“Duh.”
“We would be coy for the first hour, and downplay the intense bond we once had. Then stop the charade and sit together. You would meet Jason there, and like him, and respect him. And toss me a look of approval. I pictured you newly married. Your wife would be younger but not embarrassingly so. Maybe thirty-four. Pretty and smart and the kind of woman who does cardio every morning, even when on vacation. Your wife would chat with Jason about her skin-care line, or some such thing, and he would talk about his news-cameraman background, while we repaired old wounds and caught up on the past two decades.”
“Wow. Specific.”
“But instead here you are now. At pretty much the worst time in my life. You’ll never get to meet Jason, or give me that look of approval.”
As I said this, my eyelashes fluttered to stop the tears. Roman pulled me in for a hug, and this human connection broke my thin eyelid dam. He held me, and I sobbed onto his expensive tailored dress shirt. Once I finished my bout of crying, he told me there was nothing else for me to do now but wait for information. I was to try and stay calm, and was not to talk to anyone about anything involving any of this. In other words, I couldn’t let any more elephants get free.
Through a cruel twist of events, Roman was once again the most important person in my life and it felt like my fate hung on his divine shoulders. He left Miami, traveled back to his office, and promised to return at a moment’s notice. I was to keep him apprised and try to get back to my normal life. Except now, normal life was as a working widow being doggedly investigated for one, if not four, murders.
CHAPTER 36
FURY
The sun rose the next day. And again. And again. Each morning I blinked at the light streaming in from the bottom of the bedroom curtains. It looked like a thick rod of gold. Another day that I woke up in my own home, and not in a prison cell. With each sunrise I worried Detective Jackson was an inch closer to wrongfully imprisoning me for killing the man I loved. I reminded myself never to relax into my pillow, and that just because I hadn’t heard a word from him didn’t mean he wasn’t putting together an airtight case against me. So I stared and stared at the rod of gold until it crept its way up and disappeared.
I had been on sick leave for a month, and it was time for me to try and pull myself together and get in my car and drive to work. I didn’t want to tell my patients my husband had died, and because I had kept my last name, there was no way that they could connect him to me even if they had seen that lovely human-interest story on the local news. His death was a part of my life that was too personal to share with them. It would swing the therapy-session pendulum my way, allowing the patients to skirt their own issues. Kangaroo’s dying was different. Since everyone knew her because she was always in the office with me, I had to tell them why she vanished. But my patients didn’t know Jason, so they didn’t need to know that he was no longer on this earth. I continued to wear my engagement and wedding rings, not ready to answer questions, not ready to see and feel my naked finger, and definitely not ready to let go of the idea that I was still committed to someone.
That first day back, I pulled into my office parking spot, put my car in park, got out, and forgot to turn the engine off. Normal rote actions were lost on me. I listened to my clients and nodded and asked the usual questions and got through it all until lunch. I stared at my unopened raspberry yogurt. That night I brushed my teeth and was so distracted by my thoughts that I put the toothpaste back where my hairbrush goes. I replayed the chain of events leading up to Jason’s death. Over and over. If I hadn’t gone to that relaxation retreat, I wouldn’t have slept through the beep. Why did I go to that stupid fucking thing? I knew I shouldn’t have gone. I should have listened to my own inner voice. My fear of relaxing lived within me for a reason. Anxiety and stress were necessary tools for survival. My vigilance had always kept me and the ones I loved safe. And then I let myself be lulled into dropping my guard, all for science. Tricked into finding serenity. Manipulated into thinking that being a human was anything more than pure and simple weakness and mediocrity. And now what did I have? A dead husband.
In our past therapy sessions, I urged Gabrielle to stop replaying all her decisions leading up to that night at the Thai restaurant when her date, Derrick, was killed while protecting her from gunshots. I told her it wasn’t her fault. I believed that. And yet I blamed myself and couldn’t stop replaying my own decisions up until the moment I poured grape sugar goo into Jason’s cold mouth. I was angry. Extremely angry. Furious, actually. I was awash with vicious, searing hot sparks burrowing into and flying forth from my every pore. Fury should be the step in the grieving process, and not milquetoast anger.
As I raged to Alisha about my fury, about how life is often so unfair, she pointed out that my emotions were a positive sign. “Ruby, call it anger or call it fury, but this is healthy. You’re moving into the second stage. It means you’ve moved past denial. Your grief is making its way through you. It’s not stuck.”
I snapped back, “Don’t tell me it’s positive. This is your fault! Why am I even talking to you anymore? You encouraged me to go to that stupid study! If I hadn’t gone, I would have heard the beep. I would have woken up like always. And Jason would still be alive!”
She listened to me lash out and I watched her face. Her brow furrowed just a little. She was concerned but not hurt. She didn’t take anything I was saying personally. Which spoke to how professional she was. Which made me more furious. So I said, “Why am I even still here? Sitting on this couch. What’s the point of any of it?! I’m leaving.” I thought about standing up and storming out. I meant to do it, but my body knew I was bluffing and stayed put. I couldn’t find the strength in my thigh muscles to raise me up.
Alisha leaned forward. “I believe you’re still here talking to me because you know Jason’s death is not my fault. Nor is it your fault.”
I shook my head and huffed back into the cushions, like a horse rearing up against a stormy wind. I was so tired of talking and listening and feeling. But Alisha was not tired of being the best therapist I would ever know. “Ruby. I would like to talk about your belief that your heightened awareness can keep you and the people you love safe from harm. That the workings of the world lie on your shoulders. You are willingly taking a stance that Atlas was forced to take as the ultimate punishment—the world on your shoulders. You do not deserve to be punished. And you are not a Titan. As you know, you are a human.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Because I felt my little hands wrap around Duncan’s ankle. And I tasted peanuts and cheap milk chocolate on the roof of my mouth. And I heard fat raindrops plop as I lured Evelyn into the street. Proof my vigilance alone could protect me and those I love and make the world a happier place.
Alisha continued, “That belief is a distorted thought. Tragedy and sorrow are a part of life. We can’t prevent them. No matter how smart or strong or brave or vigilant we are. We can only control our reactions to grief . . . Ruby? Where are you? Are you listening?”
I was barely listening. I had heard enough to know that what Alisha was saying to me about Jason’s death was almost the exact same thing I said to Gabrielle about Derrick’s death. And it was frustrating and stifling. Because I couldn’t yet accept it, but I knew it was correct.