Aced (Blocked #2) (18 page)

“Whoa.” Her fingers paused on the keyboard as she studied me. “And she didn’t return?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Divorce papers arrived when I was four, apparently, but she hasn’t sent one letter since. Hasn’t called once.” My mouth trembled. “I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

“That’s shattering.”

Her response hit me like a volleyball to the gut. My mother’s abandonment
had
been shattering. I was shattered. But I didn’t want to be shattered! I held my head up as I blinked away tears. “It hasn’t been that bad.”
Liar
. “My dad’s been there for me and my brother, and Nana and Gramps too.”

She stopped typing. “Hmm…”

“What does
that
mean?” My face felt hot as I brushed away tears.

“Could this relate to this mistaken belief that you’re not good enough?” Her eyes held a note of tenderness. “Any child whose parent leaves might conclude that.”

Sobs bubbled up from a place deep inside of me. I
knew
I wasn’t good enough. My mother had proven it to me the day she’d walked out of my life.

“You think you weren’t good enough to make your mother stay. You think you’re unlovable.”

How’d she know that? I felt my eyes widen as I stared at her.

She continued, “And you’re afraid this new guy will find that out. He’ll figure out you’re unlovable, and he’ll abandon you, too.”

I gripped the edge of the cushion, and stiffness from my fists radiated up my arms. No matter how tense my body was, though, the tears kept coming.

“But you’re wrong, Maddie.” Her soft voice somehow soothed me. “Children are egocentric—they think the world revolves around them. When good things happen, they take full credit. When bad things happen, they blame themselves. Naturally you thought your badness caused your mother to leave, because that’s what children think. But you aren’t responsible for your mother’s adult choices.
She’s
the one who left.”

I struggled to take that in.

“You don’t know why she left, and each day that goes by without knowing makes you doubt yourself more, makes that hole inside of you bigger.”

I nodded as tears spilled down my cheeks.

“I don’t know why your mother left—only that it’s not your fault. But if she’s alive, I bet she regrets leaving you. I’m sad she doesn’t know what a strong, beautiful woman you are.”

I shook my head. “I’m not beautiful or strong. I’m weak.”

“That’s not what I believe. Give yourself a chance, Maddie. Give yourself a chance to write a new story.”

I grabbed more tissues, surprised there were still any left in the box. She typed for a while as I mopped myself up. Thank God nobody else could see me like this. Alejandro had seen me cry enough already.

I sniffed. “So the new guy…”

She looked up from her laptop.

“He won’t abandon me, then?”

She shook her head with a sad smile. “Asking for more guarantees, I see.”

I exhaled. When had I become so needy?

“You’re tying yourself in knots by tying your mother and this guy together. This potential relationship has nothing to do with your mother. She left, and you felt abandoned, but that’s over. What happened with your mother has no bearing on whether it works out with this new guy. And whatever future this relationship holds, he can’t make you whole. Only you can. That’s why you’re here.”

Overloaded
. I let out a long breath. Maybe she spoke the truth. Alejandro deserved more than being compared to a woman who abandoned her own children.

“I see we’re almost out of time.” Dr. Valentine set aside her laptop. “Here’s what I think: you meet the criteria for major depressive disorder, also known as clinical depression.”

Tina was right, damn her.

“Depression is not simply feeling sad. It’s not something you can just snap out of, no matter how hard you try. It’s a clinical syndrome with a neurobiological basis. Sometimes depression runs in families. Is there anyone in your family who’s been diagnosed with depression?”

Dad seemed down sometimes, but not to the depths of the dark morass I’d tumbled into. “I don’t think so.”

She nodded. “The good news is that your depression will resolve over time, no matter what you do. But you can speed up your recovery with counseling and medication.” She smiled at me. “How does this feel between us? Would you like to continue to meet?”

I hesitated. She seemed cool, but would I become a blubbering mess every time I met with her? “What would it be like?”

“Similar to today’s session, though fewer questions from me. Today I needed to gather some information, and I still want to ask you about substance use and your spiritual beliefs, but in the future it will be more like teamwork. You’ll discuss what’s going on in your life, and I’ll teach a few skills for coping with stress. Many student-athletes find it helpful to talk it out, see things from a different perspective. Sound good?”

I needed to cope with stress better—that was obvious. “Okay.”

After we scheduled an appointment for the following week, she asked, “Would you like to try antidepressant medication? I can set something up with your team physician.”

She thought I needed medication? What would Nana think of that?

“There’s no pressure,” Dr. Valentine said. “Why don’t you think about it until we meet again? You could research SSRI medication to learn more.”

“Why do you think I need it?”

“Your depression sounds rather severe, with the suicidal thinking, sleep and appetite changes, and impaired function. Medication’s an option to address imbalances in your brain and help get your smile back more quickly. But there are some downsides, like possible side effects and having to wait two to four weeks for the meds to kick in.”

I hadn’t cried for a few minutes, but my burning eyes indicated the cry-fest was about to return. I just needed to get out of here. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. I’m giving you some homework.” When I scowled, she laughed. “Have you heard of TED talks?”

I nodded. “They’re presentations by experts you can watch online.”

“Exactly. I want you to watch a TED talk by Brené Brown, titled ‘The Power of Vulnerability.’ It may help you learn self-compassion. And when you have trouble falling asleep, I want you to try a counting technique to derail the nonstop worries in your head. Count one to ten, ten times. The first time through, pause after one. The second time through, pause after two. And so on.”

How is that supposed to help?
My skepticism must have shown.

“Try it,” she said. “It works for me every time. I drift off at round six or seven, but if you’re still awake after ten rounds, start over. You can’t worry about all the crap in your life and count at the same time.”

I nodded. It was worth a try—anything to get some sleep.

“Any questions?”

I shook my head and stood on wobbly legs to toss my used tissues into her garbage can.

She stood as well. “Wonderful to meet you, Maddie, and I’ll see you next week.” The laugh-lines at the corners of her eyes deepened as she smiled. “Remember. You are enough.”

Chapter Twelve

Y
OU
O
WE
M
E
, M
OM
.

The tall buildings of the Highbanks campus flew by the car window on our way to church, where Father Jacob awaited my confession. After Frank had driven Lucia to practice, I’d watched a recorded lecture on gastrointestinal disorders so many times that I’d begun to feel sick to my stomach. I hadn’t exactly killed it with my typical laser-beam focus, either. All I’d been able to think about was Maddie.

I considered visiting practice to see her before I realized Coach Holter wouldn’t let me anywhere near that place. So instead I caved to Mom’s request. Check that—Mom’s
demand
. Allison had agreed to drive me to church since Brad and China were still sleeping after their night of guarding me at Maddie’s.

From the back seat of the SUV, I watched Agent Largent twirl a strand of her curly, blond hair at a stoplight. Her gentleness stood in stark contrast to my agents’ tougher vibes.

“How do you like being an agent, Allison?”

She met my eyes in the rearview mirror and smiled. “It’s got its pros and cons, but for the most part I enjoy it.”

Interesting
. “What pros and cons?”

“I love protecting your sister. I’ve grown quite attached to her.”

I smiled as well. I knew the feeling.

“But I worry I’m
too
attached to her. We need objectivity to do our jobs. We can’t let our feelings interfere with our mission.”

I could also relate to that. When I’d rebuked Lucia about her sex life, I’d probably made it harder to protect her by alienating her. But I worried about her, and I wanted to obey my dad. As we pulled into the church parking lot, I studied the simple brick building. With lustful feelings toward Maddie pulsing through me, I had to admit I worried about myself, too.

Allison held the car door open and followed me inside. We stomped clumps of snow off our shoes onto the mat by the door. I followed her down a brick hall lined with wood furniture straight out of the seventies. I knew most university Catholic centers were rather plain, but this one made our church in Houston look ornate.

“Lucia meets with Father Jacob in there.” Allison pointed to a door at the rear of the sanctuary. She led me inside the small room with two chairs facing each other. “I called Father Jacob to get you an appointment for confession, like I do with Lucia. He told me he’d be in his office. Stay put, and I’ll get him.”

I eyed the seating arrangement. My church in Houston had a screen between priest and parishioner, and avoiding eye contact when confessing ugly sins was a definite bonus. This setup put everything out in the open, and I squirmed at the impending exposure. No wonder Maddie had avoided therapy.

You owe me, Mom
. I draped my coat over a wooden chair and took a seat.

“Ah.” A man dressed in jeans and a Highbanks sweatshirt entered. A janitor? He had salt-and-pepper hair and thin wire glasses. “When Secret Service came to get me, I expected Lucia.”

Wait—this was the
priest?

“Father Jacob.” He held out his hand, and I bolted out of the chair to shake it. “You must be Lucia’s brother, Alejandro.”

“Yes, sir. Uh, yes, Father.”

He let go of my hand and tugged down his sweatshirt to reveal the clerical collar beneath it. “It gets drafty.”

I nodded. “It’s freezing up here.”

He was a good deal shorter than me and stared up with a placid expression.

What do I do now?
“Uh, I’m visiting Lucy, and I thought I’d go to confession, but if this isn’t a good time—”

“It’s an ideal time.” He gestured to the chairs. “Shall we begin?”

Once I sat, the routine rushed back to me. I made the sign of the cross as I said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” I shifted in my chair. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…” I swallowed. “…over a year since my last confession.” His watchful gaze unnerved me.

“Welcome back. I’m pleased you found your way here.”

I exhaled. There seemed to be calm in his eyes, and it steadied me, too. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to face the priest. Although now came the time to list my sins. It would probably be best to start with my immodest desire for Maddie, but my lack of control over my feelings embarrassed me. There were quite a few other sins I could begin with, unfortunately.

“I haven’t attended mass regularly.” Dad’s campaign schedule and school had interfered with church attendance—hardly an excuse.

“We hold mass almost every night,” he said.

“But I don’t live here. I live in Baltimore.”

He nodded. Thankfully he didn’t respond with the obvious:
And there are no churches in Baltimore?

“I’ve tried to control things instead of seeking God’s will.” My head lowered. I needed to squelch my control-freak tendencies. When he looked at me expectantly, I continued. “I’ve done unnecessary work on the Sabbath.” This was a constant sin for me, between baseball games in undergrad and Monday exams in medical school.

Father Jacob hadn’t seemed disturbed by any of my sins up to this point.

I took a deep breath. “I disrespected an authority figure—Lucia’s coach. I yelled at him and swore at him.” My face got hot. “I lost my temper.” My fists clenched. “I want to be better. I want to be more loving.”

He nodded. “Remember, Jesus tells us to be quick to hear but slow to anger. Our anger does not produce the righteousness of God.” His unfaltering scrutiny somehow urged me to keep spewing my mistakes.

“I didn’t obey my father. He expects me to protect my sister and brother, but I’ve failed.” I grimaced.

“Protecting your sister—was that what you were trying to do when you yelled at her coach?”

I considered that. Dad wouldn’t approve of me going ballistic, though he would want me to stand up for Lucy. “Yes, I suppose. But I
didn’t
protect her when I withheld some important information from my father. I’d planned to tell him, but it didn’t seem right when I had the chance.”