In Loving Memory, Frank Warren

Chapter 25: Heavy Bag Time

"Are you two through tormenting each other?" Miss Taylor asked. "Or should I wait a little longer to ask how things have been going?"

"She is good," Dean observed with a nod of approval. "I see what John means now. Really sharp."

With a gentle elbow to the side as an admonishment for talking about the therapist as if she were not in the room, Frank sat up straighter to address her.

"It's been okay. No more anxiety attacks, thank God. John has been fantastic, no one can have a better best friend. I went back to work yesterday and everyone at work is being supportive, telling me to ease my way back in and not take on a heavy workload until I feel ready." He shrugged, hoping to end it there.

"First, may I ask why Dean, ah, Mister Dean is with you today?" she asked, wrapping her hands together in her lap.

"No," Frank replied. "Next question?"

From the corner of his eye Frank could see Dean massaging his forehead with his fingertips but he made no comment. It was undoubtedly a struggle.

"All right." She was momentarily taken aback. It was perhaps the first question Frank had flat-out refused to answer.

"From the sounds of it, the last two weeks have been good. Why did you say they were only okay?" She slid her hands under her thighs to sit on her fingers. Frank had noticed Miss Taylor had been developing coping strategies for not being able to twirl her pen during his sessions. Good for her.

"Because I figured out why Kelly," he admitted as shame rose its ugly head and he felt how unworthy he was to be sitting in the presence of-

"Stop it," Dean hissed while knocking a knee into his, interrupting his train of thought.

"But I'd like to hear it," Miss Taylor insisted.

"Sorry, I wasn't telling him to stop talking," Dean explained. "I was telling him to stop being so hard on himself. He's pretty ashamed of the whole rat-bastard part of his life."

"We can discuss how he's dealing with it in a minute," Miss Taylor replied, her attention back on him. "Frank? You were saying?"

Frank? Just Frank? Man, give the woman an inch and she takes a mile.

"Don't you mean Mister Frank?" Dean sounded as aggravated as Frank felt.

"Didn't I say Mister Frank?" she asked meekly.

"Not what I heard," Frank replied.

"Me either." There was a distinct growl in Dean's voice.

"My apologies, it was not on purpose. Mister Frank, could you please tell me what you remembered about Kelly? Please?" A hopeful smile appeared, the kind given by small children who have broken a window and seen their short lives flash before their eyes when Dad comes racing into the room. "Mister Frank?"

A short uncomfortable silence followed during which they both stared at the therapist. Then Dean turned to regard Frank. "I'm good. How about you, Baby?"

"I guess," Frank admitted grudgingly as he wondered how much further she would continue to push his boundaries.

"Go on, tell her." Dean's hand slid on to his thigh. "You've been avoiding it long enough." The hand gave a comforting squeeze. "Still here. Not going anywhere."

With his love's personal assurance, Frank plunged into the darkest pit of his life. In short, he spilled his guts. He told her all of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Dean's hand remained firm on his leg until Frank reached down to hold it.