It had been a week or so since Reba's therapy session with Dr. Baker. Initially, she'd been bitter, but she did as he said and let herself feel that, or whatever. Eventually, she came to terms with what he'd said about that stupid door and it being there whether Barbra Jean was or not. Deep down, she'd known that all along. That's why she could never move on with anybody else, because how were you supposed to move on from that?
Logically she knew better, but a small part of her still believed that maybe, just maybe, she'd wake up from all of this, and life would be good again. But this wasn't just some bad dream; this was her life, and she was ready to accept that now. She had too many other things to worry about than moping around and thinking about Brock. She'd been doing that for the last four years, and it hadn't gotten her anywhere yet.
So, when Barbra Jean came over with her "two-girl theory" after Brock had moved back into the condo, Reba had only hesitated a moment before going along with it. Of course, she'd played up that hesitation for Barbra Jean's sake because she didn't want her to think she liked hanging out with her or anything, even though she kind of did.
As it turned out, barhopping had been good for both of them. Barbra Jean got out of the house for a while and had some genuine adult fun with her "friend," which let Kyra off the hook and free to be a teenager. Reba, on the other hand, got to experience a little bit of the person she'd become since the divorce, and she liked her. Of course, slutty wasn't exactly a word she would have used to describe that person, but hey, it had been worth the look on Brock's face when she finally spilled the beans.
She felt powerful. Acceptance had turned into confidence, and it looked good on her.
Good enough, in fact, that Van's new sports agent, Sadie, had genuinely been attracted to her. Now, though Reba didn't swing that way, she still ended up with a pretty good deal of her own out of it. She'd made a new friend—one she liked, that hadn't slept with her husband. Although, with Van being traded to Denver, she wasn't sure how well their newfound friendship was going to work. Sadie had assured her that she'd be around, though. Van wasn't her only client, and Houston was where she called home.
So, as upsetting as it had been, having to confront all her suppressed feelings about Brock, the last couple of weeks had taken a pretty good turn for the better. Until Brock decided it'd be a fantastic idea to quit dentistry and sell the practice. Then everything started to spiral, and Barbra Jean panicked and dragged Reba back into their drama. Again.
She didn't care about Brock's decision anymore, but she would run that full-page Fu Man-Chops in the newspaper just to spite him.
Reba sighed and got up from the couch. "Manipulating me into bein' her puppet." She muttered as she headed toward the door. "All she had to do was tell me she wanted Brock to pick the practice. If she'd just said that in the first place, I'd'a went with that from the start!" she huffed. "I ain't nobody's puppet!" She slammed the door. "'Specially Barbra' Jean's."
She approached Barbra Jean's kitchen door and saw her at the sink with Kyra at her side. She watched for a moment as her sixteen-year-old daughter comforted her stepmother, and all of her current annoyance for the woman vanished. Barbra Jean was upset, so upset, in fact, that she cracked a plate clean in half as she scrubbed the dishes.
Reba sighed.
This wasn't Barbra Jean's fault; none of this was Barbra Jean's fault.
Reba finally opened the kitchen door. "Hey, Barbra Jean," she said. "Kyra, can you give us a minute, please?"
"Sure," she said and left the kitchen to find Henry.
"I'm not takin' back anything I said, Reba," Barbra Jean said from the sink.
Reba sat in one of the chairs at the counter. "Barbra Jean–" she sighed.
"Okay, fine, I take everything back!" she exclaimed. "I'm not mad at you; I'm–I'm mad at my life."
"How do you think I feel? I'm in it!" she asked.
Barbra Jean turned to her. "I can't stay mad at you. You know that. My love for you is almost unnatural."
Reba leaned forward onto the counter, trying to hide her smile. "Barbra Jean, everything about our relationship is unnatural!" she exclaimed.
Barbra Jean looked away.
"What I came over to say was, I'm sorry I didn't know what you actually wanted," she said.
"I called a lawyer."
Reba's jaw dropped. "You can't sue me for being a bad puppet!"
"No," Barbra Jean sighed. "A divorce lawyer."
Reba's stomach nearly dropped to the floor. "What?"
Barba Jean nodded. "Yeah, I almost called yours. I figured he could just white out your names on the form and type in mine." she made a typing motion with her fingers. "But to be frank, I don't think he got you a very good deal," she whispered with a wink.
Yeah, that was what she needed to hear today.
Reba ran her tongue over her teeth and shook her head. "Barbra Jean, I want you to listen to me," she said.
Babra Jean moved closer. "Okay,"
"I've said this to you many times," she continued.
Barbra Jean nodded and leaned in close.
Reba leaned in too. "Listen very clearly. You… are… crazy!" she hollered.
Barbra Jean rolled her eyes and stood back up. "No, I'm not."
Reba nodded vehemently. "Yes, you are!"
Barbra Jean shook her head. "No, it's–it's over, Reba. When he decided to go to that tournament today, it meant he's chosen to keep searchin' for–for whatever it is he needs to find," she explained. "And I can't just sit around cracking plates, hoping he'll come back!"
Reba relented. She had a point; she deserved better than Brock was giving her. In fact, she wasn't so sure she wouldn't have done the very same thing in her shoes.
The door opened behind her, and Brock came in. Barbra Jean went back to scrubbing the dishes.
"Hey, guys. You will never believe what happened at my golf tournament!"
"Oh, really? Was that today?" Barbra Jean asked as another plate cracked in her hands under the water.
Reba and Brock watched as she took both halves and set them on the drying rack.
"Yeah, yeah, it was," he said. "And I won!" he exclaimed, pulled the check out of his pocket, and showed it to Reba.
Barbra Jean wiped off her hands. "Well, congratulations. Guess what I did today," she said.
Reba inhaled sharply. Something in her gut told her she needed to get Barbra Jean to hear Brock out. "Oh, oh! Hang on, Barbra Jean. Let's hear about Brock's day!"
Barbra Jean glared at her and turned away angrily.
Reba turned to Brock, "So, you won?"
"Yeah, I played the best round of golf in my life. I beat the second-place guy by six strokes!"
"Well, I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but that doesn't guarantee that you'll win the next time," she said.
Brock nodded. "I realize that."
"And even if you do, so what?" she asked. "Do you know what a winner is? It's just the guy who lost the least. Did you ever think about that?"
Brock looked at her funny. "Um, no."
"Well, here's somethin' else," she began. "Do you remember yesterday when I came over to your office all geniusy?" she asked. "Well, I hate to admit it, but I'd had a couple of beers first."
Brock frowned at her.
"Reba, he's made his choice," Barbra Jean said.
She looked at her. "Has he?" she asked and turned her gaze to her ex-husband. "And does he realize what that choice could cost him?"
Brock began to say something, but Barbra Jean cut him off. "Of course, he doesn't. All he ever thinks about is golf–his little green mistress! Well, you know what, Brock" she asked. "She can have you! You know, until one day, you're driving to see her, and, and a–a bowling alley catches your eye, just–" the plate she'd been drying shattered under the stress she'd been putting on it.
Reba felt for her; she really, honest to goodness, did. She knew what Barbra Jean was going through; the poor woman was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"Barbra Jean," Brock said softly. "I don't think you understand."
Reba held her hand out. "Talk fast; you're runnin' out of plates."
"I'm done, honey. I'm quitting golf.
Barbra Jean set down the tiny broken piece of china she'd been drying from the plate she'd shattered. "What?" She turned to face her husband.
"Yeah," Brock said. "You know, I realized today that I could be a professional golfer, but what's it gonna cost me and the people I love? I mean, you take a look at what's happenin' to Van living over in Denver. As great as that is for him, all he talks about is how much he misses his family."
Barbra Jean's composure had softened. "Oh, you," she ran her hand through his hair.
Reba smiled. This was good; this was a good thing. This is what she wanted all along, Brock and Barbra Jean back together.
Suddenly Barbra Jean's hand tightened on the back of Brock's hair and pulled. "Don't play me, Blondie! I am ready to blow," her voice quaked.
Brock reached for her hand. "Honey, honey." She released her grip, and he pulled her hand to his chest. "Honey, winning today put me in a place where I could clearly see what I wanted, what's important to me, and it's you. And it's working on fixing our family."
Reba watched with a smile. Brock was doing the right thing for the first time in his life, and she was proud of him. When the two went in for a kiss, her mood soured. "Yuck," she groaned.
Brock turned to her. "So, Reba, I'm sorry, but I'm not gonna be selling my practice," he said.
She got up off the chair. "Ah, that's okay. With my 50%, I'll be catchin' up pretty quick," she chirped and turned to leave.
Brock stopped. "Whoah, whoah. Whoah, whoah, whoah, Reba. Reba, hey."
She pulled open the door and turned back to him.
"You only get 20%," he said.
She smirked. "Oh, no. Not after I talk to my lawyer. Word around town is I got a pretty bad deal."
With a short wave of her hand, she shut the door behind her and giggled as she started down the sidewalk back home. The further she got from their house, and the closer she got to hers, she could feel a knot begin to form in her stomach that left her short of breath. She slowed and put her hands on her hips to catch her breath and swallowed.
This was a panic attack; she was about to have a full-blown panic attack.
"Alright, Reba. Calm down," she breathlessly told herself. "This is good. Brock and Barbra Jean workin' things out is good, a good thing. This is what everyone wanted, and this is what you wanted. You can close the door now." she panted. "You can close the door, throw away the key, and forget about it now."
If you took anything away from today, I hope it was to take care of yourself.
What are you afraid of?
You need to process your emotions, Reba.
Dr. Baker's voice kept floating around in her head. After a few minutes of being doubled over in the middle of her neighbourhood, she could breathe again. She pulled his card out of her back pocket and stared at his phone number.