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Cradling the warm cup between my hands, I make my way to the couch. Why is it, that if I’m relieved to know the truth, I feel even worse? Sitting down, I place my mug on the coffee table and reach for a small lavender book I don’t recognize. Mom must’ve left this here.Everything I Need To Know I Learned From Betty White.That sounds like the type of mentor my mom would have.
Flipping through the colorful pages, I think back to my teen years when Mom and I would snuggle up laughing at reruns ofThe Golden Girls. It never felt like Betty White was acting when I watched her. I snicker. You simply believed that was her. Sure, she was an actress. It was her job to convince you that what you saw was real, but I’ve seen her interviewed countless times, and her infectious personality and uncanny comedic timing were genuinely her.
As I pour through the countless anecdotes and pearls of wisdom inside this tiny square book, I find I’m more and more impressed with the life she led. She was humble, put back into the world what she got from it, and wasn’t afraid to take chances. Reaching for my tea, I take a sip, feeling grateful that this little book of my mother’s could bring some lightness to an otherwise heavy day.
I start to close the book when the bookmark inside snags my attention.God will never leave you or forsake you.Hmm. While we’ve never been a particularly religious family, my mother would often take us to church on Sundays when we were young. Then we gradually turned into Christmas and Easter Christians. My mother worked hard to provide for Roger and me and said she was exhausted by Sunday morning. It didn’t change her belief whether she read the word in a church pew or at her kitchen table.
I haven’t been as good about keeping the faith. Once I became pregnant with Myla, and Dillon shipped off, life seemed to steam roll through my existence. I was essentially on a treadmill, just trying to keep up. But the bones were there. I’m not sure how I would’ve survived Dillon’s death if I didn’t believe a higher power was watching over us. My finger trails over the pretty yellow script on the bookmark.God will never leave you or forsake you.Although, believing he was watching over us or not, thereweretimes I doubted the words inscribed here.
The pages of the book start to close in on the colorful bookmark when I notice the passage on the next page.
It’s Your Life.
Flipping the book back open, I sit up taller, my pulse picking up as I read the caption.
“You might not get to choose how everything plays out, but you do have the final say in which paths you take.”
My fingers hurriedly scan the next paragraph. It highlights that what set Betty White apart from other female celebrities, was the fact she refused to let anyone else call the shots. She lived life on her terms.
Despite the summer weather and the warm tea, a chill sets my hair on end. Am I making more of this than I should? I mean, it’s not like Betty White is speaking to me from the grave. I’m overly tired and looking for answers where there aren’t any. What time is it anyway?
1:10 a.m.
I inhale so loudly I begin to splutter. How can that be?
Nothing good ever happens at 1:10.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Jillian
The last fewdays have been a powder keg of emotions. One moment I’m crying tears of joy that Luca isn’t the man the news portrayed him to be, the next I’m overwhelmed with guilt for how I’ve treated him. There’s gratitude that his cousin was able to free him from jail before anything worse could happen, followed by utter grief that I can’t go to him. That none of us can have him back in our lives.
I lie awake at night, tears quietly spilling onto my pillow, wondering how anyone withstands this much grief. Haven’t we lost enough? Why were we able to meet someone who fit so perfectly into our family, just to be told he can’t stay?
Choking down a sob, I cover my mouth with the back of my hand. As it falls to my chest, I miss the cool feel of metal against my skin that reminded me of the patron saint who has abandoned us.
“Why?” I cry out in the middle of the parking lot. “Why?” I sob. “We’ve never hurt anyone. My mother, brother… my children.” I sniffle. “And Luca. We only wanted to live a happylife. Is that so much to ask for?” My body is racked with sobs. I couldn’t make it a few more feet into the therapist’s office? No. I had to fall apart out here. I’m sure this is quite entertaining for anyone waiting in their vehicle or peering out the office windows.
Swiping at my tears, I make a dash back to my car to quickly try and get myself together. My swollen face might look like I’m having an allergic reaction, but at least I can get the snot and bucket full of tears under control. Boy. The good doctor is going to earn his keep today.
Walking into Dr. Miller’s office this time feels very different from the day I met him. Not only is the waiting room teaming with clients hoping to find solace in his care, but I’m not the same person I once was. I marched into that office, having no idea how good I had it. And now I return a broken shell of a woman.
I’ve come too far to allow anyone else to dictate my worth. But now that I’ve learned Luca is not to blame for all of this, I don’t know how to move on.
Do any other psychiatrists work here? By the looks of things, I could be here a long time. I check in with the pretty receptionist. “Hi. Are appointments running behind today?” I nod to the crowded room.
“No. A few clients are here as walk-ins. They know they won’t be seen until after his appointments are over for the day unless someone is a no-show.”
Wow. Does he stay late to fit all of these people in?
A young man exits from the door that I recall leads to Dr. Miller’s office and several people from the waiting area stand to join him. Ah, well that explains some of this.
I take a seat and lean toward the table beside me to peruse the magazines.
“Jillian?” The receptionist calls.
Holy cow. I wasn’t expecting that. Springing from my chair, I follow her down the hallway to Dr. Miller’s office.
