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I gawk at her. “My freedom? I was never in danger of going to prison. I was too young to stand trial. But settling the lawsuit was an admission of guilt. And that guilt has held me hostage all these years. I lost a different kind of freedom, but a freedom nonetheless.” I realize I’m being unnecessarily cruel to them, but I can’t help myself.
My father appears taken aback. “Watch your tone, son. May May is right. Your mother and I did the best we could in a difficult situation. Your mother couldn’t take the pressure.”
I throw up my hands. “Right. Everything in our lives has always been about Mom’s disease. You covered for her, and made excuses for her, because poor Eileen couldn’t help herself. Did you ever play the tough love card with her? Show her the potential consequences of her actions?”
May May reaches for Dad’s hand. “Many times. You were too young to remember. I admit, your father and I enabled her. But only after we tried everything else.”
Dad snatches a napkin from the basket on the table and dabs at his wet eyes. “The decision to settle wasn’t just about your mother, Will. Your reputation was already destroyed. We were avoiding having your name in the press for another six months. We wanted you to move on with your life. We did what we thought best. If we had known this would have such a devastating impact on your life, we would’ve chosen another course.”
Seeing my father cry makes my chest tighten. Why am I putting him through this? Blaming him for ruining my life gives me no satisfaction. Confronting him about the past hasn’t changed my perception of the events. But I admit, I feel much better having gotten it off my chest.
Getting up from my chair, I pull Dad to his feet and into my arms. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to hurt you. These difficult discussions are part of my therapy.”
He holds me at arm’s length. “I understand, son. You can talk to me anytime about anything. I want to help you. Knowing we were the cause of your suffering breaks my heart. But it helps me understand the adult you’ve become.”
“It’s a parent’s job to screw up their kids’ lives,” I say with a chuckle, trying to make light of the situation. “I’m doing a superb job of ruining Caroline’s and Sophie’s.” I turn serious again. “Deep down, I know you did the best you could in a difficult situation. Mom didn’t make anything easy for any of us.”
Dad gives his head a grim shake. “No, she didn’t. But we sure loved her.”
I give him a quizzical look. Did I love her? Kids are supposed to love their parents, but resentment is all I’ve ever felt towards my mother.
* * *
When I discuss the matter with Clemmy at my next session on Monday, she says, “Love comes in all shapes and sizes, Will. Surely, there were some good things about your mother that you loved.”
I rack my brain but come up empty. “Maybe. But I can’t think of any.”
“Then think a little harder.”
Clemmy’s questions have grown increasingly more thought-provoking. Reflecting on my life helps me to see how many people I’ve hurt over the years. But it also reminds me of the good I’ve done. I’ve built houses for paralyzed vets, and I routinely hire men down on their luck. I’m a law-abiding citizen, and I attend church regularly. My anger problem is my one Achilles’ heel. But boy is it a big one.
By the end of our third session on Friday, I’m feeling better about myself, and I’m beginning to forgive myself for Bert’s accident.
“You’ve made enormous progress this week,” Clemmy says. “But I caution you about being overly optimistic. The path ahead will not be lined with rose petals. You will still have some bad days. But next week, we’ll begin to arm you with coping mechanisms to help you deal with the anger when it arises.”
“Therapy is harder than I expected, but I’m doing everything you ask of me. Do you think I’ll pass the psychiatric evaluation?”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” A mischievous smile appears on her lips. “Have you kissed any more of your daughter’s friends’ moms?”
“Haha. No. But I have a date with Julia tomorrow night,” I say, making a mental note to call her on the way home about the logistics.
Clemmy rises out of her chair, signaling the end of our session. “I’ll tell you like I told my boys when they were coming along. Mind your manners. Always think with your noggin and not your noodle.”
I burst out laughing. “Clemmy! Shame on you.”
She snickers. “Well, it’s the truth.”
“For a teenager maybe. But I’m a forty-year-old man. I may have anger management issues, but I know how to treat a lady.”
TWENTY-THREE
JULIA
I’d given up hope of hearing from Will about our date when he finally calls on Friday afternoon.
“It’s been a crazy week, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. If you’d still like to have dinner tomorrow night, I’ve lined Mia up to keep all three kids at Marsh Point.”
I’m too relieved to hear from him to give him a hard time about not calling sooner. Men are often slack when it comes to making plans. “That sounds perfect. What time should I bring him over?”
