Page 87 of Every Good Thing
A long beat passes before she says, “Do you think we should see someone?”
She is as gentle as possible, but I jerk back like she’s sprung it harshly. “What? Like who?”
“A therapist? For couples? Maybe Dr. Reese—you like her.” Her brow forms that hard L again. “We keep having setbacks, and I worry that…” Her voice trails off. “Am I overreacting?”
The idea irks me. My hands clench at my sides, and my eyes close to the noises in my head. I spent years on the proverbial couch.
During the army.
After the army.
After Lauren.
Times since.
I’ve done my fucking time. Needing help makes me feel weak, incapable, and vulnerable. But for Lena…
“No. I’ll make the call Monday.”
She wilts slightly as if she hoped I’d refute her. I can’t play my usual role—strong, stable husband, calming her in her distress, confident that nothing can break us.
I know better.
So, does she. She nods. “I think I’m ready for fries now.”
“McDonald’s it is.”
I escort her to the passenger side in case she feels additional weakness. Before I close the door, her hand falls on mine. She nibbles her bottom lip like she wants to say something but can’t find the words—I relate.
I wrap my sausage fingers around her dainty ones. “Everything’s okay.”
And she nods and smiles like she believes it.
Ruthie stirs in the backseat. “Did someone say McDonald’s?”
Twenty-Four
LENA
Two weeks later, I climb into the passenger seat of Dot’s work van, plagued with nerves. Why should this plan be any better than the handful of others I’ve attempted since the picnic? Ben’s admission about his unresolved anger over the IED and its aftermath felt like a breakthrough, the same as telling me about his anger toward Lauren at gator-park. He’s letting me in one admission at a time—a strategy that’d be fine if it happened more often. Instead of the door inching open bit by bit, he cracks it and shuts it again. The girls and I’ve worked extra hard to create time for us. Ruthie’s had plenty of play dates and sleepovers so I could arrange the same for Ben and me, both spontaneous and planned, and they always fall through. He’s working. He’s not up for it. He’s got a headache. He’s got things to do. Every excuse hurts a little more than the one before, which is why I’m so nervous now.
Thanks to the family calendar, I know his plan today, and I hope to join him.
If he’ll let me.
It’s a big if.
“Thanks for doing this,” I say, buckling my seatbelt.
“No prob,” Dot says, blowing the cloud from her vape pen out the window.
Jaye stands with Elsie Todd near the carport, reviewing today’s schedule—a meeting I usually attend but can’t this morning. Dot nods quickly in Jaye’s direction, earning her a coy grin and a wave.
“How’s that going?” I ask as she rumbles down the bumpy driveway.
“I did it.” Dot blushes.
“Did what?”
