Page 5 of Unstable

APPARENTLY I WASN’T THE only one who lost their mind, I was just the only one locked up for almost a year because of it.

Yep, bitter guilt and I have been frienemies for quite a while.

And I hate it—who I am, who I became—literally incapable of opening myself up to even the mere possibility of anything other than self-hatred. My mother’s death only adding to the destruction.

The envelope indeed contained a copy of her Will, which I now hold in my trembling hand. The last testament of a woman, who, when I needed her the most, sent me away to a place “that could better help me cope.” A woman I never spoke to again after the day she dropped me off there— eight years ago.

Yes, I’d gotten her messages, but I didn’t return them. Received her letters too…those I did return. To sender.

Eventually, they quit coming.

And now she’s gone forever, so that gap will never be bridged. No sit down to hash things out, get questions answered…of which, after reading her will, I have more of than ever.

Honestly, I’m not sure if I ever really planned to discuss things with my mother. I couldn’t bear the thought of facing her, knowing she’d force on a smile of forgiveness, say all the “right” things…while inside, she’d die a little more with each second she had to look at me. The cause of every day she’d forever spend broken.

But, the need to ever ponder the “what ifs” again is now gone. The possibility of reconciliation is no longer a decision I get to make.

And she’ll never know, that I actually forgave her a long time ago…I just never forgave myself.

It’s a lot easier to throw stones at someone else; deflection is sometimes a vital survival technique.

“Henley?” Merrick’s voice sounds distant, despite the fact that he’s risen and has come to stand beside me, his hand imposing on my shoulder. “Henley, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“What’s wrong?” I scream, scrambling to my feet and out from under his touch so fast that my chair, indeed as uncomfortable as I suspected, topples over. “What’s wrong?” I repeat, dizzy, nauseous, and completely overwhelmed. “Did you help her draw this up?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Why, is there a problem?”

I laugh, more so a harsh cackle, that sends him back a few steps of his own. “Why? Why would she do this?”

He rights my overturned chair, not that I’m gonna sit in it again, then tugs at his tie to loosen it. “Let’s have a seat on the couch,” he moves to do so, “and discuss exactly what you have concerns about.”

“How much time do you have?” I drench my retort in sarcasm, but follow his lead, because I do, in fact, have a few nagging questions I can’t not ask. I sit on the edge of the couch, as far from him as possible without actually landing on the floor.

“As much as you need.” His smile’s as warm as his voice. He always was a charmer; a very good actor. Face and charisma of an angel, dependability of the devil.

“How much is this little chat costing me?” I sneer.

“Not a dime,” he sighs. “Henley, can you just try to pretend I’m not the enemy for five minutes so we can have an adult conversation? You have questions, ask them.”

Oh, the questions I have. All that time, locked in a tiny room with only white, barren walls and a bed— no TV, no paper and pen, no windows…I had plenty of time to mentally compile my list of questions for him. But not on this subject, which is of precedence right now. So that’s what I focus on, rather than unleashing on him even half the anger and pain he caused me so long ago.

“Why did my mother even have a Will? She wasn’t old, or sick…was she?” I taper off in a mumble. I know it wasn’t why she died, but I have no idea if she had health concerns of some sort or not.

“No, she was simply responsible. As your mother’s attorney, and estate planner, I advised it. We’re not talking about a few trinkets here, Henley. Your mother was smart enough to plan ahead, protect her sizeable assets, and you.”

“That’s just it, though. Why me?”

“Um,” he rubs a heavy hand along his jaw and studies me as though trying to decipher one of those ink-blot images. “Because you’re her daughter? And her only living relative? I guess I don’t understand the question?”

“My mother and I hadn’t spoken in eight years, Merrick. When did she have this Will prepared?” He frowns and tries to scoot closer to me, but I hold up my hand and stop that nonsense. “Just answer me.”

“Several years ago. I, I wasn’t aware the two of you didn’t talk, Henley. She never mentioned it. She did mention your life in San Diego, nice condo, how proud she was of you. But nothing about the two of you not speaking. I’m sorry to hear that was the case, because I have no doubt she loved you. Very much.”

“Can I ask why the two of you didn’t talk anymore?” His intrusion is spoken low and hesitantly.

“You were there, Merrick. Why do you think? She sent me away! To a loony bin! Do you know what those places are like?”

“Henley.” This time he moves toward me so fast I can’t stop him, his arms are around me before I even realize it’s happened.

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