THE THERAPIST

05

𝐂 𝐡 𝐚 𝐩 𝐭 𝐞 𝐫  𝟓

     Slowly, Garry pulled up into the narrow driveway of Avery’s house and cut the engine. Unfastening the seat belt, he cast a look at the woman who had once been his wife. He stared at her slender face and listened to the sound of her light snore. He leaned forward and tucked a handful of hair behind her ear. If she had been awake, she’d have bitten off his hand for touching her.

     He failed her. He failed Mathew. Would Avery ever forgive him? He brought his hand to his eyes and glanced at the wedding ring. He’d been so happy on their wedding day. Avery had played hard to get, but she eventually accepted his marriage proposal. Two years later, Mathew was born. Their marital house soon filled with the sound of his laughs and cries. They were happy, very happy until Mathew was diagnosed with Leukemia.

     It changed everything. When Mathew kicked the bucket, he’d sought comfort in his work. He kept himself busy to forget about the painful loss. It gave him some solace, or so he thought. Least did he realize he was creating a rift. Months passed by swiftly. They started to lose connection. By the time he came back to his senses, Avery had filed for a divorce. She couldn’t stay with a workaholic who would leave his sick son and travel overseas because of a case. He’d made poor choices. He didn’t think things would escalate like this.

     Avery got the house as part of the alimony. He packed his things months after the divorce and moved into a house he bought in Santa Monica. He thought the years would heal the wounds, but it didn’t. He thought about Avery, their son, and how he’d jeopardized the family he worked so hard to build. He’d lost everything in the blink of an eye. It was one of his biggest mistakes. He and Avery never settled their differences and that could be why he still felt guilty.

     His thoughts skittered to a stop when a couple taking a stroll across the street giggled. The neighborhood was so quiet he heard them. Sighing, he went for the door and stepped out of the car. He shut it, careful not to wake her.

     He ambled toward the front porch, his eyes swinging from the manicured lawn to the garden. He loved this house. There were so many fond memories he’d made here. At the moment, that was all he had left. The good memories. They kept him alive. A memory hit him and he instantly froze.

     Mathew came running into the garden where they were having a picnic. Avery lay on the mat engrossed in a book. Garry sat beside Avery, sipping a glass of orange juice.

     “Mom! Dad! Look what I found!”

     At the sight of him, Avery closed the book, then set it aside, jerking up.

     Mathew sprang toward the duo and sprawled on the mat, cradling a snail.

     “What did you find, darling?" Avery said and moved toward him.

     Garry huddled around them. “Let’s see what you found, buddy!”

     Gently, he opened his small hands and splayed them on the grass.

     “A snail?” Avery and Garry said.

     “Yes. A snail. I saw it over there.” He fingered a section of the garden clustered with blossoms. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

     Avery ruffled his hair. “It is, darling?”

     “What do you want to call it?” Garry asked.

     “Let’s see.” He tapped his forehead. “I’ll call it Sam.”

     “Great name!” Garry remarked.

     He stared imploringly at them. “Can I keep it in the house?”

     Garry cast Avery a look. “That’s for your mother to decide.”

     Mathew swung his eyes to her. “Please, Mommy.”

     “Hmm...” She neared him and prodded his tummy. “Yes!”

     Mathew burst out laughing, then threw his arms around her neck and hugged her. “I love you very much, Mommy.”

     “What about me? Don’t I get a big hug too?” Garry said.

     He turned to him and pulled him into a hug. “I love you too, Daddy.”

     Garry snapped himself out of the trance and walked to the porch. He lifted a potted plant, found the keys, and replaced it. So many years and she still kept a spare key there. Shoving the key into the lock, he twisted it. The deadbolt squealed and the door slid open. He went into the house, switching on the overhead light in the hallway.

     He returned to the car and opened the door. Avery was slumped in the passenger seat, lost in her dreams. He unfastened her seat belt and flicked her hair from her face. Sliding his hand behind her back and the other supporting her legs, he carried her into his brawny arms. She’d gained weight, he noticed, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He used to carry her like this when they were newlyweds, and he enjoyed doing it.

     He struggled to get to the porch but made it there with six or seven strides. The wooden stairs creaked when he stepped on it. He looked down at Avery as he kicked the door open and entered the house. It slammed shut behind him. The noise didn’t wake her. She must be deep asleep.

     He managed to carry her to the room that they had once shared. The bed was made. With all the care in the world, he laid her on the mattress, then propped a pillow under her head. Her long hair brushed against his face, and he inhaled her fragrance. She smelled of flowers. He realized how much he’d missed her.

     Avery was right. Although Mathew’s illness was inevitable, he could’ve been there with her and showed support. He let her bear the burden alone. And when Mathew died, he wasn’t there for her.

     He messed up. He wished he could change the past, but he couldn’t, and it hurt him. He took off her Louboutins and deposited them by the nightstand. Crossing the room to the window, he closed the curtains and retraced his steps downstairs.

     He went back to the driveway and locked the car. He’d spend the night here. His entire body was racked with pain. The past few weeks had been hectic for him. From losing a high-profile case because of foul play and having to save a woman from a masked shooter, he was tired. Very tired. It was only a miracle he was still alive. His partner, Robert received a bullet to his leg and was currently at the hospital.

     Slipping off his coat, he moved to the hook and hung it. He took off his shoes, wriggling his toes. The cold floor sent a chill down his spine. He shivered slightly and passed from the living room to the kitchen but stopped when he saw a portrait of Mathew on the centre table.

     He resisted the urge to cry and picked up the portrait, passing a finger across the frame. Mathew’s gone. He’s never coming back, he reminded himself one more time before putting it back.

     Avery hadn’t gotten over his death. Neither had he. But eventually, they would accept reality. He went into the kitchen, neared the state-of-the-art refrigerator, and gave it a quick sweep. Minutes later, he paced the floor, sipping from a tall glass of milk.

     A cold wind poured into the kitchen through the slats of the Venetian blinds. He walked over to it and moved a hand toward the slats, stopping halfway. A hooded figure stood across the street staring at the house. Garry waited for two seconds, three, four... then the person began to walk away. Weird.

     He closed the blinds and entered the living room, the thuds of his feet echoing in the quiet house.