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14
Annie
My dad recovered.
By the time I got back to Seattle, driving a rental and changing it out at major airports along the way, he was back on his feet and being forced to march around the hospital halls with his trusty sidekick, the IV pole. He was in a terrible mood, having done this before. I couldn't blame him. It was a rerun.
My mom greeted my return as if I were one of the neighbors who had suddenly felt herself indispensable and showed up at the hospital to help. She was so nonplussed and unimpressed I began to wonder if Mark had made the whole thing up, the idea that my mom depended on me to be the sensible one.
If he had, it was kind of sweet.
But if he had, I wanted to now. Both so I could think him sweet and so I could not make a fool out of myself by trying to be helpful in a family that still didn't get me or really want me.
PD sent me to the department shrink, this time in person. They called it PTSD and trauma-assessed something or other. Seeing the shrink in person was supposed to be a step up the ladder of important shit but it just meant I had somewhere to go on those long afternoons while Mark was working and I had nothing to do. The psychologist kept urging me to be honest with her, which finally got on my nerves enough that I yelled at her that I was being honest.
I was.
I was being totally honest about everything I told her. I just couldn't tell her everything. She worked for the damn police. She ought to get that. Maybe she did. Because she released me to return to duty. I ended up in-house but it was temporary. I'd seen the orders and I believed them for a change.
Nothing much had changed. Kids were still dying. Drugs were still flowing.
I'd be out there on the street again in no time.
