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Now, I stare at the piece I started more than twelve years ago, a half-finished piece of the backyard. It is the exact view from this very window, if the backyard would have been maintained over the years. The pool house is there, along with the massive pool. The ocean is in the background, peaceful and calm, as the sun slowly begins to drop and night starts to settle in. And on the beach, a young couple, their hands entwined as they made promises of forever to each other.
Unkept promises.
It was to be his birthday gift. The moment we stood on the beach and vowed to spend the rest of our lives together. I captured it so vividly in my mind, I came home later that evening and began to put it on canvas. I spent two days working on that painting, and had several more to go, but knew I’d have it complete in time for his birthday the coming weekend.
I never got to finish it because the next night, we were gone.
And I never picked up a paintbrush again.
I have to turn away from the painting as the powerful memories it evokes are too painful to bear. My breathing is choppy, partly because of the dust stirred up by my admittance into the room and partly because of the panic attack. I feel it coming, hard and rough. Reaching for the chair, I slowly lower myself to the floor. I try to slow my breathing, but it’s not working. Nothing from the training the physicians gave me is working.
White dots pepper my vision as I reach for my phone. I don’t know why, but my hands are moving before I even have time to realize what I’m doing. I pull up my contacts and find the newest entry that was added when I began the remodel phase of the house. New View Landscaping. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know who’d be on the other end of that call, but now that I know?
I hit connect.
It rings twice before his deep voice filters through my cell phone. “Hello?”
I don’t reply. I try, but the words just won’t roll off my thick, heavy tongue. I suck in a breath, but it’s strangled and refuses to inflate my lungs.
“Kate?”
The way he says my name causes tears to prick the corners of my eyes.
“I’m here, Butterfly,” he says, the distant sound of something falling to the floor echoing through the phone. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?”
“Tr…tr…trying,” I gasp, finally able to get that singular word out. The memories of the childhood nickname come back, both painful and catalytic. He said it represented me, a butterfly ready to spread her wings and fly. Be free. Unfortunately, freedom wasn’t exactly what my life had entailed.
“Good. Are you sitting on the floor?” he asks, making me nod my head. “I can’t hear you, Butterfly, so just listen to my voice, okay? If you’re not sitting on the floor, make sure you’re seated. I want you to close your eyes and concentrate on my voice. Deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth.”
I focus on his words and do as he instructs, just the way he did last week in the backyard. The first deep breath into my lungs is like a cool dip in the pool on a hot summer day. He must hear my gasp and lungs fill with sweet oxygen, because I can practically feel him relax on the other line.
“Good job, Kate. Keep taking those deep breaths, okay? You should have seen Max today after we left your place. He smacked that ball off the tee every time he got up there, but his favorite part is running the bases. He likes to pretend the catcher is hot on his heels as he’s running to first, a huge smile on his face. When he gets there, he just rounds the base and keeps going. He makes it all the way home, where I’m waiting to try to tag him out. I never get him though,” he says, a small chuckle spilling from his lips.
He paints a beautiful picture of a boy and his father playing baseball on a Sunday afternoon. I can visualize the scene as it plays out, Max giggling as he tries to beat his dad to home plate to score the winning run. Before I realize it, my breathing is back to normal and the panic has subsided.
There’s even a smile playing on my lips.
“Are you there, Kate?”
“I’m here,” I whisper, exhaustion starting to rake through my body as I lean back against the wall.
“You okay?”
Exhaling deeply, I answer honestly. “Yeah.”
I will be.
“What happened?” he asks, the sound of a chair scraping on hardwood filters through the line.
I open my eyes and glance around. The hauntings of my past are there still, watching and waiting for me to fall. My eyelids are heavy, but I keep them open—force them to stare down my past, instead of fleeing the room like I’d prefer. I sit, and stare, and eventually, I talk.
“I came into the library.” I knew just saying those words aloud would probably be a good indication of why I ended up calling him in the middle of a full-blown panic attack.
“Had you been in there before tonight?” he asks.
I shake my head, but then catch myself again. “No. The door was locked and I stayed away.”
“So, you opened the door and what did you see?”
