Fifty Shades of Post-Partum

To my impatient readers: I am sorry that there are gaps in time between updates. I work a full time teaching job, have a family to care for, and sometimes need time to pull thoughts together the way that I like. Today is a snow day so that's why this update is quicker.

Chapter 47: Control

I pick up the phone the minute it buzzes, much to the surprise of my staff. We are in the middle of an important negotiation to build a new freighter for the Iranians, now that they have resolved their differences with the world community over uranium enrichment. But I don't care. Ana never makes gratuitous calls and I know that she must have recently finished with group therapy.

"What is it, baby?" I ask.

"I just wanted to hear your voice," she says hesitantly. "It's been a long morning."

"How did your meeting go?" I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral and businesslike.

If this turns into a conversation, then I trust Ros to take over. But it's better for my meeting if the other side doesn't know that I'm taking a personal call. It would be a sign of weakness.

"It was intense," she answers. "Really intense."

"Do you need me to come over?" I ask, trying to control my anxiety.

"No," she says. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm going to eat now and then nap."

"If you need anything, just call," I say.

"I will," she replies. "I love you."

"I love you too," I answer automatically and shut off the phone after she hangs up.

Shit, this means that they know I just took a personal call.

"Now where were we?" I ask, as I return my attention to the meeting.

The Iranians look at each other, but don't say a word. With any luck, they take the usual view that all Americans are crazy and this is just further proof. I am glad that I have something to absorb my full attention. I know that if I were involved in anything less critical that despite what Ana said, I would have immediately gone over to the hospital. She said that group was intense this morning? What the hell does that mean?

The minute I am free, I call Shonda.

"Shonda," I say the minute she picks up. "How is she?"

"And good afternoon to you too, Mr. Christian," she replies. "Ana is taking a nap."

"I'm not in the mood for any of your crap, Shonda," I growl. "What the hell happened at group this morning?"

"What did Ana tell you?" she asks carefully.

"She said that it was intense," I snap back at her. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I'm not exactly sure," she says. "She told me the same thing. But she ate her whole lunch and now she is sleeping. Dr. Carolyn has contacted Dr. Charlotte, but not me. I'm pretty sure that they will talk it out when she comes for her session later."

"Does this have anything to do with husband number three?" I ask.

"I wouldn't speculate about that," she answers. "I know that you are curious as hell about that mess, not too mention obsessed by it, but you got to let Ana tell us in her own time. Besides we don't know that today's meeting had anything to do with that trash."

"Did you give Charlotte the report I gave you?" I ask.

"Yes, I did," she says.

"Did she read it?"

I know that I'm being rude, but I don't care. Unfortunately, this will open the door for most of Shonda's sass, but I'll take it if gets me some answers.

"I'm not sure about that," she answers. "But she took it home with her, said something about shredding it before Ana finds out. She made me swear not to say a word about it to Ana and I won't. I expect that you shouldn't either unless you want to start more trouble."

"Trouble?"

"Look here," she says. "You're a control freak. We all know that. But you can't control this. It's got to play itself out in its own time. Now Ana is making real progress. You can see the improvement from day to day. But you got to be patient. If you're not, then you could cause a setback by pushing too hard."

"Setback?"

"You know that Ana's big problem now is her guilt about everything," she says logically. "Do you want her to start feeling guilty for not getting well fast enough? Okay, she probably already does, but do you want to make it worse?"

"I didn't look at it that way," I admit.

"Mr. Christian, I'm not no fancy doctor like that Flynn that you pay do much to whine to," she says. "But I do have some advice for you. Ana is not some kind of business transaction that you can set a timetable for. There is almost nothing in this situation that you can control. Stop with the controlling and stick to the helping. When you help her, you're a hell of a lot more effective than when you try to take charge."

"Go out and spend some money in Kmart or Target or something. You need to stop trying so hard. Ana's no dummy. She knows what you are like. Just let her heal in her own time. If she had a broken leg, would you behave like this?"

"I suppose you don't know enough about me to know that is exactly what i would do. just stick that in your 'crazy rich folks file' and get a laugh out of it when we get off the phone. Thank you, Shonda," I say. "Not just for your advice today, but also for everything that you do for us."

"I am glad that you appreciate what I do," she says. "Most people don't. I'll see you later, okay? And don't you bring no more of those secret agent reports here again. Got it?"

I get off the phone chuckling. There is only one other person in my life with as much piss and vinegar as Shonda, and that's Ros. They are the only two people alive who can get away with talking back to me like that except for Ana and Mother. I suppose that in this situation it's good for me to have someone to tell me off once in a while, but none of this is making me feel any less worried. I decide to call Charlotte.

"Good afternoon, Christian," she says pleasantly. "What can I do for you?"

"Ana called me earlier because she wanted to hear my voice," I explain. "She sounded anxious so I asked how group went, but all she would tell me was that it was intense. Has she told you anything?"

"I haven't talked to her yet," she replies. "I'm not due over there until three. I believe that she is napping now."

"Yes, she is," I say. "I called Shonda. She told me that Carolyn reports to you after every group session."

"Yes, she does," answers Charlotte. "But she only gives me a general statement about how things went. Today she told me that the meeting was intense and Ana was very engaged in the discussion. However Ana wanted to give me the specifics herself. We do respect Ana's right to control this kind of information. It's very important for a patient in her situation to feel that she has some kind of control. I will not take that away from her because you are impatient."

"Was this about husband number three?" I ask in frustration.

"To be perfectly honest, I do not know," she says. "And as for the report that you gave me, I brought it home and shredded it without reading it."

"Why didn't you read it?"

"Christian, if I have more information than Ana is willing to share, I may slip up and respond to something that she hasn't told me yet," she says. "And you should get rid of any copies that you have of that report and be very careful when you discuss him with her. I suspect that she will eventually open up about him on her own. If she thinks that you were spying on her or trying to dig into her past, she would be very upset. You do not want to lose her trust."

"No, I don't, but I think that I will go crazy if I don't get some answers soon," I say.

"That is something that you need to discuss with Dr. Flynn," she says. "You can't rush this and you need to learn to manage your expectations better. Ana is presently struggling with guilt about almost every aspect of her life. You don't want to make her feel any more guilty about not getting well faster."

"She even feels guilty about that?" I ask.

"She feels guilty about the speed of her recovery, her need to call you and interrupt your work, being in the hospital and way from the children, refusing to see certain family members . . . The list is endless," she replies. "Guilt and self-blame are simply hard-wired into her psyche. That's really what made her normal depressive feelings stronger after Phoebe was born.

"She felt depressed enough to start retreating from everything, but things escalated when she started to feel guilty. In order to avoid the guilt, she was in denial about being sick. But she's finally starting to climb out of it, mostly on her own, you don't want to set her back."

"That's what Shonda said," I admit.

"Well now that I've corroborated it, why don't you take our advice?" she says. "And start by talking this out with Flynn. From what I have observed about you, you cope with stress by trying to control everything. You need to find a better coping mechanism. The flip side of you taking control in this situation is that Ana loses control. I know that you have a very powerful love for her, but you have to learn to express that love in some way other than this over-protective, but essentially controlling, behavior. Am I clear?"

"Yes, you are," I say obediently. "I will discuss this with Flynn when I see him later."

"Good," she says. "And please be patient. She is making progress."

"I know," I sigh.

When I get off the phone, I call Andrea and tell her to send in my next appointment. Then I tell her to destroy all the files on Morton. When I get home, I will shred the one copy that I have there. Lastly, I call Welch and tell him to stop the investigation. I resist the temptation to ask if he has dug up anything new recently.

I need some distraction until I can get to Flynn and hash this out. Not that Charlotte told me anything that I haven't heard already. It's just so difficult to break a lifetime of habit. But, I suppose that I have to help Ana to do the same thing. Perhaps we can work together to let go of a lifetime of bad habits.

By the time I get to Flynn's office, I have settled down considerably. We have a good talk, but I will still need to continue the discussion tomorrow. Once again, I resist temptation and go home instead of the hospital. Since she woke up from her nap, Ana has called me twice to hear my voice. Mother is going over to have dinner with her and Ana wants me to see the children. I also need to pick up some fresh clothing. She makes no mention of coming home herself.

When I finally get there, I don't even stop to press Shonda for the most recent update. I nod t her as I pass by and I think that I see her sigh in relief when I don't stop to talk. Ana is sitting, curled up in a corner of the couch listening to her iPad. As I walk in, she turns and smiles at me.

"Christian," she says. "Have I told you how much I like the music that you uploaded the other day? I love hearing your voice. And I especially love the song "You'll Never Walk Alone" from Carousel. I'm still ashamed to say that I don't know musical theatre well enough to have recognized it in the first place."

"Well it is over fifty years old," I answer. "I'll keep an eye out for a revival so that I can take you. It's quite charming."

"I'm sure that it is," she replies. "Are you done harassing my caretakers for information on my condition?"

"Shonda tell you that?" I ask.

"Who else would put it that way?" she replies. "But Charlotte also warned me that you were anxious about what happened in group today. I know that you gave me the dedicated cell number for my peace of mind, but I won't use it if it makes you crazy every time I call. And I'm not intentionally holding things back. Sometimes, the sound of your voice is all I need to sooth my nerves."

"I know that theoretically," I say. "But you know that when it comes to me there is always a pretty big gap between theory and practice."

"Yes, I do," she replies. "And Charlotte told me to remember that when you start to act up. But just like you, the theory and the practice are hard to match up."

"Well, I have been worrying about you since the day we met, remember?"

"Oh, yes," she replies with a little smile. "I thought it utterly bizarre that after this weird interview, you were ordering me to drive carefully back to Vancouver."

"You thought I was bizarre?" I ask.

"Among other things," she says shaking her head. "It wasn't until I met Shonda that I learned the clinical term for it."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"I'll tell you anyway," she says. "'Crazy, rich, white folks.' It's a useful diagnosis. I'm surprised that Flynn hasn't used it."

"Oh, he has," I remark. "Just not in so many words. So then I won't ask you about your group meeting today."

"Good call."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"The reverse psychology thing," she explains. "I decided not to tell you anything if you asked directly. But I will tell you a couple of things. I did talk about my time in Texas with Mom and husband number three. But I also talk about other things. I also discussed it with Charlotte. I promise to tell you, but you have to promise me that you won't hunt him down and give him what he deserves."

"I promise," I reply, grateful that she is finally willing to say something, anything about him.

"Carla has made a lot of mistakes in her life, mostly because of me," she begins. "But marrying Steve Morton was definitely the worst. She fell head over heels in love with him as if she were a fourteen-year old girl and threw everything away to be with him. I never liked him. There was just always something about him that was creepy. I didn't want to leave Montesano, but I was afraid of what would happen to her if I let her go alone. And if I had, I can't imagine what would have happened."

"Ana, you don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," I comment, as she takes a rest for a minute.

"Well, I've already told the story three times today," she replies. "At group and then to Charlotte and Grace. If I tell you, then I won't have to talk about it again. And I'd like to get it out of my system if you know what I mean. I didn't sleep well this afternoon and I want to sleep well tonight."

"Were you having flashbacks?" I ask.

"No, and I wondered why, but Charlotte said that while my memories were awful," she answers. "I had no graphic visual images of the trauma, other than seeing Carla already injured. And he never actually did anything to me. My memories of that episode are very different from yours of your life with your birth mother. My sense of danger was better refined than Carla's. And like I said, she was infatuated with him. On the other hand, he made my skin crawl.

"But the move to Texas was a disaster from the beginning. I hated my new school and didn't fit in. Carla couldn't find a good job. She doesn't have a college degree and so her options were very limited. I had no friends or social life and that drove him crazy. Then he and Mom started fighting, sometimes about me, but mostly about how different they both were after they were married. But then things got worse.

"You know that I am one of the biggest klutzes on the planet, but Carla never was. She started to fall down and get bruises, but every time I tried to hint that it was something else she shut me down. It was awful for a while because it seemed like neither of them wanted me there."

"So then you do understood when I started talking about abuse and my birth mother," I say.

"Yes, but unlike you, I never witnessed it," she replies. "I talked to Charlotte about it and she said that that was the big difference between you and me. I never saw him touch my mother and he never touched me. Of course there was also a big age difference between us. You were completely helpless. I was not.

"I got home one night from the big homecoming football game, and found her lying on the couch full of bruises and contusions. There was no way that she could hide the fact that she had been beaten up, so she said that she mugged. The story didn't make sense because nothing had been stolen and she wasn't raped. The doctors could tell that she was lying, but they couldn't prove it. And I wasn't any help because I never saw a thing.

"After she was admitted, I had to go home and face him. I thought that he was going to be really angry with me, but as soon as I told him the mugging story, he became all nice and sweet. It was totally out of character and it really creeped me out. But he went over to the hospital all ready to be sympathetic. As soon as he left the house, I called Ray."

"Did you tell him about Carla?"

"Not entirely," she replies. "I told him that she had been mugged and was in the hospital. Carla had made me promise not to say anything unless I knew it for a fact with my own eyes. She knew that I wasn't fooled. So I just told Ray that I couldn't stand it anymore and I had to come home immediately. Ray isn't stupid. We never talked about it, but I'm sure that he realized that I was in real danger. He told me that he would make the travel arrangements and call me back. I went upstairs and locked myself in my room to pack.

"When he came back from the hospital, it was more of the same. He was so sorry for what happened to Carla and he wanted to make sure that I didn't make mistakes like that. I needed to be more careful about leaving the house after dark. But underneath his words, I felt a veiled threat. Despite his concern, his voice made my skin crawl. Then Ray called back.

"He watched me like a hawk the whole time and tried to listen. Ray kept it short, just the flight number and time. My ticket would be waiting fir me at the counter. Before I could call a cab, he tried to stop me from leaving. So I did to him, exactly what I did to Jack Hyde that night in the kitchen. I kneed him in the balls so hard that knocked him down. Then I ran to the local convenience store and got my cab.

"I stopped at the hospital to say goodbye to Carla. I begged her to leave him but she said that it was all a misunderstanding. He loved us both and didn't want us to leave. She was very unhappy that I was leaving. She begged me to stay for her, but I couldn't. My own instinct for self-preservation finally won out. It was one of the hardest things that I've ever done."

"Did you feel like you were abandoning her?" I ask.

"I have always felt that way," I answer. "But this morning, one of the women in group told me that it might have been the best thing for her in the long run. When I was gone, she finally had to stand on her own two feet. He broke her jaw in another incident. And she begged me to come back to her. But her story this time was that she fell in the shower. It was the lamest excuse I had ever heard. But I knew that I was safe with Ray. There was no way that I was going back.

"She tried to talk Ray into making me come back, but he refused. I was seventeen and old enough to make my own choices. He offered to send her a ticket to return to Washington, but she didn't want that. The next time she called, she was in a women's shelter. She wanted to go to Las Vegas to get a divorce but didn't have the money. Ray sent her what she needed. Then she stayed in Las Vegas, met Bob, and the rest is history."

"So then by leaving her, you saved her," I comment.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that time you left me," I reply. "That one time that I punished you so . . . severely, it saved our relationship. The only difference was that I realized that I couldn't live without you. Carla, on the other, really couldn't live with you. She didn't have to start making hard choices until she didn't have you to take care of her."

"Charlotte said something like that earlier," she says. "She told me that my behavior was enabling her to make bad choices and keep her in an unhealthy situation. She was thirty something but still relying on her teenage daughter to take care of her. Of course Bob takes care of her now, but at least he doesn't take advantage of her. It's kind of sad, but she may never grow up."

"Perhaps," I say. "But now that you've come to grips with her past and talked about it, won't it be difficult to hide from her?"

"I won't see her again until she is willing to have an open and honest discussion about it," she answers. "I need to tell her that I have told her secret. She made me promise that I wouldn't. But it wasn't just her secret. It was mine too. And I didn't really think about it before I starting talking in group today. One of the other women pissed me off because she had discovered who I was and said that a rich lady like me couldn't understand them. So I had to prove that I could."

"Someone in group recognized you as Ana Grey?" I ask anxiously.

She gives me a guilty smile.

"Most of them figured it out last week," she admits. "One of them even googled me. But they aren't going to say anything because it would violate the trust of the whole group for one to be exposed, especially if it were done anonymously. In fact one of them even yelled at the woman for mentioning my last name. But I am finally feeling better. I think that I will be going home soon."

"That's great," I say. "I'm getting tired of sleeping in this hospital bed. But I want to, so please don't feel guilty. I miss you very much when I'm not sleeping with you. But don't rush home on account of me."

"Don't worry, I won't," she says. "Carolyn told me that when I go home, the only time that she wants to see me back here is for group meetings. Having the group know who I am will be helpful. I won't have to sneak in and out of the hospital so that no one sees Sawyer and the SUV."

"You could always drive yourself, if you like," I suggest.

"In the R8?" she grimaces. "That would be even worse."

"Or the Saab," I reply. "But I guess that you will want Sawyer with you."

"Sawyer or Ryan," she says. "I feel bad because Sawyer has had almost no time off since this started. He really needs a vacation."

"Taylor has tried to tell him that, but he refuses," I say. "At some point I will probably have to step in and insist. Right now though, he would worry so much while he was away that it wouldn't be much of a vacation."

"I know that you're right, but I still feel bad," she says.

"You don't need to," I reply. "Sawyer is trained to do this kind of work. And he takes his commitment to you very seriously. You just worry about getting better and let us worry about him, if and when we need to."

"You know," she says. "I really don't deserve you."

"Please don't say that, Ana," I reply. "I could just easily say the same thing. I told you before. We hold each other up. Our marriage is strong because of that. Carla has always needed someone else to hold her up. I suppose it would have been better for you if she could have gotten that from Ray, but if you look at that clearly, I don't think that they are compatible at all.

"She, as far as I can see, has never really gained the strength to take care of herself. My birth mother was the same way. But I was too young to help her. You did better because you were older. And because you were older you were able to escape. I never could."

"Yes, that does make sense," she says. "You know, I always thought that I was never going to talk about this without Carla's permission. Not that I wanted to. Ideally, she and I would discuss it, confront it, and lay it to rest together. But I don't see that happening any time soon. But I don't feel like I need to as much anymore. I think that I can put it behind me alone."

"Not alone," I remind her. "Even after you complete your treatment, Mother and I will always be there to help you out. Do you plan on telling anyone else?"

"No, I don't think that there is any point," she says. "There's no one lose who needs to know."

"What about Ray?"

"Ray has gotten long just fine all these years without knowing," she shrugs. "I don't want to continue to rehash the story over and over. If I do that, I'll never get passed it."

"Good point," I say. "There's no reason for you to hang your dirty laundry out for everyone to see."

"No reason at all," she agrees. "But could we change the topic, please? I'm sick of this one."

"What would you like to talk about?" I ask.

"I wasn't thinking of talking about anything," she replies suggestively.

Taking the hint, I take her in my arms and hold her close. She turns her face up towards mine, looking for a kiss. What else is there for it? I happily oblige.