You're Not Alone Read online

  Chapter Two

  The waiting room was gloomy, which only darkened my spirits. I was hoping for bright and cheerful, anything but this: browns and blacks, blacks and browns. Everything. I was the only one in the waiting room so I took advantage of it and walked around inspecting every inch of the drab room. I believed the way people decorated their homes or offices often revealed a lot about them. Most of the time this was true. Today, I hoped it wasn’t.

  “Come in, Quinn.” David Bousha was a tall, thin man with dark, wavy hair and a smile that totally dispelled my theory of decorating and personalities. Just from his greeting, as he held the door opened to his office, I felt a rush of relaxation and a little bit of hope seeping into my already broken attitude toward life.

  “Thank you.” I walked past him and stood in the middle of his office that looked totally different than the foreboding waiting room on the other side of the door. Bright colors, modern artwork, and plain but stylish furniture adorned the small room.

  “May I call you Quinn?” he asked, extending his hand. I shook his hand, nodding yes. “And you can call me David. Please, have a seat.”

  I sat down on the soft, blue leather couch and began to survey his office. The difference from the waiting room was startling. Subtle blues and greens with splashes of yellow and orange graced the fabric of the curtains and the furniture as well as the area rug. The walls were off-white but covered mostly with book filled shelves, artwork depicting people in everyday life and framed degrees and licenses. It felt welcoming and as if David could hear my thinking, he said, “I apologize for the dreariness of my waiting room. I’ve only been in this building for a month, and I wanted to re-do the office first. It was the same dreary browns and blacks. I start the waiting room next week.”

  That was it. That was all it took for me to feel totally comfortable with this stranger. For the next hour I poured my heart out about my beloved Matthew, his illness, and the events that followed. I ended with the last phone call from Mr. McIntosh conveying the threat from Matthew’s parents to take my home, my business, and our cottage. I even told him I believed the Shikmans sicced the bank on me. I was late on my loan payments for the business, and the bank was increasing its pressure on me.

  David was silent through most of it, and often I felt like he was studying the multitude of emotions that I knew ran over my face.

  After I finished, he spoke. “Loss of any kind is difficult, but what you’ve been through, on top of the loss of your life partner, is something no one should have to go through. I am so sorry Matthew’s family doesn’t understand love is love no matter who it’s with, and I’m sorry they’re making a very difficult time in your life even harder to bear.” David paused for a moment. “Are you sleeping?”

  The tears I had held back while I told David of my difficulties began to fall and then intensify. I didn’t know how to answer that. I was worried if I told the counselor about my interrupted sleep and just why it was disturbed, he might send me to the loony bin. At this thought I stopped crying. Tears of sadness were replaced by tears of laugher as I chuckled to myself. I looked at David, who was studying me once again.

  “What’s amusing you?”

  I shifted my body weight so I could uncross my legs and folded my hands proper on my lap. I looked directly into David’s eyes and without hesitating, blurted out my worst fear. “I was just thinking if I tell you the real reason why I’m here, you’d probably have me thrown into the loony bin.” David kept his serious gaze on me. I wasn’t sure how to take it which made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but I didn’t avert my eyes from his.

  He smiled. “I imagine the term ‘loony bin’ was what amused you.”

  “You could say that.”

  “So, what is it that would make you think I might send you to the loony bin?”

  “I hear voices.”

  “In your sleep?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Is this the reason you’re having trouble sleeping?”

  “Now, mostly it is. Before, it was everything. Matthew’s illness, his death, and now the constant onslaught by his parents.”

  “And when did the voices begin?”

  “Shortly after his parents and their lawyers began badgering me.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “About a month after Matthew’s death.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, what you’re going through is an awful lot for a person to deal with, especially if it’s on your own, which I’m assuming is the case. You haven’t really mentioned anyone other than

  Matthew’s family. Do you have any family nearby?”

  “Not really. I have a sister and brother-in-law, but they’re out west.” I couldn’t help it but my tears started again. “Matthew was my family.”

  “Quinn, where are your parents?”

  “My parents and brother died in a car accident when I was seventeen. My sister and I were taken in by my godparents—friends of the family. I have an aunt, but she lives in California, too. I have no grandparents, no one else, except Chaz.” I bit my bottom lip to prevent the sobs from coming. “Matthew was my family.” I looked up at David. “I already said that, didn’t I?”

  “I’m so sorry, Quinn.” David stood up and grabbed a box of Kleenex off of his desk and placed it gently on the couch beside me. I grabbed several and held them to my face, shielding myself from the outside world that didn’t want to stop the relentless attack against me.

  David waited until I removed my hands and the Kleenex away from my face. I felt raw, totally exposed. If I were asked to draw a self-portrait of myself at that moment, it would have been like his waiting room, all blacks and browns revealing that of a tortured soul. “Who’s Chaz?”

  “My best friend, my confidant, and my assistant at my funeral home. He’s been there for me through everything. I…I don’t know what I would do without him.”

  “I’m glad you have someone and I can see you lean on him.”

  “He’s the one who gave me your number. Said you came highly recommended. I wouldn’t be here if he didn’t insist. He’s worried.”

  “About the voices?”

  “Yes.”

  “Quinn, tell me about the voices.”

  “I don’t know what to say. They whisper, all the time.” I lowered my own voice to where it was barely audible because I didn’t want anyone else to hear, which was stupid because no one else was in the room. “They just whisper.”

  “They? So there is more than one?”

  “I think so. It sounds like it.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Well, sometimes it just sounds like there is more than one. And then I’m not so sure.”

  “Are there distinguishing features, like a male voice as opposed to a female?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. I just know that sometimes, there are…different ones.”

  “When do you hear these voices?”

  “Like I said, mostly when I sleep, so they seem like a dream. But sometimes…” David waited for me to continue. I knew he could tell I was grappling with something, because he didn’t push me. God only knew I had had enough trauma in my life.

  “It’s okay Quinn. I don’t believe this will send you to the loony bin.” He smiled. “So just say what you need to say.”

  “There are times I wake up that I can still hear them. I mean, I’m awake and I can hear the voices.” I hurriedly continued because if I didn’t tell him now, I might never tell anyone. “I’ve looked around my apartment, in closets and I’ve even put my ear up to the walls wondering if it’s from the neighboring apartment or if there are people in the hall talking. But it’s not that. I know you’ll say the voices are just in my head, a way of dealing with everything that’s happening in my life, but they’re not just in my head.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, the whispers wake me up. It’s not like when you’re dreaming and the dream wakes


  you up. It’s more like when you hear something, like a burglar, and that wakes you up.”

  “And there’s no one there in your apartment when you wake up and look around?”

  “No!” I cried. “I’m crazy, right?”

  “No, you’re not. You’re dealing with a very difficult, post-traumatic experience topped with continuing, arduous circumstances that aren’t allowing you to even start the grieving process. Quinn, you haven’t had a chance to grieve, and you need to.” David sat back in his chair. “I’m not surprised you’re hearing voices. Maybe it’s your mind’s way of dealing with all you’re going through.”

  “See? I said you’d say that.” I leaned back on the couch. “Well, that’s pretty rotten of me to put myself through such torture, isn’t it?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because, that’s what it is. It’s…” I bit my bottom lip again and looked around the room. I finally set my eyes on David. “Torture.”

  “Quinn, what do the voices say?”

  I swallowed and took a deep breath to help me gain control yet once again before answering. “I’m not sure. Sometimes they’re so jumbled I can’t understand what they’re saying. They just penetrate my mind and make me crazy. Other times, I hear bits and pieces. Once, I think I heard them say ‘look.’ I think I heard that several times. And then I thought I heard ‘here, or over there…’ Oh, I’m not sure. They just sound so desperate and mixed up.”

  I got quiet again and looked around the room afraid I might see Mr. Abernathy and McIntosh, Bryer and Smith looking through the window shouting, “Aha, we knew you were crazy!” giving them the proof they need to take everything from me.

  “I’ve heard screams too.”

  “Okay, well, I’m sorry, Quinn, but our time is just about up but—”

  “Seriously? God, I hate that.” I looked at David incredulously.

  “Hate what?”

  “You always see it on T.V. Someone is going to a therapist and the therapist says your time is up and the patient leaves without any answers after paying all that money, and they wondered why they went in the first place because they have to wait until the next time, and they don’t think they can make it that long without losing it.” I stopped, took a deep breath, and looked accusingly at him. “Totally.”

  “That’s how you feel today, isn’t it?” David seemed to work really hard to suppress a smile.

  “I only get an hour, and it took that long just to tell you everything that’s going on and as soon as I tell you I hear screams, you tell me our time is up, and I’m no better off than I was before and…” I stopped because I noticed David couldn’t hold his smile back any longer. “I’m not going to get any answers, am I?”

  “Quinn, I don’t have your answers. But I can help you find them.”

  “When? Next week? Two weeks? A year? David, I can’t wait until next week. I’ll go crazy. I know it. I’m already going crazy. I’ve missed so much work.”

  “Well, you did cut me off before I finished what I was going to say which is there are two things I want you to do. One of them is to get some uninterrupted sleep. I can prescribe something for you to sleep if you’d like. And the other one is to let yourself grieve.”

  “How can I when I have the Shikmans constantly beating down my door?”

  “Then I guess there are three things. Do you have a lawyer?”

  “No.”

  “You need to get a lawyer and let the lawyer deal with the legal issues of the Shikmans. I’m afraid, though, the emotional issues of the Shikmans and everything else will have to be dealt with by you.” I rolled my eyes in defeat. “But I can help you with that. And with the three of us working together, I think we can get you through this. Once you get a lawyer and alleviate yourself of some of the legal burden, you might find yourself really beginning the grieving process. Once you do that, I think you’ll find the voices fade away.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. I think so. Now you have my card with both my numbers on it, work and cell. We’ll set up your next appointment for, say, a few days from now to give you time to get a lawyer and get that part under control. If you need me at any time, and I mean any time, you call. Okay?” David stood up and extended a hand. “And if you hear the voices again, you call.”

  I took David’s hand, feeling a little bit of relief wash over me coupled with a little bit of guilt from my attack on therapists. Maybe I wasn’t crazy after all. David made sense. I needed a lawyer, but where would I get the money? I used the money from my parents’ death, insurance and settlement, for my half of the cottage that Matthew and I purchased, and some of it went into our beloved Victorian. I had a sizeable loan for my business that I was late on with several payments. I had bills. I had no cash.

  The loss of Matthew’s income hurt my finances. He didn’t put a beneficiary on anything, which surprised me, so all his bank accounts, investments and such were frozen until this thing was settled with the Shikmans. Without a will, though, legally I didn’t have a leg to stand on. David was right. If I got the Shikmans off my back, for the most part, I might be able to deal with the rest. I needed to get a lawyer and worry about the money later. I made the next appointment with David and sheepishly said I was sorry for my insult. He just smiled.

  I got in my car feeling better than I had in several weeks. I was glad I finally took Chaz’s advice and called the therapist. I felt safe and secure with David, and for the first time in a long time, I thought I might find my way through all of this to the other side.

  Then images of Matthew filled my head, and I began to cry.

  Grieve.

  David said I really hadn’t grieved. He was right on that too. Matthew’s family started to harass me soon after his death, and their frustration and impatience had just grown to the current level of aggression. I never had time to grieve, only to fight them off so I could find a moment of solitude to grasp what just happened. I hadn’t gone through his clothes, his books, his toiletries, or any of the personal memories—cards, letters and gifts we exchanged over our years together. It was all exactly the same as it was the day Matthew came home and told me he went to the doctor for a stomach ache and the scan they took showed a large tumor in his colon. I didn’t even know he was having stomach issues.

  So too was our cottage on the Saint Lawrence River. In fact, I hadn’t been there since his death. It was just too hard. We loved our cottage. It was our safe haven, our dream home, our retirement home. We enjoyed nothing more than sitting on the porch on a cool, summer night having a glass of our favorite wine. We would listen to the waves roll up gently on the shore, each one with a different, soothing sound. We might have a conversation, or stretch out and read, or just cuddle with each other. We looked forward to every moment we could spend together on that porch, especially the time when we would be able to do it every night and not just on vacations.

  I pulled into the garage situated in the back of our apartment building. I didn’t even remember driving home. I turned off the engine, sat in the car and started to cry again. I cried for a long time before I finally got out of the car and went into the house. As I lumbered up the back stairs to my door, I wondered if this was the first part of my grieving process. As much as I didn’t want to let go of Matthew, I hoped it was. I was pretty tired of crying.

  I knew I had to go back to work, but my sorrow was taking me upstairs to my apartment. “I’ll just clean up my face, re-apply some makeup, and grab some lunch. An hour or so is all I need,” I said to no one as I approached the back door of my apartment. “Shit. I better call Chaz and let him know I am coming back.” I dug the keys out of my purse. I unlocked the door and grabbed the phone out of my office. I dialed his number as I walked down the hall to the kitchen. “Chaz. It’s me.”

  “Darlin’, where are you?”

  “I stopped home to get some lunch and to freshen up.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” />
  “How was your session?”

  “That’s the reason I have to freshen up.”

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “Don’t be. There’s nothing to be sorry about. David was a big help, and as soon as I get into work, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Okay. Don’t be too long. I haven’t had lunch yet. Oh, and Mr. Abernathy called again. I told him you were out sick. I don’t know if he believed me or not.”

  “I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you covering for me. I’ll be there in about a half hour. Can you hold off for lunch that long?”

  “Don’t you worry, girlfriend. I’ll be fine.”

  I hesitated before I spoke. “Chaz, David kind of opened the door…” I began to cry.

  “Oh, girl, are you okay?”

  “Yes. He told me I hadn’t started to grieve yet, and I think maybe it’s starting.” I swallowed hard and feverishly wiped the tears with my free hand hoping to get control. It didn’t help. I really felt I was losing it. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Chaz. I’m sorry. I’ll be in shortly.” I quickly hung up the phone realizing it wasn’t very nice to hang up on Chaz, but I couldn’t talk. My phone rang. I ignored it. I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

  Please, please. Looooooooook.

  I jumped. My eyes widened enough for fear to step in. I felt as if they were being held open with toothpicks so I knew I wasn’t sleeping. Or was I? No. I hadn’t laid down. I looked in my hand and saw the bottle of water. No. I hadn’t fallen asleep.

  Here. Here.

  I grabbed my purse and ran out of my apartment. “That’s it!” I screamed. “Either I really am going nuts or this place is haunted.” I jumped into my car, turned it on, and threw it into reverse. I put the gas pedal all the way to the floor making the car lurch, then gain speed. I backed out into the road without looking. A violent horn sounded bringing me back to my senses. I slammed on the brakes and looked back to see another car within inches of my own car. Starting to cry again, mostly out of stupidity, I put the car into drive and slowly pulled back in the driveway.

  “Okay, Quinn!” I cried out. “Get a grip. Take a deep breath. You’re just hearing things because your mind is messed up. You need to get yourself together.”

  I looked up and saw Mr. Princeton standing on the porch watching me. He had been a source of comfort over the last several months. He was deeply saddened over Matthew’s passing. He and Matthew bonded over sports and home fix-it projects as well as on an intellectual level. Often, I would come home and see them sitting on the front porch nursing bottles of beer. Matthew told me they would delve deep into discussions ranging from politics, the beginning of life as we know it and Mr. Princeton’s favorite—the afterlife. Matthew once told me Mr. Princeton always ended their discussion with the city’s magnificent architecture and how Matthew and I bought the Victorian out from under his nose. Then he would wink and go inside.

  He didn’t sit on the porch anymore. He didn’t have discussions with Matthew. But Mr. Princeton watched over me. Every day, he knocked quietly on the door. When I opened it, he stood there with my mail in his hand and silently studied my face after which he would bid me good evening and retreat to his apartment. It was a tiny bit of reassurance to know he was watching out for me, that I wasn’t alone.

  Mr. Princeton had to have heard me yelling. And I knew in my heart he most likely watched my screeching exit out of the driveway. He probably thought I was out of control. Well, I was, but I wasn’t going to admit it just yet. I would have to tell him something.

  Now I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me as I realized if this quiet, intelligent, and distinguished gentleman did just see and hear my antics, had he heard me at other times in my apartment? Oh God, he might have very well heard my rantings. Now on top of everything else, I had to worry about what Mr. Princeton thought of me.

  “God, why did you take him?” I whispered as tears fell down my face. “I thought David helped me to break through? I thought I just had to grieve?” I pounded the steering wheel with my fists then laid my head on my hands. “Am I really going nuts? I don’t really hear voices. They’re just in my head.”

  I jumped at the tap on my window. Through the cloud of water running over my eyes like a waterfall, I struggled to see outside my car. My first thought was there would be no one outside my door, that the tap was all a part of me going mad. But as I took a deep breath and struggled to gain control, I made out Mr. Princeton standing silently with his hands folded in front of him. Not caring anymore about how I looked or felt, I pressed the button to lower the window.

  “Quinn, honey. Why don’t you come inside? Have a cup of tea with me.”

  “Mr. Princeton, that’s so kind of you, but I have to get back to work. I’m already late and my assistant is waiting for me so he can go to lunch. I’m afraid I’ve taken advantage of him a little too much lately.”

  Mr. Princeton looked at his feet and then directly at me. “Honey, please drive carefully. You appear to be too upset to drive. I could take you to work if you would like.”

  “Thank you, no. I’m okay, really.”

  “Why don’t you stop by after work? Sometimes I get tired of eating alone. I made a casserole today, and it would be a pleasure if you would join me.”

  “I’m not so sure I’ll be hungry, and I’m kind of tired. I might just collapse on the couch after I get home.”

  “Quinn. You need to eat and keep up your strength. And,” he paused and waited as if he wanted to make sure I was listening, “you need to talk.” I thought I saw a tear in the corner of Mr. Princeton’s eye. “And I need to talk, too. I think it might help both of us.”

  The tone of Mr. Princeton’s voice and the empathy I saw in his eyes made me say yes to his invitation. I thanked him for his concern and said good-bye. I put the window up slowly and after a few deep breaths, I turned the key to start the car, and deliberately and slowly backed out of the driveway once again. I focused more on my driving and tried to shut all else out of my mind. Carefully, I made my way back to work.

  My mind didn’t stay idle for long. I thought maybe sitting and talking to Mr. Princeton might just be what I needed. Maybe I could find out if he too heard the voices, but I truly doubted he did. They were whispers, whispers only I heard. Whispers that were meant for only me. I knew it, I felt it. I just didn’t know why.

  I pulled into my parking spot behind the building. I took a moment and reminded myself of how lucky I was. Yes, Matthew was gone, but I had my business and my best friend. I got out of the car and went straight to Chaz’s office. I stood in the doorway fighting hard to hold onto my sanity so I could apologize to him and thank him profusely for all the covering up he was doing for me. I waited silently for several seconds before I could tell he got that feeling—the one you get when someone is staring at you and you feel it right down to your very core. Usually, you look up and no one is standing there, yet you could swear someone was watching you.

  Finally, Chaz looked up. I was there. He immediately got up from his chair, walked around his desk, and pulled me into a big bear hug. I was dwarfed by his six-foot-four, two hundred forty-pound frame. I sank into his body and absorbed his warmth and all the love this gentle friend always extended to me. It calmed my psyche, and between his warm embrace and my session with David, it was the first time in a long time I thought I might actually be able to go on without Matthew.

  I released myself from Chaz’s hug. “Did Mr. Abernathy call again?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Chaz and I looked up to see Mr. Abernathy standing in the doorway. “Now, Miss O’Reilly, I would like to speak to you. In your office, maybe?” He turned and strolled down the hall with the cocky, administrator walk Chaz and I mocked out all the time. Usually, we smiled at each other and laughed after observing Mr. Abernathy tramp through the funeral home on his way out, but today, I didn’t return Chaz’s smile. I was worried about my business, and rightly so.

>   “Oh, and he stopped by,” Chaz said sarcastically. His face suddenly softened. “Honey, it’ll be all right. He’s just going to give you the talk. You know. The one where you need to be on time with your loan payments.”

  “More like if you don’t catch up, I’m going to start foreclosure.” I fought to hold back the “it’s not fair” tears.

  “I don’t think he will, yet. Besides, I begged and pleaded and pretty much sold my first born I will never have to get him to give you more time.”

  I smiled because I had discussions with Chaz about his total dislike for kids, but I couldn’t think of a comeback like I usually did with him, so I said, “Thank you,” again, for the umpteenth time.