Page 20 of Trusting a Warrior

“Hello.” Fumbling to put away her phone, she stood and extended her hand to her new therapist, surprised when, instead of shaking it, Maura took it between both her own.

“So delighted to meet you. Please come in.”

With a motherly pat to her fingers, Maura released her and led her into the office. Lani glanced around in awe, taking in the butter-yellow walls, polished wood laminate and colorful throw rugs. Instead of the stiff Naugahyde couch she’d been expecting, there was a well-worn leather loveseat across from an elegant wingback chair.

The polished coffee table in between held a sterling silver tea service on it.

“This is beautiful,” she mumbled. “Cozy.”

“Thanks.” Maura chuckled. “It’s definitely my home away from home.” As she moved to her desk to pick up a legal pad, she asked, “Would you mind pouring us some tea while I get situated? Even if you don’t care for any, dear, I’ll still take some.”

“Uh, sure.” Lani set her purse down next to the loveseat and sank down onto it before reaching for one of the delicate flowered teacups. “What kind of tea is it?”

“Roiboos with organic hibiscus and lemongrass. One of my favorites.”

The act of pouring the fragrant tea was soothing, and by the time Maura took her seat and murmured her thanks for the cup and saucer Lani placed in front of her, Lani’s anxiety had almost totally eased.

Give me a small task to perform so that I feel like a guest making myself at home rather than a bug under a microscope. Oh, you’re good.

As she sipped, she glanced around the room. In addition to the seating area, there was a large wooden desk and matching bookshelf, the latter holding an eye-pleasing mixture of books and a few framed photos. One in particular caught Lani’s attention, that of a young man dressed in crisp green/brown camouflage, his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows.

A Marine.

“That’s my son, Vincent,” Maura said softly, following her gaze. “It’s the last picture I have of him. He completed suicide two weeks later.”

Lani gripped her mug in suddenly cold fingers, unable to stop staring at Vincent’s bright, seemingly happy smile. “Why?”

She hadn’t realized she’d whispered the word aloud until Maura said, “I wish I knew. That’s one of the things I’ve had to learn to accept, the fact I’ll never know why.”

“He didn’t leave a note?” Lani’s voice was hushed. “There weren’t any warning signs?”

“Oh, in hindsight there were things, but they were things that never struck us as out of the ordinary or were easily explained away by puberty or teenage angst. When he died, he didn’t leave a note, no explanation at all.”

“How long ago?”

“Eleven years.”

With a bitter snort, Lani put her mug down with a muffled clink. “You seem so much farther along than I am, Maura, and he was your child, not just—”

“Not just a brother?” Maura said gently when she didn’t go on. “Like you’re not allowed to grieve because he’s not someone you gave birth to?”

Lani shrugged and twisted her fingers together. God, she wished she was anywhere but here.

“After Tyler died, my parents seemed to forget I existed,” she said. “All the focus was on them. Everyone kept telling me to be strong for them, to be there for them, since I was the only kid they had left.”

“The forgotten mourners.” Nodding, Maura sipped her tea. “I’ve heard that a lot from sibling survivors. I was guilty of it myself with my own surviving children.” A spasm of pain crossed her face. “It’s taken years to repair that damage.”

Maura’s openness chased away a little more of Lani’s tension. She picked up her tea again. “So how do we do this therapy thing?”

With a smile, Maura said, “Well, we just keep on doing what we’ve been doing. We can talk about stuff that’s bothering you, stuff you’d like to get off your chest. I’m here for you, Lani.”

A short silence fell, broken only by the clink of cup hitting saucer. Maura sat relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, her legal pad casually open on her lap.

Lani’s eyes went to Vincent in his uniform again, and she bit her lip.

“Lani?” Maura’s voice was soft, encouraging. “What are you thinking about?”

“My ex.”