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EVERYTHING’S JUST PEACHY

Lizzie

AUGUST 31, 2002

P ISSED OFF , I SAT IN THE DOCTOR’S OFFICE ON T HURSDAY AFTERNOON, WITH MY ARMS folded across my chest and my heart sealed off.

“Are you in the mood to talk today?” the woman behind the desk asked in a pleasant tone.

“Depends on the topic,” I answered flatly. This doctor was new, a younger-looking woman I had never met before. I didn’t bother to learn her name because after half a dozen sessions, we would never meet again. That’s how it was. How it had always been. There was no regularity to these appointments. No familiarity. I could spin a new yarn each time, and they would never know.

The impressive stack of notes on her desk led them to believe this stranger knew all about me.

She didn’t and never would.

The shiny MD credentials attached to her name were what assured my parents that she was the latest in a long line of saviors that could fix their broken daughter.

She couldn’t.

Little Red Riding Hood was devoured in whole by the Big, Bad Wolf .

The doctor decided to start with, “I see you’ve celebrated a birthday this summer,” while flicking through my notes. “Your fourteenth.” Her eyes returned to my face. “Did you do anything special for it?”

Okay , this was a slightly different approach to the standard how are you feeling , but nothing I couldn’t handle.

“Yeah, I did,” I replied. “And no, I didn’t.”

“Really?” She arched a disbelieving brow. “Nothing?”

Like I’m going to tell you shit . I shrugged in response.

Her lips tipped up. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

Not a chance in hell .

When I didn’t take the bait, she returned to scouring my notes, while I waited impatiently for the clock to run down. Thirty-seven more minutes and I was out of here.

“It says here that your mother has battled cancer throughout your childhood.” Her eyes brightened as she read through my notes. “And she’s made a miraculous recovery back to full health.”

“Yeah,” I bit out. Until the next time .

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

“I’m ecstatic,” I deadpanned, eyes boring holes in hers. “Can’t you tell?”

Concern flickered in her eyes. “How have things been going at home?”

“Peachy.”

“And your relationship with your parents?” She continued to probe. “How is that going?”

“Picture perfect.”

“And your mood? How are you feeling, Lizzie?”

There it was . “Splendid.”

The doctor released a frustrated sigh. “You know I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of your job?” I arched a brow. “Figuring out ways to get me to talk?”

“Yes,” she replied evenly. “But you could make my job a lot easier if you opened up.”

“You’re getting paid to be here.” I shrugged. “I’m not.”

“Do you have somewhere else you would rather be?”

Yes . “I see what you’re doing.”

“A friend’s house, perhaps?” She continued to challenge. “Or maybe a boyfriend?”

“You’re the one with the notes,” I countered. “You tell me.”

“Have you always been this mistrustful?”

No .

There were moments in time, back when I was a little girl, that I thought I could be happy. Back then, contentment felt attainable. But darkness had a way of sweeping innocence up in the riptide.

That’s what happened to my innocence.

To me .

Everything went dark once the monster crawled into my bed. There were only glimmers of hope, fleeting flecks of sunshine that teased my soul. Until she died and took my last flicker of trust to the grave with her.

It had been two years, four months, and six days since they pulled my sister’s body from the water, and it had been two years, two months, and eight days since he left town. Eight hundred and fifty-three days of being not believed and this doctor was questioning my ability to trust ?

What a fucking joke .

“Like I said,” I deadpanned, “you’re the one with the notes.”

“How did your session go?” Mam asked on the drive back home. “Did you like your new doctor?”

“It went well,” I replied as I stared lifelessly out the car window. “She was nice.”

“And she’s happy with your progress?” She continued to probe while she navigated through the lunchtime traffic. “No adjustments to your meds?”

“Nope.” I repressed the urge to scream. “Everything’s fine.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Mam reached across the console and squeezed my knee. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

“Yeah, Mam,” I whispered. I know you are .

“Did she give you any pointers on how to handle secondary school next week? Or coping techniques if you get overwhelmed?”

“I won’t get overwhelmed, Mam,” I replied with a sigh. “I’m not nervous about it.”

“I know that, sweetheart,” she conceded in a gentle tone. “But it’s going to be a big change for you, and you know how change can unsettle your mood.”

Yeah, I knew that, but there wasn’t a whole pile I could do about that. I couldn’t cut the bipolar out of my mind like her doctors could her cancer. It was a part of me. “I’ll be grand.”

“I’m so proud of you, Lizzie. I hope you know that.”

Yeah, and I didn’t deserve it. Her pride was misplaced because if she knew the real me, she wouldn’t feel that way. If she knew about my bad thoughts or the things I craved , she would be repulsed. “I’m proud of you, too, Mam.”

“So, what else did you talk about in your session?”

“The usual,” I replied with another defeated sigh. “How am I sleeping? How am I feeling? Do I feel like the new meds are working? Oh, and she asked me about my nightmares.”

Mam winced. “They’re still happening?”

Every night. “They aren’t as bad as before.”

“That’s a relief to know, love.”

“I keep having this one dream lately, though,” I said, deciding to tell her. “About, uh, well, about her.”

My mother’s expression fell. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Swallowing deeply, I asked, “Did we live somewhere else before here?”

“You know we did, love. We lived in Tipperary.”

“No, not Tipperary,” I muttered, feeling confused. “Somewhere farther away. Somewhere we would need to fly to.”

Mam frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“In my dreams, I’m on an airplane.” I expelled a frustrated breath. “We all are. The whole family. We’re flying somewhere and Caoimhe looks really happy about it, and I think I am, too.” Frowning, I added, “But the moment the plane lands, I wake up.”

“Maybe you’re reminiscing about a holiday we took?”

“No.” I shook my head, brows creased. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, you can stop worrying, love.” She smiled cheerfully. “Because it’s just a dream.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, discretely digging my fingers into my flesh to soothe the anxiety rising up inside.

My phone pinged then, and I quickly snatched it out of my pocket and clicked on the unopened text message. The moment I read his name on the screen, excitement roared to life inside of me. I roared to life .

Four more days. x

A sudden flush of heat washed over my body because I knew exactly what that cryptic message meant. Feeling my heart thump erratically in my chest, I fumbled over the keypad of my phone, desperate to get a message back to him.

Come home from swim camp early. We can get a head start. x

Holding my breath, I stared at the screen and waited for his response, only to visibly tremble with excitement when my phone pinged a few moments later.

I’m stuck in Kerry until Sunday. x

Stifling a groan, I typed out another message and pressed send.

That means we won’t see each other until school on Monday. x

His reply came instantly.

Don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you. ;) x

Smirking, I replied.

How? x

My phone pinged ten seconds later.

Lots of touching ;) x

My heart jackknifed in my chest, and I grinned devilishly before texting him back.

FINALLY. x

“Well, there’s only one person who can put a smile that wide on your face,” Mam laughed. “So I’m not going to ask who’s texting.”

“Hmm?” Blushing, I quickly pocketed my phone and exhaled a shaky breath. “Oh, it’s Hugh.”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Mam mused. “I gathered that.”

“He won’t be home from camp until Sunday,” I told her, heart still thumping wildly. “So we won’t get to see each other until school.”

“Oh no!” Mam feign-gasped. “How will the two of you ever survive?”

“He’s been gone for a week,” I reminded her with a huff. “Seven days, Mam.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll survive another four days without lover boy,” Mam laughed unsympathetically. “I have to say, I’ve missed seeing him around the house, too—although not nearly as much as your father has.”

Yeah, I was quietly confident that my father loved my boyfriend more than he loved me.

Things were tense at home, with my parents’ relationship on the rocks since the funeral, but Dad really seemed to snap out of his bad mood whenever Hugh came around.

Mam said it was because he enjoyed having another male around, but I knew better.

Dad loved Hugh because he picked up the slack for him. When he bounced, which happened frequently, Dad knew he could rely on my boyfriend to take on the role of “man of the house” in his stead.

The more my parents fought, the more my father left, and the more my father left, the more my boyfriend stepped up.

It wasn’t right how much both of my parents had relied on Hugh in the past two and a half years, but he never complained. Worse was my inability to function without him, but again, my boyfriend never faltered or shied away, and I knew with absolute certainty that the salvageable parts of my body, heart, and mind would forever belong to him.

Despite the meltdowns and mania, Hugh continued to wade into my world, like a brave knight, and shield me from the emotional shrapnel hell-bent on tearing me to shreds.

I was nowhere near good enough for this boy, nor did I deserve the patience he extended to me, but I desperately tried to be.

My mind drifted back to the shitstorm that was the summer of 2001, and I flinched when I thought about how close I had come to losing Hugh.

My sister’s first anniversary had brought with it my first truly severe manic episode, most of which I had very little memory of. I could, however, remember the shame that had engulfed me when I woke up in a hospital bed in the depths of depression. I couldn’t remember stopping taking my meds, but that’s what the doctors said happened. I couldn’t remember destroying my room, ripping Caoimhe’s pictures off the walls, or running naked through the fields at the back of our house. But that’s what they told me happened. The worst thing by far was hearing that not only did I tie a horse rein around my neck and throw myself off the upper loft in the haybarn, but Hugh broke his elbow when he fell over the ledge trying to cut me down.

He did end up cutting me down and saving my life that day, and he never once held it against me, but I did. I held it against me and would never forgive myself for putting him in harm’s way.

Afterward, the drop was so severe that I would spend weeks of my summer holidays in bed, barely eating, rarely showering, and generally rotting beneath the covers.

After that, I came back to life, but I was tortured by the mistakes I had made when I was high. Worst of all, I only had myself to blame for my actions and my dad was more than willing to tell me just that.

That dark period in my life wasn’t something I liked to think about because I was terrified that, if I thought about it too long, I would jinx myself.

Claire’s birthday a few weeks back had been another stark reminder of how quickly my world could come crashing down around me.

“Listen, I know we’ve had a hard few years, but how about we draw a line in the sand and consider you starting Tommen College our fresh start?” Mam cast a hopeful glance in my direction, and I had to force myself not to flinch at the sight of her weathered face. “Hmm? What do you say, baby girl?”

“Sounds like a plan,” I offered, willing myself to be the daughter she needed me to be.