His World - Sequel to Her Normal

Chapter 3

The following week was strange. I only taught Sheridan's psychology class on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but I seemed to have seen her every day. I obviously wasn't complaining, but I was creeped out to say the least. She brought intrusive thoughts, but never took them away with her.

Saturday crept up on me. About halfway through the day, an email popped up on my phone. It was from Sheridan, asking more questions about the subject matter.

Her email was riddled with long questions; clearly she was eager to understand what was being taught. I thought on my response for a while until I decided that her questions would best be answered in person, and weekend student meetings weren't uncommon to me.

I extended the offer to meet her on campus, warning her that the kids would be along for the trip. She accepted my proposal and met me in my office in thirty minutes sharp.

"Hi, Dr. Reid," she beamed as she peeked her head into my office.

"Sheridan," I grinned, motioning to the chairs opposite of my desk. "Have a seat."

Ellie and Eli stole glances at Sheridan every so often from outside the room. They were mostly preoccupied with their coloring books, but children are always curious.

"Cute kids," Sheridan acknowledged them. "I have one of my own. She looks nothing like me though, she's a spitting image of her dad."

"Ellie and Eli are twins. They look like their mom," I respond, keeping my tone warm despite the horror show of flashbacks that play behind my eyes every time I think of her.

"How old are they?" Sheridan questioned.

"They're four. And yours?"

"Seven," she smiles.

"Seven is a good age. They start to really grow around that time. Maturing and what not," I tell her. "So, what would you like to discuss first?"

Sheridan pulls out a small notebook and begins explaining all of her concerns. Then she pauses.

"I could use some help discussing emotional triggers, too," she mentions quietly.

I scribbled down her questions, but took a moment to look up at her after she mentioned the emotional triggers. She looked troubled, but I figured personal talk is best saved for outside office hours. And outside student-teacher relations.

We begin walking through everything she asked questions about. Sheridan takes diligent notes on my instructions, nodding and listening actively to everything I say. Once all of her general questions are answered, I let the silence steep for a moment before asking the only question I care to discuss. My profiler side isn't well satisfied in this field.

"What did you want to ask about concerning emotions?"

"Well," Sheridan answers softly. She draws her shoulders up and begins to wring her hands; a classic sign of nerves. "I guess it's not really related to the course as much as it is personal. I just thought you would be able to answer some questions for me."

Internally, I cringe a little bit. I know the only reason I feel so drawn to Sheridan is because she looks so familiar; she looks like the one thing I'm missing. My mind is playing tricks on me, and if I allow too much personal talk, it will win.

Nevertheless, I'm not one to turn someone down when I get the chance to profile them.

"Of course," I permit.

"So, my family's gone through a little bit of a rough patch in the last year, and I just don't know how the trauma and the grief of all these events is going to hurt our family," she explains. "I don't want it to hurt my daughter."

"Can I ask what kind of events?" I ask. "You don't have to go into detail, just generally speaking. Loss? Stress?"

"Loss," Sheridan says in an empty tone. "My husband's brother died last year and he was a close part of our family. Jamie was young, but I know that she knows what happened. She loved her uncle."

"I'm sorry," I apologize, feeling guilty for asking. "Grief is something that everyone processes very differently, regardless of age. Children are more open about their grief, though, and typically will speak up if something is troubling them. Adults are the hard ones to deal with. As adults, we're accustomed to just keeping it pent up and not talking about it. Being open is the best way to heal."

"My husband doesn't really like to discuss his grief," she shrugs.

"Maybe try some counseling," I suggest. "Grief will tear things apart if you're not paying attention to it. Like kids."

Sheridan laughs and nods. "You're right about that."

Another moment's silence hangs between us. I can tell Sheridan has another question, but she's hesitating. I don't pry, I just wait for her.

"Excuse me for asking, Dr. Reid, but have you experienced profound grief?"

I mull over her question. I know the answer, and I know that I just lectured her on being open.

"Yes," I admit. "It's unlikely for anyone to get as far as we have without doing so. Grief is a big part of life."

"Can I ask what happened?" Sheridan gives me the same kind of eyes that Maddie always have me when she wanted to know something. I stare at those eyes for a few seconds. Clear, blue and begging for an answer.

"You don't have to tell me," she retracts.

"Oh, no, um..." I sputter for a second. "Sorry. I got distracted."

She smiles. "It's okay."

"My wife was killed last year. She'd had a long history with the man that was after her, and he was set on taking her life. Unfortunately, that kind of determination is hard to shake off. Now it's just my kids and myself."

Sheridan stares at me, but I focus on the pen in my hand.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked," she apologizes profusely. "That was inappropriate of me."

"It's okay," I smile at her weakly. "This is grieving. This is being open."

She nods, taking in the small life lesson I gave her.

"Thank you, Dr. Reid. This was all I really needed, I won't disrupt your weekend anymore," she assures me."

I shake my head. "It's not disrupting if it's conducive to class."

"Thanks," Sheridan nods at me before she hurries out of the room.

I gather the kids and take them back home. They both had a million questions about Sheridan and why she was going to school since she was an adult. After a while of answering questions over dinner, I sent them both to bed, then stepped out on the patio to decompress.

I lit a cigarette and took a long drag, praying that it would numb the sharp pain nagging at my brain. I'm well aware of the consequences of smoking and addiction, but this is what helps.

Cooper runs around the yard as I inhale the toxins. I know I would catch hell from anyone that figured out I was smoking.