You, Me and a Palm Tree Page 4

  ♪

  THE NEXT MORNING, I’m awake with the sun. I get up and make coffee, let Hank Junior and Patsy outside, where they sniff all the new sniffing spots that popped into existence overnight.

  I sit on the terrace and watch them trot from one location to the next, tails wagging all the while. I think how simple and complete their happiness is, living in the moment, nothing from the past or the future to weigh them down.

  I can’t help but wish we humans had the ability to live like that. But we bring our past into the present, and that inevitably shapes our future.

  I take a sip of the hot coffee, noticing the taste doesn’t appeal to me as it usually does. Food in general hasn’t tasted the same since I left the hospital, my appetite more of a forced effort than any real desire to eat.

  I think of Mr. Gearly and wonder how he is this morning. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have absolutely no one in the world to care what happened to me. To give me the will to go on even when I didn’t want to.

  I call Hank Junior and Patsy to come inside and then go upstairs to get dressed. I’m quiet, and Holden doesn’t wake up. I write a note for him and Mama, put it on the kitchen counter and leave the house.

  ♪

  THE DOOR TO his room is closed. I knock once, and when there’s no answer, stick my head inside. “Mr. Gearly?”

  The light in the room is low, but I can see that his eyes are open, fixed on the wall in front of him.

  “You should have let me die in that chair,” he says in a voice so soft I can barely hear him. “I don’t have anything left to offer this world.”

  “I don’t believe that,” I say, walking over to sit on the chair next to the bed.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “The truth can change. I believe we make our truth.”

  He finally lets his gaze meet mine, his eyes filled with a torment that must be impossible to bear.

  “Would you believe it if I told you I never in my wildest dreams imagined my life would end up like this?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “I actually used to play football in college.”

  “What position?”

  “Linebacker. Hurt my knee junior year and lost my scholarship. I didn’t come from much, and finding the money to pay for tuition seemed like something that just wouldn’t happen.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I started driving a truck. It was something that didn’t put stress on my knee, and I could handle the long distances. But I was used to eating a lot, playing football, and I guess when I quit all that exercise, everything changed. After I got married, I had an even harder time controlling the weight gain. My wife was a good cook. When I was home, I took advantage of it.”

  “You’re not the only person in the world this has happened to, Mr. Gearly.”

  “Maybe not. But I let it break up my marriage. And ruin my daughter’s life.”

  “Don’t say that,” I say. “She needed help. And you didn’t know.”

  “I should have. I was too absorbed with my own misery though.”

  “Maybe it’s time to make up for that.”

  He looks over at me then, his eyes imploring. “What do you mean?”

  “By getting better, the fact that she took care of you won’t be a waste.”

  “I’m not trying to be rude by asking this question, but why would you care? After what she did to you and your husband?”

  I consider my answer for a few moments before saying, “Because I believe that a wrong will never fix a wrong. Only a right can do that.”

  ♪

  A NURSE COMES in and asks me if I can leave the room while they administer some medicine. She smiles at me, says she’s a big fan and looks sorry for asking me to leave. I tell Mr. Gearly I’ll check on him later. He thanks me, and I can tell he won’t be surprised if I never come back.

  Outside in the hallway, I see the doctor Holden and I had spoken with yesterday. I walk up to him and ask him for an update.

  Dr. Adams looks up from the chart he’s scribbling notes on and gives me an assessing look before saying, “Surprisingly better than I would have expected.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “May I ask you a question, Ms. Ashford?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Is this like some pet project you’re going to lose interest in before long? Because if it is, I think you’re doing Mr. Gearly a disservice by making him think you’re going to be around when he’s trying to figure out where to go from here.”

  I feel the sting of the words like a slap across the face. I force myself to count to five before I answer. “Do you have any idea how quickly your indifference can crush a person’s will to fight?”

  “I’m not indifferent, Ms. Ashford. But this man has a real fight ahead of him. And as far as I can tell, it’s one he’ll be waging without family. It seems unfair to me that you would get his hopes up.”

  “I am not trying to get his hopes up,” I say, reaching the end of my patience. “I’m trying to help him. Since when did that become a crime?”

  “It’s not a crime, Ms. Ashford. Just highly unusual for someone in your position.”

  “And what position is that, Dr. Adams?”

  “A position of affluence.”

  “So because I’ve achieved some level of success, I’m incapable of an act of kindness?” I’m angry now, and I feel the heat of it in my face.

  “I would say this goes a little beyond a simple act of kindness.”

  “You know, Dr. Adams, I genuinely feel sorry for you. I don’t know what you’ve seen in this world to make you so jaded or so suspicious of another person’s motives. Whatever it is, I hope you figure it out and let it go, or for the rest of your career, your patients are going to pay the price for it.”

  My voice has risen, and people have stopped in the hall to turn and look. I walk away from Dr. Adams and hope they heard every word.

  ♪

  CeCe

  I RECEIVE A text from Mama right after I get in the car.

  Case asked me to come over today. If you’re okay, I’ll be there for a bit.

  I text her back.

  I’m fine. You two have a good time. I love you.

  I love you, honey.

  I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes. I try to figure out what I’m feeling, but the only word I can find for it is numb. It feels as if my life has been rolling along on a track I was completely happy to follow. And now it has come to an abrupt halt.

  I have no desire to move forward. Go left or right.

  For as long as I can remember, I’ve known what I wanted in life. Music. And once I met Holden, love. The music is something we’ve shared, made our bond that much deeper.

  But now, it’s as if a switch has been turned off inside me, and the music has gone silent. I can’t hear it anymore. There’s no song inside me.

  I think of the counselor I had seen for a while after the shooting. I don’t want to go and see her. But I know enough to realize that I should.

  I pick up my phone again, scroll through the contacts until I find her name and tap call.

  ♪

  Holden

  THE ROOM IS dark when I wake up. I squint at the clock next to the bed, amazed that’s it’s after ten. I realize the blackout curtains are drawn, and that must be why I’ve slept so long. CeCe and I use them sometimes when we’ve been on tour and need some extra sleep.

  I get up, take a fast shower and head downstairs. Hank Junior and Patsy are the only ones in the kitchen. I give them each a rub on the head and call out for CeCe. “Babe, are you here?”

  When there’s no answer, I spot the note on the counter. I pick it up and read her neat handwriting. Back later. Love you. CeCe

  I pick up my phone, tap her name on the call screen, but voice mail picks up immediately. I glance outside and see that her car and her mom’s car are both gone.

  I send CeCe a text, asking her to call me, and
when there’s no response after a minute or so, I call Thomas.

  “Hey,” he says on the first ring.

  “Hey. CeCe over there?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I slept late, and she’s out. Just thought she might have come over to visit with Lila.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah. She’s just struggling with this whole thing.”

  “Are you worried about her?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Come over. I’ll make you some coffee.”

  “Okay. Be there in a few.”

  Ten minutes later, I let the dogs out of the Rover’s back seat, and we meet Thomas at his front door. Brownie is next to him, wagging his tail so hard at the sight of Hank Junior and Patsy that it’s basically a blur.

  “Come on in,” Thomas says. “Lila took Lexie for a haircut. It’s just me and Brownie. We’ll let the buddies play out back.”

  Once the dogs are outside, trotting around one after another, Thomas puts a coffee mug on the counter and pours me a cup from the pot he’s already made. “Thanks,” I say. “Smells good.”

  Thomas pulls out a couple of stools at the counter, and we sit down.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  “Okay, I guess. It just feels like life’s been turned upside down. The way it did after the shooting.”

  “I remember the feeling, man. There’s just so much to process. The worst part for me was the realization that another human being wanted to actually hurt me. Kill me. You remember that feeling?”

  I nod. Because I do. It’s horrible.

  “I suspect that’s what CeCe’s going to have to deal with. This is the second time it’s happened to her, and it wasn’t only her, but also the child you two made together.”

  “I know.” We’re both quiet for a few moments, and then, I say, “She seems all right, Thomas. But maybe she’s just trying to be strong for me.”

  “If that’s the case, it won’t work. Grief is something we have to swim through to get to the other side.”

  I take a sip of the coffee, thinking about that. “I still can’t believe it happened. It’s just so messed up. I’m so angry at Charlotte, but at the same time, I feel beyond sorry for her. How do you sync those two things?”

  “I’m not sure you do. Maybe you have to come to terms with them individually.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “That I don’t know, friend.”

  ♪

  CeCe

  HAZEL McCORMACK LOOKS exactly like my fourth-grade math teacher, Mrs. Arlington. She has short red hair, cut in a pixie style. Her eyes are Irish green with flecks of gold in them. She’s also as no-nonsense as Mrs. Arlington, a get-to-the-point kind of person whose sole aim is to get the problem solved. I’m her current problem.

  It’s eleven o’clock when she leads me into her office and shuts the door behind us. “Thank you so much for working me in, Dr. McCormack. I hope it wasn’t an imposition.”

  “Not at all, dear. It just so happened I had a cancellation, and you know I’m always glad to see you. Please sit down.”

  I take a seat on her extremely deep sofa, my feet just barely touching the floor.

  “I read about the tragedy at your home. First, I’m so sorry that happened to you and your husband.”

  I nod, looking down at my hands. “Thank you. It’s been pretty awful.”

  “Was it true about the miscarriage?”

  I nod again, this time silent.

  “I’m so very sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is that why you’re here today?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so.”

  “Tell me how you’re feeling, CeCe.”

  “Empty.”

  “Can you tell me about that?”

  I shrug, looking out her paned window at a stretch of green grass. The park-like area contains benches where two young women are sitting and chatting while their toddlers play together. “Sort of like I’m not sure what the point is anymore.”

  “To life? Your work? Your marriage?”

  “I love my husband. He’s lost as much here as I have. I just wake up in the morning and wonder where I ever found the motivation to go after a career in music. I even wonder why I thought that would make me happy.”

  “From the things you’ve told me,” she says, “I think music did make you happy. From the time you were a little girl.”

  “I know that’s true, but it’s like I’ve lost the connection between then and where I am now. I have absolutely no desire to sing. That’s never happened to me. Singing for me has always been about joy. To be honest with you, I can’t imagine ever feeling joyful again.”

  “CeCe, your feelings are not uncommon, given what you’ve been through. Give yourself the right to take some time to heal. Your wounds are so fresh you’ve barely had time to identify them. Have you talked with Holden about this?”

  I shake my head. “I feel like I would be letting him and Thomas down if I said I didn’t want to sing anymore.”

  “Wouldn’t they both understand that you’re going to need some time to get through this?”

  “They would. But I know that music is how they both get through hard times.”

  “We all have our own ways. If they love you, which I can tell they do, they will give you the time you need.”

  “What if the joy never comes back?” I ask, looking at her now with tears in my eyes.

  “As we’ve discussed before, part of getting well again is believing that it will happen.”

  “I want to. But it feels as if I have a concrete block on my chest. It’s so heavy that the thought of trying to get out from beneath it seems impossible.”

  “I understand. That’s why we’ll work to move it a pound at a time. I think it might be a good idea for you to try an antidepressant for a few months. I know you don’t like to take medications, but this might be a time when you could really use the help.”

  “Can I think about that?” I ask.

  “Of course. Do you want to come back tomorrow? I have an opening in the afternoon.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Thank you, Dr. McCormack.”

  “I’m glad you called, CeCe. Sometimes, it’s easier not to reach out when we’re hurting. The fact that you did tells me how much you want to feel better.”

  “I do,” I say. Even though from here, I have no idea how I will get there.

  ♪

  Holden

  I’M GETTING READY to head home when Thomas’s cell phone rings. He answers, signaling for me to wait until he’s done before I leave. He listens for a moment, and says, “Hey, Jacob. What’s up, man?”

  I’m wondering Jacob “Who” when Thomas lip mouths, “Bartley.”

  Jacob Bartley. I raise my eyebrows. He made it big a few years after Case and is known for having a knack for reinventing his sound often enough to keep it interesting. Wonder why he’s calling Thomas.

  When it looks as if the conversation is going to go on for a bit, I write a note for Thomas and tell him I’m going home to see if CeCe is back. He nods, and I wave Hank Junior and Patsy to the front door, giving Brownie a rub before leaving him inside.

  I’m relieved to see that CeCe’s car is in the driveway when I pull in. The dogs beat me to the front door, and I call out for her as we step inside.

  “Up here,” she calls back from our bedroom.

  I take the stairs two at a time. She’s in bed, raising up on one elbow to squint at me. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I say softly, sitting down beside her and running a hand across her hair. “I was getting a little worried.”

  “I went to the hospital to see Mr. Gearly.”

  “How is he?” I ask.

  “A little improved this morning. We talked a bit. That Dr. Adams is determined to run me off though.”

  “Do I need to talk to him?” I ask, remembering how unpleasant he’d been yesterday.

  “I think he g
ot the message from me,” she says.

  “Good girl.”

  This brings a hint of a smile to her mouth, but only a hint.

  “I also went to see Dr. McCormack.”

  This surprises me, and I don’t do a very good job of hiding it. “You did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just feeling a little sad.”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” I say, sliding onto the bed beside her and pulling her into my arms. “What can I do?”

  “Hold me.”

  “All day long. All night long.”

  She presses a kiss to my chest. “She thought I should consider an antidepressant for a few months.”

  I pull back and look down at her, surprised. “She did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I told her I’d like to think about it.”

  “What can I do, babe?”

  “Just keep loving me.”

  “That’s easy. I want to take away your pain though.”

  She slides her arms around my neck and kisses me. I feel her need to blank out everything that has happened. More than anything, I want to do that for her.

  She starts to unbutton my shirt, slipping her hand inside. I lift her onto my lap, running my hands up the back of her blouse. She makes a soft sound of wanting and deepens the kiss. I tangle my hands in her long hair, and time seems to go still as we kiss and hold onto each other in the quiet of our bedroom.

  The instant I feel her tears, it’s as if a knife has been driven through the center of my heart. The pain is so intense I can barely breathe. “CeCe,” I say, broken.

  “Don’t stop,” she says softly. “Please, Holden. Don’t stop. I need you so much.”

  And now tears are falling down my own face. They melt into hers. She pushes my shirt from my shoulders, and I pull her blouse over her head, tossing it onto the floor. She unhooks her bra, and drops it too. With familiar movements, we lose the rest of our clothes, until we are skin to skin beneath the silk sheets of our bed, soul to soul in acknowledged pain.