I drag myself out of bed the next morning, my eyes still sore from crying the night before. I know I look a mess. I don't care. My things have already been packed, and I know the car will be here soon. Last night feels like a nightmare, but I can't shake the ache in my chest. I turn on some music loudly, trying to drown myself out before I start breaking things again.
I shuffle down the stairs and see the mess I made last night. I don't even start to clean it up. Kelly will be by, and she'll see it and know that I've finally snapped. I'm lucky they're not committing me, honestly. I walk by it and turn on the coffee maker. When the driver comes, I'm sitting calmly, sipping my coffee. He looks at the mess, but I don't even acknowledge it, gesturing to the bags lined up in the living room. He doesn't ask questions and loads everything into the trunk.
Before I know it, I'm boarding a plane. Alone. I haven't done anything alone in so long and as the flight attendant stuffs my things into the overhead, I glue my face to the window, willing myself not to get up and run off the plane. It would be a lot easier to stay home and let Lindsey dote on me and pretend I'm fine.
When I arrive in Phoenix, my parents greet me at the gate and I can feel my mother assessing my appearance carefully as I approach her. I haven't seen them in about a year, and I only told her bits and pieces over the phone. Next week, I start the hard work. Right now, I need my mom.
I cry as she hugs me, feeling an immense sense of relief. "We're glad you're home, sweet girl," she says, and my dad wraps his arms around both of us. He lets go and guides us to the car, and mom rides in the back seat with me while he drives. I know my dad is full of I-told-you-sos... he's been worried about me for years. He senses how fragile I am right now, and he doesn't say anything.
When we get to the house, dad moves me into my room and mom fixes lunch. "So what's your plan, Stephanie? You haven't really told us what's going on. How long will you be staying?"
"There's so much, mom..."
"Start at the beginning," she says, setting a plate in front of me.
"Well, I left Richard."
"Good, we hated him."
I laugh a little at her immediate support. "He hit me, mom."
"He what?"
"It went on for a while. Don't worry, I'm safe, it's all been taken care of."
"Oh, baby," she says, taking my hand.
"Everything was such a mess, and they put me on these tranquilizers that just... numbed me and now I can't get off of them, and I may have completely destroyed everything between Lindsey and I... I don't even know what's happening anymore."
"You and Lindsey? You're speaking again?"
"We... he helped me. I stayed with him for a while," I say vaguely. "There's a rehab facility in Sedona. I'm checking in tomorrow."
"For how long?"
"28 days, I think. Depending on how things go."
"And Richard..."
"He's in jail. He can't make bail, and his hearing is coming up. I don't know how long he'll be in. He won't be a problem."
"And Lindsey."
"I can't think about him yet, mom."
"You fell in love with him again."
"I said I can't think about him," I say, my voice rising.
"Okay, okay," she says, treading lightly. "How long have you been away from Richard?"
"A month. He was arrested two weeks ago, after he broke into Lindsey's and attacked us."
"He what?!"
"It was ugly," I say, trying to indicate that I'm not really interested in rehashing the specifics. She is my mother however, and she ignores my hints, demanding to know more.
"What did he do to you?" I spend much longer than I'd like recounting everything for her, and it takes hours to explain everything. She listens intently, and I try not to meet her eyes too often, knowing I won't be able to keep speaking.
When I'm finally talked and cried out, she disappears for a minute, then throws a bathing suit and a towel at me.
"What are you doing?"
"Go change. I'll meet you in the pool," she says, smiling. For one night, I get to enjoy my family and somehow, they manage to make me forget about everything for a little while.
The next day, I check in. For three weeks, I feel like I'm dying. Most of it's a blur, my days filled with counseling sessions and doctor visits and a lot of sleeping. Eventually, I feel the fog lift and I suddenly can't wait to go home. Almost four weeks after I arrive, my parents are loading my things back into the car, and it feels strangely like being picked up from college... except I'm 39 years old and leaving rehab. Not exactly the same.
They catch me up on the past month, and I actually feel like I can sort of communicate like a rational person again. The therapy they forced me to attend was surprisingly helpful. The drive back to Scottsdale passes quickly, and they unload my things, leaving me alone in my room for a while. I flip through my journal, not really sure what to do now. How long should I stay? Am I ready to go back to California? Can I go back to work yet? They're talking about a tour and I know they can't do it without me. Maybe they've already canceled it. It's been a month since I've spoken to anyone.
"Hey, Stevie?"
"Come in."
"I know you may not be ready for this yet, but Lindsey came to see us."
"He what?"
"You told us not to tell anyone anything, and we didn't, but we assured him you were okay. He seemed... devastated."
"Why can't he ever leave things alone?" I say, suddenly aggravated.
"He's very worried about you," she says, sitting beside me and brushing hair from my face. "You should call him, okay?"
"I can't do that, mom."
"I'm not going to make you do anything... but he loves you, honey." She squeezes my hand and leaves a letter with me, which I promptly toss aside.
I spend a full week holed up in mom and dad's house, trying to figure out what comes next. This morning is different, though. I feel good. I wake up and shuffle outside to the pool to soak up the late morning sun. I hold Lindsey's letter in my hand, tapping the envelope on the arm rest. I open it, and I can't help but smile at first, seeing my name in his familiar scrawl.
Stevie,
I don't know where you are, and it's killing me. I wish I could understand what you have been going through. I have spent weeks looking for you and wondering what I could have done to make you stay. I think I have finally accepted that I need to let you do this.
We finished the album, and it's set to be released on time. They're waiting to hear from you regarding the tour. You should know that I won't be a part of it this time - I need to go away, too, I guess. I quit the band this week. I think it's better for all of us.
I miss you so much, and I'm sorry that I wasn't what you needed me to be. I think about you all the time, and I hope that you let me know when you come back from wherever you are.
I love you.
Lindsey
By the time I finish, I've figured out what comes next. It's time to go back to California.
