Page 46 of Between Here and the Horizon
“Yes, I agree. He’s been a lot more talkative the last couple of days. And he’s asked to spend more time outside. Though that was related to an accident that happened during a storm.”
“A storm?” He was using hisno-way!fake-shocked voice he used with Connor, whenever the little boy told him something arbitrary. This wasn’t arbitrary, though, so it was kind of frustrating that he was using that tone with me.
“Yes, a storm. A ship was capsized out on the water close to shore. Not close enough for the ship’s crew to swim to shore, though. At last count, thirteen men died.”
That seemed to get his attention. “I see. And Connor has been showing increased levels of interest in the accident that seem…out of the ordinary?”
“No. I don’t think so. I think he’s just curious. He knows people died out there. It was awful.”
“Mmm. Yes, I’m sure it was. A terrible thing, by the sounds of it.”
Ahh, the soft, coddling tone of a therapist. He managed to sound deeply wounded by the tragedy, and completely insincere at the same time. I wanted to slam the laptop closed and cut him off, but that would have made next week’s session really awkward. For Connor’s sake, I managed not to snap at him.
“What about you, Ophelia? How did the event affect you?Mentally?”
Oh, absolutely not. I wasn’t going to be psychoanalyzed by Fielding. No way, no how. It was one thing being here because it was the right thing to do for a child in my care, and another altogether to be stripped down and assessed, to have him making notes about me in his little book.
I gave him my most steely, cold smile. “I’m fine, Doctor. Thank you for your concern.”
“You didn’t know any of the deceased men that were brought in from the wreckage?”
“No. I didn’t. The only person I knew was Sully, and—”
Fielding sat back in his seat, like I’d reached through the computer screen and slapped him across the face. “I’m sorry? Did you just saySully?”
“I did. Is there a problem?” There definitely looked like there was a problem.
“Sully Fletcher? Ronan’s brother?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Right. I see.”
“What do you see, Dr. Fielding? I’m confused.”
“Ronan mentioned his brother many times in his own personal therapy sessions.” He looked uncomfortable, brow furrowed, as if he were hunting for what to say next and coming up short. In the hallway, the clock on the wall started chiming midday. The fifth hour had been struck by the time he continued. “Of course, patient confidentiality is still a legally binding contract, even after a patient’s death, Miss Lang, so I’m not obliged to go into any sort of detail about what passed between Ronan and me in our sessions, however I will say this. From what I was lead to believe, Sully is a courageous, very brave man who has suffered through a number of traumatic experiences in his lifetime. And when people experience all the things Sully has experienced, Ophelia, they leave a mark. An indelible one that doesn’t rub off too easily. Not without the desire to want to heal, anyway. Ronan told me often about the dangerous stunts his brother would pull. Really reckless, hair-raising stuff. His appetite for throwing himself into the mouth of hell so frequently, while commendable, could also mean that he’s putting those around him in danger at the same time. And if he’s spending time around you? Around the children?” He fell silent.
“He saved three men. No one got hurt because he reacted in a tough situation. And you speak as though Ronan wasn’t the same, Dr. Fielding. He was the one awarded the Purple Heart, remember? I’m sure he didn’t get that handing out ice cream at Kabul airport.”
“Yes, well. The situation’s complicated, whichever way you look at it. I just thought it might be prudent to give you aheads up, if you will. A friendly warning from me to you.” Here was a man who’d never had cause to use the phrase “heads up” before. He was way too proper, too refined for such things.
“Well, thank you, Doctor, for looking out for me, and for the children, but you really have nothing to worry about, I promise you.”
******
Rose came straight by after work. I’d already given the kids their dinners and both of them were bathed, so all she needed to do was sit with them for a couple of hours, watching Marvel Action Hour reruns (which Amie loved).
I was late arriving to Sully’s place. When I let myself into the lighthouse, juggling Tupperware containers of homemade Bolognese sauce and chicken casserole I’d made that afternoon, I stumbled into Sully’s living room to find him braced against a wall with a towel wrapped around his waist, water running down his torso, and a look of agony on his face.
“Jesus, Sully, what the hell are you doing?”
“Initially, I was trying to shower,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now I’m just trying not to pass out.”
“What happened? Damn it, why is there blood all over the floor?” A huge patch of carpet was soaked bright red next to the stairwell, and smaller patches were dotted between there and the point where Sully was now leaning up against the wall.
“I opened up some stitches,” he said, wincing. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Where? And why did you even need stitches in the first place?” I put down the tubs of food I was carrying, wriggled out of my jacket, then hurried to check him over. At first I didn’t see the long, jagged slice down his right side, because he was cradling his arms around his body, however the source of the bleeding became all too apparent as I got closer.
