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“And in just over two years’ time, he’s built a whole new life for himself out of what assets were left in a bank account, using sheer resolve, determination and emotional strength.”
“He’s not likely going to be a man who buckles under feelings of desperation, and takes his own life,” Becky said. “He’s not your father.”
Exactly.
“I can’t argue with you about any of this,” her friend said. “It all makes sense.”
“So you think I should do it.”
“I think that if you actually sleep with Blake Smith again, you’re going to break your own heart, Annie.”
“So you think I shouldn’t do it.” They were climbing another hill. A smaller one. Annie’s quads knotted with pain.
“Oh, Ann. This isn’t anything I can help with. It’s too personal, too you, for my opinion or anyone else’s to make a difference. I think that you have to follow your heart. Regardless of what it, or anyone else, tells you.”
They’d crested the hill, and with Becky’s words ringing in her ears, Annie sailed down the opposite side, scared to death to hear what her heart had to say.
POST-TRAUMATIC stress disorder.
Rubbing tired eyes, Blake lay in bed Monday night, the worn and wrinkled pamphlet held out in front of him.An anxiety disorder that is triggered by a life-threatening event.
Which narrowed it right down, didn’t it? In the privacy of his own mind, the disgruntled thought surfaced.
Who hadn’t, at some time in the course of a life, had a life-threatening experience? Anyone who’d ever been in a car accident, or even a bad storm. Millions of women and children were abused every day, but only half of the victims ever developed symptoms of PTSD.
So why him?
Sufferers of PTSD exhibit three basic symptoms. All three must be present for a PTSD diagnosis. They are…
And they were listed. Blake could recite them by heart. Reliving the trauma—oftentimes without warning. And he knew to his detriment that this wasn’t merely remembering it, but experiencing it just as if it were happening again. Then there was the need to create a safe environment and stay within it as much as possible. Isolating oneself from things that might trigger a memory of the event. And the onset of symptom one. And last was the natural reaction to the first two. Constantly being on guard. Jumping at the slightest sound.
He could add a few more. Like episodes of sleep paralysis. Problems with drinking. Conduct disorder. Dependence on drugs. Hell, he could write a book about the damn condition.
What he couldn’t seem to do was rid himself of it.
ANNIE LOOKED AT HER CHART. The dates and entries in all columns. The rising curve. Tuesday, October 9.
She had a choice to make.Now.
She could do nothing. And that would be a choice. Because if she didn’t call Blake this month, he’d know she’d changed her mind. Wasn’t sure. She’d give him a month to change his mind.
Cole would be asking her if she’d seen Blake. As if she had to answer to her little brother about whether or not she’d had sex with her ex-husband.
This whole thing was a mess. Far too complicated.
Which was why she should keep the appointment she had in Houston. And make others. Do interviews. Sign a contract. Visit a clinic. Complete the project.
And get on with her life. Get on with the business of having a baby and making a family. A home.
Making use of her capacity to love fully and completely.
Being the mother she was meant to be.
She was healthy. Strong. She’d survived a missing and presumed dead love of her life. A miscarriage. A tragic return. A failed marriage. She’d survived the suicide of her father, a man she’d adored. The breakdown of a mother she’d relied upon.
The growing up of the little brother she’d cared for with all the intensity of a new mother with her firstborn. And she’d been thirteen at the time. She was a successful and sought-after newspaper reporter. A college graduate. A champion biker.
There was no doubt that Annie Kincaid could take the heat. Go the distance. Move an entire community to think more positively.
