I lean forward on the deck railing, listening to the wind howl and watching the swing that hangs from a low branch on the old oak tree sway back and forth. Lightning streaks across the sky, momentarily illuminating the backyard, and a few seconds later, thunder cracks overhead. Rain is suddenly falling like a dam burst in the clouds, and my T-shirt and jeans are soaked through in minutes, but I can’t bring myself to care. I bow my head, focusing on the water dripping from the strands of hair hanging down around my face.
I breathe in and out. In and out. In and out. My gut is a tangle of knotted emotions, and I feel like I’m about to vomit.
What was I thinking? Was I really about to cut my own wrists in front of my mom to prove my point? All because I read some posts in an online forum? For all I knew, those people had made it all up. Or even if they believed they were being truthful, maybe they really had been dreaming about dying and had woken from that dream like nothing happened, because nothing happened.
I hear the slider open behind me and dig my nails into the sodden wood of the railing. The soles of my mom’s slippers drag over the boards, the sound muting when she walks beyond the part of the deck protected by a roof cover. Her warmth soaks into me like a comforting embrace.
Rain is no longer falling on me, and I glance up to see she’s holding an umbrella over both of us. She curls her arm around my shoulders, holding me close. I rest my head on her shoulder, and she squeezes mine, pressing a kiss into my wet hair. For a long time, we stand like that, my mom holding me together while I try my hardest not to fall apart. But she’s strong, and she won’t let me.
“You need to get help, Janie,” my mom says, finally breaking the silence.
I close my eyes, the muscles of my face twitching as I teeter on the cusp of an emotional breakdown.
“You remember Maryann, don’t you?” There’s a detached quality to her voice, like she’s holding her own meltdown off by sheer force of will. “My friend who’s a psychiatrist?”
I nod against her shoulder. I’ve met Maryann a few times, but the one that stands out is at John’s funeral. She told me to come talk to her whenever I needed an ear. She said her door was always open to me. I never took her up on that offer. Maybe I should have. Maybe then I wouldn’t be here, like this.
“I called her after I got Miles settled back in bed,” my mom says. “She’s expecting you first thing in the morning.”
“I have to open the shop,” I say mechanically.
She squeezes my shoulders tighter. “Oh, sweetie.” She rubs my arm and rests her cheek against my head. “No, you don’t. The shop will be fine without you for a little while.”
A tear sneaks between my lashes, burning against my cool flesh.
“You’re going to go in and talk to Maryann, and you’re going to do whatever she recommends,” my mom says, her tone resolute. “You were going to hurt yourself in there, Janie.” Her voice thickens with emotion.
I swallow compulsively, struggling with the crushing guilt coiling around my heart.
“I think you should plan to take some time off from everything,” she says. “We can tell the kids you’re taking a vacation. They’ll miss you, of course, but it’s for the best.” Her voice breaks. “Because you’ll come back.”
I choke on a sob.
I’m going to be committed. That’s what she’s saying. I’m a danger to myself, and I can’t help but wonder if my mom is afraid I might hurt her or the kids, too. I would never, never do anything to them. Not ever.
But I can’t blame her for thinking it all the same.
I nod, agreeing to her terms.