“Tell me how you’re feeling right now?” Dr. O’Brien asked.
Joan took a moment to assess her feelings. “Better, I think.” It felt good to tell someone what she’d done and how angry she’d been. “Taking in a boarder was also a step in the right direction.”
“It’s difficult to face being alone,” the counselor said, “especially when you and Jared were together twenty-four/seven.”
That was the crux. If they hadn’t worked together, it might have been just a little easier to accept his passing. The fact that they were always together, nearly attached at the hip, made the adjustment to being single even more difficult.
“There’s a difference between loneliness and aloneness, Joan. As your healing process takes root, you’ll find ways of belonging again, only it won’t be as it once was. I’m grateful you’re continuing with the group. Finding sources that help you grow out of your shell will offer new opportunities.”
Joan could see this was already happening.
“While you and Jared were together, there were times when you were apart, right?”
“Of course.”
“Even when you were alone you weren’t actually lonely because you had a partner. Someone to eat with, share ideas with; someone to help you make decisions. You had a social life together, friends, outings, vacations. You were a couple. Much of the loneliness after the death of a mate is the loss of identity. When it happens abruptly, as it did in your case, it’s only natural to feel disoriented and lost.”
Joan had never thought of this aspect of loneliness, but now that she had, it resonated deeply. Her identity had been shaken. She no longer knew who she was. After being a wife and coworker for all those years, abruptly she was neither.
“I read ahead in the workbook,” she admitted, fearing Dr. O’Brien might frown on her eagerness to move forward. “Is that all right?”
“Of course. Did you have a question?”
Joan nodded. “I noticed it mentioned helping others as beneficial.”
“It amazingly is. The more effort we put into others, the stronger we begin to feel ourselves.”
Joan let her mind soak in those words. Helping Maggie had been huge for her. It was as if her subconscious recognized this was beneficial for her as much as for Maggie.
Dr. O’Brien glanced at her watch and frowned. “Unfortunately, our time is up, but Joan, you’re doing exceptionally well. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing you at the next group therapy session.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. Before you go, I’d like to recommend a book I feel you’ll find helpful.”
“Of course.”
“It’s C. S. Lewis’s A Grief Observed.”
Joan was willing to do anything that would free her mind and her heart. “I’ll order it right away.”
Dr. O’Brien led her to the door and Joan left. When she was in the parking lot, she slowly exhaled—so grateful she had taken these steps toward recovery. It was painful and traumatic, but then she remembered all that the butterfly had to endure to break free.
Chapter 21
Maggie finished an eight-hour shift at Starbucks, and while she hated to admit it even to herself, she was disappointed Nick Sample hadn’t stopped by. His loss. She hoped he went hungry. In the days since the movie and the confrontation afterward, her attitude toward him had shifted slightly. He was right to worry about his mother, but at the same time, he should trust Joan’s judgment.
She’d enjoyed his company when they’d attended the movie. They’d shared a large bucket of buttered popcorn and laughed together. Then as soon as he learned her father lived in the area, Nick had become wary of her and openly suspicious. Maggie had a lot to be grateful for, and she was deeply relieved that Joan had countered her son’s doubts with her faith in Maggie.
In the brief time since she’d moved in with Joan, Maggie felt a sense of home that had been missing ever since she’d lost her mother. She knew her presence had helped Joan, too. They’d needed each other.
Maggie intended to do everything she could to show Joan how much she appreciated becoming her boarder. She would rather be on the street than take advantage of Joan. That Nick would even suspect Maggie would use his mother for her own selfish purposes was an insult.
As she headed toward where she’d parked her car, Maggie reached for her phone and skimmed through emails. When she saw the one from Hurst Review, she went stock-still and held her breath.
For a long moment all she could do was stare at the heading. She’d applied for their nursing scholarship, along with several other scholarships and financial aid. Her best hope, she believed, was with Hurst. Their scholarship would be life-changing for her.
When she couldn’t stand not knowing any longer, she opened the email and quickly scanned the contents. She had to read it twice before she believed what was right in front of her.
She’d been awarded the scholarship.
For the next two years her school expenses would be paid as long as she maintained the conditions listed in the email. Overwhelming relief and happiness flooded her heart. Right where she stood, there in the middle of the parking lot, Maggie started laughing, jumping up and down, while pumping her fist into the air in a wild display of triumph.
This news was too good to keep to herself. The first person she thought to tell was Joan, who had encouraged her when the other scholarships had fallen through one by one. But Maggie remembered that Joan had an appointment with Dr. O’Brien that afternoon.
Almost against her better judgment, Maggie felt the need to tell her father. It was unlikely he’d be happy for her, but that didn’t matter. She felt it was important that he know all her hard work had reaped dividends.
It went without saying at this time of day her father wouldn’t be home. Most afternoons were spent at the local watering hole with his drinking buddy, Al.
Sure enough, that was where she found him, sitting at the bar at the Half Pint with his cronies, a beer mug in his hand. The interior of the room was dark, and the scent of beer and cooking grease wafted about the room.
“Maggie?” Roy Herbert spoke first, his greeting full of surprise.
“Hi, Dad.”
He frowned and looked worried. “You okay?” The question was full of concern, although his voice was gruff.
“I’m good,” she assured him. “More than good, actually.”
He turned around on his stool to get a better look at her. His brow had nearly folded in half, as if he couldn’t fathom what had caused her to seek him out.
“This your daughter?” the man on the stool next to her father asked.
This must be his friend, Al, that her father had so often mentioned.
“That’s Maggie,” her father said, as a means of introduction.
“She’s pretty.”
“She takes after her mother.”
“You should be thankful she didn’t take after your sorry puss.” Al laughed, as if he found himself hilarious.
“Shut up, Al.” Her father slid off the stool and led Maggie over to one of the empty tables, of which there were plenty. Business this time of day at the Half Pint was apparently slim.