Page 85 of To Save Him

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-eight

 

THE NEXT MORNING, I sat at the table sipping coffee before the time when the kids and Brandon joined me.  It was still early—a few minutes before I would have gone upstairs to make sure JR was awake—that Annabel came down and poured a cup of java herself.  She was unusually quiet and her phone was not in her hand, the first signs that something wasn’t quite right with her.

When she turned around, I knew for certain.

My daughter was an expert with makeup and never left the house without her brows perfectly plucked and filled, her foundation flawless, covering a few light freckles while letting her natural tone shine through, her lips plump and full and rosy, but today she wasn’t able to hide the way her eyes were rimmed in red, the way the delicate skin beneath was slightly puffy and dark.  No tea bags or cucumber compresses or cool washcloths could hide the unmistakable signs of a night-long crying jag.

Been there, done that.

“What’s wrong, honey?” I asked her as she sat across from me.  The mother part of me wanted to leap up and smother her in my bosom, but I knew my Annabel.  She had to be ready to be coddled, and the older she grew, the less she liked being mothered.  She was a beautiful soul, but she struggled with letting people help her.

I blamed her father for that one.

And me.  I also blamed myself.  Suffering from that overwhelming, crushing depression had no doubt had an ugly impact on her psyche.  Annabel had been easier to nurture and comfort before that.  I was fairly certain the way I’d handled my divorce had hardened my daughter in some ways that would be irreversible.  What I was witnessing was simply one of the manifestations.

Two tears streamed down her cheeks before her lip even started to quiver, all because I’d asked the question.  “Liam and I broke up.”  And then the dam burst.

I felt like the shittiest mom at that moment.  I hadn’t seen it coming.  I’d been so embroiled in my own little drama that I’d lost sight of my daughter’s emotional needs.  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.  Do you want to talk about it?”

I couldn’t understand the words that she sobbed, so I got up and walked over to her side of the table, drawing a chair close and letting her head fall into my shoulder.  I held her close and let her tears soak my t-shirt as I kept my mouth shut, knowing my words wouldn’t soothe, and ran my hand along her hair and back.

After several minutes, her tears subdued some.  I wanted to ask so many questions but knew it would be best to let her come to talking on her own.  And she did.  I was keenly aware that time was ticking and I needed to get upstairs to get JR out of bed, but I didn’t want to abandon Annabel at a time when it felt like she needed me most.  “He’s kind of controlling, you know?  Telling me what to do, where to go, who I can see, what to wear.”  I’d known Liam was a tad domineering, but I’d had no clue just how much.  This was a bit of a revelation to me.  “And I just got tired of it.”  She paused, taking in a few slow breaths before adding, “Something Brandon said inspired me.”

My voice was soft, and I hoped it didn’t betray any of the weird emotions rolling through me.  “Really?”

“Yeah.  I was talking to him the other night about Liam.” The othernight?  “I guess he heard me yelling on the phone in my room and then crying, because he knocked on the door and asked if I was okay.  So I just kinda told him everything I was thinking.  He was in the right place at the right time.  And he told me I shouldn’t put up with being treated like a second-class citizen, like I’m inferior to Liam.  And I thought about it and he’s right.  I shouldn’t.  Especially from someone who’s supposed to care about me.”

“Heisright.”  No matter what suspicions were tickling the edges of my brain, I had to assure her of the veracity of that statement.  My daughter was more precious than gold, and I above all wanted her to know that.

 

* * *

 

THAT AFTERNOON, I had the house to myself.  Brandon had been quiet and withdrawn and part of those emotions had manifested in his sleeping late, but he was still finding it in himself to do the things he needed to—showering, eating (even if his appetite had decreased), going to work.

And, because he’d managed to get up that morning and go to work in the space of half an hour, I’d spent extra time with Annabel.  My daughter had decided she needed a little more time with her mama, and so we took JR to school together and then I brought her to the local coffee shop where we enjoyed a latte together and researched several different Colorado colleges, trying to help her make her final decision for where she wanted to go to school.  It was therapeutic for us both, I think, to focus on her future rather than her past.

But she chose to go to school for the afternoon session, so I wrote her a note when we got home and also called the office, explaining that Annabel hadn’t felt up to going to school earlier but was coming in now for the remainder of the day.

Now alone, I had a mission.

I had some research to do.

At Dr. Cartwright’s office, Brandon had talked about “the hospital” much as he’d talked about it with me.  The details had been vague.  I needed answers.

As I started walking up the stairs to Gabriel’s old room, I was surprised at how tense my muscles were becoming.  The tips of my fingers felt tingly, my stomach fluttery.

I felt almost like I was ready to vomit.

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