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I spent much of my time in Georgia’s presence daydreaming, wondering what her fascination with Ant’s brother-in-law could possibly be. As onlookers, it never truly made sense to us what that attraction was. When she finally broke things off, she admitted to me that it took her a long time to realize what she felt for him wasn’t love. As much as it saddened her, she eventually realized that although she felt a form of love for him, she would never love him the way he loved her. She concluded that she was becoming more of a groupie, hanging on to him because of the band he and his brothers had formed. He was devastated when Georgia ended it, but she knew it was no longer fair for either of them to continue.
“Hang on a minute,” a bewildered Mark declares. “Are you talking about that surfy band from the sixties?” He goes on to question.
A laughing Antony answers his question, confirming Mark’s suspicions.
“Even I knew that.” Jackson chuckles.
Grunting that no one ever tells him anything, Mark slumps back in his chair, gesturing for me to continue. With a smile on my face, I relay that Georgia had been there from the very beginning. Although she’d been proud of what he had achieved and supported him, it all became too much for her over time. As the band’s popularity grew, Georgia suddenly found herself the envy of everyone, particularly the teenage girls who flocked to watch the brothers sing.
Her epiphany that their relationship was nothing more than a scam came about three years into the band’s fame during a performance at a local nightclub. Being asthmatic, Georgia had ventured outside for fresh air and unwittingly stood behind two girls who had been gossiping about her. They had no idea she was standing there with her back to them, and she had no intention of alerting them to her presence.
That was the night she ended her relationship.
Georgia relayed to me in the days that followed that she’d been forced to re-evaluate her feelings because of how those girls were discussing her behind her back. What caused her the most distress was the snarky way they were joking about what she must have done to trick the lead singer into dating her.
My sweet, caring Georgia never understood why people became so nasty and insensitive, yet I could. The judgment they imposed on a person without ever actually meeting them disappointed her the most. She may have never been a person who felt jealousy toward anyone, yet at that time, she became the target of others' envy. Their lack of regard for other human beings hurt her more than she could handle.
“You can see the stark contrast between your wife and Emily, right?” Jackson professes.
“Yes,” I reply. “That’s what I’m struggling with.” I groan.
Grinning, he tells me that if he’s learned something by being married to Catherine, it’s to be completely honest and upfront.
“They always find out what you are hiding from them,” he says.
“Maybe you’re right.” I agree. “I think I’ve forgotten just how strong that woman is.”
“If she can survive what happened to her in Bojayá, she will be able to deal with what is going on now,” Jackson reassures me.
I know they’re right; maybe I’m just overprotective of her. The fear of knowingly putting her in harm’s way worries me, and I don’t think I’d ever recover if anything happened to her and our child, especially after losing Georgia.
Texting Em, I tell her I should only be an hour, and I have new intel I need to share with her. Putting my cell to the side, I divert my attention back to Jackson and the files Earl gave us.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
Emily
“So, what is your evaluation of Erika, Emily?”
Adjusting my laptop's screen so I can clearly see my colleague Monica, I tell her it’s evident Erika suffers from dissociative identity disorder, but new developments have come to light.
“What new developments?” Monica inquires.
“I believe two of Erika’s personalities were created when she was a child.”
Sitting up straighter, Monica adjusts her screen. “What makes you believe that?” she inquires further.
Relaying what I had learned from Lucy, I begin by mentioning how she has admitted to helping Erika since she was just a child. The look on my colleague’s face is one of surprise. Yet, her admission makes more sense to me as a psychiatrist, as Erika’s condition is generally associated with childhood trauma.
“How well do you know Erika’s father?” I question.
“What does that have to do with this?”
There is no point sugarcoating what I have to say. “I believe Erika’s father molested her as a child and that if we dug deeper, we would uncover more of these memory gaps or episodes.”
There is nothing but silence after my declaration, yet the look on Monica’s face tells me I haven’t been given the whole story. I know Monica is concealing important information pertinent to Erika’s case because of how her eyebrows instantly rose and curved. Another tell-tale sign which tells me I am being deceived is the sudden appearance of horizontal wrinkles across her forehead.
“What aren’t you sharing with me, Monica?” I suddenly demand.
