Episode2
956 Words
I made it to the car.
That was as far as I got before my legs stopped cooperating.
I sat in the driver's seat with my hands in my lap and I stared at the steering wheel and I thought: three to six months and a divorce. All in one afternoon. And not a single person who was supposed to love me picked up the phone.
The crying came again, quieter this time, the kind that came after you had already screamed the worst of it out. I let it happen. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes and I let my shoulders shake and I did not try to make it pretty.
When it passed I looked at myself in the rearview mirror.
Red eyes. Tight jaw. A woman who looked like she had taken a blow and was deciding whether to get up.
I got up.
I drove back to the house, parked badly, and walked back to the front door.
Damien opened it before I could knock. He looked surprised to see me, which told me something about how well he thought he knew me.
"I want a reason," I said. "A real one. Not tired. Not I can't do this anymore. A real reason."
He stepped onto the porch and pulled the door partially closed behind him. I noticed that. He didn't want Vivienne to hear.
"Nora."
"You owe me that much, Damien. After six years you owe me one honest sentence."
He looked at me for a long time. Then he ran his hand over his face.
"You changed," he said. "The sickness changed you. And I know that's not fair to say and I know you didn't choose it but you became someone I didn't know how to be married to anymore. Someone who was always in pain, always afraid, always needing something I didn't know how to give." He paused. "I got lost in it."
"You got lost," I repeated.
"I know how that sounds."
"You got lost so you found your way into my therapist."
He had nothing for that.
I looked at him and I thought about the man I had fallen in love with. Twenty three years old in a grocery store parking lot, no money, big plans, and a way of looking at me like I was the most interesting thing in any room. I had believed in that look completely.
I had worked two jobs for a year when his first business failed. I had contributed every dollar of my savings to his second one. I had shown up to every dinner, every introduction, every event that mattered to his career and I had smiled and charmed the right people and I had been his advantage in every room he entered.
I had made him.
And when I got sick and I needed to be the one who needed something, he had found someone else to make him feel like a winner instead.
"I remember when you used to sit on the bathroom floor with me," I said. My voice was steady. "During the bad nights. You would bring me water and just sit there. You didn't have to say anything. You just sat there so I wouldn't be alone."
Something moved across his face. Not guilt exactly. More like a memory of a version of himself he had decided to put away.
"That was a long time ago," he said quietly.
"Three years," I said. "That's not a long time. That's nothing."
He had no answer.
I walked past him into the house. Vivienne was standing near the window and she turned when I came in and I looked at her directly.
"What you did," I said, "is not just personal. It is professional misconduct. You violated the duty of care you owed me. You used information I gave you in confidence. And I want you to know that I know that. I may not have the money to fight you today but I am going to remember everything. Every session. Every thing I told you that you used." I held her gaze. "So enjoy the ring."
Vivienne's mouth opened slightly.
"Nora, I already told you"
"I know what you told me." I smiled, and it was not a warm smile. "You told me I can't afford the fight. But I'm not going to be broke forever, Dr. Cole. And I have the memory of an investigative journalist. Every violation, every breach, every session where you sat across from me knowing what you knew." I tilted my head. "I have time."
Damien put his hand on my arm.
"Nora. Enough. Go get your things."
I pulled my arm back.
“Fine Damien, you don’t have to be an asshole about it” I breathed. "I'm going,"
I went to the bedroom and packed what mattered. My medication first, because my body was not going to wait for my dignity to finish making speeches. My documents. A few clothes. My notebook, the worn one with the blue cover that had my unfinished stories in it, stories I had not opened in two years because someone kept telling me it was not practical.
I sat on the bed for thirty seconds with my hand pressed flat on that notebook.
Then I stood up.
In the living room Damien was standing by the divorce papers, pen in hand, offering it to me. Vivienne was looking out the window like she was giving me privacy, which was almost funny.
I took the pen, signed the papers and set the pen down.
"You'll regret every single way you stepped on me," I said. "Both of you."
I walked out.
This time I didn't look back.
- Writer
