Page 67 of For Her Own Good

I’ve come to understand that most mental health professionals see a counselor themselves, in part to process all the caretaking of other people they do and the difficult topics they’ve had to help patients through. Lowry mentioned his therapist to me a few times when I was his patient, perhaps in an effort to build rapport or whatever. It helped, a little. Knowing this person I held in such high esteem also saw a therapist. Helped to reinforce what he was always telling me that, yeah, I needed help, but that didn’t make me broken or a failure.

His knuckles knock together between his spread knees as he looks at the floor and mumbles something.

“What?”

He blinks up at me, that perma-crease deepening between his brows.

“I didn’t tell her. Couldn’t have without explaining why it was such a problem. Why I was racked with guilt.”

“Whyever not? You were suffering. She could’ve helped you. You always told me that was your job. That I could tell you anything. Is it not some kind of…breach of professional courtesy or respect or somethingnotto tell her? At the very least it was a waste of your time and money.”

Lowry’s brows go up as though he’s suffering through my lecture. “I don’t think you understand. It wasn’t simply guilt over not having done anything for those boys, though that was bad enough. It was—I thought—I was scared—I…”

I’ve never seen him so at a loss for words. And he has heard some deep, dark shit from me, and I can only assume many of his other clients. He was always compassionate and composed, made me feel like even though the terrible thoughts in my head weren’t okay, that I, personally, wasn’t wrong. That I wasn’t irreparably broken. That I hadn’t done anything to deserve them and I shouldn’t be embarrassed that I was unlucky enough to have these ghosts whereas most other people escaped that fate.

He meets my gaze, blue eyes imploring me, but for what, I don’t know. My anger at him is lurking in the background, but I have a sense that it’s about to be sorted out. So, whatever he needs, I’ll give it to him. He literally saved my life. I owe him everything I have.

“Before I left…”

The thought of that time is still a gut punch for me. But I don’t let it show because for once, this isn’t about me.

“You’d barely turned eighteen, and I’d never been as fascinated by a woman as I was by you.”

He shakes his head, looking like he wants to melt into a puddle and seep into my rug. What he’s said works its way through my brain. He…what? It’s so at odds with why I thought he’d left that I have a hard time reconciling those thoughts. Although it’s like those movies where there’s a plot twist and there’s a montage with all the pivotal moments and you can see how every assumption you’d made was wrong and how those moments actually add up to what’s being revealed in this moment. I have to make sure, though, because really?

“You…you liked me? Like that? Then? Is that why you…”

“That’s why I left. That’s why I couldn’t tell you why. It wouldn’t have been good for you. It was incredibly inappropriate. I hated myself. I had started to resent you. I would’ve lost my license, my calling, and then what would I have done?”

I…don’t even know how to begin to answer that. I can’t imagine Lowry not being a doctor, not being able to use everything he’s learned, everything he’s taught himself, to help people, heal people.

“I wrote you letters I never sent because I couldn’t tell you why I’d left and I couldn’t bring myself to lie to you. The whole thing made me sick. Not you, but the idea that I could have anything in common with my uncle. That I had the potential to take advantage of someone who trusted me. Someone who was recently a minor and I was responsible for. That’s why I didn’t tell my therapist. She was a mandated reporter—”

“You never touched me.”

I’m angry on his behalf, but also bewildered and sort of furious at him. Emotions are rioting all over the place and I’m not great with them on a good day. This is beyond anything I ever thought I’d have to process.

“I know that. God, do I ever. But she would’ve been right. I could hear her answers in my head, d’ye understand? I knew what she’d say—to remove myself from the situation as soon as possible. So I did, but in a way that didn’t involve you in some traumatic scandal or me losing my job or my license. I didn’t like it, but it was the only thing to do. I’m not proud of it and maybe I should’ve taken my lumps but—I’m not like him, Star. At least, I hope to God I’m not.”

“You’re not.” There aren’t a whole lot of things I’m dead certain of, but that is one of them.

He dips a nod in thanks, but I’m not sure he feels that even as he acknowledges it.

“But if they’d said I was—my peers, my colleagues, my bosses, people I respected, then I would’ve been as good as, and my career would’ve been over.

“So, do you see now, why I left and in the way I did? It wasn’t okay, and I’ve felt terrible about it since I decided that was the thing to do, but I didn’t see another way out. I knew it would be hard on you, though not exactly how hard. And it’s no consolation, I know, but it was god-awful for me too. But mostly I’m sorry for leaving you in a way that made you think any less of yourself instead of just being furious with me. So I apologize, again, and I should have told you sooner. Before you were so brave and shared with me, I should have laid everything on the table for you. I should’ve given you all the information because you were sold a bill of goods, but you didn’t actually know what you were getting. I’ll understand if you want me to leave and never come back.”

“You think I’m going to be angry at you for what your uncle did? It’s sickening, I absolutely agree with you, but I don’t see what that has to do with me. Even if you both had the same feelings, he acted on them and you didn’t. You removed yourself from the situation, and even though it hurt me more deeply than I can fully explain, I understand why you did it. So, unless you’re going to tell me that you had these feelings for some of your other patients and didn’t show that same self-restraint…”

“No, of course not. I’ve never felt that way about anyone before, never mind one of my patients.”

“Then you’re not the same. At all. And maybe it makes me a terrible person, but I’m mostly flattered. Probably because you did leave. Things would’ve gone a lot differently if you hadn’t—namely, my father would’ve had you killed—but I don’t think you’re a monster, not of any sort. I mean, who can blame you for being fascinated with me? I am a spellbinding individual.”

It’s perhaps not kind to make light, but I’ll do whatever I can to make him believe he shouldn’t be crushed by his guilt over this. It’s not even a matter of that math people sometimes try to get away with when horrible people are geniuses or great artists or whatever so we should forgive them their heinous sins. Lowry’s presence in this world has been a nearly unmitigated good as far as I can tell. Yes, I still have trauma scars from how he left, but I do get it now. I don’t like it, and it doesn’t erase those old feelings that are carved into my psyche with a jackhammer, but at least I can empathize with the choice he made.

I don’t think he’d welcome advances from me right now, not when he’s mired in guilt and shame and remorse and whatever else he’s got floating in there, but I can sit with him. Hold space. Hold his hand. So that’s what I do.

Chapter 22

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