A shudder runs through me. “I know.” I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m sure Kacey has, too.
“But that’s life, Trent. Whether we like it or not, we live and die by an endless stream of choices that affect each next step in our lives. Sometimes in ways we never dared think of or hoped for. Sometimes in ways we can’t make sense of for a long time. I’m trying to help you make sense of what happened because the sooner you do that, the sooner you can move on. You made a mistake, Trent. A mistake of drinking too much and believing that your friend was fine to drive. Sasha made the mistake of thinking he was fine to drive. Sasha and Derek made the mistake of not wearing their seat belts. And all of those mistakes turned into a tragic accident that claimed six people’s lives.”
He pauses, as if to let his words sink into my head. “I told my sons about this very case last night over dinner. They’re still too young to drive, but I like to scare the snot out of them with real-life scenarios every once in a while.”
“Isn’t that unethical?”
He waves my doubtful tone away with his free hand. “The accident is public knowledge.”
“What about everything else?” I wouldn’t be surprised if Dr. Stayner has provided a play-by-play review of our conversation to his kids over a plate of fried chicken. In the time that I’ve been here, I’ve quickly learned that the patient, pragmatic doctor is also a loud and insistent man, willing to roll up his sleeves and climb into the trenches with his patients. He pushes boundaries and he doesn’t mince words. Sometimes that causes problems. Last week, I saw him tearing out of this very office and toward the orderlies, a distraught patient hot on his heels, shrieking at him. They had to sedate her. Two days ago, he had a three-hundred-pound man named Terrence sobbing uncontrollably.
He says both of those cases were major breakthroughs.
I’ll reserve my judgment on that for now.
“I didn’t tell them the rest. Would you like me to? Or, better yet . . .” He holds up the large navel orange sitting on his desk, which has held my attention for some reason, and then tosses it to me. “Would you like to? Because I can guarantee you that your story matters. You can’t save your friends or the people in the other car. That’s in the past. But you can save lives now. In the future. When I talk about making amends, that’s the kind of thing I’m talking about.”
“So you finally agree that this was my fault,” I mutter wryly.
He throws his hands up in frustration. “I agree that you think it’s your fault. I can’t change that. You need to change that. Or accept it and move on. And the only way you’re going to do that is by easing your guilt. Feeling like you can earn some level of forgiveness. And the only way to do that is by making the amends that you feel you need to make. So, how about we draw a line in the sand and move on. Agree?”
I nod.
He drags a stubby finger across his desk. “Line drawn. Now we just need to figure out what your amends look like.”
Chapter 15
June 2010
“We haven’t spent much time talking about the girl who survived. What was her name?”
“Kacey Cleary.”
“Right. And how often do you think about this Kacey girl?”
I shrug, twisting a shoelace between my fingers. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s a lot. Sometimes not so much.” Such an ambiguous answer. Such a lie. I wonder if Stayner sees it. He probably does. The shrewd doc never seems to miss anything.
If he does, he lets it go for now. “That’s normal. You feel like you’ve wronged her.”
“I have wronged her.”
He doesn’t argue with me any more about that. “Your father told me that you went to visit her once in the hospital?”
“Yeah. But I didn’t have the guts to actually see her.”
“Have you thought about trying to see her again?”
I’m guessing lying won’t do me any good here. “Yeah.” I pause. “Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t?” He’s going to tell me that I shouldn’t. I really fucking hope he doesn’t, because I damn well already know that I will.
He shrugs. “From what your father told me, it sounds like she’s had a rough go of things. She might not be so receptive to seeing you. And if you’re not completely at peace with where you’re at, I’m afraid it could set you back down a dark path that you don’t want to be on. You need to focus on yourself right now.”
I sigh. He’s probably right.
“You feel you need some form of closure from her?”
Another nod. “Or something.” I’m afraid to say more.
Pulling a pad of lined paper and a pen out from a drawer, he tosses them on the desk in front of me. “Write it out. Everything you want to say to her. I don’t need to see it. But get it all out, and then leave it at that. In time, she may seek you out. You can give it to her then, if you want. Or you can say it out loud.” He pauses. “Just be prepared that she may not ever want to meet you and she deserves to make that call. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I sigh. It’s not exactly what I want to hear.
■ ■ ■
I lie in the twin bed in my sunny little room, pondering everything that Stayner has said. That’s one thing he gets me doing. Thinking. It’s like the guy has a wizard’s wand.
I think about Kacey Cleary as I always do—wondering how she’s doing right now, hoping that she’s not getting herself into trouble. How much farther can she spiral? I guess she could hit rock bottom, like I did. Maybe she has already. What if I’m released from here to find out the worst? All of my time with Dr. Stayner will have been worthless; I’m sure of it. For so many reasons, both selfish and not.
Because I want her to be free of this.
And because while I can make as many amends as I want, I don’t think I’ll ever truly move on until she does.
Until that sparkle in her eye comes back, that smile shines bright again.
The pad of paper lies across my chest; where it has stayed for hours, rows upon rows of scratched-out sentences. Because there just are no words.
Only a wish.
■ ■ ■
Stayner’s handshake is as firm as I would expect from a man of his integrity and strength.
“You ready to be released into the wild again?” he asks, a proud smile on full display. He should be proud. He’s given me strength and focus.
A purpose.
I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess.” It feels weird, leaving these walls five weeks later, considering the state I entered them in. But I think I’m ready.
Stayner frowns. “What’s going on in your head, Trent? You’re hung up on something, aren’t you?”
Damn guy. I can’t say no or he’ll probably shred the release papers. Not that I can’t leave of my own accord—this isn’t prison. But I promised my parents that I’d see it through and I have every intention of doing that. So I admit vaguely, “I’m nervous. About everything. About seeing people again. About seeing my parents after what I put them through.”
He slaps my shoulder, like I’d imagine a father would do to his son. “Do you know how happy they are today, waiting out there in the parking lot? Knowing that they’re getting their son back?”
I bite my tongue against the urge to argue that I’m not the same person anymore. “Yes, but they’re still divorcing. They’ve still lost their entire retirement fund. I can’t change that.”
He nods solemnly. “You’re right. You can’t. That’s a challenge that the two of them—and their relationship—must face. But any good parents will give all the money in the world to keep their child alive and well. I’ve met your parents. They’re good people, Trent. So, you just focus on you. You have a solid recovery plan in place, people who love you, and, most important, you have amends to make.”
I nod. He’s right about that.
Pushing through the doors of the clinic, I see my dad’s SUV parked out front. He and my mom slide out of their seats, hopeful smiles on their faces.
All it takes is a returning smile and my mom’s eyes water.
Holding up my finger—asking them for a minute—I slip my phone out of my pocket and hit number three on my speed dial.