A Missing Heart Read online

  “I’m not sure.” It kills me to watch it. I can’t comprehend it. He’s a product of her and me, and I feel that every time I look at his little face.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks.

  I twist my head to the side, looking at her out of the corner of my eye. “I actually don’t know. I’m not happy. That’s all I do know.”

  “You deserve to be happy,” she says quietly.

  “And right this second…” I turn completely toward her, needing her to understand the importance of what I’m trying to say. “I’m as happy as I can be, despite the shit I’ve seen and heard today.”

  Inappropriate thoughts seep through the bruised cracks of my mind, thoughts that don’t have a place in my screwed up life at the moment.

  “Me too,” she mutters. “Wait. I have an idea.”

  Yeah, I do too…

  Cammy stands up from the couch and kneels down in front of the mini-fridge. I watch her every move as her pants pull away from her back, revealing the slightest view of a black laced thong. I need to bite down on my knuckles as she pulls open the fridge door and takes out two bottles of Coke and four assorted nips of hard liquor.

  She places them down on the coffee table in front of me and runs into the bathroom, returning with two glasses. “We’ve never had a drink together,” I tell her, laughing a little.

  “‘I can’t chance losing my scholarship for a stupid high school party’,” she mocks her seventeen-year-old self. “I know now that I should have lived it up a little. Just a little.”

  “It’s never too late to make up for lost time,” I tell her.

  I concoct some awful drinks and hand her one of the glasses. “To Ever,” she says, tapping her glass against mine.

  “To Everything.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  NORMALLY, AFTER A day like today, I’d want to get to bed as fast as possible to close out the day and seal it up in my mental never-remember-this box, but today is different. Today, or tomorrow—whatever day it is—hasn’t ended, and I’m not sure I would complain about it. It’s like someone is de-weeding my life.

  “Do you remember the night we went down to that old farmhouse,” Cammy says, giggling into the back of her hand.

  “Oh my God, we almost got busted big time that night,” I add. “It probably wasn’t the best place to hook-up, you know, after finding out someone did actually live in that house. We were kind of asking for it.”

  A blush flashes across Cammy’s cheeks. “It’s a good thing the cop was new and didn’t know my dad,” she says.

  “What if he did know your dad? What if your dad knew who I was? I never did understand why you didn’t tell your parents about me before you got pregnant. It bothered me,” I tell her, as I refill my glass with the crap nips we saved for last.

  “It wasn’t you, AJ,” she says, falling back into the couch cushion. “I wasn’t allowed to date. Mom and Dad were kind of old school and told me I had to wait until I was eighteen.”

  “Old school?” I laugh. “Back in their day, kids were hooking up way before eighteen. They just didn’t talk about it.”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “I have no idea what their problem was; although, if I had actually listened to them—”

  “We’d be missing Everything,” I tell her.

  She lifts her glass up, toasting the air, and chugs it down. “I love her so much,” she says. “It’s amazing how all of those feelings came rushing back to me instantly, like a magnetic connection.”

  “Yeah,” I say, exhaling loudly. “I know a thing or two about those instant magnetic connections.” I meant it how I said it, and it’s not about Ever this time.

  Cammy releases a small cough and places her hand over her cheek, knowing exactly what I meant. “AJ,” she sighs.

  “Cammy,” I mimic her tone.

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” she says quietly.

  “Not a bit,” I confirm.

  “Although, you don’t seem as funny as you used to be,” she says, straightening her posture, as if she needed a dagger to fight me off.

  “I’ve been doing my best to find my sense of humor these past couple of years, but yeah.”

  “I’m sorry you haven’t been happy.” She looks down into her glass and takes another sip.

  “I’m sorry you haven’t been happy. All I wanted was for you to live the life you wanted.”

  “I guess things have a way of happening for a reason,” she says.

  “I think you’re right.”

  My heart is pounding and my breaths feel short while my nerves are all awake and piercing through every inch of my skin. My body is aching and my mind is closing out the rational side of my conscience—forgetting all the reasons why I should have explained myself to Cammy tonight and then gone home. I place my glass down on the coffee table and hang my head between my shoulders, struggling with my nagging thoughts. Interrupting my internal battle, Cammy’s hand rests on my back. “You okay?”

  “No,” I tell her, shaking my head.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  I lift my head and, finding her face close to mine, I grab her by the shoulders and forcefully push her down onto the couch. Her eyes are wide, large, blazing at me with wonder, and—I think—hope. I swallow hard and crawl over her, resting one foot on the ground, and two hands on either side of her face. Her chest is moving up and down quickly, and I hear her swallow her nerves. I lean forward, bringing my lips less than an inch from hers. I can already taste the liquor on her breath, and her eyes tell me she’s accepting of whatever might happen before they gently flutter closed. Her lashes feather her flushed skin, and my chest begins to hurt. It might explode.

  As difficult as it is, I find the willpower to stop before this goes any further. This is not the right time for anything like this to happen. “I need to do this right,” I tell her. Placing my hand on her cheek while stroking a small circle with the pad of my thumb, I press my lips to her forehead. “I need to figure out my marriage first, or the lack of marriage.”

  Cammy looks embarrassed as she pulls herself up against the armrest of the couch. “I’m so sorry,” she says, breathlessly.

  “No, do not be sorry. Do you understand?”

  “You’re right, though. I don’t want to be the other woman,” she says, clutching at the neckline of her blouse.

  I huff a quiet laugh. “The other woman?” I give her a half smile. “You could never be the other woman, which is why I need to figure my shit out.”

  She nods hastily. “Yes, you do.”

  “Am I awful for not being at the hospital with her tonight?” I ask her.

  “I don’t know,” she says, offering a sympathetic grimace. “If she had gotten hurt accidentally, I might question your integrity, but she’s obviously dealing with something she can’t seem to explain. Maybe Tori doesn’t even know what it is that’s bothering her. It’s good she’s getting help.”

  “I just feel guilty. She told me from the beginning she didn’t want kids. When Gavin came along and I talked her into becoming a family, I had no idea it would end up like this, but as she says, she did try to warn me.”

  “AJ, if there’s one thing I know about you, one thing that I’m almost positive never could have changed, it’s your determination to always do the right thing. So if you’re not at the hospital tonight, I have to believe there’s a very good reason for that—whether it’s anger or exhaustion. I wouldn’t question you or your decisions. I think if she told you that she wanted you with her, you’d be there.”

  While her words lessen my guilt, the person I am would usually have seen this through until there was nothing else to be done. I know Tori doesn’t want to be with me, and I’ve kept us together with all of my strength but maybe it’s time to start letting go.

  Refocusing on the good, I look back at Cammy. “Are you really staying here? In our town?” I ask her, needing to know I’m not going to come
looking for her and find out that she’s run back to D.C. again. I don’t know if I could handle that.

  “I miss home, and I miss my best friend, so I’m not going anywhere, AJ…no matter how things in your life get figured out,” she answers, with a small smile.

  I pull her into me, embracing her tightly, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair and skin. How the hell am I supposed to figure things out when I already feel like they’ve been figured out for me? I know what—who—I want.

  Settling myself into the corner of the couch, I pull Cammy to my side, wrapping my arm around her shoulders so it’s easy for her to rest her head on my chest. The comfort of this moment is as far as I can take things before I make any further decisions, and I’ll take it. I’ve waited so long to just be near her again. After only a few minutes, the sounds of her elongated breaths soothe me into closing my eyes and falling asleep too.

  “Um…guys,” Ever says, yanking me from the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. When I open my eyes, I find Cammy still asleep in the crook of my arm. Her hand is resting on my chest and her head is on my shoulder. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Ever,” I say in a scolding tone.

  “At least you both have your clothes on,” she mutters.

  “Knock it off, will you?” I argue.

  She grins, like she just figured out how to annoy the crap out of me. “Okay,” she says through an exaggerated sigh.

  “You know, it’s a Monday. We should probably enroll you in a school or something.”

  “Cameron said she was going to handle that today, after we either get our clothes and belongings back or buy new ones.” I would kind of rather Cameron buy Ever some new clothes.

  “That sounds like a great plan,” I say, as Cammy presses her hand into my chest and lifts her face from my shoulder.

  “Crap,” she croaks before dropping her head back into my shoulder. That couldn’t have felt good.

  Ever looks around the room and spots the empty bottles scattered along the coffee table. “Have fun last night?”

  Cammy covers her face with her hand and groans. “You don’t see anything,” she slurs through her fingers. “We already suck at this parenting thing. This is why people raise children from babies. So they know better, not to leave evidence behind.”

  I should have known better. I have raised a baby—I’m raising a baby who’s with my brother while I’m asleep on a hotel couch. God. I need to put my life back into some kind of order today.

  I lift Cammy up a little, placing a pillow beneath her head to replace my shoulder. “Can I get you anything before I take off? I should get down to the hospital to check on Tori. Then I have to grab Gavin.”

  “I think I saw a pain reliever in the snack bar, and—” she twists her head to look up at me. “Can I meet Gavin later?”

  “Of course,” I tell her. “Here, put your number in my phone.” I hand her my phone and shovel through the mess we made in the snack bar last night. “Got it.”

  I grab a bottle of water too, and place them both down on the table as she hands me my phone back.

  I call her number from my phone, hearing it ring a couple of times before I end the call. “There, now you have my number also. If you need a lift anywhere today, give me a call. Otherwise, I’ll give you a ring a little later.”

  She slaps her arm over her eyes and forces a tight-lipped smile. Looks like the nasty drinks we had last night didn’t agree with her. She’s probably going to get sick. “Thanks, AJ.”

  “And you,” I point to Ever, “Take care of her, okay?”

  “I’m used to helping with hangovers,” she says. “Don’t worry.”

  I close my eyes and slap the air. “We’ll discuss that more later. God.”

  My drive over to the hospital feels like it takes forever, and the heaviness of my head isn’t helping. Thoughts of the scene with Tori last night were a blur as I raced over to the hotel to find Cammy, in hopes of having someone to talk this out with, but that went in a completely different direction. Now that I’m getting closer to seeing Tori, though, the real understanding of what went down last night is sickening. What do they do about serial suicide attempts? Clearly, the meds they had her on weren’t working or aren’t strong enough. Though, while on the meds she came home with originally after last year’s episode, she was like a zombie for two weeks before they adjusted the prescription.

  When I arrive at the hospital, I take a deep breath, preparing for this next adventure in my day as I walk in through the main entrance. I go up to the tenth floor where the psych department is and approach the front desk. “Can I help you?” a receptionist asks.

  “I’m here to visit my wife, Tori Cole.” My wife who no longer wants to be my wife, I should add. She types something into her computer and waits a brief moment for something to pop up on the monitor.

  The woman looks up at me and inhales sharply. “She’s in confinement right now.”

  “Confinement?” I ask, feeling the sickness in my stomach grow.

  “I’m not allowed to discuss any further details with you, sir.”

  “So, I can’t see her?” I ask, cracking each of my knuckles below the counter. What could have happened? I watched them put her in the ambulance.

  “I’ll have the doctor on duty come speak with you. You can have a seat in through here. I’ll buzz you in,” she says, pointing to the closed doors beside the reception desk.

  I walk through the armed doors and take a seat, feeling uncomfortable sitting here in what doesn’t look like a waiting area. While being modern, the whole area is bare and stark, apparently in an attempt to be devoid of anything patients could use to harm themselves or others. Patients are walking by, looking at me like I don’t belong on this floor. I can’t help wondering what each of these people did to end up in this part of the hospital. It’s one of those things people don’t usually speak about. At least, I’ve never been too aware of what happens here, how they treat a suicidal patient. Tori didn’t want me here last time either, and by the time she was brought to this floor, I was already gone. I can assume it’s embarrassing to be here.

  I make my way through two magazines while I sit and wait for the doc to come out and talk to me, but I’m growing more uncomfortable by the minute, as I’ve now seen a woman being dragged into her room, crying and screaming. A man has run through the halls completely naked, and a teenage girl tried her hand at sneaking out.

  “Mr. Cole?” a doctor asks, turning a nearby corner. I nod my head, and he says, “Come with me,” tilting his head for me to follow him. Silently, we walk down the hall until we reach an office, where he closes the door behind me. “Have a seat.”

  I take a seat across from his oversized, dark wooden desk and interlace my fingers together, squeezing my hands tightly while I anxiously wait for him to talk. “We’ve done a number of tests on Tori, and everything has come back clear, which means there is nothing physically attributing to her disorder. It seems to be purely caused by trauma.”

  “Yes,” I agree. “I would believe that’s correct.”

  “Are you aware of the traumatic event that seems to have started her illness? She has given me permission to speak with you about it.”

  “I am now. She told me everything, I think, last night.”

  The doctor nods his head with understanding. “Our head psychiatrist was also able to have a breakthrough with her last night, as well. It definitely helps us to have a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  “While trauma affects each person differently, it’s harsher when the trauma occurs during childhood, as adults have better coping mechanisms than children do. Tori has an extreme case of post-traumatic-stress disorder, and while we were somewhat aware of this fact, we are coming to learn how serious it is at this point.” The doctor leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head, expelling a long breath.
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br />   “What’s the plan now, then?” I ask, leaning forward, needing to find a way to get more air into my lungs.

  “We’ve suggested keeping her here and placing her into another rehab program, which she has agreed to, but this time, we’re going to need to work together to come up with a long-term plan that will allow Tori to heal properly, which could prolong the length, as well as the quality, of her life.”

  “What would something like that be?” I ask.

  “Mr. Cole,” he begins. “Typically, I’m pretty big on family and keeping them together. I have a wife and three kids, so that’s where my head usually is. But, Tori’s trigger is your son. For a reason neither of us can fully comprehend, motherhood has been detrimental to her mental health. Technically, one could argue that the loss of her mother and sister should have nothing to do with you or your son, but Tori is channeling parts of her mother, while also focusing on the death of her sister, which she takes full blame for. At least that’s the conclusion we have currently come to.”

  I recoil a bit, taking in everything he’s saying. “What are you saying?” He’s telling me the same thing she said to me last night. Not that this very same thought hasn’t entered my mind a few times this past year, but I’ve tried my hardest to stand by her side through the many thin parts of our marriage.

  “Like I said, this is not a normal situation, AJ, and we’re talking about the health and safety of your wife.”

  “Can I talk to her about this?” I ask. Not that she didn’t make it all clear last night, but I need to hear it when she’s calm and not speaking through raging emotions.

  “Sure,” he says. “I just wanted to have this conversation first so things weren’t shocking if you hear it from her.”

  “This isn’t a surprise,” I assure him. “They said she was in confinement? I didn’t realize that was something you did here.”

  He nods, while standing up with a file of papers. “Yes, she was not compliant this morning and still searching for a method to take her own life. It was for her own safety.”