Without You Here (23 page)

Wyatt’s fleeting good mood vanished.

"But first you have to recognize that you have a problem."

He glanced around. Blake still wasn't making eye contact. "Is this about the drinking? Because I don't drink that much, really. I hardly ever get drunk and I'm sure as hell not an alcoholic, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not the drinking," Liza said. "Not
just
the drinking."

Nobody said anything. So Wyatt said, "Then what? What is this?"

"Dad, you attempted suicide Sunday night," Blake said. His voice was low and weak.

Fuck,
he thought. He remembered Sunday night. He didn't remember getting from the cemetery to here. "I didn't...," he started. "It wasn't...look I didn't pull the trigger. This isn't a big deal, Son."

"This is a big deal!" Blake shouted. He looked at him, anger and tears in his eyes. "This is a big deal to me! Look at yourself, for God's sake. Look how much weight you've lost. Hell, Dad, you've slept away an entire week of your life."

"I must have been sick or something," Wyatt said, hating how defensive he sounded. "Like a virus or something. But I'm better, now, so....”

"Did you have a virus last weekend?" Charles asked. "When you slept with your son's girlfriend."

Wyatt felt a wave of nausea. Poor Ettie had turned completely red. She sat on her hands, her blond hair curtaining her face, looking like a school girl in trouble. He gritted his teeth and glared at his father. He looked around again at everyone, feeling anger growing. "So this is, what, an intervention? A lame ass intervention because I made one mistake and got a little upset about it. So why are you two here?" He asked to Jesse and Alex.

"We're here for Blake," Jesse said. "You've really screwed with his life, Uncle Wyatt."

"I'm sorry! Jesus, Blake, I'm sorry. I'm never gonna see her again. I won't talk to her. I won't even think about her. I don't know what you want me to do."

"I want you to wake up and be my dad again. I lost my mom and it hurt so badly. I miss her so much. And here you want to take my father away, too. It's not fair to me...it's not fair to any of us!"

Wyatt leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his forehead resting on his palms. "I didn't pull the goddamn trigger," he said quietly.

"Yeah, but the fact that you keep saying that says you wanted to."

"No. I didn't want to. That's the whole fucking problem. The last time I pulled the trigger and the gun jammed, I wanted to die. This time, I just thought it was the only...I don't know...decent thing to do. Only I was a coward and couldn't do it and here we are."

Wyatt waited a moment for Blake to respond. But the room had gotten really quiet. He looked up and around. Ettie had her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her vivacious smile was gone. Liza had two tears trickling down her face.

"Last time?" This came from Cecily.

"What?" Wyatt asked.

"You said last time. This has happened before?"

Wyatt leaned back and stared at the floor in front of him. He couldn't believe he'd said that out loud. This whole thing was humiliating. If he'd ever had a shot with Ettie, it was gone, now.

"When was last time?" Blake asked.

Wyatt leveled him with his gaze. "I'm not talking about that with you. Not with any of you. I don't know what the fuck you all are trying to accomplish, but this is over. Ettie, you go on home, honey. You didn't need to come down for this."

She lifted her pretty brown eyes. But she didn't get up and leave.

"Wyatt, baby," Liza said, in her cool, soothing voice, "this isn't just about last weekend. This is about the past two years. You're hanging on to Amberlee in a way that's unhealthy. You carry around that list she made and you let it get in the way of living your own life. You drink sporadically. Therefore you work sporadically. Did you know your father hired on another hand last month? Even with the new guy, they're struggling to get all the work handled without you."

Wyatt looked up, then. "We don't have the income to hire on another hand. You gotta talk to me about this shit, Dad. It's my damn farm."

"You haven't been here. We've had to work around the fact that we can't depend on you anymore."

"Can't depend on me?"

"That's right, Wyatt. We can't depend on you."

Wyatt gaped at him, hurt by the words. He looked to the couch where his brother and sisters sat. Cecily had silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Diane was rubbing Stan's arm, comforting him. He looked miserable. "Say something, Stan. Everyone else has."

Stan hit him with his hard stare, though there was sadness there. "Wyatt, you...." he stopped. Regrouped. "You're depressed."

Wyatt laughed. "I'm sure as hell getting there."

"Look," Stan said, "I know the word gets overused. I'm guilty, myself, of not taking it seriously. But it's a real thing. And it's obviously not something you can conquer alone."

Wyatt was still laughing. "Seriously? You're seriously all here to tell me you think I'm fucking depressed? This is ridiculous. And a waste of your time. Mom, let's make breakfast...or dinner or whatever, okay? Let's just eat and go outside and enjoy the day—“

"Diane has a friend from college," Liza said, "who is a very good psychiatrist. Allan Richards. We've spoken to him and he agrees that based on your behavior, there's cause to consider a diagnosis of depression."

Wyatt jumped to his feet. "It's not depression to miss your wife! It's not depression to try and honor her memory! Loving my soul mate is not a fucking disease!"

"She's dead, Dad!" Blake was on his feet. "She's dead and you still talk about her like she's here. You watch home videos of her and fall asleep with them on so you can hear her voice. The house is absolutely unchanged. You do things you hate doing just because she wanted them done. You're a complete wreck and I'm so sick and scared watching you get worse."

"There's nothing...nothing that can be done to make this pain go away!" Wyatt pressed his hand to his chest. "This is what happens when you lose someone. No doctor can fix this." He took a moment. Breathed.

Diane stood and put her hand on Blake's shoulder. "That's not true, Wyatt. A doctor can help you handle the pain in such a way that it doesn't paralyze you. That's what you've been since she got sick. You've been paralyzed. Not a one of us in this room can recognize you anymore."

He fell back onto his chair, stared at the space in front of him, and shook his head.

Liza stood and retrieved the remote control from the coffee table. "Did you watch the Christmas video, Wyatt?" she asked. "The one when Blake was three?"

"I've seen it before," he said. It had been years. Around the time of Amberlee's first diagnosis. She'd been watching home movies and when he'd seen that one, he'd told her he wanted to throw it out. But she'd insisted on keeping it. He didn't really remember what the fight had been about, just that it had made him really sad to watch it.

"Did you watch it last weekend when Blake set it out for you?"

He shrugged, defeated. "I don't want to see it, Mom. Not in front of you guys."

She turned on the television and pushed play. Wyatt watched as a young version of himself played with his son. As his young wife lay on the couch, listless and miserable. As he argued with her and begged her to get help.

Amberlee looked up from her hands, then. "Therapy? You think I'm crazy?"

"I think you're depressed and I think I've run out of ideas how to help, baby. Let's give it a try."

"No. No way. God, Wyatt, am I really that bad? Am I really so bad you think I need to see a shrink?"

He leaned in and kissed her. "It's Christmas morning. And you're on the couch crying instead of holding your son. Just let that sink in."

"I'm nothing!" she shouted. "I'm not even a woman anymore! How. The fuck. Do you expect me to be happy. It's Christmas, so what? Merry fucking Christmas, Wyatt! Another year of my pathetic life ending." She burst into sobs.

He reached for her but she shoved him away. He reached for her again and she screamed, "Don't touch me! Do you know what it feels like to be touched by you? I hate it! I hate you!"

"Turn it off," Wyatt said, weakly. The tears were pouring down his face uncontrollably, then.

"Amberlee, stop this! Let me hold you. Let me help you." He reached for her again, and this time she pounded at his chest and arms with her fists.

He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides and her body against his. She squirmed and fought against him for another long moment. And then she collapsed into the loud, heart-wrenching sobs.

Wyatt couldn't tear his eyes from the screen. Even as his younger self was crying and holding his broken wife, he couldn't look away. "I should have tried harder. I should have made her get help." Then grief tore at his insides and he buried his face in his hands and let out a sob before he could stop it. He was humiliated and miserable. He could hear Ettie sniffling. There were hands on his back, patting and rubbing. Liza blessedly turned off the television.

"You say you should have made her get help," Liza said. "What would you say that we should do for you?"

He shook his head. It wasn't the same. Not at all. He deserved his pain.

"Dad, you need to get help. And if you want Ettie, take her. I'll hogtie her, tie a ribbon around her, and give her to you if that's what it takes. But you have to get better. You have to. I need you to."

Wyatt scrubbed the tears from his eyes and looked up at his son. He just couldn't understand. "Why?" he asked. "What good have I ever done you?"

Blake's jaw dropped. He sat and tears welled. "How can you ask that? What good have you done me? You love me, don't you?"

He swallowed. "Of course I love you, Son."

"Don't you think I need that? You think Mom was the one who took care of everything, she wasn't. It was you. You have this unrealistic vision of what she was. What I saw, growing up, was you holding her up with one hand and trying to take care of everything else with the other. You gave everything to that marriage. And it's time to stop giving, Dad. It's time to let her go and find yourself. I love you, too, and I really want you around. I need to talk to you about shit. Someday I wanna bring home a wife for you to meet...and by meet, I don't mean sleep with."

Wyatt laughed. He couldn't believe Blake was making a joke about that.

"I want you to meet your grandchildren. They're going to need someone to tell them about their amazing grandmother, and who better than you to do that. There's a whole lot of life left, and I...we...need you to live it."

Wyatt pressed his face into his hands and dug his palms into his eyes. He looked back up. "It makes me feel real good for you to say that stuff. But I don't deserve it. I just don't feel...I don't feel...."

"You don't feel worthy," Liza said.

He hesitated. Then nodded.

"You feel overwhelmed."

He nodded again.

"Confused. Sad. Lonely"

Yes
.

"Guilty."

Very guilty.

"Baby," Liza said, "I've made you an appointment with Dr. Richards, Monday morning at ten. I need you to come with me."

He looked around at everyone, one-by-one. They all looked him in the eye and nodded. He stopped when his gaze landed on Ettie. He shook his head. "I can't," he said. But there was no strength in his voice. No determination. It was almost a question.

"You can," she said. "You will. Because you just said you don't want to die. Do you want to keep living like you're living? Drinking away weeks of your life? Feeling guilty and miserable?"

He shook his head. Of course he didn't.

"Then there's really no other option. It's your only other choice."

"I could get better on my own," he said.

She kept her eyes on his, sturdy and strong. "That's not always how it works. A doctor can help speed along the process. And the great thing about therapy is you can say anything you want without hurting anybody's feelings. Because he's paid to listen to whatever you have to say. And I know you have things you can't talk about with your family."

He nodded. That was what he'd wanted them all to understand. That some of the things going on in his head were meant for him alone.

"Or me," she said.

He smiled faintly. Yes, even Ettie, whom he could talk to about nearly everything, wouldn't really understand everything he was thinking.

"So give it a try."

He leaned back in his chair and frowned in thought. Ettie came and knelt in front of him. She laid her head on his knee and he absently stroked her hair. He looked up at Liza. "Is it really Saturday?"

She nodded.

He couldn't believe he'd pissed away a whole week. No wonder they'd had to hire on another hand. Yes, it was definitely time to quit indulging in these feelings of self-pity and guilt and grief. He wasn't sure therapy was necessary, but he would go just because it would make his family feel better. He looked back up at his Mom. "Can we eat now?"

She laughed. "Are you going to the doctor with me Monday?"

"Yeah. Just let's not talk about it anymore, okay?"

"Alright, dear. Let's go get you some food."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Blake had hoped that by the end of the intervention, his dad would be looking more positive. Happier. But the fact that he actually looked more depressed further validated the decision to force him into therapy. At the moment, the whole house was abustle and it was like a regular Saturday. Diane was putting on music on the CD player, Liza and Cecily were in the kitchen. Everyone else was either at the table drinking coffee or out on the back porch drinking coffee. Except Wyatt and Ettie who were standing in the living room talking.

Just talking. Not touching at all. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his head lowered. Occasionally he would nod or shrug at something she said. Her head was tilted back, looking up at him, more serious than he'd ever seen her.