When I See You (15 page)

"Mrs. Wainwright? This is Jordan Holloway. Ethan's wife. Your son and my…husband were sniper partners. I was just calling to confirm——"

"Oh, Jordan. You're coming," she says with a little sigh. "I''m so glad. This is going to be so special. We're doing a tribute to Ethan. I was so hoping you would come. I'm so happy you are."

She's so disarming; I rush on to explain myself.

"Yes, Ashleigh. She's my friend. And my son. Max. We'll all be coming, if that's okay."

I'm tongue-tied and undone by her enthusiasm and my lack of it.

"I'm remembering Ethan's face. His casket. Lying in it with him, when everyone else had gone to the cemetery for the graveside service. Igor Dasher had to rescue me." I gasp, realizing I'm telling this story out loud.

Janie Wainwright is crying. Now, so am I.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I don't know why I would tell you all of that."

"I'm glad you did. I want you to know how sorry we all are. We loved Ethan. The funeral was so beautiful. I know how hard it was for you. Ethan spent a great deal of his childhood at the ranch with us. He was like a son to me. Then, he and Brock went off to sniper school." She sighs. "And then, Ethan married you. After that, it seemed like they were always in Afghanistan." Her heavy sigh matches mine. "Anyway, you're coming. I'm thrilled, beyond the moon, as they say. Come stay with us. Brock's staying here on the weekends after spending his weekdays at Criss Cole. Can you be here as soon as Friday? That would give us the whole weekend together."

"I don't know. I need to see the Holloways. Max needs to see them. I should talk to Brock about the Lazy J."

"Weren't there some papers you needed to sign? He's been so worried about that. Blind or not, he remains adamant about selling the ranch. Henry and I keep telling him to give it a little more time, but he wants to do the right thing and get you out from underneath the obligation of it."

"What ranch?" I ask, and then gasp as I register what else she's just said.
"Blind?
Brock is
blind
?"

I hear her gasp. "He didn't
tell
you?"

"No."

My breath leaves me all at once. My mind races back to the scene of the funeral when I accused him of breaking his promise and how he didn't actually look at me. I remember how lost and sad he seemed to be. Memories return of his constant grip on that blond woman's arm.

"He's blind," I say slowly. "I don't understand."

"He'll be given an honorable discharge by the Navy in the next month or so, if his sight isn't restored. Right now, he's attending Criss Cole, here in Austin, to learn how to live on his own. They don't know what caused it. Even this psychiatrist, Kate Richards, he's been seeing, can't figure it out. He's blind, honey. I thought he told you. He
should
have told you."

There's a lot of unspoken sentiment in her tone. My face feels hot as I recall the way I've been acting toward Brock.

"You didn't know," Janie Wainwright says with this uncanny clairvoyance. Somehow, she knows how badly I've been treating her son. My eyes sting. The way I've been acting is unforgivable.

Brock's own pain reaches for me. Remorse sets in as a moan escapes my lips.

"Seems like you both have been suffering in silence," she says. "Come to Austin. Brock can pick you up at the airport on Friday."

I'm unable to talk for moment. How can Brock pick us up, if he's blind?

"I can't wait to meet you in person," Janie says.

"I can't wait to meet you," I manage to say back.

Guilt takes hold of me as I hang up the phone.
Brock is blind.

Shock and fear swirl all around me. Blind. Brock is blind. Intense sadness takes the place of all the anger I've felt towards him.

Brock is blind and he never told me.

I don't have time to explore that aspect because Ashleigh waltzes through the living room, sporting a large white bath towel and little else.

"What?" she asks intuitively.

"I've been blaming him for everything. And now, his mother just told me he's blind.
Blind
, Ashleigh. Brock." Her face registers with shock. "He can't see. He's to be honorably discharged by the Navy soon if his sight doesn't return. He's blind."

"That's why he wouldn't see me," she says slowly.

I turn away from her sudden close scrutiny of my face as this incredible anguish washes over me, but apparently not before she sees it.

"What?" Ashleigh asks softly.

"I don't know. I just have this feeling. It just seems like Austin might change everything."

"It might," she says in an ominous voice.

*≈*≈*

Chapter 9. Violet walk

Jordan

My gynecologist's office is in downtown Los Angeles. I wait in Dr. Liz Cantor's office, impatient, while she writes in her chart. She looks up from her notes every once in a while and studies me.

"Tell me about the missed period in February."

"It was probably nothing. I was late; that's all, but there were a million things going on at the time," I say for the umpteenth time.

"But when it came, it was normal."

I begin to squirm under her scrutiny. I clasp my arms about me and glare at her for a moment. We were college roommates, so her doctor status is secondary to her good friend status in my life.

"Not exactly," I say in defiance. "It was heavy. You know, unbearable. I couldn't leave the house for a day or so because it was hard to keep up." I try to shrug, but she catches my trembling.

"You had a miscarriage," she says.

"I guess so, but I'm feeling great."

She grabs my wrist and takes my pulse with her stethoscope. "You should have told me, called me, made an appointment."

"You were in Hawaii at the time with Adrian."

Adrian Saines is Liz's long-term boyfriend. Ashleigh and I have been waiting for more than five years for the two of them to get married. But no. Liz just continues to date him and lead a separate life from him.

Adrian is a touchy subject. It's usually one we save for a girls' night out, involving plenty of wine. Her eyes narrow.
A typical Liz warning.

"We're not talking about Adrian or Hawaii. We're talking about you."

"Ethan died. I wasn't myself."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for his funeral." She gets this guilty look as she tucks a tendril of my hair behind my ear and then hugs me.

"S'okay," I say.

"Not really. I haven't been a very good friend. Things have been chaotic." She glances at my face. "But that doesn't excuse not being close by and calling you and seeing you more often."

"You've been busy. So have I. I mean, between Max and the restaurant, I stay busy. Ashleigh's staying at the house. She gave up her apartment, months ago."

"Yeah, but she's busy with Michael."

"True."

I look away in an attempt to avoid Liz's clairvoyant-like gaze. It tends to work like an x-ray, making it hard to keep things from her.

The truth is grief has occupied my waking moments whenever I'm alone, so I try not to be alone too much. And, there's this whole other preoccupation with pretending that everything's fine whenever Max or Ashleigh or Louis are around. It's a full time job, portraying normal. And, I'm not as good at it for some reason. The proof of that is clear, ever since I lost it with the delivery driver and with the freezer incident a few weeks ago. And now, I''m dealing with this renewed, incredible sadness over Ethan, and this intense anguish over Brock's condition.
He's blind.
All these thoughts rage through me.

"Jordan? Where did you go?" Liz asks, looking anxious.

"Sorry," I say. "What did you ask me?"

"I asked how you were doing with everything."

I practically wilt under her penetrating gaze. "It's hard."

"Hard. How?" Liz asks.

I never should have said anything. Liz is not one to let things go. I bite my lower lip.

"Putting one foot in front of the other, some days, is hard enough."

I give her a little smile, but she's not fooled.

She gets up from her chair, comes around the desk, and sits directly in front of me on the edge of it. I wither under her intense stare and try to focus upon her haphazard ponytail and the trendy black glasses that tend to slip down her too straight nose. Liz Cantor is gorgeous in this stunning Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft kind of way. Ashleigh and I have known her since our first days at USC just before she entered medical school. We hold the honor of being her best friends as well as her first patients when she set up her practice. There are few, if any, secrets between the three of us.

"It's been almost six months." She stares at my face as if she's getting a psychic reading. "Though everyone's different. It's a different process, this grief thing, for everyone." She reaches out and takes my hand. "Are you pissed off at him, yet?" She half-smiles at me. I try to return it, but fail.

"No," I finally say. "I think I'm going to skip that stage."

"Saint status already?"

"Something like that."

"And, who's in Austin, besides the Holloways?"

"Ethan's best friend, Brock Wainwright. That's who Ethan was serving with in Afghanistan. I've been blaming him for Ethan's death, and I just learned that, well—" I swallow hard, struggling for the words. "Brock is
blind
. Somehow, in the ambush when Ethan was killed, Brock was injured, too, I guess." I move my head side-to-side in bewilderment. "I knew he couldn't remember, but I had no idea that he was hurt, and I've been blaming him for everything, for Ethan's death."

Liz still holds my hand, and she's squeezing it now. My tears land on her hand.

"Jordan, you cannot carry all this grief and guilt around by yourself. It's not good for you."

"Don't you
see
? I blamed Brock. I made him promise me he would bring Ethan back safe. I blamed him for Ethan's death. I did that. I'm a horrible person."

"No. You're not. You're a grieving widow, who has suffered a tremendous loss.
Again.
Just like your parents. You're a strong person, Jordan, but you're only human. And, sweetie, Ethan was only human, too. And, this Brock Wainwright? He's only human, too. No one is to blame for what happened to any of you, except the bad guy who pulled the trigger and killed him."

I wince at her truthful words. Liz looks at me more closely.

"Everyone lost something on that day. Ethan lost his life. You lost your husband. This Brock lost his best friend and his sight. Max lost his daddy. It's all terribly sad for all of you. And, Jordan, you're only human, which makes you wonderful, quirky, lovable, and deserving." Liz sighs. "Someday, you're going to find happiness again."

"I'm happy. Relatively." I lift my head in defiance. Tears come unexpectedly. "I really wanted that baby; you know? Somehow, losing that baby, in just a few short weeks after losing Ethan, just made everything impossible."

"How did you hide that loss from Ashleigh all these months? From me?"

"I'm a professional when it comes to grief; you know that," I say with an unsteady laugh.

Liz hands me a tissue and I dab at my face. She goes back behind her desk.

"Sex would be good for you," Liz says slowly. She rewards me with an expectant appraising glance.

"
Please
. I'm not going to have sex with Brock Wainwright."

"Who said anything about Brock Wainwright? I'm sure there are plenty of cowboys in Austin."

Liz looks at me intently while I just stare at her in astonishment.

"Sex would be great for you—liberating, a freeing of the soul and the guilt and the grief and the agony. Here's your get-out-of-jail-free card."

She taps the needle and, in the next second, jabs me with a shot of Depo-Provera. We'd discussed this, but I'm still surprised by her covert ways of handling my fear of needles by utilizing the sly technique of surprise and speed.

"You could have warned me."

"No. You hate needles. It's better if you don't see them coming. Now, use other contraception for the next week or so."

I roll my eyes as she hands me one of her appointment cards. She's scrawled her cell on the back as if I don't already know it by heart.

"Call me if there's anything that gives you pause. Don't wait. Don't think about it. Just do it."

"Right."

She gives me a meaningful, all-knowing look. I take the card and put it inside my purse.

"Do you know what I'm saying?" Liz asks.

Her insistence makes me smile.

"Yes. Day or night. Call you, if there's anything," I say. "Don't wait. Don't think. Just do it."

"That's right."

She hugs me and then steps back.