Chapter 72

72

ZACH

The weeks following my first therapy appointment were some of the hardest of my life. Which was saying something, considering I lost my mom at the age of sixteen.

Because of the variety of issues and triggers I was dealing with, my therapist recommended weekly appointments for the foreseeable future. The worst of my problems seemed to center around the nightmares, though those occasional panic attacks were a concern as well, so we focused on trying new strategies to help me cope while tackling the root causes through therapy. To be blunt, it was awful. Rather than eliminating the nightmares, they seemed to pick up in frequency. And the therapy sessions often left me feeling raw and emotional, like someone had peeled back my skin and scraped a dull blade across every one of my nerve endings. My therapist insisted this was normal and all part of the process, but I was so very tired of crying. Still, I continued with my appointments, determined to give it my all, if only so I could be a healthier partner for Jason.

Getting into a psychiatrist for evaluation was proving harder than I thought. Even with my willingness to drive into Omaha, my first appointment wasn't until late August. The more I did the research, the more I was convinced I did indeed have PTSD. Having this official diagnosis wouldn't really change anything—my therapist was already giving me strategies to cope—but there was still a part of me that couldn't help but wonder if there was some sort of medication that might help. While that idea gave me hope, it was also terrifying. I hated the idea of being dependent on medication for the rest of my life, and I knew some of them came with their own set of risks, but if there was a chance it could help…well, there was a part of me that wanted to at least give it a try.

For Jason's part, he made some additional appointments with his own therapist, wanting to make sure he was supporting me but also making sure to take care of himself. He said he felt like he needed it after I'd had the breakdown the night of my first appointment. And to be honest, it was probably the thing that made me feel supported the most. It reinforced everything he'd said about fighting this battle together. His actions showed me I wasn't in this alone.

Those were also some of the best weeks of my life. Jason and I grew closer than I ever thought possible. For all intents and purposes, he'd moved in with me. We hadn't really discussed it, but more and more of his clothes had made their way into my closet and he only went home to check on his house and mow the lawn. I supposed I should have questioned it, but I let it be. The mundane, ordinary life I'd wanted was becoming our reality. We worked. We socialized with friends. We jogged several times a week with Daisy. We made time for swimming in the lake and date nights in the city. And every night, we fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

It was everything I wanted.

The last week in July, I held tryouts for the Washington County division of Aksarben SC. Like with camp, Sarah and I had worked out an arrangement for me to take Sean back and forth to tryouts, and I'd gotten the board's permission to waive his fees. He attacked each evening of the tryouts with his usual focus, grinding through the various workouts and skills assessments with single-minded determination. Not only did he demonstrate physical prowess, but he was wicked-smart, showing an advanced understanding of soccer strategy. In scrimmages, he had an uncanny ability to see the entire field of opponents as if they were chess pieces, reacting to their play almost before his opponent had even made their move. The coaches were continually impressed by his abilities and it became evident he would make the team. It was just a matter of making sure we found the right place for him so we set him up for success.

Still, despite his near-dominance on the field, he rode home each night in silence. I would have thought perhaps he was just exhausted from leaving it all out on the field, but the way he fidgeted—picking at the hem of his shorts, untying and retying his cleats, spinning the ball in his lap—made me think there was something else going on.

On the third and final night of tryouts, I pulled into the driveway and put the car in Park, but I stopped him before he could get out. "Everything okay?"

His shoulders slumped and he refused to look at me as he muttered, "Yeah."

"Sean…"

"I'm fine." Before I could say anything further or stop him, he climbed out of the car, slammed the door behind him, and jogged up the steps into the house. I was still sitting there, debating whether to go after him, when Sarah's minivan pulled into the driveway next to me.

We got out of our cars at the same time, rounding the hoods to meet in the middle. She gave me a wan smile as if she were barely standing upright with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her dirty-blonde hair was piled on top of her head in her usual messy bun, though several strands had escaped and dangled around her face haphazardly. Her diner uniform was rumpled, and she had a smudge of something I couldn't identify on her right cheek.

Instinctively I stepped forward, peering at her in concern. "Rough shift?"

"I worked a double. Come on, let's go inside. I want to sit down."

She led me up the stairs into the house, making a beeline for the kitchen sink, where she washed her hands, then crossed to the fridge and pulled out a can of pop. She held up another can in question, but I declined, so she put it back, and we both sat at the table. She propped her feet up on the chair next to her and sipped her pop while giving me an assessing eye. "You look like you have something on your mind."

"I do. I wanted to talk to you about Sean."

She sat up a little straighter, setting the can down in front of her. "Is he okay? You said tryouts are going well…"

"They are. He's incredibly talented. But that's not what I wanted to talk about."

I took a breath, unsure how to begin. I'd been meaning to talk to her about my concerns over Sean for weeks, but I had struggled with figuring out how to bring it up. I felt like a selfish asshole. I'd been so bogged down with my own mental health issues that I'd failed to help him address his.

That ended now.

"Have you considered making an appointment for Sean to see a therapist or a grief counselor?"

She stood, opened the freezer, pulled out a frozen meal, and took a couple of steps to the other side of the kitchen. Her movements were aggressive and agitated as she unwrapped the packaging and punched the buttons on the microwave. As her food heated, she turned and leaned against the counter with her arms crossed.

"Yes, I've considered it. I have a drawer full of pamphlets social services gave me when Sean came to live here." She gestured toward the drawer in question. "But when exactly was I supposed to find time to take him? And how the hell am I supposed to pay for it?" The microwave chimed, and she turned, taking the food out and stirring the contents before popping it back in and starting it up again.

She faced me once again, her eyes flashing with anger or maybe frustration. "The reason I worked a double today? It wasn't because the diner was short-staffed. It was because I didn't have a choice. School starts in two weeks and supplies for three kids aren't cheap. Then, as if I don't have enough shit on my plate right now, I got a flat tire on my way home. So now I have to take time off work to deal with it—time I can't afford to take—and magically come up with the money to fix it. I'm probably going to have to pick up a second job, not that I have time for that either, but I don't see any other way to keep us afloat."

She turned her back on me, her shoulders slumping as all the fight went out of her.

"I'm sorry, Sarah. Maybe I can help with the car. I think Jason knows the owner of a car shop in Brinkley. You can borrow my car and I'll take yours to get it fixed."

"I can't let you do that. You already do so much for us."

The microwave chimed and she pulled the food out, stirring it again and carrying it back to the table.

"Then let me take the kids shopping for school supplies. I can take them next week and get them everything they need. The schools put out lists, right? Give me their lists and we'll get everything taken care of."

There had to be something I could do, some way to help them.

"Zach…"

"Please, Sarah. Let me help you."

She sighed. "Why? Why are you so invested in my family?"

She'd asked me a similar question several weeks ago and I didn't have any better answer today than I did then. I just knew in my gut that I couldn't let them suffer. At my hesitation, she narrowed her eyes. "It's not healthy, Zach, this attachment you have to us. You can't just swoop in and save the day every time something goes wrong."

"Why not? I have the time and the means…"

"Because we're not yours to save." She leaned forward, pushing her untouched food away. "I know you care, and it's very sweet, but the fact is, these are my kids. Sean is mine , not yours. And this…bond or attachment or whatever you want to call it is… well, I think maybe we need to redraw some boundaries." She stood, her eyes resolute. "In fact, I think maybe you should go."

My mouth gaped open as I looked up at her, completely flummoxed. I had no idea how we'd veered so far off track, and no idea how to fix it. I'd come in with concerns over Sean's mental health, and now I thought there was a chance she'd cut me off from him completely. She hadn't actually said that, but it felt like that's where her thoughts were heading.

Moving slowly, I rose, my mind frantically searching for the words that might put things back to rights. "Sarah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to?—"

"Please go," she said with a kind of resolute weariness that had my heart sinking. "Thank you for everything you've done, but I need you to respect my wishes."

"Okay," I said softly, not really knowing what else to say. I brushed past her and headed down the half-flight of stairs, pausing at the door to look back one more time. From this angle, I could just see her in profile, sitting at the table with her head in her hands.

With a heart that felt like it was breaking in two, I walked out.