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He takes a big sip of his tea and waves away my concern with his other hand. “I’m fine. My sleep habits are changing with age. If it continues, I’m going to have to see a sleep therapist.” He laughs and places his mug on the same coaster that’s been sitting on his side table for the years I’ve been seeing him. “Now, enough about me. Tell me how you’re doing. I can imagine it hasn’t been an easy ten days for you.”
I lean back on the sofa, comfortable taking my time with Harry. Just being in his familiar office makes me feel more relaxed than I was five minutes ago when I was waiting outside. His big, heavy desk sits to my right, his stationery and notes all neatly aligned on top. The beige carpet is thick beneath my ballet flats. Even the walls are painted a muted cream that soothes without looking institutional. The furniture is big and heavy, but well-worn. The bookcase is overflowing. And, although I’mcertain it’s deliberate, the thermostat is set to a toasty seventy-two, which puts you in an altered state of comfort from the moment you walk in.
“Antoinette told you about Lizzie?”
“Yes.” Harry nods, and I see genuine grief in his blue eyes. “I was devastated to hear of her passing.”
“I often think that if Lizzie had just opened up every now and then, life would have been a lot easier,” I cede. And although I don’t say it, the little voice in my head adds,For all of us.
“She was a complicated person.”
My eyes burn with unshed tears. “She was.”
Sensing my emotional turn, Harry pushes to a stand and walks over to his desk. He pulls a box of new tissues from the drawer and places them on the table next to me before regaining his seat.
“Thank you,” I blubber as I take a tissue from the box and swipe at my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I thought I’d gotten most of my tears out by now.”
“There’s no shame in grieving, Catherine.”
As I take a moment to compose myself, I wonder if that’s true. Society seems to have a cap on grief, an allowance of time that you can disappear into sadness before everything moves on without you. Although I may not be the perfect case study, I think about Juliette just then. She lost her husband and son in one foul swoop of fate, and the company she worked for gave hertwenty daysof bereavement leave. And that’s better than most employers in California.Twenty days. That’s how long a for-profit company thinks it should take you to recover from the single most harrowing experience of your life.
At least with Antoinette, we could take as long as we needed. The problem we’re all facing now has more todo with reconciling ourselves to the fact that two weeks is probably enough time to grieve Lizzie.
“I’m just soconfused,” I admit quietly. “Lizzie and I weren’t that close. S-She made everythingso difficult.” I think back to the itch that would run underneath my skin every time I walked up the stairs and looked at her bedroom door. “Knowing she used. Knowing she kept everything right there in her bedroom, even though she knew about my past—it makes me so angry, Harry.”
Harry nods encouragingly. “I can imagine that felt like a betrayal.”
“When she was alive, it was like being in survival mode whenever I was home,” I explain. “I could make a game of it. I’d tell myself: Just get to your bedroom without looking at her door. Just shower while thinking of blue skies. Just put headphones on and blare the music once you’re in bed—it’s the only thing that would block my thoughts enough to sleep.”
“And now that she’s gone?”
“That’s part of the reason I wanted to come in. The police came and cleaned out her room a few days ago.” When my mind trips to thoughts of Aiden Flint, I deliberately push them aside. “They took all of the pills and drugs as evidence and…” I shake my head and take a deep breath in. “It’s like thisimpossibleweight has been lifted off my chest, Harry. And it feels so good, so-so freeing,” I confess. “I-I feelglad, Harry.”
He nods compassionately and waits for me to continue.
I manage a, “Mhm,” through my tear-choked throat as I massage the tight spot in my chest with a fisted hand.
For minutes I sit on the big sofa, tears streaming, nose running, and try to right myself. I don’t look at Harry for a long while. I can’t.
I hadn’t understood before she died, how much of my energy went into resisting what Lizzie brought home with her. And now, after all that time denying it, I’ve realized how much I resented her for it. She was my friend. My sister in some ways. And yet she constantly put me in a position where I had to fight for my sobriety. For my life.
And, still, that doesn’t mean I don’t miss her. Or wish she hadn’t died. “I’m a mess.”
“No. You are a human being who has made mistakes and tried her best to rectify them and move on from them—against impossible odds.” There’s a long pause as Harry lets his words sink in.
“What would you say to her?” he asks me.
“T-to Lizzie?”
He nods. “If she were here, sitting on the sofa next to you, what would you say to her.”
I actually look over at the sofa, imagining Lizzie sitting beside me, grinning at me, one eyebrow raised in condescension as she waits. I clear my throat, and for just a moment I see her, and it’s like she knows what’s coming. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you hurt me like that, when you knew what it cost me?” I shrug. “Why couldn’t you have been kinder?” When I look back at Harry, he nods encouragingly. “Why didn’t you come home that night instead of going out to look for trouble?”
“Good.”
