Page 109 of For Her Own Good

“Ah, yes. Is Starla in?”

I attempt to peek around him, but he steps into my line of sight.

“No. She’s not. Even if she were, I wouldn’t tell you, you piece of shit.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” I joke, but the granite-faced man in front of me isn’t having a bit of it. And why should he? Indeed, he crosses his arms over his slim chest.

“How dare you show up here, acting like everything’s fine? Do you have any idea what she’s been through in the past couple of days?”

I open my mouth to answer, but he cuts me off before I can.

“You really fucking don’t, but I do. She lost or gave up some of the most important things in her life. And where the fuck were you, doc? Where the fuck were you? Because you sure as fuck weren’t here watching her become a shell of herself. You left her. How could you do that? Not just as her partner, but like, as a physician? A human being? ‘Is Starla in?’” Ah, his Lowry impression is notably better than Starla’s. “No, she isn’t. And you can fuck right off if you think I’m going to tell you where she is because you don’t deserve to be the shit on her shoes.”

“That was always true. But the thing is… Well, I don’t actually want to say it to you before I say it to her. I will apologize, profusely, fall on my knees if I must, and I suspect will have to. I don’t have a problem with that at all. If you have a sword, can I borrow it? Because I’ll fall on that too. I left for a reason, but…I don’t know. It seemed right at the time when I was in a panic, but I can’t honestly say if it was right anymore. But here’s the thing: Much as I shouldn’t have made that decision for Starla, do you really think you should have final say over whether I should be able to apologize to her or not?”

That’s a sneaky argument, it is, and perhaps Holden will fall for it, or perhaps he won’t and I’ll have to bide my time and find some other opportunity to talk to Starla. Not at her home because I don’t want to make her feel unsafe, not at Harbinson because…

Harbinson.

That’s where she is. It’s her ECT day. And if I hadn’t been drowning in the bottom of a bottle, I would’ve realized it. Lacey isn’t my biggest fan right now as I claimed an emergency to take an undetermined leave of absence, but I hope she’ll accept my apology as well and not have me escorted off clinic grounds if Holden allows me to go with him. I know he brings Starla to and from her appointments, and I have a surge of jealousy at the intimacy of it. But this is not about me. It’s about the people I’ve hurt and alienated. I owe apologies to basically all the important people in my life. So much for Saint Lowry. Most of all, I owe an explanation and an apology to Starla.

“Please, Holden. I’m begging you. I…I would give my life for her. I would give anything for her. Let me apologize and then, swear on my gran’s grave, I’ll respect her decision. Just, please. For what it’s worth, I think if she can forgive me, I might be able to make her happy.”

He half looks like he wants to throttle me and half as though he wants to believe me. I send every wish I have up to heaven and hope that the God I forsook so long ago will hear me one last time.

Chapter 38

Lowry

Starla’s lashestremble and flutter, the first signs that she’s coming up out of the anesthesia. Unlike some of my patients, she always had a fairly easy time of it and I have no reason to think anything’s changed since then. I hope she would’ve told me. She’s told me so much else.

And yet, here I am, having betrayed her yet again—because that is how she’ll see it, and how I’m seeing it as well—and it’s a wonder she ever saw fit to share anything with me at all. But if she gives me another chance I will spend every day of my life convincing her I am trustworthy, deserving of the faith she’s always put in me. If she’ll have me, anyway, and there’s no guarantee. But God, I hope she will.

Partly for my own sake, and partly so Starla won’t fire Holden. I’d feel terrible about that, but he knew the risks when he agreed to my scheme. He must agree that I am in fact a good choice. That I love Star more than I love breathing, and that I am worthy of at least a shot. Or perhaps he simply agrees that it’s up to Starla to give me the final “shove off, you fucking fuck.”

My fingers itch to take Starla’s hand in mine, so she knows she’s not alone as she wakes. It’s no different than I’ve ever felt. She told me once that waking up after ECT was like swimming toward the surface of the water with no promise of when you’d break the surface. And to think she’s put herself in that position every six weeks for the past eighteen years or so. Her bravery and fortitude are unfathomable to me.

I’d like to extend a hand, and promise that she’s close, that she can make it. But if she’s too tired to kick and thrash or pull through the water with her arms, that’s fine, I’ll wait for her. As long as it takes.

Her eyes move beneath her lids and her fingers twitch.

I hope I haven’t made a mistake by coming here, but I couldn’t bring myself to wait any longer, to shirk my responsibility to care for her for one more instant. She does look somewhat vulnerable beneath the bleached hospital linens, but she also looks sturdy, as though when she wakes up she’ll be ready to take on the world. This is but a temporary setback. Which I suppose it is; a recharging of her battery, or perhaps more accurately, flipping her switch to off and then back on again. Not anything as serious as a factory reset.

The tips of her fingers grasp at the cotton of the blanket and she rolls her head to the side. It’s selfish, but I hope she’ll be with me soon. The way more of her is engaging in small movements makes me think yes.

* * *

Starla

I have woken up in this room—or one of the three identical rooms that serve this purpose—many, many times. There have sometimes been nurses, my father, or Holden. Sometimes, though not often, a doctor. Sometimes even Lowry. When he was my doctor. Not since then has he been here because I didn’t want him to be, and now, though I would desperately want to, I wouldn’t let him be here even if he asked.

Come to think of it, I’m not sure if I’ll see him again ever. Perhaps in another fifteen years because that’s how this works? He waits until I’m good and in love with him, and then he leaves. It’s cruel. And my brain, though it should be on good behavior now, is being an asshole. Like, more than usual.

It’s tricking me into thinking I can smell him. It’s not strong like it is when he’s held me in his arms or when he’s been on top of me, inside me, levering up on his elbows so he can take in the expression on my face or with his nose buried somewhere in my neck or my hair. No, it’s more like when he’s spent the night at my apartment and gotten up before I wake to get to work.

The lingering scent always made me smile because it felt as though he’d left a part of himself behind to stand guard over me even though he couldn’t be there in the flesh. This, though? This is mean. Makes me ache for a thing that’s been dangled in front of me, that I’ve been allowed to embrace and grow comfortable with, feel as though it’s in fact a part of me, and then yanked away.

He’s gone, and that’s how things are. I ought to get used to it. And him being gone, I have some decisions to make about my life. Yes, mine, because apparently it’s not going to be ours. I’d thought maybe… Doesn’t matter what I thought. The reality is that Lowry is too haunted by old ghosts who should seek out someone who actually deserves it, and I am not reason enough to stay. I didn’t even get the chance to tell him that I was unsure. Because I sure as hell can’t raise a child by myself. I’m not sure if I can raise one with help, even all the help I could afford.

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