Page 168 of We Redeemed the Rain

“Yeah, really.”

“When?”

“Years ago. The first guy just wanted to drug me. I was on several medications for a while. The second just…I stopped goin’. I couldn’t afford it, and…the stuff we were bringin’ up was makin’ it impossible for me to operate. I was gettin’ worse, not better.”

“Well, shit. I didn’t know that.”

“Yep. Both doctors only made my panic attacks worse.”

Jesse sighed. “Panic attacks? Is that really what the doctors were calling them?”

“The first one.”

“The second?”

“She called them episodes.”

“Episodes of what?”

I sighed. “Not sure.”

A long silence went by. When Jesse spoke again, his voice was quieter, sad. “I need to…tell you something.”

I looked up.

He repeatedly scuffed the ground with his boot, head hanging low. “Laurel…she had episodes, too.”

We held eye contact as the headlights washed over us. Sorrow was visibly etched into his face, despite the angled shadows.

“She had some trauma in her past. She’d space out for a while, not remember things, feel really out of touch with her emotions for days on end. Said she sometimes felt like she was watching herself from a distance.”

“Like a movie.”

Jesse nodded. “Her exact words.”

“She had bad dreams, things that triggered her memories, and was forced to relive the worst moment of her life with no warning whatsoever. She regularly saw a therapist and was on a couple medications. Still”—his voice wavered—“she was the strongest person I ever met.” He took in a shaky breath. “I’m telling you all this because I think you and her are really similar. You act similar, anyway. But her doctor never once used the term ‘panic attack.’ I’m not trying to diagnose you or anything, but you should know that Laurel was very quickly diagnosed with PTSD. Her therapist was incredible and the help she received saved her life.” His voice trembled. “She was able to go on, get married, have Cade. Our life was…simple, but it was beautiful. And she gets all the credit for that.”

Immediately, Laurel’s story resonated in my chest. I looked down at the dirt, my chest tightening.

Jesse continued, “I should’ve told you before now. I’ve always kind of suspected you might have PTSD, but the last episode made me think I should say something. You don’t have to tell me your life’s story or anything like that…I just wanted you to know a little about Laurel’s.”

For a moment, we stood in silence.

Eventually, I choked out the most insensitive question of my life. “But…you actually loved her?”

Jesse laughed a little, but didn’t answer.

“Man, I’m bein’ serious. Even though she was like that, you loved her?”

Jesse sobered with a deep, long inhale. For a few moments, he considered how to answer. “You know, she played the harmonica. Wasn’t all that good honestly, but she adored that thing. Occasionally, I’ll be working, minding my own business, and I swear I hear that harmonica on the breeze.” His exhale shuddered. “She stole the oxygen out of this earth when she left it. I still love her so much, I can hardly breathe most days.”

I nodded, surprised by the tears gathering in my eyes as I did.

Can love co-exist with pain?

In Jesse and Laurel’s story, it did. You’d have to be a blind idiot not to see how hung up Jesse was on his late wife.

I remembered what Bea said to me as we laid under the stars.

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