“Suicide,” I correct him before he can finish.
Death to me was cancer or dying in your sleep. Something you had no control over. My father did. He decided to die. He decided to kill himself.
“Why do you do that? Correct me every time I say he died. Did he not die?”
“He killed himself.”
“Is there a difference?” I don’t know how to answer his question. Is there a difference? Part of me says no. Like cancer, my father was sick, and his illness killed him. But the other part of me—the angry and guilty part—says yes. He didn’t have to stop taking his meds. He could have tried harder.
“I don’t know,” I end up answering. He doesn’t push the issue of death, instead notes something down before continuing with his questions.
“Tell me. What’s one thing about your father dying that has stayed with you? I’m not talking about the scene, or how he died. I’m talking about you as his son. What’s one thing you’ve missed, or something you realized?”
It takes me a minute to think it through before I come up with something. Normally, if I do think about my father, it’s about the moment he left. I never think about anything else.
“I wasn’t expecting to find myself still losing parts of him months, even years later,” I finally answer.
“What do you mean?”
“Him dying didn’t sever the connection we had.” He holds my stare for a moment, not responding how I expected him to.
“Can you explain that to me?”
“You know, like the house. He was helping me work on it. I didn’t go out there for so long and the first time I did, I couldn’t remember where he had put something. I guess I didn’t, and I still don’t realize how connected to me he was.”
“And you to him.” He picks up my twist of words.
“And me to him.”
“Has anyone ever told you it’s okay to be angry at your father, Liam?”
“No. Usually, it’s used against me.”
“Why did you leave before Liberty woke up?”
“I was scared. I woke up, realized the fucked-up mess I was in and didn’t want her to see it. Didn’t want her to see me.”
Fucker did it again.
“But you let her see a part of it, in the shower?”
“Right. It was rock bottom. She already saw too much. She doesn’t need to see any more of this shit. I’m meant to be looking after her, not the other way around. What type of man breaks down like that?”
“What type of person, you mean? Because I see a man, even when we’ve been deep in session. You’re still a man. You’re still someone’s child. A son. You’re allowed to feel pain, Liam. You’re allowed to break. You’re allowed to cry. It doesn’t make you any less of a man. The only way you can move on and find peace with this is to allow yourself to let it happen.”
“By freaking out my woman? By breaking down to the point I have trouble breathing?” I ditch the hangnail and start flexing my fingers. Opening and closing, to calm myself.
“Those are normal reactions to have. I’d be worried if, after the incident with the father and his children, you didn’t have some kind of reaction. What you have been through will always stay with you, Liam. And yes, I know the job has to be black and white, but unfortunately, our lives are not. There are going to be days where you question things. The how’s and whys won’t ever stop coming. You have to realize that. But you also have to realize you can control it. You can work through it and not let it control you.”
“So how do I control it then?” I sit forward, almost eager for the magic cure.
“You do it by going back to work, by continuing to live. And by accepting you couldn’t save your father. You couldn’t then, and you sure can’t now. You do it with the help of people you love. By talking about it all with them. And by letting them in.
“I want to let her in. I want to open up to her—”
“Then let’s take it back to the first question.” He cuts me off before I can continue. “Why are you avoiding her, Liam?”
“Because...” I think about it for a second. “…because she deserves a happy ending, and I’m not sure I can give it to her.”
Twenty-Six
Liberty
Sunday.
Me: Talk to me Hetch.
Tuesday.
Me: Don’t push me away.
Wednesday.
Me: Please, Hetch…
Friday.
Me: Just tell me you’re okay.
Sunday.
Me: I miss you.
I scroll through my phone’s history willing a reply to appear.
Give it up, Liberty. He’s not going to answer.
“So, what’s new with you? It seems like you’ve dropped off the face of the earth these last few weeks.” Payton’s foot kicks me under the table, pulling me out of my moping.
“Sorry, what?” I drop my phone into my handbag and zip it up, locking it away from me.