Chapter 24

When I awoke to breakfast in bed I wondered if she ever slept.

I woke up at twelve and ate scrambled eggs and toast.

Dr. Richards was chipper, just a smiling away.

She asked me how I slept and I said, “Fine.”

It was strange to see her so energize, so nervous. We’d sat long times without a word, but now she seemed to not be able to shut up. Twice I felt like she was trying to distract me, but I didn’t know why.

I’d been confined to my room the majority of the last two days. I was going to go and watch some TV when she said something.

It’s funny how one thing, one word triggers a whole barrage of memories.

“I need you to go to...”

I had no idea what else she said.

‘I need you,’ and a desperate look stayed with me. I was curious about what she meant, and she’d promised the next day we’d talk.

“Scheyenne? Hello!”

“Dr. Richards?”

“Hmm,” she said. I was at the door and she was bent over making my bed. “What did you mean you need me?”

Her back was to me. She stopped and slowly stood. I looked at the photo and then the album on her little bed side table, and more questions came.

“And who is that baby girl and why isn’t she in any of your pictures with your sons?”

I don’t know, I was doing the white girl just throwing questions out there.

My heart was pounding. I turned to leave, feeling uncomfortable and guessing that I’d said too much.

I was slowly easing out the door when she said, “Close the door, Scheyenne.”

Her voice was hollow, and everything in my body told me Run Girl! Run! Yeah, she sounded like a fucking killer. But hey, the white girl got me in this, she’d probably get me out. The question was dead or alive.

I closed the door, and I tell you that bitch moved fast to be obese. She was at her bed sitting down and patting a spot next to her. I slowly walked over to the bed as she picked up the picture and the album. She handed me the picture.

“Her name was Nevaeh Diamond Richards. Born: 12/13/85.” She was smiling as she touched the picture with a finger. “She died 12/24/85.”

I looked up at her. She was still smiling, but it didn’t look like a normal smile. I could sense she wasn’t happy; she was sad.

“She was less than two weeks old when she was murdered... She’d be your age right now, I believe.”

I was staring up at her. Did she say murdered?

“Christmas Eve, I’d just been allowed to take her home. She got very sick after she was born... We lived in Los Angeles, Eric and me. That’s my husband.” She opened the album and pointed to the thick man. She was taking her time and admiring the picture.

Then she sighed, “Nevaeh was a twin and she was not supposed to make it. She shouldn’t have been alive. I delivered my first child... a stillborn and I can’t tell you how that feels to hear you’ve been caring a dead child, your dead baby for nine and a half months...” I looked at her, and she had such a straight face.

I admired her strength, her courage.

“I was in hell,” she smiled. “Then my placenta came out, some people call it the after birth... No one was there to catch it because they were all tending to Leah. That was my first baby’s name.”

My heart was pounding. She had me hooked, and there was a part of me that went out to her. I felt I could relate to her. She knew pain, she lived pain, and I was pain.

“Well when the nurse went to clean up the after birth, wouldn’t you know the shock when she found a baby,” her voice was excited, and I could tell she was reliving her story. “She was unconscious, and half dead from the fall, but she pulled through... Anyway Christmas Eve, we pulled up to our apartment and a car pulled up next to us...” she was shaking her head. “The window rolled down and all I remember is the driver’s window shattering, exploding out at me. Blood was everywhere.

“They put seven holes in our car,” she was smiling again. “The blood was from Eric cutting his arm on glass. He was untouched by the bullets. I was untouched. I checked on my baby and thank God she slept through it all.”

My mouth was dry as hell as I began to breathe easier now that they were okay. I smiled when Dr. Richards smiled; they were safe.

“We went up to our apartment, and Eric called the police. I went to make Nevaeh a bottle and change her.

“I did a little baby talk to wake her. I was still shaken up, and then I saw blood. I thought it was Eric’s, I thought she needed to be cleaned…

“The bullet went straight through her head.”

Dr. Richards’ eyes were wet.

My heart was beating so slow I thought it stopped. I was shocked that I could feel anything since I’ve felt so empty for so long.

“Eric came in when he heard me screaming. I was so scared she was dead, but I kept saying, telling him I needed to clean the blood. I kept telling him she was okay, I kept telling him… I begged him to just let me clean her up and she’d be okay.

“I really felt if I could just clean up the blood my baby would be okay.” Dr. Richards was crying now. “When I saw you… I thought how sad. When I saw you… I saw my baby. I look at you and I see her… there isn’t a day that goes by. Sure, I have other children, but that’s-” she was staring straight ahead. “I was hospitalized, you know” she said, and my mouth dropped. “Don’t look so surprised. I only became a psychologist because I felt no one understood me and I need to understand me before I expected anyone else to.” She grabbed my hand.

“But you made me stay.”

She shook her head, and I was amazed at how calm she was.

“Scheyenne them bitches chose to delay your release a week ago when you cursed out Dr. Manning. I was trying to get you out of here.”

I was so confused.

“But I see how you can misunderstand my intentions. I mean, the questions I asked you weren’t really aimed at you. I’m sorry, I was merely asking it in general. I mean you seemed to have it all down, and I honestly wanted to know the answer… It’s been fifteen years and when I saw you I knew I’d relapsed…”

I was stuck.

“Yes, I’ve been doing my relapse prevention and the sight of you brought back years of hurt... I realized after you left that you were hurting; I could see it. They were doing what they did to me, forcing you to get over something that's not in the medical books. Something medication can't fix.

“You cannot diagnose life and let me tell you... you did nothing wrong. Scheyenne, don’t you let them tell you how to grieve, you do it, but be smart about it.”

The tears were there in her eyes, and I felt overwhelmed. I couldn’t think to cry or do anything.

Dr. Richards flipped through the album telling me about her three boys. She was cheering herself up and in the process cheering me up too.

After we closed the album she said, “Session one complete.”

With one wipe of her hand, she was back to normal from what I could tell.

“You tell me when you’re ready for part two.”

I knew she wanted to hear my story, but I wasn’t ready.