Page 100 of For Her Own Good

“Anyway, I had dinner with him and I…I think I’m going to sell him enough of my shares of my father’s company that Jerome will effectively be in charge. And I’ll maintain enough that if we vote as a bloc, no one can override us.”

She makes a sad little squeaky noise that sounds like she’s trying so hard not to cry.

“I’m not sure why that’s so upsetting? Can you explain it to me? Is he bullying you into this? Trying to take advantage? Blackmailing you? Whatever it is, you can tell me, and I’ll do my best to help you work it out. Or just listen. Whatever you need.”

Starla shakes her head, still looking miserable. I know she’s not keen on selling the business, but if she’s planning to, I’d think she’d make wise decisions about what to do with it because that’s who she is. What about this Garrett fellow has her in such a state?

“No, he’s not doing any of that. I…I actually like him. I don’t agree with him on everything, but on the whole I think he’ll be a good shepherd for Patrick Enterprises, and he’ll treat our employees fairly and help the company flourish.”

“Starla, love, you’re going to have to help me out here because Scotsmen—skulls like boulders, ye see? I’m still not sure why this is a problem.”

I get a smile out of her which I almost always do when I turn up my brogue, but then she’s back to looking gutted.

“Because I feel like I’m betraying my father. I won’t be able to stand it if I lose control or ruin this thing he worked so hard to build. I feel like I’m a failure for not being able to take the helm myself and I just want to do one thing—one fucking thing—right. The only time I can remember him being happy with me was after he’d started to think I could take over from him one day. I’ve been so anxious that I’ve been getting sick and I—”

Her chin trembles and I can see the tears brimming on her bottom lashes. One blink and they could overflow. I knew she’d been worried and overstressed, but I didn’t know it had gotten so bad. I want to scold her for not telling me sooner, but I’m also well-aware I’ve been earning back her trust, and I should be grateful she’s telling me at all.

Those hazel eyes of hers are wide and pleading, almost as if she has something else to confess. No, confess isn’t the right word as I don’t think she’s done anything that could be considered “bad.” And so what if she had? It would likely be something minor that she can’t stop fixating on and perhaps offering to spank her as punishment would help her let it go.

She rolls her lips between her teeth and there are very few things she could ask me for that I wouldn’t give her. Almost nothing, come to that.

“It’s been a long time since I felt broken, but this is making me believe it. Maybe because I’m only a couple of weeks away from my ECT and all of this is happening when I’m on the downslope. Whatever it is, it’s reminding me of how I was always too much for my father, how I always need too much, and I…I’m a grown goddamn woman. I am a capable human being but I can’t do this. It’s too much and I hate myself for it being too much. What is wrong with me? Why am I like this? Why are you here?”

She’s crying now, voice ragged and tear-choked. It’s as though someone’s scraping their nails over my heart, ripping it to shreds. I’ve seen her like this before and it hurt me just as much then, but I wasn’t in a position to take her in my arms and hold her close. At least I can do that. I’m not sure which part of me will be most helpful now, whether she wants her daddy, Lowry the relatively sensible man, or Doctor Campbell who can put into effect all the things I know about depression and anxiety—hers in particular. And whether what she wants would line up with what she actually needs, because God knows those aren’t always the same thing.

“You’re not broken, Star. Not any more than someone who needs glasses because they’re nearsighted, not any more than a person who needs chemo because they’ve got cancer, not any more than someone who broke their leg on the ski slope. I think you’re right that it’s not helping that you’re at the two-thirds mark of your ECT cycle. That’s probably letting your depression yell at you a lot louder and enabling this anxiety to hit you harder than it would right after a treatment. You’ll feel better in a couple of weeks; you know you will. If you don’t think you can wait that long, call Doctor Gendron. We can get her on the phone right now if you like.”

Course I don’t know whether Starla’s discussed our relationship with Lacey, but it doesn’t matter now, does it? I’d do anything to help her, even if it’s incurring Lacey’s not inconsiderable wrath. Starla comes first.

This seems like a good time to give her my vote of confidence in her abilities instead of simply letting her spill her guts like at her father’s house. I believe in her and would trust her with my life. I have no doubt she’ll make good choices when it comes to Patrick Enterprises.

“I can’t say I know much about business—you’re the expert on that of the two of us, for sure—but I do know you. You’re intelligent and conscientious, and you have good enough sense to surround yourself with people who are the same and who can give you good advice. If you think selling some of your shares to this Garrett fellow is your best choice, then it’s probably true. Your father wasn’t right about everything, you know.”

I have a long list of things he was wrong about or could have done better, frankly. Which I ought to crumple and toss in my mental rubbish bin because he’s gone now.

“I’m here because I care about you, very much, and you’re absolutely brilliant. I feel fortunate to be here. I hurt when you’re hurting, but that’s not your fault, and I think we’ve pretty well seen that wherever you are is where I’d most like to be.”

* * *

Starla

He’s the sweetest. The steadiest. And so very smart. It’s almost enough to make me believe him.

That’s part of why depression is shitty, and Iknowthat. But at the moment it’s not enough. My rational brain is not enough to overcome that god-awful, lying part of my brain that says I am worthless, unlovable, and that I should quit taking up space. That I am a failure and I’ve disappointed everyone who’s been there for me like Lowry and Doctor Gendron and my father and Holden and the list goes on… All of those people are waiting for a chance to escape, a chance to get the hell away from this black hole of a girl who needs to much, who sucks all the fun and energy and pleasure out of the world.

I’d convinced myself earlier that perhaps this was okay. That I was at least making a solid decision, if not one that was perfect or that I was thrilled about. Not the worst.

And then seeing that little “YES” show up on that godforsaken pregnancy test and the one after that… I started to spiral. Hard and fast, and this is yet another thing I can’t face because I can’t handle it. I am weak and horrible and stupid, and how much more like my mother can I be, really?

I’d been a teenager when I found out my mother had killed herself. It was several years earlier that I’d done the math on my parents’ wedding anniversary and my birthday, and since I wasn’t a preemie in the NICU, yeah, they weren’t married. Which fundamentally, who cares? What is the big fucking deal about children being born to parents who aren’t married? Isn’t all that matters is that they have a family who loves them and is able to raise them?

Sure, but when your father is one of the richest men in New England, and your mother is a gorgeous but mentally unstable woman who doesn’t come from money and she happens to get knocked up? I’d like to think my parents were in love, that I was a product of love and not lust, but I don’t remember them. I don’t remember her, really. My father could have lied to me all this time about how much he loved my mother because he didn’t want me to feel bad that he only married her because he’s a stand-up guy and that’s what good men are supposed to do when they get a woman pregnant.

I don’t want Lowry to propose because I’m pregnant. I don’t want him to stay with me if I’m pregnant because he feels obligated to. How much more can I heap on this man and not expect him to break? I am such a fucking burden it makes me want to…

No, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill myself. I don’t, I really don’t. I would tell anyone having the same thoughts as I am that it will get better. And I believe that with every atom of my rational brain. Too bad the goddamn depression monster is screaming over all of that. Which is why I couldn’t, just couldn’t, tell Lowry about her.

It doesn’t make any sense at all, I know, and knowing me I’m probably wrong, but from the second I saw those three goddamn letters, I’ve thought this baby is a girl. Not even thought. Known. I can’t explain it, it’s not rational, but really, how much of what I think is? It’s made me less likely to think about terminating this pregnancy for any reason except if my own mental health is circling the toilet, which might mean that neither of us would survive and what the hell good would that do anyone?

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