Unbroken Love

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Dr. Volk sat still, looking thoughtfully at Sophia, but did not immediately speak. After several moments, he asked, “How?”

“He cuts his fingers and hands on the sharp marble spikes he put around Nathalie’s little grave. He made them for the purpose of hurting himself.”

“It was more beautiful like that,” Alistair whispered. “Protective.”

Beautiful?! Oh, screw you! Sophia raised her voice. “Don’t you dare lie here, Alistair Connor.”

Dr. Volk put his pencil and notepad on the side table and stared at Alistair. He spoke in carefully measured words, “You have to be truthful to heal. Only through trust will you both see it through together.”

“It was more beautiful.” His eyes filled with tears. Shameful, childish, Alistair Connor. “With all the small marble spikes protecting the flat smooth white marble.”

“Andrew, he didn’t even write her name on it. There’s nothing etched on the marble, no plaque, nothing. I found him there at midnight.”

“Sophia,” he hissed.

“Cutting his hands. There was blood all over, Andrew, I was terrified.”

Christ! “I didn’t ask—” you to follow me.

“That is not a grave for a child—” your daughter.

Don’t. “Sophia. Stop.” Don’t go on.

“That was a macabre, masochistic—” grave.

Oh, f**k you! “Put yourself in my shoes!” he exclaimed. Ignoring the ache in his hands, he turned her to him by the shoulders. In the green inferno of his eyes, there was a pain so raw it burned her. “Your daughter is happily playing in school. Mine…” A dark mask descended over his features and his control snapped. “MINE IS BEING EATEN BY WORMS!”

A heart-wrenching sob left Sophia, who, rose from the sofa and walked swiftly to the window. Oh, my God! I didn’t think about this. I’m so sorry, my love!

That was cruel, Alistair Connor. Cruel and unnecessary. He was feeling so much pain that he couldn’t go after her. Control yourself, for f**k’s sake.

An awkward stillness came over the office. Dr. Volk didn’t move a finger, watching Alistair, who had put his forehead on his hands and was panting.

From Sophia’s hunched shoulders came another sob.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” Alistair breathed, already behind her. She turned and wound her arms around his waist under his jacket. “That was uncalled for. I didn’t mean to be so—”

“Realistic?” Dr. Volk intervened from his place. “You stated nothing more than reality, Alistair. You could have been more polite, but your daughter’s corpse is disintegrating.”

Dr. Volk saw Alistair’s big body shake from head to toe and Sophia’s hands moving under his jacket, soothing him. Nonetheless, it was not time for pity. “Are you going to do the same with your love for her?”

“Nae,” came back the hoarse whisper, as he fiercely shook his head, his long hair swinging and catching the light. “Nae, never.”

“So, stop hurting yourself and the ones who want to help you.” He watched Alistair crush Sophia in his arms, murmuring again he was sorry, and she squeeze him back, saying it was okay; that she was sorry too.

In spite of the painful situation, the couple was so in sync, they were almost one in their sorrow.

Dr. Volk waited until they were seated again to proceed. “In one of our meetings, Alistair, I explained that in the early stages of grief it is normal to feel crazy, to have nightmares, or to question your religious beliefs. It can be a roller-coaster. As time goes by, the difficult periods become less intense and shorter, but it takes time to work through a loss. Even years after a loss, especially at special events such as a family wedding or the birth of a child, we may still experience a strong sense of grief.”

Alistair looked at his hands on Sophia’s lap as she caressed his wrists. “I felt guilty, sad and lonely, angry at the world, at myself, at God, at the devil. I haven’t been there for more than a month. I have to tell her about her films, her dolls—”

“Wait a minute, Alistair,” Doctor Volk interrupted him. “I’m very sorry to say, but she is dead. She cannot hear you anymore.”

A sob shook Alistair’s chest and he buried his face in the hollow of Sophia’s neck. “I don’t want her to be. Two years, Andrew, she was Gabriela’s age when she died.”

Sophia embraced him, crying too.

“Keeping the illusion that Nathalie is alive makes you the victim, Alistair. Keeping problems alive that should be solved, maintains the pain inside you. It makes you remain special; a deserver of pity. Besides, illusion is the extreme way in which pain disguises itself to avoid contact with the normal possibilities of life. Feeding and keeping the pain inside you, makes you feel sorry for yourself. Do you understand?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Alistair was calm once more, his bandaged hands roaming over Sophia’s softly heaving back.

Dr. Volk saw her draw a steadying breath, and compose herself. Nonetheless, what he was about to say was going to make her unbalanced again. “Do you want to explain to me why you went to such lengths this time?”

Oh, no, you bastard. Not in front of her. Alistair’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Andrew, I don’t think—” But he shut his mouth. He saw the doctor was going to say it to Sophia. One way or another. Maybe it’s better to discuss it here and now.

Dr. Volk reclined in the chair and gazed directly into Sophia’s eyes. “Sophia, Alistair and I have discussed many times the possibilities of you having or adopting a baby. So, I guess a baby is coming soon. I know he’s afraid, and it’s normal. I can fairly say, you’re afraid too. What I’m wondering here is, was it the prospect of having another baby that made him edgier?”

Not again, please. Her mouth opened but not a word formed.

“Nae, nae.” He kissed her forehead, pulling her even closer. “It was because of its conception. I shouldn’t have pushed you to accept a sperm donor. Maybe we should forget this whole idea of another baby.” And what if something happens? “For a few months.” Forever. “We don’t have to decide anything now.” Ever.

Sophia tilted her head to the side, observing him. Liar. Damn you, Alistair Connor.

Before she could speak, Dr. Volk said, “Alistair, remember Gabriela’s request for Chanukah? Why don’t you start with taking her to visit her half-sister? Children deal with loss and the unknown more easily. You still have time to think about the baby. So the sooner you take her there, the better. She will form better bonds with the baby that is coming.”

Sophia squinted her eyes, looking intrigued at the doctor. Why does he keep insisting on the baby? Doesn’t he know Alistair Connor will never agree to one? Didn’t he hear him say it just now?

“I’ll think about this,” Alistair spoke.

“No, don’t postpone it,” Dr. Volk contradicted him. “Alistair, it’s a good thing to lean on the people who care about and love you. Don’t avoid them; accept what is offered. You hold too much inside. You control too much. That’s not good. Oftentimes, people want to help but don’t know how, so tell them what you need. Whether it’s a shoulder to cry on, like now, or just someone to hold your hand.”

“I—” Sophia bit her lower lip. Say it, Sophia. She took her iPad from her bag and a folded sheet of paper.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Sophia’s folded sheets. Alistair never knew what to expect from her folded sheets. They were uncontrollable as her ideas spread and took the leashes out of his hands.

“I have a proposition. Nathalie’s grave—” Alistair’s ink-black eyebrows came together, but she forged on quickly and smoothly. “Nathalie deserves roses and angels, not spikes. She deserves a plaque marking her existence and words that show the world all the love her father felt for her, not a blank marble slab as if she had not been loved, or the feelings were not important enough to be written down.”

Sophia knelt between Alistair and Dr. Volk. Both men leaned forward, their gazes following her to the floor when she lit her iPad.

On the screen appeared a photo of Nathalie’s sinister grave; on the thin paper, there were a few scattered water-color drawings that made no sense. Then she put the sheet of paper over the screen.

Vines with delicate leaves opening to show little rosebuds entwined to the top of the spikes, where a white blossoming rose covered the points. For the spikes at the corners, Sophia designed little angels.

With very few changes, what was the most horrible grave Dr. Volk had ever seen, had turned into a loving one.

“Can we do it? Please? Valentina can order the angels in Italy. No better place for marble. Felipe can send me the flexible wires from Rio. In any form, size, and color I want. We can order a platinum plaque from Mr. Arkade with a few words inscribed. In a week or two, we’ll have everything and we’ll embellish her place of rest. Before your birthday. Without having to move her.”

He hadn’t said a word, frowning at her iPad.

She picked up his wrists in her hands and gazed into his eyes. “Together, we can do it. No one will need to touch her place. Just you and me. And maybe Ers—”

Alistair’s chilly voice cut her, “You sent this to your siblings?”

What? Sophia’s eyes widened. “No. Of course, not. How could you think that about me? I promised you—”

“You promised me you wouldn’t tell him about the cuts.”

Damn. “Touché…” She framed his face and looked over her shoulder at Dr. Volk, who was observing the scene, amazed by her ideas. “But he needed to know. He’s your therapist.”

Aye, you’re right. It’s just that I wasn’t ready. Or so I thought. Alistair’s mood was mollified, however, he was still not completely convinced. “How did you draw that, Sophia?”

She shrugged. “With some crayons I found in the children’s room and a few hours.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You’re too smart for your own good, Marchioness.”

“So, we can do it?” Please, say yes.

“It should have always been like this,” he whispered, marveling at the paper over the iPad.

Sophia picked up her things and moved back to the sofa.

“That will be a wonderful initiative, Alistair. So on your birthday, you and Gabriela will visit Nathalie as a family. When the baby is of age, take the baby. It will be easier to deal with it with so much love around you, Alistair.”

“And what else can I do?” Sophia asked.

More? Alistair shook his head astonished. “Sophia. You do more than enough.”

Dr. Volk smiled. “It seems you do, but don’t forget, Sophia: don’t press if he doesn’t feel like talking; be willing to sit in silence. Comfort and support can be offered by mere presence, caressing his hand, his hair. When he decides to talk, be prepared to listen, he may need to tell the story over and over again, sometimes in minute detail. Repeating the story is a way of processing and accepting the death. With each retelling, the pain lessens. So, the key here is: Be patient.”

“I can be,” she nodded.

“Now, let me tell you the hard part. Nathalie was as alive as Ariadne is. Although you cannot scare Gabriela, she has to understand that Nathalie will never play with her. You don’t want to see Gabriela playing with a ghost.” Dr. Volk saw Sophia pale and Alistair’s arm wind around her. “The new family you are both creating has too many important losses. Loved people, who are not living anymore, but are an integral part of your history. This baby will never make up for the loss of Nathalie. So, although I know none of you has the intention of forgetting your loved ones, let’s focus on the living ones, on Gabriela, and on the new baby.”

“I…after I realized I was forgetting things, because of the drugs, I started a journal and an album about Gabriel to give to Gabriela one day.”

“That’s a creative way to deal with your loss. Alistair, you can also make an album with Nathalie’s birthday photos or other happy celebrations. Do it all together with Sophia and Gabriela. Show it to the baby. You have told me Gabriela misses her father, you can show her you miss your daughter too. You will always love her and you will always miss her. There is nothing wrong with that, but to cut yourself is dangerous. Not only for you, but for your loved ones.”

“We’ll redo Nathalie’s place,” Alistair compromised. “And I won’t go there anymore alone at night.”

“You won’t need to,” Sophia complemented.

He nodded and whispered, “I’m not forgetting Nathalie. I’m just reformatting my family.”

“Great. Now, this is a medical order: I want both of you go on a trip for four, five days. Take Gabriela with you. Go visit your twin sisters,” Dr. Volk said, and Alistair huffed. “They will create enough havoc to distract Alistair and also you, Sophia. I want to receive daily calls from you, Alistair. Sophia, if something abnormal happens call me. At any time.” He gave her his card. As always their time was long finished. “Now. The homework.”

Alistair’s lips curled. Dr. Volk always left him with something to do.

“Not another sexist film, please!” Sophia complained with a smile.

“That was never my intention.” Dr. Volk smiled back at her and then looked at Alistair. “You, Alistair, you’ve always said Sophia is your private ray of sun. That is a move from outside in. Not bad at all. However, I want you to think about a quote by Alberto Camus: ‘In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.’ Where is your invincible summer, Alistair?”