do that, I needed to get the situation with Corry under control. I thought I was getting closer to doing just that until Corry’s new counselor called.
“Hello, Ms. Sullivan. This is Peyton Archer. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Of course.” I’d been expecting his call. After Corry’s last appointment, he’d mentioned that he had something to discuss with me. I just didn’t know what, so I said, “I was hoping to hear from you.”
“Great.” He inhaled a deep breath before saying, “First, let me start off by saying I think things are going well. Corry was a little apprehensive at first, but he’s starting to open up and we’re making progress.”
“That’s really great news.”
“I think so as well.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “I wanted to check with you to see if Corry has ever taken any kind of anxiety medication? Maybe Wellbutrin or Zoloft?”
“No. He’s never had to take anything like that.”
“So, no one has ever suggested that he might need it?”
“No. Never.” Alarmed by his questioning, I asked, “Why? Do you think he needs it?”
“I think it could be very beneficial for him. He clearly has some issues with anxiety, and I think the medication could help. I thought I would call and get your thoughts on the matter.”
“I think it might help as well. Like I mentioned before, my boys have been through a lot, especially Corry.”
“Yes, I made note of that.” His tone remained steady and calm as he said, “You said Marc was hard on Corry, that he pushed him to be better. Do you think he pushed him too hard?”
“At times, yes, but Corry isn’t exactly the most motivated child. It doesn’t seem like he’s driven at all. I thought he needed a little pushing.” My chest tightened as I said, “I even pushed him myself. I just wanted to see him succeed.”
“That’s completely understandable, Ms. Sullivan. Boys his age often need a little direction.”
“So, where are you going with all this?”
“I believe Corry has a mild case of PTSD..”
“Oh my. I had no idea.” I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I couldn’t believe it. My son could have PTSD, and I hadn’t seen it. I’d known he wasn’t sleeping. I heard him talk about being wound up over a test or project, but I thought it was all normal. I thought it was typical teenage behavior. “Is that why you want to try the medication?”
“Yes, it’s one of the many reasons.” Before I could respond, he added, “If it’s okay with you, I will call it into your pharmacy this morning, and we can see if it helps.”
“Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.”
After I gave him my pharmacy information, Dr. Archer said, “You have a good day, Ms. Sullivan, and I’ll see you and Corry on Thursday.”
As soon as I hung up the phone, I went over to my secret spot in the garage and grabbed my pack of cigarettes. I took it and my lighter over to the front porch and stepped behind the shrubbery, trying my best to hide as I lit one of the cigarettes. I silently cursed myself for smoking yet again. I knew it was an awful habit and I needed to quit. And I would. Just not today. I was nestled into my secret hiding spot, trying to fight back my tears as I mulled over my conversation with the counselor. I was feeling completely overwhelmed when I heard the rumble of a motorcycle coming in my direction. It wasn’t a sound I was used to hearing in my neighborhood, so I peeked my head out of the bushes and was surprised to see Widow pulling into my driveway.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I’d stepped back into my hiding spot and froze. I had no idea what he was doing there. I’d never given him my address. I’d never even mentioned what area of town I lived in, so I had no idea how he’d even found me. I could feel my heart racing as I watched him remove his helmet and get off his bike. When he reached into his bag and grabbed something, I panicked. This was it. Widow was no hero. He was a sicko who’d come to do God knows what. Damn. I took a quick hit off my cigarette, then returned it to my side, hoping it would settle the overwhelming anxiety I was feeling as he made his way