"I can't shake this feelin' that I've right royally fucked it up."
"How so?" Doctor Wu asked in his perfectly neutral voice.
"I see it two ways. The accident wasn't my fault, and the lack of memory isn't my fault, nor is the fact that they haven't really come back, but I'm still responsible for how I've been dealin' with it."
"Well," Wu started. "You are responsible for your behaviours."
"Yeah I know that but I can just..." he stopped. Searched for the right words. He hated that his brain did not work the way it used to. It was slowing him down. He felt betrayed. "I feel," he tried again. Ah piss it, may as well say what was on his mind. It wasn't like Wu was his wife, it wasn't like he was going to be judged here. "It feels like Gillian's punishin' me. I can see it in her eyes. She blames me."
"What for in particular?"
"For not bein' at home."
"That was your doing," Wu pointed out gently.
"You think I should go home?"
"I don't think you should do anything you're not comfortable with."
Cal almost rolled his eyes. "Right, thank you, I shouldn't do anythin' I'm not comfortable with and yet Gill wants me home and has made it clear she wants me home and even though she hasn't said anythin' I know she's disappointed and she's pissed off with me for not bein' there." Cal paused briefly and went on, knowing he sounded like he was ranting now but actually feeling better already for getting it out. "But what does she want me to do? Just pretend like nothin' eva happened? Does she not want me to get to a place where I can actually be there, willingly, and not feel like I've fallen down the bloody rabbit hole?" He stopped. Suddenly, his chest felt tight. Was he freaking out? He took a deep steadying breath.
Doctor Wu sat stoically in his chair, his face and body language neutral. He made a few short notes on his pad but otherwise said nothing. After a moment's silence he asked, "Why do you worry so much what she thinks?"
"She's my wife."
"But you don't remember that part. Marrying her," Wu expounded.
"No."
"So technically, you're not obligated. At least emotionally."
"Right," Cal agreed. This sounded like an argument he had had with himself, a discussion he and Gillian had dusted over.
"So you could easily just walk away."
'But,' Cal pouted. "I could," he mused. Wu had trapped him into a corner. Sneaky bastard. Cal didn't want to walk away. And if he said it aloud then the doctor won and how Cal hated to lose. Or was this meant to be a lesson on how to swallow his pride?
"What was the other way?"
"The other what?"
"The other way you see it," Wu prompted. "When you came in, you said you saw this two ways."
Cal thought for a moment. This was going to sound worse. "I'm a complete victim here," he muttered, feeling uncomfortable. He wanted to say he was above reproach but the truth was he couldn't remember his meagre argument for that case and more importantly Wu had made a very good point just now. He had just driven home something Cal had thought himself. He could just walk away from it all. Gillian had suggested the same. Cal could just walk away. He couldn't. And leave Lewis? When he was just starting to get to know him and see how wonderful he was and interesting and his capacity for love and all those things he found so interesting.
"All right fine," Cal grumped. "I don't wanna leave. I don't wanna leave my kid and I don't wanna leave my wife." He refused to meet Wu's eyes but could feel the doctor nodding out of the corner of his eyes. Silence stretched out and Cal didn't know what to say.
"How do you think you've messed it up?" Wu finally prompted.
"Cos," Cal pouted again. He took a deep breath; let it out with a sigh. Fuck he hated therapy. "Because," he tried again. "This whole incident, with the accident and with me bein' in hospital, it's been three months now."
He paused. What did he want to say? How did he articulate?
"And it feels like..."
It felt like shit, that's what it felt like. Utter shit. All fits and starts. His body was getting better but his mind was not. His relationship with Lewis was improving greatly, but the same could not be said with Gillian.
"It just feels like I've blown it."
PJ
"Cal?"
"Yeah I'm here." He gave an inaudible groan and rolled over on to his side, noting how much easier it was to do that now.
"I was wondering what you had planned for today?"
"Oh you know, the usual," he responded absently as he sat up and studied the sterile motel room.
"Oh ok," Gillian sounded slightly disappointed.
"What do you need?" Cal pressed. He got up, swaying slightly as he regained his balance. That was getting easier too.
"Lewis was sick in the night and I want to keep him home but I really need to go to work."
"You need a babysitta?"
"Well yes," she agreed. "But that doesn't seem right."
"What doesn't?" Cal interrupted.
"Asking you to babysit your own son."
"Yeah well, that's our life," he responded softly as he headed for the bathroom. "And I'll get dressed and head right ova. Not a problem."
"Thank you so much," she sounded relieved.
"Won't be long," Cal promised and hung up. He was at their house within twenty five minutes and knocked without thinking. Then belatedly pulled his keys from his pocket. Just as he was finding the right one the door opened. Gillian seemed harassed and she looked tired. She gave him a brief smile. Cal held the keys up. "I can't rememba which one."
Gillian took his hand, curling her fingers around his and the keys. She took them from him as he stepped inside and she closed the door. She flipped through expertly as they headed down the hall and held up the correct key for him. He took it, preparing to twist it off the bunch so he could keep it separate, remember it. "I really appreciate this Cal. I know you have places to be."
He waved his hand to dismiss the comment. "Doesn't hurt me to miss a little physical therapy." He shot her a grin. "Day off would do me good to be honest."
Gillian barely managed a smile in response. Cal stopped her. "This stuff with work," his hand tightened around her arm slightly. "Should I be worried?"
"No," she responded softly. "It's nothing like that. It's a personnel issue. But I'm taking care of it. I just have a meeting that I can't miss," she flicked back her sleeve to check her watch. "I have to go."
Cal nodded.
"I'll try to get home as soon as I can."
He waved his hand again, dismissing her again. "Take all the time you need. I'm not goin' anywhere."
She gave him another relieved expression.
"Where is the invalid?"
"On the couch," she moved into the kitchen and Cal followed.
"Stomach bug?"
"I think so," she kept going, towards the bench. "He was throwing up in the night."
"Probably just a twenty-four hour thing," Cal suggested.
"Yeah I hope so." She moved to a small sheet of paper, like from a notepad. "His doctor's number is there and maybe not give him anything to eat."
Cal snatched the paper out of her hands, but slowly, giving her fair warning, and she trailed off. "I've done this before."
She gave a little sigh. "Yeah I know. I just."
"You're protective, I get it."
"Smothering you mean," Gillian gave a wan smile.
"No," Cal responded carefully, aware that this was apparently a sore subject for her. This wasn't the first time she had brought it up and he did remember teasing her about it when they first met. Did they fight about it? Was this an issue for them? "I meant that, like any good mutha, you're worried about your kid. That's only right. But you do trust me right?"
"Of course I do."
"Well all right then," Cal felt satisfied. "Call if you wanna."
Gillian fought back an eye roll smirk. "I really have to go."
"Be my guest," Cal told her politely.
Gillian pushed away from the bench, taking her purse with her. She checked her phone and Cal watched the way her thoughts ran through her eyes, one by one, a mental checklist of things to do. She headed for the couch and bent down to talk to (Cal presumed, because he couldn't see him) Lewis. She gave the boy a kiss, smoothed her hand over his forehead, then straightened up once more. She approached Cal again, but this time, there were no creases of worry in her features. As she neared him Cal reached out his hand to take hers and she slowed down, a slight question on her lips. Cal pulled her closer, stepping in, the movement of their bodies aiding his quest to bring them together. He planted a kiss on her mouth, testing out the domesticity of it. It was a little thrilling. His stomach thought so.
Gillian gave him a pleased smile as they pulled away again, her fingers squeezed his twice in quick succession. Cal just gripped her back and her eyes drifted away from his, down, to glance at the floor. "I'll call you later," she told him, unthreading her fingers from his gently and heading for the kitchen door. It was only as she disappeared down the hall that Cal realised she had been disappointed. He had missed something. Something important. He pulled his notebook from his back pocket, flipped through the section for Gillian and made a notation at the bottom of the page. The hand squeezing thing was apparently a big deal to her in some way Cal couldn't comprehend.
Lewis was curled up on the couch. His eyes weren't closed but they weren't focussed either. The TV wasn't on and he had a blanket over his legs, pulled up to his waist only, like he wanted the comfort but not the warmth. Cal had never seen the kid so still. He was usually so very energetic and excited. He sat on the coffee table and Lewis's blue eyes slid over to his and regarded him woefully.
"Don't feel so good huh?" Cal asked him.
He winced and brought a hand to his forehead and one to his stomach, the hands open but with the middle finger bent slightly. Cal didn't know what that meant exactly but he supposed Lewis was agreeing with him. Cal leaned forward and brushed his fingers over the boy's forehead. His skin felt warm but not alarmingly so.
"How about tryin' to get some sleep?" Cal suggested.
Lewis nodded pitifully.
Cal waited until his eyes had closed and he gave a little sigh. It was then, as Cal was getting up, that he noticed Lewis didn't have his hearing aids on and had he heard anything his father had said to him? He must have. Cal pulled his notebook from his back pocket and flipped through to the section on Lewis. He scanned over his notes to the part where he had written down the range Lewis heard in. Gillian suggested he heard conversations in normal tones but not always the clarity of words. And certain pitches were nonexistent. But she had also explained to him that they had made a choice. Lewis would wear the hearing aids at all times, even if he didn't need them for every second of the day. Just like if he was short sighted, he would be wearing his glasses all day every day to get used to them. So that he understood their significance. He could use the hearing aids at his discretion when he was older.
Whatever.
Cal didn't really have a basis on which to argue against her. What she said sounded good. In theory. It sounded logical. He used to wear his glasses a lot to get used to them. Particularly when he was learning to read facial twitches. Had to be able to see all those little details nice and clearly. Cal got up again, headed towards the kitchen bench and stopped. What was he going to do if Lewis was taking a nap?
PJ
Cal felt like he was snooping. It really felt like he was sneaking through Gillian's underwear drawer (he was still yet to do that) but he wasn't. He wasn't even upstairs. He was in the formal living room. He was opening cupboards in the bottom of a tall display cabinet, which held shelves behind glass doors for alcohol vessels on either side of a wine rack. The wine rack was half full. The cupboards for the drinking vessels were chocker. A blend of two collections, surprisingly similar, but amalgamated nonetheless. But Cal was digging in the cupboards beneath, where he had just discovered (or rediscovered) a music collection. Records, tapes, CD's. And all of it, well at least most of it, was his. So this wasn't really snooping was it?
Cal lowered himself to the floor. So many memories! All this vinyl, took him back to his childhood, to growing up in London. The tapes; the eighties, war and spying and writing his dissertation. The CD's; Emily as a baby, his marriage, a veritable timeline of his life in albums. And then they stopped abruptly and he wondered why? MP3's probably. Where was the soundtrack for his life with Gillian? Cal turned is head to look around the room. What he needed now was something to play all this music on. Music and photos, sounded like a great afternoon to him.
Cal stood again, moving awkwardly. He shifted around the couch. The room was decorated formally, tastefully, beautiful wooden cabinets and bookshelves. The coffee table was so dark it was almost black. The couches, well they were Cal's, those deep chocolate brown, set off against the natural wood and the warm cream of the carpet. In the corner was a smaller cabinet, which another TV sat on. Beneath it were racks for DVD's hidden behind more cupboard doors (Cal had already had a look) and a TiVo unit. But was there a stereo? Cal turned to check the opposite corner. There was surround sound set up for the TV, the cords hidden beneath the carpet, out of sight. And yes, hiding behind that floor to ceiling bookshelf was a small stereo unit. He went to it and lifted the lid. It played vinyl! And now that he looked closer, tapes and CD's and even MP3's.
Cal picked out a handful of records and went back across the room, turning the stereo on and setting the turntable, lifting the needle very gently and placing it on the first track. He sighed as the opening strains of The Who's Baba O'Reilly started. This took him back. Way back. He was just a wee kid when this came out. What he remembered most about it was his mother played it. She had the radio on all the time, telling him about the lyrics and the politics. Music had been the way his mother communicated. She loved all those mellow pop rock songs. The Beatles. The Who. Elton John. The Rolling Stones. (It was Cal's rebellion that led him to the Clash and others, what his mother called 'that loud music' or when she was angry with him, 'that obnoxious music. It's hurting my ears Calvin, turn it off!'.) She loved the romanticism of a good love song. And not just the obvious ones, she could find something sweet in the most innocent of lyrics.
Cal made sure the volume was turned down low, so Lewis wouldn't be disturbed in the next room. There was a staircase between them, and yeah he didn't have his hearing aids on but Cal just wasn't sure what would get through. It was better to be safe. He went to his stack of photo albums and pulled the top book over. Lily's book.
