Must Love Flowers(24)

Something was drastically wrong with her. Joan had never been an impulsive woman, and twice within the same week, she’d gone against her very nature. She used to feel that she knew herself. Not any longer.

When she woke that morning, dread filled her that she would need to face this unknown person and expose the deepest, most excruciating pains of her life. She’d never been a crier until the last four years. Already she could feel the tears welling in her eyes. Her hands trembled, and she felt both hot and cold at the same time. She needed to escape. It didn’t matter that she would be required to pay for the session; it was worth it to break free while she had the chance.

She rose to her feet, intent on making a beeline for the door, when the receptionist called her name.

“Joan Sample. Dr. O’Brien will see you now.” The woman stood and opened the door leading down a long hallway. “Dr. O’Brien’s office is the third door on the left,” she instructed, and gestured in that direction.

“Ah.” Joan froze mid-step. Looking longingly toward the door that would lead to her escape and then the door that might possibly alter her life, she had a decision to make.

Fearing if she left, she’d never be able to heal, Joan hesitated. Indecision gripped her like a boa constrictor, defining her own efforts to negate and ignore the difficult changes in her own life.

She turned toward the door leading to Dr. O’Brien’s office.

The woman stood as Joan entered the room. Dr. Lannie O’Brien was a young woman. Much younger than expected, for all the letters listed after her name.

“Welcome, Joan.” Dr. O’Brien signaled for her to take a seat on the sofa. The counselor sat in a chair directly in front of her but not so close as to make her uncomfortable. The room, small and inviting, was painted a pale blue. Several colorful pillows decorated the sofa. The paintings on the wall were soothing and familiar, with landscapes of the Pacific Northwest.

Joan sat and clenched her hands together. She didn’t lean back and sat up straight as a fir tree.

Dr. O’Brien smiled encouragingly. “Tell me what brings you here.”

The lump in Joan’s throat felt as though it were the size of a goose egg. She swallowed several times before she could speak. “Gennie Davis recommended I talk to you.”

For a moment Dr. O’Brien’s face remained stoic, as if trying to remember who Gennie Davis was.

“She lost her husband…That was several years ago now, so you might not recall seeing her. I imagine you talk to a lot of people.”

“I remember Gennie. How is she doing?”

“Good, I guess. I mean, I haven’t talked to her in a while.” Like years, but Joan didn’t mention that.

“Can you tell me why she thought I might be of help to you?”

“My…My husband died.”

“Was this recent, Joan?” Her eyes were sympathetic.

Joan looked down at her hands, reluctant to admit how long it had been. “Jared died four years ago.”

“I see. Tell me about Jared.”

For the next several minutes Joan spoke of her loving relationship with her husband. After she relayed the basic information, how they met, married, and raised their two sons, she hesitated and then spoke of the aneurysm that took his life.

When she finished, she added, “Many couples who spend as much time together as Jared and I did eventually have marriage difficulties. It took effort for us to separate our business life from the one at home. Somehow, we managed to do that and keep both relationships strong.

“We were good together, complementing each other. We raised our sons with love, and when it came time for them to make their own lives, we adjusted easily to an empty nest.”

“You never argued?”

“Rarely.” And that was true. In all the years of their marriage and their work, there were seldom any conflicts that couldn’t be resolved with patience and love.

“I can understand why Jared’s death was such a tremendous loss.”

That goose egg was back, and once again Joan was forced to swallow it down. As she had earlier, she blinked away tears. “It feels like a part of me died along with my husband.” Her vision was blurred by the moisture in her eyes.

Dr. O’Brien reached for a tissue box and handed it to Joan.

“Thank you,” she whispered brokenly.

“It’s been four years,” Dr. O’Brien said. “I can imagine Jared’s loss has been a major adjustment for you and your children.”

Joan nodded.

“Tell me how you’ve made that adjustment.”

That was the point of her visit. Joan really hadn’t adjusted. She had an excuse and was more than ready to use it. “It wasn’t long after Jared’s passing that the pandemic hit,” she said, as a way of explaining how isolated her life had become.

“And you holed up inside your home like the rest of the world.”

“Yes.” Another nod—a confession, really—an admission of guilt. “The problem is, I continued to falter, unsure of the direction my life needed to go after the pandemic. My home became my shelter as well as my prison. I need to know what to do next. I have no idea where to go from here. I don’t need to work but feel like maybe I should.” She made an empty gesture with her hands. “I’m lost, Dr. O’Brien, and I’m hoping you can help me find my way.”