Page 61 of Rogue Survivor
Isabel
My phone buzzeson the counter, and after a quick check of the screen, I hurry to the door. The security system Zephyr recommended is phenomenal. Twenty-four hour video surveillance running through a company out in Seattle, biometric locks, sensors on all the windows, and at least one panic button in every room.
I press my palm to the sensor, andthreeseparate locksthunkbefore I can open the door.
“Leah. How are you?” Pulling her into my arms, I try not to fall apart. Mitzi went to stay with her dad last night for the first time since…everything, and when the phone rang at midnight, I slipped out of bed and spent the next two hours letting her cry over FaceTime.
“Tired. But better. Mitzi called a few minutes ago. One panic attack, but she did her breathing exercises and got through it. Brian even helped.”
We settle on the couch with mugs of coffee. I’ve missed her so much. Until last night, she hadn’t been ready to see me, and more than once over the past two weeks, I’ve burst into tears, convinced she still blamed me for everything.
“How’s…?” I wave my hand vaguely, still not sure exactly where we stand.
“Therapy’s helping,” she says. “Mitzi more than me, but…I’m trying. The hospital’s been great. I have two more weeks before I have to work a shift, and the scheduler promised no more night shifts. I’ll be home by five every day.”
“I’m so glad.”
“And Veronica? I know she and Mitzi talk every day, but it’s so hard for Mitzi to share anything with me…I don’t ask.”
“Some days are better than others. She’s with her therapist right now, actually. I don’t know how I’m going to handle it when she goes back to school next Monday, though.”
“You can call me,” Leah offers. “I’ll probably be a wreck, but I’ll listen.”
We talk for over an hour.About heavy things and nothing. And when we say our goodbyes, I know we’ll be okay. Eventually.
The thing no one tells you about trauma? It’s always with you. Some people ignore it. Shove the memories and the feelings down so deep, they can’t see the light of day. But I tried that when I lost Tony and almost lost myself as well.
So I’m trying to listen to my emotions. To accept them. Even if sometimes, I rage and cry and scream and want to burn down the world.
Without any other distractions, I clutch my phone, staring at the screen until my eyes burn. I can do this. I can wait. Be patient. Stop myself from imagining every worst-case scenario for at least another few minutes. Can’t I?
Just when I’m about to admit defeat, a gentledingsets my world to rights.
On our way home. Got pizza.
My first instinct is to race into the bathroom and try to hide the evidence of all the tears I’ve cried today. But when I get there, I see the sticky note on the mirror in my daughter’s handwriting.
No hiding.
I made a promise, and I’m going to keep it.
“Mom!” Veronica’s cry pulls me from my panic attack, and I stare up at her. I’m on the floor. I don’t remember how I got here. Just that we’re in the hospital. That no one will tell me anything about Connor. That the MRI on her leg was supposed to be finished half an hour ago.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry, V. I…” Trying to explain only makes everything worse. I can’t breathe under the crushing weight of my fear until Veronica slides down next to me.
“Tell me five things you can see. Right now, Mom.” She waves the nurse away, takes my hand, and holds on tight. “Come on. You can do this.”
“You,” I manage. “Just you.”
“Nope. Not good enough. Name five or I’m gonna tell the nurses you hate Jell-O.”
I can do this. For her, I can do anything. “Bed. TV. Wheelchair. Pillow.”
She takes me through the whole routine. Four things I can feel. Three things I can hear. Two things I can smell. One thing I can taste. By the time I finish, my eyes are dry.
We climb into bed together, and Veronica holds up her little finger. She hasn’t asked me to pinky swear in years, but now, she waits for me to curl my finger around hers.
“When you were crying earlier? It was like after Dad died. Your body was here, but your heart wasn’t. Every time you used to hide how sad you were…I knew. You can’t do that anymore.”
