Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,84

hanging onto.

26

“You’re not going to be better within eight months,” isn’t what I wanted to hear from the therapist who specializes in treating veterans with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I thought therapists were supposed to give s hope, not a dose of reality. I guess I had that wrong. I’m glad I went into the appointment by myself, although Melody insisted on sitting in the waiting room. The last thing I need is her thinking I’m going to become some kind of basket case throughout the pregnancy. I bet she was worried that I was going to blow off the appointment or that I’ll need moral support when I come out. Either way, it is nice to know that the love of my life is in the lobby waiting for me.

I shake the therapist’s hand as he opens the door into the waiting area where a Parent's magazine article has captured Melody’s full attention. “I’ll see you next week, Brett,” he says.

Yeah, weekly. I guess I'm in rough shape.

“Thank you. I’ll see you then,” I say.

Melody’s first ultrasound is this afternoon. I wish our appointments hadn’t been scheduled on the same day because I don’t want to be on center stage, taking away any part of the excitement she feels right now, but I know she’ll have questions for me. I’m going to be honest and not hide anything. If I sugarcoat the facts she’ll know and that won’t do either of us any good.

Melody stands and waits for me by the door. We planned ahead and have coverage in the shop today since our appointments are scattered throughout the day, so we steal a little time for ourselves and go out for lunch before her appointment.

“So, how did it go?” Melody asks as we walk toward the exit of the old building.

“He doesn’t cherry-coat anything,” I tell her. “I don’t know.”

“Did you tell him what happened last week?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I was hoping that this conversation would wait until the end of the day, but we’re here now and she deserves to know after what I put her through. “He told me to write out what I see when I have the flashbacks and start keeping a journal of the entries.”

Melody appears relieved as she slowly blows air out of her pursed lips. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe it will help.”

“Maybe,” I say.

“You can always burn them after,” she says.

“He suggested that. Which is when I told him I wanted to burn the letters I wrote to you—just let me talk before you say anything.” I watch her lips pinch together, visibly stopping herself from speaking. “He told me I should go through them, maybe even share them with you so I can bring you into some of the moments I experienced. I guess it will make me feel less alone when I think about certain things. He said some people aren’t strong enough to be the listener, but if you are, it would be a helpful way to release—whatever is in my head.”

Melody stops walking and places her hands on my shoulders, staring up at me with a circular reflection of the light-bearing down on us in the lobby. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I’m not strong. I need you to know this. I am here for you and I can handle whatever it is you need to share. Everyone needs someone. You said so yourself. I’m your someone, Brett.”

I lean down to kiss her. “You are my someone. My only one.”

“As long as we have each other—everything will be perfect,” she says.

“He said I might fall again,” I say, needing to give her a fair warning.

“I’ll catch you.”

“All five-foot-three of you?”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

Parker still looks angry when she spots the truck. Her backpack is chucked into the backseat first, then she climbs in and slams the door. “Hi Melody,” she says.

I turn around, watching her buckle her seatbelt. “Is there a ‘Hi Dad’ in there somewhere too?”

“Oh, hi, I didn’t see you there,” she says.

I smirk as we drive off. “In the mood for some ice cream?”

“I don’t know. Is it secret ice cream?” Clearly, Parker has spent the day stewing over everything, but I’d rather her be upset about the secret rather than what happened last night.

“It could be,” I tease.

“Then, no.”

“Tough. We’re going anyway,” Melody tells her.

“Fine, but only because you are saying it,” she responds.

“Parker,” Melody continues. “Go easy on your dad.”

I spot Parker pulling her book out of her bag through the rearview