Gooseberry Island (16 page)

Dr. Ken Weiss was David’s assigned therapist. “I’ve been in the business for four decades now, plus I’ve had some experience on the job.” He grinned.

David was confused and didn’t conceal it.

“I served two tours in ’Nam,” Dr. Weiss explained, “and one too many.”

“So you know what I’m going through?”

“Nope. Only you know the hell you’re going through,” he said, shrugging. “But I found my way out of hell, and I’d like to show you the way back too.”

David’s eyes filled with tears of hope. “Do you think you can?” he asked, trying to keep his tears restrained.

Dr. Weiss nodded. “I do.”

“I just wish I could put all this behind me and move on. I’m so afraid”—David stopped and collected himself—“that my mind will stay stuck on some damn rooftop in Afghanistan.”

Dr. Weiss stood. “There are two things you need to know right off the bat: The first is that it takes great courage to admit fear or that you need help. Just by being here, you’ve proven that you have the courage. And the second is that we never get what we wish for—ever.” He shrugged. “We get what we work for.” He looked into David’s eyes. “Are you prepared to put in the work, David McClain?”

“I am, Doctor Weiss.”

“Good,” he said, shaking David’s hand. “Then I’ll see you again on Thursday.”

Though it took nearly three weeks to be able to share it, David finally told Dr. Weiss about Max’s drug overdose. “They say it was a suicide, but I’m not sure,” David said, still trying to defend his deceased brother.

Dr. Weiss raised an eyebrow but never debated it. “David, do you realize that suicide has already claimed more veteran’s lives than all combat operations in both Iraq and Afghanistan combined? From what I understand, the average right now is twenty two veteran suicides a day.”

“What? Twenty-two suicides a day?”

“That’s right. Just because soldiers make it home doesn’t mean the war is over for them. In fact, for many, the fighting’s just begun.”

“I hear that,” David said.

“But the real killer is silence. Those who don’t reach out and ask for help are the ones in real trouble.”

David stared at him.

The man smiled. “But you’re one of the smart ones, David.”

“I’d hardly say that,” David said.

“I would,” the doctor said, nodding. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Preferring to avoid in-patient treatment at all costs, David began seeing Dr. Weiss three times a week. And each session was more difficult than the one before it. Dr. Weiss challenged David’s negative thinking at every turn.

“So, you’re a victim then?” Dr. Weiss asked, in his usual tough-love approach. “Someone not in control of his own life?”

“I never said that,” David said.

“Then what is it? What are you trying to tell me, David?”

“An Afghan boy got beaten to death over there…and I was…”

“Are you trying to tell me that you beat a boy to death in Afghanistan?” Dr. Weiss asked. He was taken aback and unable to mask his feelings toward it.

“Not exactly,” David explained, allowing the ten-ton monster out of the closet for the first time. “But I am responsible for the death of that boy,” he said and began to cry.

Dr. Weiss prodded David to detail the traumatic event—“No matter how hard it is for you to share it,” he told him.

David explained every grisly detail, concluding, “And wouldn’t you know, our target never even showed. The mission was aborted…” He began to wail. “I could have stopped it. I could have saved him.” His breathing was so shallow, he felt like he was suffocating.

Dr. Weiss sat back and let David mourn. Ironically, unlike most combat soldiers, David wasn’t tortured over taking a human life; he was tormented from not taking lives in order to save a teenage boy.

The session went way over, and Dr. Weiss kept his next patient waiting. When David was composed enough to walk out of the room, Dr. Weiss said, “Two animals were responsible for the death of that boy, not you.” He placed his hand on David’s shoulder. “Your greatest crime was being a good soldier.”

David shook his head.

“Get here early next week,” Dr. Weiss said.

Weeks passed. David was hurrying across the VA grounds when he nearly ran right into Billy Brodeur. David thought about the Brodeur fight story Kevin Menker had shared and figured,
Billy must have been court-ordered to get help
.

They shook hands. It was as if they’d just met at the local bait-and-tackle shop, without acknowledging where they actually were.

“Hey, I heard about that bouncer you beat down in Brockton,” David said.

Billy laughed. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here,” he said, confirming David’s suspicions. “Imagine that? Back in Afghanistan, I would have won a medal for a beatdown like that.”

David shook his head. “Good luck, brother.”

“You too,” Billy said, still laughing.

David wasn’t three minutes into his weekly therapy session when he said, “Ken, do you mind if I ask you something?” They were now on a first-name basis.

“Of course. Anything.”

“How is it that I’ve been sitting in this chair for weeks, spilling out my guts, while you just sit there and listen and tell me nothing?”

“What do you mean, tell you nothing?” Ken asked.

“You’ve never told me what’s wrong with me,” David explained.

Ken looked shocked, as if he’d explained this to his patient before. He leaned forward, folded his hands on his desk and spoke softly. “David, I’m sorry. I thought it was evident. You’ve been diagnosed with depression and post traumatic stress disorder or PTSD.”

David’s body locked up.

“As a result of your service in Afghanistan, your anxiety level became so severe that it was nearly impossible for you to function normally. But with the medication…”

“I’m screwed,” David blurted.

“No, David. You’re not screwed. You’re just sick.”

David began to cry. Ken walked around the desk and comforted his patient. “David, listen to me. Many of the problems you’ve suffered in recent months are not your fault. They’re really not. You have to start to believe that.”

David looked up but didn’t believe a word of it. His mind was riddled with guilt.

“It’s not your fault, David,” Ken continued, “even the attempted suicide.”

“Attempted suicide?”

“The car accident,” Ken said.

David didn’t argue the point.

“I’m telling you, we have to get rid of the guilt before you can heal,” Ken said.

By now, David was too busy crying to respond.

“Although millions of Americans suffer this same plight, many don’t even know they have it. For reasons too many to count, many more refuse to investigate why they feel the way they do.” He shook his head. “Some try to alleviate the symptoms of panic with alcohol or sheer force of will. But as you’ve learned, either attempt only carries them deeper into their own hell.”

David nodded.

“David, the real question has never been whether or not you’re sick. It’s really about what you’re planning to do with your illness.”

“But what can I do?”

“You need to take your medication, no questions asked. And we can monitor the dosages for effectiveness.”

David nodded. “No matter what it takes, I have to move forward. I have to move past that rooftop a half a world away.” He took a few deep breaths. “How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long ’til I get better?” David asked.

Ken smiled. “You’re already better, David. But your progress will be a lifelong quest.”

“Oh…”

Months went by, hard months filled with work so painstaking it made Ranger School look like kindergarten. Hours upon hours were spent in therapy, adjusting medications, religious worship, transcendental meditation—anything David could do to bring a greater sense of peace and well-being to his world. It had taken time, but he’d finally gotten a handle on his anxiety and depression. He still suffered with his bouts, but now he’d armed himself with knowledge and an arsenal of coping strategies. Every time he felt panicked or down in the dumps, he no longer laid down and surrendered to it.
I’m not going crazy
, he told himself again and again.
I’m not going to die,
he repeated. And it worked.

Life’s too damn short to begin with,
he thought, no longer wanting to wish the days away.
Instead, I want to make the most of each one of them.

One morning, David climbed up on his mother’s roof and laid flat.
I’m so sorry,
he told the young Afghan boy in his mind.
If I could have taken that from you, I would have.
He cried shamelessly, feeling more burdensome weight float from his soul.
Please forgive me. Please forgive me
, he kept saying over and over, until he realized he was now talking to himself.

David’s next stop was the local cemetery, his father’s gravesite. As he approached the short marble headstone, he realized that this was the first time he’d even seen it. He went to his knees and prayed.
Sorry, Pop
, he thought,
for a lot of things. I just hope you’re at peace now.

He sat quietly with his father for an hour before clearing his throat. “I’m all done keeping my head down, Pop,” he said aloud. “It’s time I looked up to see what’s in front of me.”

Like the tip of an angel’s wing, a slight breeze blew across David’s neck. Alas, he was brought to tears before his father. “Thanks, Pop,” he said, and felt his heart lighten even more.

David sat in the car, knowing exactly where his final stop would be.

It was dusk when he pulled up to the beach and walked to the park bench. Taking a seat, he looked out onto the bay.
Even the ocean’s at peace tonight
, he thought.

He concentrated on Lindsey and the magical night they’d shared all those months ago. For the first time since Afghanistan, he could see it…

Sitting with Lindsey on the bench, he pointed at the lighthouse. “Look right over there,” he told her.She did.“Whenever you feel lost or alone,” he said, “all you have to do is come here. No matter how dark or stormy, that light will always guide you home…back to where you need to be.”While her eyes filled, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

I am stupid
, he thought, remembering his own advice.
How could I have been so stupid?

He looked to the heavens and cast a silent prayer,
Please God, just one more chance with Lindsey. I’ll never ask you for anything again
. And this time, his fingers weren’t crossed behind his back.

Lindsey walked out of work to find David standing by her driver’s side door.
Oh my God
, she thought and her jaw dropped.
It’s really him
.

“Hi beautiful,” he said, looking down at her left hand. “Please tell me you haven’t gotten married.” He smiled.

His baby face was still gone, but the sparkle in his eyes—his love of life—had returned. She wanted to run to him but forced herself to remain calm. “What are you doing here, David?” she asked.

“I came to see you.”

She was taken aback but did her best to conceal it. “After all these months?” she asked.

He nodded. “Please have dinner with me, Lindsey.”

She shook her head. “I…I’m not sure I can do this with you, David. I’ve walked through hell with my father and…”

“I’ve spent months healing from my demons, Lindsey, or I wouldn’t be here jeopardizing the second chance that I’ve prayed so hard for.” He gazed into her eyes. “I don’t just
want
to see you again, Lindsey. I need to.”

For a moment, his honesty stole her breath away, and she gasped. As she composed herself, she gazed back into his eyes. There were times when the strongest statement she could make was to remain silent. This was one of those times.

“Please don’t end this before it gets started, Lindsey. It would be unfair to both of us.”

She shook her head, this time less convincingly. She was coming around to his irresistible charms quicker than she wanted to.

“I’m not sure of the last time you’ve heard this, but you really are an incredible woman. You’re beautiful and intelligent and kind.” He went down on one knee and grinned.

She shook her head and laughed. “Get up,” she said. “You don’t have to beg.”

“So you want to see me again?” he asked, springing to his feet.

She nodded slightly. “I do, but…”

“But?”

“I found my father’s Army trunk in the cellar, David. There were love letters that my mother had sent to my father during the war, sharing the same hopes and dreams that you and I have shared. And look how…”

David grabbed her hand, stopping her. “If I’ve learned anything over the last year,” he said, “it’s that we don’t get what we wish for; we get what we work for.” He kissed her hand. “Love isn’t only a feeling, Lindsey. It’s a choice.” He pulled her close. “It won’t always be easy, but I can guarantee that I’ll never quit on you, or us…ever!”

Her eyes filled, and she hugged him.
He’s right
, she thought.
He won’t quit, and neither will I.

“Have you missed me?” he whispered, while they hugged.

“Not one bit,” she answered, picking up right where they’d left off.

“Good,” he whispered and pulled back to look into her eyes. “I’ve also learned that home isn’t a place at all. It’s a person. It’s you.” His eyes filled with tears. “And I want to be the man that you’ve always seen in me.”

She quickly moved in toward his mouth and kissed him gently. It was their first kiss since he’d returned home all those months ago.

Her knees buckled slightly, and she fell back into his arms where she stayed for as long as she could. As she pulled away, she said, “So where are you taking me to dinner?”