Eyes Wide Open
Page 55
She saved me by asking a different question. “What about your mother, Ethan?”
“Well, I barely remember her. All I have now are the memories suggested by the photographs mostly. I think I can remember things about her, but I’m probably just imagining those experiences because of the subject of the photos and the stories Dad and Hannah have shared with me.”
“You said you got the wings tattooed on your back because of your mom.”
No, I don’t want to do this right now.
I almost sighed, but I just managed to hold it in. I knew better than to shut her out in this moment. Brynne had asked me about the tattoo before, and I know she wanted me to share with her now, but I just didn’t feel ready for that yet. Not here on a public flight under tragic circumstances. This wasn’t the right time, nor the right place, for me to let out those emotions.
The salmon showed up just then and reprieved me.
Brynne continued to sip her juice and avoided the food, which wasn’t bad at all for airline fare.
“Here.” I offered a forkful of fish, deciding if she wasn’t going to eat on her own, then I would feed it to her myself.
She eyeballed the bite carefully before opening her mouth to accept it. She chewed slowly and deliberately. “The salmon is nice, but I want to know why the wings remind you of your mom.”
So that’s how this game would be played, huh? Emotional blackmail in exchange for eating a meal . . . I offered another bite of fish to her.
She kept her lips pursed together. “Why that tattoo, Ethan?”
I took a deep breath. “They’re angel’s wings and since I think of her as such, it was very fitting to have the wings across my back.”
“That’s a beautiful idea.” She smiled.
I offered a fresh bit of salmon, which she accepted with no argument this time.
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Laurel.”
“It’s pretty. Laurel. Laurel Blackstone . . .” she repeated.
“I think so,” I told her.
“If green-olive is a girl, I think we have a perfect name for her, don’t you?”
I felt my throat move as I swallowed hard. And it wasn’t from eating the salmon. Her suggestion meant something to me—something deep and very personal.
“You would do that?”
“I really do love the name Laurel, and if you want it, then . . . yes, of course,” she answered, her eyes a little brighter than before.
I was stunned, utterly humbled by her generosity and willingness to give to me such a beautiful gift, especially in a time of such horrible grief for herself. “I would love to name our girl Laurel after my mum,” I said truthfully, before holding up a small piece of bread torn from a roll.
She took the bit of bread and chewed it slowly, never taking her eyes off mine. “Good, that’s settled then,” she said softly, her voice wistful and sounding rather far away.
I imagined what she might be thinking about, so I went for it. “And if our green-olive is a boy?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She started to cry. “I want to . . . name him Thom-m-mas,” she managed, before breaking down right over the Atlantic Ocean, in a first-class cabin, on British Air flight 284, the red-eye, San Francisco to London Heathrow.
I pulled her to me and kissed the top of her head. I held Brynne and let her do what she finally needed to do. She was quiet about it and nobody even paid any attention to us, but still it hurt me to have to witness her going through this next step in a very normal process.
The flight attendant, wearing a badge with the name Dorothy and a soft Irish burr, clued in, though, and rushed right over to offer assistance. I asked her to take away the dinner and bring us an extra blanket. Dorothy seemed to understand that Brynne was grieving, and worked quickly to get the food removed, the lights turned out and a blanket for us to cover up. She took extra care of us for the remainder of the flight, and I made sure to thank her sincerely for her kindness when we disembarked several hours later.
For the rest of that flight, I held my girl against me until she’d exhausted her tears and fell into sleep. I slept too, but on and off. My mind was moving all over the place. I had worries galore and could only hope and pray that calling Oakley’s bluff at the funeral service would work. I was prepared to do everything I’d promised if anyone made a move on Brynne I knew how heavily guarded she would be from here on out.
I didn’t know who was responsible for Montrose’s and Fielding’s deaths. I didn’t know if Tom Bennett had been part of that mess and was murdered. I didn’t know who sent the lunatic text message to Brynne’s old mobile or who called in the bomb threat the night we were at the Mallerton Gala. I didn’t know a lot of shit that I really needed some answers to.
I had fear inside of me.
Batshit, crazy-as-fuck, have-me-committed, I’m-petrified-out-of-my-bloody-skull fear.
18
"I slept for about three days straight once we got back to London. I needed it, and returning to my familiar surroundings did help a great deal,” I told Dr. Roswell. “I’m starting the research project the university approved for me, and have good friends around me helping to plan this wedding.”
“How are the night terrors now that you are off the medication?” she asked.
“It’s inconsistent. I started having them again after I stopped the pills, but now that this stuff—now that my dad has died—they’ve stopped again. Do you think it’s because my mind is now full of something worse to take the place of what I dreamed before?”
Dr. Roswell looked at me carefully and asked, “Is the death of your father worse than what happened to you when you were seventeen?”
Whoa. Heavy question, that. And one I had never pondered before. My first urge was to say that of course, the death of my father was worse, but, if I was honest with myself, I don’t think it was. I was an adult now and could see things with more experience than when I was a teenager, but I had tried to kill myself over the rape video. I had no thoughts even in the same realm as that now. I wanted to live. I needed to live my life with Ethan, and especially to take care of our baby. There were no other options. As I sat there in Dr. Roswell’s office, everything sort of illuminated for me all in an instant. Finally seeing the light helped me realize that I would be okay. I would get through this, and the joy would return for me—in time.
“Well, I barely remember her. All I have now are the memories suggested by the photographs mostly. I think I can remember things about her, but I’m probably just imagining those experiences because of the subject of the photos and the stories Dad and Hannah have shared with me.”
“You said you got the wings tattooed on your back because of your mom.”
No, I don’t want to do this right now.
I almost sighed, but I just managed to hold it in. I knew better than to shut her out in this moment. Brynne had asked me about the tattoo before, and I know she wanted me to share with her now, but I just didn’t feel ready for that yet. Not here on a public flight under tragic circumstances. This wasn’t the right time, nor the right place, for me to let out those emotions.
The salmon showed up just then and reprieved me.
Brynne continued to sip her juice and avoided the food, which wasn’t bad at all for airline fare.
“Here.” I offered a forkful of fish, deciding if she wasn’t going to eat on her own, then I would feed it to her myself.
She eyeballed the bite carefully before opening her mouth to accept it. She chewed slowly and deliberately. “The salmon is nice, but I want to know why the wings remind you of your mom.”
So that’s how this game would be played, huh? Emotional blackmail in exchange for eating a meal . . . I offered another bite of fish to her.
She kept her lips pursed together. “Why that tattoo, Ethan?”
I took a deep breath. “They’re angel’s wings and since I think of her as such, it was very fitting to have the wings across my back.”
“That’s a beautiful idea.” She smiled.
I offered a fresh bit of salmon, which she accepted with no argument this time.
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Laurel.”
“It’s pretty. Laurel. Laurel Blackstone . . .” she repeated.
“I think so,” I told her.
“If green-olive is a girl, I think we have a perfect name for her, don’t you?”
I felt my throat move as I swallowed hard. And it wasn’t from eating the salmon. Her suggestion meant something to me—something deep and very personal.
“You would do that?”
“I really do love the name Laurel, and if you want it, then . . . yes, of course,” she answered, her eyes a little brighter than before.
I was stunned, utterly humbled by her generosity and willingness to give to me such a beautiful gift, especially in a time of such horrible grief for herself. “I would love to name our girl Laurel after my mum,” I said truthfully, before holding up a small piece of bread torn from a roll.
She took the bit of bread and chewed it slowly, never taking her eyes off mine. “Good, that’s settled then,” she said softly, her voice wistful and sounding rather far away.
I imagined what she might be thinking about, so I went for it. “And if our green-olive is a boy?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She started to cry. “I want to . . . name him Thom-m-mas,” she managed, before breaking down right over the Atlantic Ocean, in a first-class cabin, on British Air flight 284, the red-eye, San Francisco to London Heathrow.
I pulled her to me and kissed the top of her head. I held Brynne and let her do what she finally needed to do. She was quiet about it and nobody even paid any attention to us, but still it hurt me to have to witness her going through this next step in a very normal process.
The flight attendant, wearing a badge with the name Dorothy and a soft Irish burr, clued in, though, and rushed right over to offer assistance. I asked her to take away the dinner and bring us an extra blanket. Dorothy seemed to understand that Brynne was grieving, and worked quickly to get the food removed, the lights turned out and a blanket for us to cover up. She took extra care of us for the remainder of the flight, and I made sure to thank her sincerely for her kindness when we disembarked several hours later.
For the rest of that flight, I held my girl against me until she’d exhausted her tears and fell into sleep. I slept too, but on and off. My mind was moving all over the place. I had worries galore and could only hope and pray that calling Oakley’s bluff at the funeral service would work. I was prepared to do everything I’d promised if anyone made a move on Brynne I knew how heavily guarded she would be from here on out.
I didn’t know who was responsible for Montrose’s and Fielding’s deaths. I didn’t know if Tom Bennett had been part of that mess and was murdered. I didn’t know who sent the lunatic text message to Brynne’s old mobile or who called in the bomb threat the night we were at the Mallerton Gala. I didn’t know a lot of shit that I really needed some answers to.
I had fear inside of me.
Batshit, crazy-as-fuck, have-me-committed, I’m-petrified-out-of-my-bloody-skull fear.
18
"I slept for about three days straight once we got back to London. I needed it, and returning to my familiar surroundings did help a great deal,” I told Dr. Roswell. “I’m starting the research project the university approved for me, and have good friends around me helping to plan this wedding.”
“How are the night terrors now that you are off the medication?” she asked.
“It’s inconsistent. I started having them again after I stopped the pills, but now that this stuff—now that my dad has died—they’ve stopped again. Do you think it’s because my mind is now full of something worse to take the place of what I dreamed before?”
Dr. Roswell looked at me carefully and asked, “Is the death of your father worse than what happened to you when you were seventeen?”
Whoa. Heavy question, that. And one I had never pondered before. My first urge was to say that of course, the death of my father was worse, but, if I was honest with myself, I don’t think it was. I was an adult now and could see things with more experience than when I was a teenager, but I had tried to kill myself over the rape video. I had no thoughts even in the same realm as that now. I wanted to live. I needed to live my life with Ethan, and especially to take care of our baby. There were no other options. As I sat there in Dr. Roswell’s office, everything sort of illuminated for me all in an instant. Finally seeing the light helped me realize that I would be okay. I would get through this, and the joy would return for me—in time.
