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She wanted to ask him if he’d known a woman who came out on the other side . . . or one whose husband had changed his mind . . . but they were such intimate and revealing questions, so she remained silent.
He slipped the glasses back onto his nose and peered at her. “This is a time when you want to take dang good care of yourself, Annie. Depression isn’t a thing to trifle with. And if it all gives you too many sleepless nights, you come on back around. I’ll give you a prescription. ”
“Pills to take the place of a lover?” She forced a grim smile. “Those must be some drugs. Maybe I’ll just take a handful now. ”
He didn’t smile. “Handful isn’t a word I like to hear, and sarcasm doesn’t sit pretty on a lady’s tongue, missy. Now, how long are you sticking around?”
She felt a wash of shame, as if she were ten years old again. “Sorry. I have to go . . . home in mid-June. ” Unless Blake calls. She shivered inwardly at the thought. “I guess
I’ll be here until then. ”
“Mid-June, huh? Okay, I want to see you on June first. No matter what. I’ll set you up with an appointment, okay?”
It felt good to have someone care about her progress. “Okay. I’m sure I’ll be better by then. ”
He walked Annie out of the clinic. Patting her shoulder, he reminded her again to take care of herself, then he turned and disappeared back down the hallway.
Annie felt better as she left the clinic and headed across town to the park. The crisp spring air rejuvenated her, and the sky was so blue and bright she had to put her sunglasses back on. It was one of those rare early spring days that held all the promise of summer. She passed a huge chainsaw-cut statue of a Roosevelt elk and wound through the park, kicking through the last black winter leaves that clung to the dewy grass.
She found Hank sitting on the same wooden bench that had always been alongside the river. She sat down beside him.
He handed her a Styrofoam cup of steaming hot coffee. “Bet you haven’t had a decent cup of coffee since high school. ”
She curled her fingers around the warm cup. “I do have a latte machine, Dad. ”
They sipped their coffees in silence. Annie listened to the comforting, familiar sound of the rushing water.
He pulled a croissant out of a paper sack and handed it to her. Her stomach rebelled at the thought of eating, and she waved it away.
“What did the doc say?” Hank asked.
“Big surprise . . . I’m depressed. ”
“Are you pissed off yet?”
“Last night I pictured Blake being eaten by piranhas— that seems angry, don’t you think?” He didn’t answer, just stared at her until, more softly, she said, “I was for a while, but now, I’m too . . . empty to be angry. ” She felt tears rise and she couldn’t stop them. Humiliated, she looked away. “He thinks I’m nothing, Dad. He expects me to live off alimony and be . . . nothing. ”
“What do you think?”
“I think he’s right. ” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Give me some advice, Dad. Some words of wisdom. ”
“Life sucks. ”
She laughed in spite of herself. It was exactly what she would have expected him to say, and even though it didn’t help, the familiarity of it was comforting. “Thanks a lot, Dad. I ask for wisdom and you give me bumper stickers. ”
“How do you think people come up with bumper stickers?” He patted her hand. “Everything is going to work out, Annie. Blake loves you; he’ll come around. But you can’t keep spending all your time in that bed. You need to get out. Do something. Find something to keep you busy until Blake gets his head out of his ass. ”
“Or hers. ”
“Nice comment from my little girl. Here’s one for you,” he said with a smile. “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. ”
She pictured the pitcher of lemonade she’d made for Blake, and then the big splotch of it that had bled across the settlement papers. “I don’t like lemonade. ”
His look turned serious. “Annie Virginia, I think you don’t know what you like, and it’s about time you found out. ”
She knew he was right. She couldn’t go on the way she had been, waiting for a phone call that wasn’t going to come, crying constantly.
“You’ve got to take some risks, honey. ”
