“I understand. I’ve . . . I have experience seeing someone I care about in pain, making decisions for someone when she couldn’t make them for herself. I can do this.”
“Good. Good.” She trailed off and then released another sigh. “I’ve seen this therapy do wonders. Instead of avoiding her fears, she’ll be forced to look at situations realistically. Those with OCD must learn to rationally evaluate the risks of their actions. Touching a person, laying her hands on them, holding her nephew, hugging her brother—these things cause no harm. Until Shelly truly accepts that her fear of touching people is absurd, she’ll never be able to strive for the life she wants, because she’ll always be frightened by the consequences.”
Dr. West paused, as though giving me a moment to think about her statements, and then added, “When viewed from the outside, this approach can appear cruel. But it’s not. It works, not every time, but most of the time when done correctly. And it might be Shelly’s only hope.”
* * *
Shelly and I left work around two on Friday afternoon, intent on grabbing a quick lunch before heading into town.
I was nervous. But I was also determined.
She’d been watching me like a hawk early in the day, but once I proved I could change an oil filter and replace a radiator without needing my hand held, she seemed to relax. Duane didn’t arrive until the afternoon—he was scheduled to close up the shop—which meant I didn’t have to avoid his probing, perpetually dissatisfied glare of suspicion for very long.
I could understand his frustration with me; it was clear I was avoiding him. Especially after our talk earlier in the week, my walking in the opposite direction every time he appeared seemed to really piss him off. I was being the asshole he told me not to be.
But I didn’t know what to do about it. I couldn’t tell him about Christine, not until I figured out what was best for him. Instead of figuring it out, I decided to focus on Shelly and helping her first. That was something I knew I could do.
Once again, we were at Daisy’s, sitting in the back-most booth. And once again, Shelly ordered buttermilk pancakes, an unpeeled banana, with butter on the side.
“What time do you think we’ll be back from your appointment?” I asked, taking a bite from my club sandwich and trying to ignore the way she was glaring at my food.
I’d realized my mistake too late, after I’d already ordered the club. Shelly appeared distraught when I didn’t order my usual meal. And once it arrived, she kept giving the sandwich dirty looks, like it couldn’t be trusted.
I should have known better, especially based on my phone call with Dr. West and all the reading I’d done yesterday.
“I usually make it home around seven.” Shelly was still giving my sandwich the side-eye. “After meeting with Dr. West, I go to the mall and walk. It’s good practice.”
“Practice for what?”
“Being around people.”
That had me arching my eyebrows at her. “Say what?”
She gave a self-deprecating shrug. “After I left art school, I lived by myself on a secluded farm, visiting my brother Quinn once a week at most. He hired a driver to take me back and forth.”
“Holy Moly Moses. Are you serious?”
Shelly grinned at me. “Did you just say, Holy Moly Moses?”
“I did, and I meant every word of it.”
“I love how you speak.”
“How do I speak?”
“Adorable. Funny. Entertaining.”
“Just wait ’til I tell you my joke about the fishing pole.” I grinned at her and she gave me a barely there smile in return. “But back to Chicago, you never went out in public? Other than to see your brother once a week?”
Shelly began her banana peeling-slicing ritual. “No, not really.”
“How did you buy groceries?”
“Quinn had them delivered, or he brought them.”
“How did you make money?”
“Selling commissioned pieces mostly. I also fixed up old cars, but I donated those to animal shelters to raise funds.”
“And your art paid your mortgage?”
“I don’t know.” Shelly shifted uncomfortably. “Quinn handled the bills. Or he did, until I moved here.”
I studied her downcast eyes, the line of her mouth. “I’m sorry, am I being impolite? We can talk about something else.”
“No, it’s fine. Quinn was trying to help. He did help. But . . .”
“What?”
“I think it enabled me.” She’d finished peeling the banana and was now arranging the slices in the spiral design.
“To avoid people?”
“Yes. And indulge obsessions. Dr. West says I need to interrupt the pattern, every day. I need people, distraction, surprises, ‘normal’ stress. Routines are okay as long as they reinforce good habits, like running in the morning, walking the dogs at night, or arriving to work on time. They keep my anxiety low because they’re part of making responsible decisions and keeping me healthy. But other routines, those that I put in place only to avoid anxiety, can become like a prison.”
I nodded, staring unseeingly out the window behind her. “Makes perfect sense to me.” Bringing my attention back to her, I added, “And isn’t that true with anyone, not just people with OCD? Getting in a bad routine, a rut, is the same as developing and sticking to bad habits. There’s a reason they say bad habits are hard to break.”
“Or people who are habits,” she mumbled.
“Pardon?”
Shelly finished arranging her banana and lifted her gaze to mine. “People can become bad habits.”
“I suppose that’s true.” I slanted my head, considering this. “Like my—my momma and Darrell.” I stumbled over calling Bethany my momma. It didn’t seem right, knowing what I knew now.
But I didn’t have time to dwell on the issue. I needed to focus on Shelly, so I pushed it aside.
“You think your father was a bad habit for your mother?”
“Well, he wasn’t a good habit. Until he went after Billy in front of her, Bethany kept letting him back in our lives. And when he treated her well, when he’d compliment her, or make her feel special, she was so happy, her feet didn’t touch the ground. He walked on water. It was like she was addicted to him.”
Shelly nodded thoughtfully, her features more serious than they’d been just moments prior. “You deserve the best, Beau.”
“Thanks. So do—”
“I mean it. Don’t let anyone in your life who isn’t the best, and don’t hesitate walking away from a person who can’t give you what you need.”
“O-o-o-okay.” Something about her tone raised the hairs on the back of my neck, had me sitting straighter and peering at her. “You referring to anyone specifically?”
Shelly used her fork to spear a piece of banana, then a piece of pancake, saying quickly before shoving the bite in her mouth, “No one specifically, just crazy people in general.”
22
“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”
― John Milton, Paradise Lost
* * *
*Shelly*
“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”