The Clay Lion (28 page)

“I’m going to go say goodbye again,” Sarah said,
sliding her flip flops on her feet as she crossed the pool deck.

I waited for her in the parking lot, still
contemplating my motives.  I was sure that the reason for the lessons had
something to do with Charlie, but he was clearly not present.  Perhaps he
had been there during previous lessons.  When Sarah finally appeared, I
pried her for more information.

“Seemed like there weren’t as many people here
today as usual,” I began.

“Really?
  Everyone in our class was here.”

“No, I meant around the pool in general. 
The other classes too. 
Where there instructors missing
maybe?”

“I didn’t really notice, but I don’t think
so.  Garrett, James, Meaghan and Wendy were all here I think.  That’s
everyone.”

“Oh.  Yeah.  I guess you’re right,” I
replied, deflated by the news that Charlie was not one of the regular
instructors.

“So,” said Sarah, disrupting my thoughts, “do you
have shelter hours today or do you want to come over?  I feel bad being
excited that the
Miltons
are on vacation, but I sure
am happy to have a free week!”

“I don’t think there is anything on my calendar,”
I said.  “I’ll go home and shower and then I’ll head over.”

“See
ya
,” she called as
she headed towards her car.

“See
ya
.”

Sarah had been the Milton’s babysitter since she
earned her Red Cross babysitting certificate in seventh grade.  Every
summer, Sarah would watch the Milton boys, Jack and Henry, while their parents
were at work.  She loved the kids.  Sarah was going to be a great mom
someday.

I tried to push thoughts of Charlie out of my
mind for the rest of the day.  Sarah and I hung out at her house, making
tuna salad sandwiches for lunch, watching horrible daytime television, and
picking out appropriate outfits for both a barbeque and trip into the
city.  It was fun listening to Sarah talk endlessly about Garrett, but it
only served to remind me of all I had lost.  By the time Sarah was ready
to leave on her date with Garrett, I was ready to go home and think about
something else.

After chopping the vegetables for the kabobs and
cleaning the grill for dinner, I found myself pacing the kitchen, anticipating
my mother’s arrival home from work.  The loss of Branson and Charlie
plagued my thoughts, and I was desperate for the distraction of my mother’s
chatter.  Twice I thought about searching for information about Charlie on
my tablet, and I was relieved to hear my mother’s car pulling down the driveway
as I headed for my tablet a third time.

Over dinner, my parents noticed my distraction.

“You okay?” my father asked, pulling squash from
his skewer.

“Yeah.
 
I’m just having a sad day. 
Missing Branson and stuff.
 
You know.”

“We know,” replied my mother, shooting me a
sympathetic glance.  “Well, tomorrow’s Tuesday.  Perhaps Dr. Richmond
will have some insight for you then.  His suggestions seemed to have been
helping so far.”

“They have,” I agreed, unaware of what I was
affirming.  “It’s hard not to think about what I’ve lost sometimes, I
guess.”

“We all lost a lot, but think of everything you
are getting ready to gain.  Don’t get so bogged down in the past that you
forget to look around at what you have,” said my father wisely.

“Thanks guys,” I said, smiling at them
both.  “I’ll clean up.”

I carried my father’s words with me for the rest
of the evening.  He was right.  I had no idea what college would
bring. 
New studies.
 
New
friends.
  Maybe even someone new to love.  The only thing I
knew it would not bring was Branson.  It was a hurdle I was going to have
to continue jumping over, day after day.  I prayed that with time, the
hurdle would get a little lower and more manageable, until finally it would be
nothing more than another step along the path of my daily life.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
E
IGHT

I arrived at Dr. Richmond’s office five minutes
before my scheduled appointment.  I flipped passively through a magazine
while I waited to be greeted.  When at last Dr. Richmond opened the
adjoining door, he smiled warmly, ushering me in to his office.

The space was exactly as I remembered it from
before my second trip, which helped to diminish my anxiety.  I sat in the
cushioned armchair I had become accustomed to during those visits, and Dr.
Richmond immediately took the seat on the opposite side.

“Welcome back,” he opened, smiling broadly.

“Hi,” I said.

“How are you adjusting?” he asked.

I was taken aback.  I did not know to what
he was referring.  I answered ambiguously.

“Fine?”
I said.

“No problems with changes in the timeline?” he
asked, perplexed.

Now I was the one that was confused.  I did
not understand why he was asking about my timeline.  How could he know
about the changes?  I started to speak, and then, thinking better of it,
closed my mouth sharply.  When I did not respond, he began again.

“It’s okay Brooke.  You told me.  I
know about your trip.  Or should I say trips?” he finished, winking at me.

“I told you?  When?  Why?”

“I’ve been excited for this session,” he replied,
laughing.  “Here,” he said, handing me
a bottled
water from the table and choosing one for himself.  “Let me fill you in.

“Your mother brought you to me a little over a
year ago.  Branson’s health was deteriorating rapidly and you were all so
very raw.  Your mother suggested that perhaps it would be a good idea to
have someone to talk to professionally outside of the family and you
recommended me.  To this day, your mother has no idea why you chose me
specifically, but of course, we know.

“For the first couple of months, you were
difficult to read.  You were making progress with regard to Branson, but
it was obvious that you were dealing with other issues that you were unwilling
to discuss for some reason.  During one session early last fall you made a
comment about something happening ‘the first time.’  You realized your
slip immediately and tried to recover, but it started the wheels in my brain
turning none-the-less. 

“During the following session, I confronted you
about the fact that you were hiding an important detail of your life from me
that was keeping you from making the progress that I was expecting from
you.  Under the cloak of doctor – patient confidentiality, you confided in
me about your trips.  I had a hunch about what you were going to tell me,
but I would have never dreamed that you had traveled back to save your brother
a total of three times.

“Since opening up to me about the trips, you have
made terrific progress, Brooke.  I think it has truly helped that you have
at least one person with whom you can openly discuss your choices.  I know
that you have chosen to keep that information from the rest of the people in
your life, a decision that you and I disagree on.  But for now, I am glad
that you can discuss things here with me instead of not at all.  So, back
to my initial question, how are you adjusting?”

It took me several seconds to recover from what
Dr. Richmond revealed about our relationship.  I was surprised by the
relief I felt knowing that my secret was not completely my own.

“It’s been interesting,” I said.  “Luckily,
I’m still me and I can make assumptions about the choices I think I would have
been making for the past year and a half, but there are a few things that have
thrown me for a loop so far.”

“Like what?” Dr. Richmond asked.  “You’ve
told me a lot.  I might be able to help.”

“Well, I’m going to State in a few weeks, right?”

“Right.
 
You were accepted into their pre-med program in veterinary medicine.  You
received a full scholarship for tuition.  What else?”

“You are the only one I’ve told about my trips?”

“Yes.  That I know of.”

“When Branson died… how was it?”

“You showed great strength and wisdom for someone
your age.  When I think about it now, it makes sense that you were able to
process his death as you did, having had the experience of losing him so many
times before.  You stayed with him until the end.  You were with him
when he passed away.  You told me it was peaceful and that you knew it was
his destiny.”

Unable to hold back tears any longer, I wiped my
eyes with my shirt.  Dr. Richmond handed me a tissue and I attempted to
compose myself.

“It’s okay Brooke,” he consoled me.  “You
have every right to feel sad.”

“And so I’m doing better,” I asked when I was
able to continue.

“You were never clinically depressed this last
time.  You’ve been resolved and focused on your future, but it’s still
okay if you have to take things one day at a time.  You have a notebook of
techniques we have discussed over the months that you can use to help get you
through the rough days, especially when you head off to college next month.”

“I haven’t found that, I said.

“You have it.  It’s a red binder.  Read
through it when you have some time.  It’s helped in the past.  Any
other questions for today?” he asked, glancing at his watch.

“Yes. 
One.
  Do
you know why I might have signed up for swimming lessons this summer?”

Dr. Richmond laughed aloud, causing him to choke
on his water.  “Yes!” he replied.  “Part of our therapy was to pick a
new thing to learn how to do.  Something you had never done before that
you could focus on.  You picked swimming.  You said that Charlie said
he was going to teach you but that with or without him, it was worth learning
to do.”

Heat rose to my face, turning my cheeks
crimson.  “I told you about Charlie?”

“Yes, Brooke, you told me about Charlie. 
Branson wasn’t the only loss you have had to confront.  There are some
strategies for him in the notebook too.  Read through it and let me know
what you think about the suggestions next week, okay?”

“Okay,” I replied, still embarrassed at just how
much I had chosen to share with Dr. Richmond.  I stood and walked quickly
to the door.  I lingered, my hand on the knob.  “Thanks Dr.
Richmond,” I called over my shoulder.

“My pleasure, Brooke.
  And for the record, I am glad to have you
back.”

“Me too.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
N
INE

I left Dr. Richmond’s office with a sense of
peace that had eluded me since returning to the present.  It was a
wonderful relief to know that there was someone in the world who knew my story,
my whole story, with whom I could share my confidences.

Instead of returning home after my appointment, I
headed out of town to a small residential area close to school.  I
consulted my tablet to confirm the address and continued winding my way through
the subdivision.  At last, I pulled into the driveway of a modest
colonial.  There were no cars in the driveway, but I walked to the front
door, hoping for the best.

I rang the doorbell and waited nervously on the
porch for signs of life from within the house.  After several seconds, I
saw movement behind the sheer of the curtained window and heard the sound of
the deadbolt being unlatched.  Jill Overstreet opened the door.

“Brooke?” she said, squinting at me as the
brightness of the sunlight blinded her momentarily.

“Hi Jill.”

“Hi.  Is everything okay?” she asked,
suddenly concerned.

“Yes.  Everything is fine.  I was just
wondering if you had a couple of
minutes?
”

“Yeah.
 
Sure. 
Of course.
  Come in,” she said,
leading me into the foyer.  She closed the door behind me, resetting the
deadbolt and directed me into the kitchen where the local news was blaring on
the television.  She turned it off and sat down at the breakfast
bar.  The silence was immediately deafening.

“Can I get you something to drink,” she asked
politely.

“No, I’m fine.  I just wanted to see how you
were doing.”

She did not speak immediately.  I watched as
she picked nervously at her fingernails.  “I’m good,” she said finally.

“Good.  That’s good,” I replied.