Lucy watched the water in the shower run over the tiles. Her fingers tapped her bare leg. The sound of the water soothed her. Today had been a bad day.
“Horne residence.” She’d answered the phone. “May I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Detective Brower. Is this Lucille Horne?”
“It is.”
“I’m calling with news of your case. Rather, the end of it. Your assailant, Robert McGail has died of the injuries he sustained during the attack.”
Lucy’s vision narrowed into pinholes. “Oh.” She said. “What does that mean for the trial?”
“There won’t be one.” Brower said. “I hope this brings you some peace.”
But it hadn’t. It left her feeling lost. The idea of facing him, while terrifying, had brought some semblance of purpose into her life. Wake up, you have to make him pay. Eat, he has to answer for what he did to you. Brush your hair, you have to look right for trial.
That was lost now. Voices of panic and rage stirred in her mind. Her very blood churned heavily in her body. She tried desperately to repress it.
So she went into the bathroom and turned on the water and tried and tried to get her mind to still.
At some point the front door opened and she heard Andrew enter, calling for her.
“Just a minute!” She hurried to wet her hair and skin. She turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. She exited and found him in the living room, setting his things down and loosening his tie.
“Hey, Goose.” He greeted her. “How was your day?” He looked at her, waiting.
“It was alright.” She answered. “I’ll get started on dinner.” She began to walk to the kitchen.
“Don’t you want to put some clothes on first?” Andrew laughed.
Lucy laughed with him. At least, she thought that was what she was doing. Andrew watched her, his Outside Smile threatening to play on his face.
“What is it? What happened?”
Lucy ran a hand through her damp hair. “I got a call today. McGail is dead.”
Andrew shook his head, stepping towards her and taking her into his arms.
“I’m sorry, baby. I know you wanted to testify.”
“I just needed to prove… something. Like he didn’t win. Like he didn’t kill me.”
“Don’t talk like that, Luce, please.” Andrew brought a hand to her cheek and held it gently.
“Doesn’t it feel like he did, though?” She asked.
“No!” Andrew exclaimed. “I still see you in there. I know you’ll come back to me. You’re just… you’re on vacation. That’s all.”
“How do you know?” She said. “I feel lost even to myself.”
“I know you.” He said. “You’re invincible.”
His faith in her made her feel a bit better for a moment, like it really was possible for her to move past this.
“Let’s go to my parents’ place for dinner tonight. They’d love to have us.”
“I don’t want to see anybody right now.”
“Okay, then we’ll stay in and watch something. I’ll go out and pick up some take out and rent a movie. What do you feel like watching?”
She pushed him away, suddenly overwhelmed. “God!” She said. “Just let me be! Just let me rot!” She stormed away to their room, and Andrew stood in place, wondering what he had done and trying to understand.
He crawled into bed with her later that night.
“Are you still mad at me?” He whispered.
She turned to him and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry, Andrew!” She cried. He was taken aback for a moment, but he held her nonetheless.
“Don’t be sorry, Goose. I was just… I misunderstood what you needed.” He played with her hair. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
She laid her head on his chest. “Let’s take a shower.”
“Ah—are you sure?” They hadn’t had sex in weeks.
“Don’t you still want me?”
“Of course I do!” He said. “I always want you. But I’ve been reading, you know? I don’t want you to do anything for any other reason other than you wanting to.”
“What other reason would there be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re trying to prove you love me, or that you’re okay.” He said. “This kind of thing is complicated.”
“What kind of thing?” She sounded defensive.
“I don’t know. Post traumatic stress.”
“You think I have PTSD?”
Andrew took a deep breath. This kind of thing required finesse to navigate—he wasn’t sure he could do it.
“I think… I think you should see someone, maybe. Find out from someone who knows what they’re talking about.”
She pulled back and climbed out of bed. She put on her robe.
“I’m not crazy.” She protested.
“I know, baby. I know you’re not. But you need help.”
“Then help me!” She shouted. “If I need it so bad, then why aren’t you doing it?”
Andrew frowned. His chest started to burn. “I’m trying, I just don’t know how!” He felt tears fall down his face. “Can’t you tell I’m trying?”
“Well, so am I!” She began to cry, too. “I’m trying so hard just to exist! But I don’t feel at home in my body anymore, Andrew!” She brought her fist against her temple. “I feel like a ghost!”
He wanted to hold her, but it felt like the wrong thing to do. So he sat in bed, cradling his head in his hands and trying to calm himself. She sat down at the vanity.
“I can do this.” She said. “I know it’s hard—something’s broken. Please, just stay with me.”
He looked at her. “I’m not going anywhere.” He said. “Don’t ever think anything like that.”
“Okay.” She got back under the covers. “I’m sorry. I’ll think about seeing someone. I promise.”
“Thank you.” He stayed sitting up. “I really think it’ll help.”
The psychiatric wing of the building Andrew had found was almost entirely blue and white. All along the walls were affirmations. There was a man sitting behind a desk that had a big glass divider in front. The door on the far side of the waiting room beeped, and a woman walked through.
“Hello, Lucy.” The doctor said. “My name is Stephanie.”
Lucy fidgeted in her seat. “Hi.” She said.
“Why don’t you follow me to my office and we’ll get started?” Stephanie said, gesturing with her clipboard. Lucy gathered her coat and bag and walked with her.
When they entered the office, Stephanie pointed to an overstuffed arm chair and directed Lucy to have a seat.
“So.” She smiled and tapped her clipboard. “Your questionnaire paints quite a picture.”
Lucy shrugged. She’d tried to answer as honestly as possible, for Andrew.
“We can talk about that later, if you’d like.” Stephanie said. She set the papers aside. “Why don’t we just spend today’s session getting to know each other?”
“That sounds fine.” Lucy played with a loose thread on her blouse.
“Alright. I see here you’re married. When did you two meet?” Stephanie leaned back in her seat and got comfortable.
“We’re high school sweethearts.” Lucy answered. Stephanie smiled. Lucy focused her attention on the little knot of string between her fingers. “His name is Andrew. I don’t know if… is that okay to tell you? I’m not sure how this works, if you need fake names or something. For privacy.”
“You can tell me whatever you want.” Stephanie said. “This is a totally safe space for you to voice your thoughts.”
“Okay.” Lucy didn’t believe there was any such thing as a safe space, except with Andrew.
“Why don’t we talk about the nature of your relationship? What kind of dynamic do you two have?”
“I… I used to know.” Lucy said. “We took care of each other. I think a lot of people thought it was just me taking care of him, but that’s not true.”
“Why don’t you expand on that?” Stephanie watched her.
“He, um, he has an anxiety issue. I do my best to help him, you know, not spiral.” Lucy frowned. “At least I used to. Nowadays I think I make it worse.”
“Okay, we’ll circle back to that.” Stephanie picked up her clipboard and noted something. “Why don’t we talk more about Andrew? You must love each other very much. An anxiety disorder is no laughing matter.”
Lucy felt a small smile bloom on her lips. “There’s no question about that. We love each other completely.” She looked up meekly. “Would you like to see a picture of him?”
“If you’d like to show me.”
Lucy reached into her bag and removed her wallet. She held it in her hands. Suddenly, it felt very heavy. She frowned.
“Is everything alright?” Stephanie asked. Lucy felt dizzy. She shook her head.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It looked like you were thinking of something. Would you like to share?”
Lucy pressed a thumb into the stitching of the wallet. “When I was attacked, I thought I was just being mugged at first. I asked if I could take Andrew’s photo with me.” She shook her head again. “So stupid.”
“Now, why would you say that?” Stephanie said. “That’s a natural assumption. I don’t think it makes you stupid at all.” Lucy shrugged and put her wallet away without showing Stephanie the picture. “I’m going to give you some homework.” Stephanie went on. She wrote something down on her notepad.
“What kind of homework?”
“Just a simple task, nothing to fret over, I promise.” She tore a bit of paper off and passed it to Lucy.
Lucy looked it over.
Take a new photo with Andrew, it read.
“That’s it?” Lucy asked.
“That’s it.” Stephanie smiled. “Replace the photo in your wallet with it. Replace the whole wallet if you can. But starting small with just a photo is fine, too.”
“That seems so… simple.” Lucy said.
“It is. A lot of overcoming trauma is winning small battles through simple actions. Post traumatic stress disorder never goes away, but through simple acts of kindness to ourselves and our bodies, it can be managed.” Stephanie explained. “It also helps to learn about your enemy—in this case, your PTSD. If you can recognize what thoughts and actions belong to you, and which belong to your disorder, you’ll have an easier time circumventing it.”
“Oh.” Lucy laughed. “You make it sound so easy. Like what I do for Andrew.”
“If it helps you to think of it like that, you should.” Stephanie said. “Turn that compassion toward yourself.”
Lucy was waiting at the door when Andrew returned home from work. When he walked through the door, she threw her arms around him and kissed him deeply.
For a moment, it seemed to Andrew that things were alright again. He did his best to embrace the feeling, to live in it for an eternity. They pulled away finally, and he held her close to him.
“It went well?” He asked.
“I think so!” Lucy smiled up at him. “I love you so much. This was the right move. Thank you for being patient with me.”
“Of course, Goose.” He hugged her tightly, breathing her in. “There’s no amount of time I wouldn’t have waited for you.”
She took his hand and guided him to the kitchen. A feast was displayed over the counters and table.
“What’s all this?” Andrew laughed.
“Stephanie said I needed to show myself some kindness. So, I made all my favorite foods. It took me all day.” She beamed up at him. “Tonight I want to eat until we split open! And tomorrow we can go shopping.”
Andrew smiled at her and tried to fight back the feeling—rather, the knowing—that this was only a temporary state of things. Instead he did his best to love her and live with her here, in this moment.
“I also thought we could just stay up all night—maybe listening to music and talking. We should drink tea, too. What do you think?”
“Sounds great.” Andrew said. He stood for a moment, watching her. Lucy grinned.
“What?”
“It’s just good to see you like this.” He held her hand in his.
“Yeah.” She said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I hope this lasts forever.”
“Me too.” He agreed, tucking away the part of him that knew better.
Lucy’s mood carried over into the next day. They went to the local department store she had once worked at and bought some clothes and a new wallet.
“It’s too bad the photography department is closed today.” Lucy remarked. It seemed to dampen her spirits. Andrew pointed to a photo booth.
“What about that?” He asked. “We can get a bunch of pictures that way.”
“I love it.” Lucy said.
Andrew held the curtain back for her, and they stepped in.
“Okay.” Lucy said, sitting on his lap. “We get six photos, let’s make ‘em count.”
After the camera had finished capturing their range of poses, they waited eagerly by the dispenser for their photo strip.
“I’m excited!” Lucy squealed. Andrew looked at her lovingly. He soaked in her happiness. He’d missed her.
The machine fed out the pictures and Lucy picked them up almost before it had even finished. She frowned.
“Weird.”
“What is it?”
“I just… I look different.”
Andrew peeked over her shoulder. “You look normal to me.”
“No, I—I look different! It doesn’t look like me.” She shook her head, frustrated.
He put an arm around her. “Do you want to try again?”
“Let’s just go.” She said. She tossed the strip into a nearby garbage can. “We’ll get some done professionally.”
Andrew stayed behind for a moment, picking the photos out of the trash and tucking them into his pocket before hurrying to catch up with her.
She was standing by the fountain outside when he finally reached her. She sighed. He put a careful hand on the small of her back and kissed the top of her hair.
She leaned into him. “I’m sorry. I ruined our day.”
“No, you didn’t.” He assured her. “Everything’s okay. Do you feel better?” She nodded.
“Should we go back and get them?” She asked. “Would that be gross? You looked so nice in them.”
Andrew produced the photo strip from his pocket. Lucy smiled softly.
“I love you. Thank you.”
“Of course, Goose. I love you, too.”
She walked to one of the benches and sat down, wrapping her arms around herself. He joined her.
“I just thought… I guess I knew it wasn’t over. But I just wanted to pretend, for a while, that it was. That I was normal again.” She sniffled. “Pretty stupid, huh?”
“Can you do me a favor?” Andrew tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She shrugged, which he thought was as good an answer as he was going to get. “Stop putting yourself down.” He said. “You’ve been through a tremendous trauma. If someone broke their leg, you wouldn’t expect them to start running again right away. It takes time to heal.”
She pursed her lips, then kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder.
“It’s almost like you went to school for this or something.” She teased.
“Almost.”
