! Shouldn’t he know?”

The doctor understood her feelings, and nodded her head in agreement.

“Yes, Aria, he is; and, in a way, you’re right—but
you’re
the one who is suffering. It’s affecting
you
. Your
feelings
are hurting
you
…”

Then it happened. She guessed this was what Oprah would call an “A-ha moment.” Aria’s mind was a jumble, that much was true. Emotions that she was feeling, especially all the negative ones, were bottled up inside, due in part because she’d never divulged how she felt to anyone, not even those closest to her—her mom or girlfriends. All this hostility was festering inside of her and it was stagnating, growing putrid and making her personality grow somewhat cynical and bitter toward love, which was totally out of character for her.

Composing herself, she returned to her seat in the plush chair. She pulled her hair around her again, in the familiar comforting motion. No longer wanting to think about what to do, she made direct eye contact with the doctor. She wanted to make a decision.

“So, you think that if I do this, it might help me—really help—no bull?”

Dr. Sumner had such a confident look that she was infusing that confidence into Aria by osmosis, making more of a believer out of her moment by moment.

“I truly do. It certainly can’t hurt…and I believe it may even help
you
to
forgive
.”

What the hell?

Aria snapped back as if she’d been physically struck.

“
Forgive?
After how he treated me? I don’t think so.” The sarcasm dripped from her words as she spoke, but she didn’t want the doctor to think she was a pushover.

Dr. Sumner attentively leaned forward to capture Aria, as if she were a deer in headlights.

In a soft voice, which could only be described as a loud whisper, she said the words that Aria would use in countless situations, and that would stay with her forever.

“
Forgiveness is something you do for yourself
, Aria. It never dismisses what someone has done to you, but not utilizing it will allow the negative to eat you alive.
Forgiveness gives you back your power
.”

Aria was rendered speechless. Sinking in to the strength of those words felt, somehow, peaceful. Although Dr. Sumner had spoken them softly, they carried more command and direction than she felt she’d had in quite some time.

Concluding their session, they set the next appointment. The last few minutes of the visit were a blur. Aria thought about Declan.

What would she say if he were sitting in front of her and she had the power to say anything she wanted to him? What if he were forced to listen, in whatever mood she was in, and he could say nothing back to her? If he was made to understand exactly what happened that day?

That was essentially what this scenario proposed—and it was appealing. She only needed to think of one thing…

…Where should she begin?…

State government buildings held about as much warmth as an ice cube, but he felt the familiarity of friendship and camaraderie as he walked through the door. His fellow Troopers had always given him a sense of
family
.

“Hey, Sinclair! What are you doing up here?!” Sergeant Henry yelled across the floor. The old man was a welcome sight.

“I thought I’d come back and screw up your day!” Carter shouted back jokingly, making his way over to shake hands with his old friend and superior officer.

“Where’s everybody?” he asked, pulling up an old chair.

“Shift’s almost over. They’ll be filing in soon.” He held up a stained cup to Carter. “Coffee?”

“Nah. Thanks,” Carter said as he followed him.

After pouring himself a cup, Sergeant Henry returned to his desk.

“Really, what brings you up here? I thought you were staying with your brother down at his house near the ocean. Aren’t you still there?” he asked.

Moving to get comfortable in the chair, Carter sat to pass the time.

“I was. I am. He can be a pain in the ass at times. I needed to get away for a few days—give us both a little breathing room. You know what I mean?” he asked. “I figured it was a good time to come up here and check on the house, see if any mail hadn’t been forwarded down to me—you know, the regular bullshit.”

“Yeah, I get you.” The sergeant nodded. He then broached the next subject carefully. “You been by your house yet?”

He watched Carter stiffen.

“No. It’s my next stop.” Carter fidgeted in the chair and began to bounce his foot on the floor.

Reading his body language, the old man deflected.

“Okay; bad subject. How’s your brother? I heard it was a pretty bad accident. Got somebody saved, but hurt himself in the process?”

“It was pretty bad, and the girl is safe—well, physically at least. As far as he goes, I don’t think he’ll ever be the same. For that matter, I don’t think his girlfriend—former girlfriend—will either.”

“Damn!” the old man stated. “Sounds like a real mess. I’ll bet it’s been real tough—for both of you.”

Carter nodded. “It was…It is…It’s hard to watch him slowly self-destruct. Lately, it seems he’s been crawling into a bottle. He doesn’t think I notice.”

“You talk any sense into him?” the sergeant asked. He and Carter knew firsthand the devastation that could cause.

Carter leaned back into the chair and ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. He could deal with any other person when he was on duty, but couldn’t talk sense into his brother. The frustration killed him.

“I’m trying. I’ve talked to him, I’ve fought with him”—he gave the sergeant a laugh—“Next, I’m going to kick his ass.”

The statement caused the old man to crack a smile. “Have you thought about bringing him up here for a while? The mountains do good to clear your head. You of all people know that.”

Carter’s expression changed to one of sadness. “No.”

He offered no other comment, and the trained officer detected his sorrow through the cracks of his expression. It pained him to see Carter’s grief.

“You know, Sinclair, it’s normal to not want to go there—back to the house, I mean.”

“I never said that.” Quick to defend himself, Carter had put up a wall.

“You didn’t have to. Your body’s saying it for you,” the officer replied.

Carter knew that Sergeant Henry was a good read of people. It was part of the job, and he did it well.

“You know, I lived there without her before Declan got hurt,” he stated, matter of fact.

Sergeant Henry wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, but you didn’t like it.”

Carter raised his head to look at the sly old fox. He never could hide anything from him. He was just as much a pain in the ass as his brother, but he knew the truth of his relationship with Lacey.

“Yeah…I didn’t.”

Acknowledging he was right, Carter nodded his head. “If I have to tell the truth, I don’t know if I can live here without her.”

He took in a deep breath. Memories of Lacey were both good and bad. He knew it would never go away, but he could at least make this conversation better.

“Speaking of Lacey…”

He’d gotten the old man’s attention.

Leaning back to take a drink, Sergeant Henry focused on what Carter was about to say because he detected a more positive difference in his voice.

“I’ve been in the works of putting together a gala.”

The sergeant spit into his cup as he half choked and laughed.

“A
gala?
You?
” he asked.

Carter gave him a look as if he had just eaten something vile.

“Yeah, Sarg. A gala.
Me.
Shut the hell up and listen.”

Still chuckling under his breath, the sergeant mocked him, making the “taking a key and locking up his mouth” motion.

“I’ve been working with some of my brother’s friends who put together the opening of his business down at the beach. I wanted to put something together—a benefit, or dance-like thing—to start a scholarship in Lacey’s name.”

The last thing Carter said got the sergeant’s attention and he stopped heckling him, becoming more interested and curious with the plan.

“What made you come up with this idea?” he asked.

Carter leaned forward, scratching his head. He couldn’t remember when the thought occurred to him just that it had.

“I don’t know. I guess just thinking about Lacey one night and how she always enjoyed helping others. It was always like her to do things for people—something positive to help them. She loved kids, loved teaching, and loved being outdoors as well as being physical. I guess I thought if I could put something together that would make kids want to be both active and take school seriously, that she’d somehow like it.” He seemed to want approval.

Sergeant Henry came around his desk and sat on the edge. The older man looked at Carter and nodded his head in agreement with him. Memories of Lacey and her constant encouragement with the kids in the area still served him well.

“I think you’re right,” he said, placing a supportive hand on Carter’s shoulder. “She’d like you doing that.”

Both men sat on their memories of Lacey for a few moments while a comforting silence prevailed over their respective thoughts of her.

“So…” the sergeant began, slapping Carter on the back. “How can I help get this thing, this
gala
moving?”

In pain, he limped back to his desk. Some days it was better, but today it was worse. The dampness in the weather was causing him this current discomfort, which only added to his agitation.