Los Angeles, CA – March 2009
Lisa startles awake, reaching for Allison. But her hand grabs the sheets instead. Where is she? She looks around, and it dawns on her. This is her new reality. She's not with Allison. Not Allison, or Stevie, or Jason, or Henry. She's alone. Her hand grips her chest, and she struggles to catch her breath. It's a panic attack. She knows that, but knowing it doesn't help. Breathe. She's learned that much. Breathe. Slowly. Count. Five-in, seven-out. Repeat.
Once her heart has calmed, she looks at the clock. Fifteen minutes until wake-up time.
She goes through the motions of the morning schedule. Brushing her teeth, showering, and dressing. She eats breakfast, even though her stomach is uneasy. She knows it's because of the nightmares. Her anxiety is getting the best of her.
Group is no different than the previous day. It's not her forte on a good day. But the fact that her thoughts are jumbled and her nightmares have taken control of her mind is making it worse. She sits and listens. She writes. She tries to be present. But her mind wanders, and before she realizes it, she's been zoned out. But she looks down at her journal, and eight pages are filled—a letter—a letter for Allie. She swallows.
...X...X...X...
"It's my daughter's birthday," Lisa sighs as she falls heavily onto the couch in Dr. Sherman's office. Dr. Sherman looks up, surprised. Lisa hasn't shared much with her. With anyone. She participates in the sober living classes, and she journals a lot. And she reads. But therapy has been slow. Lisa has been hesitant and closed off.
"You have a daughter?" Dr. Sherman asks. She tries to keep the surprise out of her tone. Lisa is not the sharing type.
"Yes, two daughters and a son, actually." She says quietly. Her cheeks burn bright red, and her stomach knots. She shouldn't have shared that.
"This is the first time you've mentioned kids." Dr. Sherman leaves it open-ended, hoping to keep her talking.
"Yes," Lisa says and then stops. The silence that hangs between them is heavy. It's like they're at an impasse. Lisa knows she needs to talk to get things out and start healing. But she can't. She won't risk her kids.
"Where are your children?"
"They live with their dad," Lisa says, the lump in her throat grows. "I actually... I haven't seen them in five years."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Dr. Sherman says, her voice genuine. "Can you tell me why?"
Lisa fiddles with the wedding band she is now wearing on her right middle finger. She wonders what it means now. She's not married. Not anymore. She shakes her head, "No."
Dr. Sherman knows she's hiding something. It's not a question. But she can't force the girl to open up. But her curiosity is piqued. It has been for a couple of weeks. Lisa has severe untreated PTSD. She knows that. They haven't talked enough for the official diagnosis, but the nightmares and flashbacks are hard to ignore. But it's not only PTSD. The way she flinches when someone approaches her, the way her hands shake, her refusal to share... she has a story.
"How old are your children?" Dr. Sherman asks. She thinks if she can keep Lisa talking about them, they might finally get somewhere.
"My oldest daughter is almost fourteen, my middle turned ten today, and my baby is seven," Lisa says with a sniffle.
"You're using distancing language." Dr. Sherman points out.
"Huh?"
"When you talk about your children, you say, 'My oldest, my middle, my youngest.' Why not their names?"
"It's just easier." She lies.
"Okay." Kensie will let her get away with that lie. She doesn't want to push too hard. "Can you tell me what you feel when you think about them?"
"Guilt." She says and swallows, "Guilt."
"What are you guilty of?"
"I..." Lisa pauses. She doesn't want to lie. Not about her babies. She doesn't even remember what her cover story is supposed to be anymore. She had left the file of Lisa's backstory that Dalton gave her in DC with George. "Fuck." She whispers.
"Lisa, what is it?"
Lisa stands. She paces back and forth. She doesn't know what to do. Her brain spins the risks and the variables. For the first time in a long time, her mind is clear. But that clarity is not a blessing. It's foreign and terrifying. She's always been good at math. It's logical, it's black and white. You're either right or you're wrong. You're alive, or you're dead. She can weigh the values of lives and move them like pieces on a chess board. But these aren't just any lives. These are her children.
"Lisa, you're safe here. I promise."
Lisa nods. But her body betrays her. Her fists clench, nails digging into her palms. "Whatever I say in here... It stays between us?"
"That's the rule." Dr. Sherman agrees.
"You can't write any of this down," Lisa says. She can't risk it being on paper.
"It's against HIPPA guidelines for me to share anything you say without your permission." Dr. Sherman has a feeling Lisa is about to say some very important things. "And you don't have to tell me anything you aren't comfortable sharing."
"Put the pen down," Lisa demands. She stares at the legal pad.
"Okay," Dr. Sherman says gently. She lays the pen on her desk, "There. See? Nothing. Just us. What's going on?"
"I... I wasn't in the military. I know you think that... I... I did work for the federal government."
"In what capacity?"
"I can't say. But um... Something happened to me... Five years ago... Something bad happened. And um..." She stops pacing. She walks over to the window. The sun is shining brightly. It always does here. There's no such thing as cloudy in Southern California. But she wishes it were raining. Rainy days are good for reflection. And she needs to reflect. She's never talked about this.
"Can you elaborate on what the bad thing was?" Kensie pushes a little harder. She can feel breakthroughs before they happen. It's a skill she's fostered over time. And Lisa is so close.
"I was..." Lisa is afraid to say the words. Saying them will make them real. There will be nothing to numb it or deny it. It will all be out in the open. Her life will be exposed and vulnerable. "I was in a conflict zone..." she pauses again.
She shakes her head and lets out a bitter laugh, "You know what screw it. I was deployed as an intelligence officer in Iraq. In 2005... That was what it was, and it's not what keeps me up at night. The thing that keeps me up is..."
She lands back on the couch, her body suddenly so heavy with the weight of her confession. "I was out on an assignment alone... It was a setup. There was an explosion..." She feels the heat on her face and the pain in her shoulder. She remembers the taste of blood in her mouth and the way the smoke stung her eyes. She hears the ringing in her ears and the way her heart pounded in her chest.
"And that would've been bad enough," Another bitter laugh escapes her, and she swallows, trying to clear the bile from her throat. "But then I was... taken."
"Taken?" Dr. Sherman's face remains neutral, but her tone is surprised.
"He..." Lisa lets out a sob, "Oh god." She covers her face with her hands. Her fingers tangle in her hair. She pulls, desperate to feel anything other than what she's feeling.
"You're okay," Dr. Sherman says softly, "It's just me."
"I can't... I'm done today," Lisa mumbles. Her skin is crawling, and she's sweating. She wants to throw up. She wants to run. She wants to scream.
"Okay, it's okay. Thank you for sharing, Lisa." Dr. Sherman says softly. Lisa cries. She sits on the couch with her head in her hands, and she sobs. Dr. Sherman can do nothing but wait it out. She can tell this is a major release of emotion for Lisa. It's a good sign.
Once her tears stop, Dr. Sherman offers her a tissue. Lisa accepts and wipes her nose and face. She lets out a loud breath.
"You can't put any of what I said on paper," Lisa says sternly. Her voice is strong and unwavering.
"I won't. You're safe here." Dr. Sherman reminds her.
"He will kill my children."
"Lisa, I will not write anything down. But I can help you. I can. You are safe here. I can assure you that within these walls, nothing you say will leave this space."
"Elizabeth. Call me Elizabeth."
Pittsburgh, PA – March 2009
"I want to adopt the kids," Jessica tells him casually as she's rubbing lotion into her legs. Henry is already in bed, reading a book. He puts his book down and looks at her. His face is emotionless and unreadable. She looks at her husband as he remains totally still.
"What do you think?" she prods.
"Are you serious?" Henry says after another thirty seconds. His voice is steady and devoid of emotion.
"Yes, I'm serious," she replies. "They're my kids."
Henry gets up from the bed slowly. He looks dazed. His expression matches the one he had at Elizabeth's funeral to a tee. Jessica is suddenly filled with a deep, unsettling fear. Henry is her husband. She knows him. She knows the man who smiles at her and kisses her, and tells her he loves her. And the man who stands in front of her now, she doesn't know him. He is a stranger to her. Elizabeth's Henry and her Henry are separate entities. This is Elizabeth's Henry.
"No," Henry says definitively. He doesn't know where it comes from. Elizabeth is dead. She has been gone from their lives for a long while. But he can't betray her in that way. "No." He repeats, "No, they have a mother."
"Elizabeth has been gone for five years, Henry," Jessica says. Her tone is sharp. She feels the sting of rejection. "I am their mother. They are my children. I take care of them. I love them. And I want to adopt them."
"No," Henry says again, "It's not right." Henry's head is spinning with images of Elizabeth giving birth and holding their babies for the first time. She was the only mother they had. "Elizabeth was their mother. They have a mother."
"Elizabeth is dead, Henry. And our daughter is terrified that if you die, Maureen will take her away from me because that's what's in your will. A will you made before Elizabeth died. And I will have no way to fight for team McCord. None. I'll lose you and my three oldest children." Jessica can feel the tears threatening.
"Jess, I can't." Henry's voice threatens to crack, "I can't do that to her."
"Yes, you can." Jessica hisses, "You can because they're our kids. And this is about them, not Elizabeth."
"But you don't understand, Jess," Henry says, looking at her pleadingly.
"Understand what, Henry?" Jessica demands.
"They're hers, Jess." He says desperately. The amount of rage he feels building in his body is enough for him to want to run away from her and far enough away that he can't hurt her. He hates himself.
"And they're ours," Jessica replies, "And I'm theirs. We're a family."
"I need some air." Henry's voice is hollow.
"Don't you dare leave this house," Jessica says, grabbing his wrist.
"Please let me go." His voice is small.
"I am your wife."
"You are. And I love you. And I need some goddamned air." Henry snaps. He yanks his arm from her grasp and walks out of the room.
…X…X…X…
Henry walks for a long time. Walking was always something he and Elizabeth did together. They had hiked mountains and strolled through city streets. There had been so many conversations on the trail. They had learned everything they knew about each other in those miles. He's not surprised to find his feet taking him to his childhood parish. He had walked with Elizabeth here the first time he brought her home to meet his family. Her first mass ever had been with the McCords at midnight on Christmas Eve. She had been so confused about when to sit and kneel and stand. But God had she listened to him ramble about transubstantiation and the sacrament of marriage. She had held his hand and smiled at him with her big, beautiful eyes. He had loved her.
He sits in the pew in the dark.
"Hey, babe." He whispers as he closes his eyes and tries to feel her. He misses her. He misses her laugh and her smell. He misses the sound of her voice and the feeling of her fingers interlaced with his.
"You left us." He continues. "You left our children, and I don't know how to live with that. I'm still mad at you. But Jess. She loves them. And she treats them like her own. She loves them, babe. And I love her. I do love her. And if... if she adopted them, they would be hers. Really hers."
"Please, babe. Let me do this."
The only sound in the church is his breathing. He's never been able to feel her. It terrifies him. He believes people have souls. But Elizabeth's is gone. He wants to feel her presence, her spirit. But he can't. All that's left of her is his memories. He tries to think about what she would want. He knew Elizabeth inside and out. But he can't decide if he's choosing what Elizabeth would want or what he wants. He grabs his phone. He needs to speak to the one other person on the planet who can help him with Elizabeth's posthumous decisions.
"Hello?" Will Adams answers groggily on the third ring. Henry winces. It's the middle of the night in London.
"Hi, Will. I'm sorry to wake you."
"It's fine, Henry." Will is instantly awake. The man has a way of reading between the lines. "Kids okay?"
"Yes, we're all fine. I just... Jess and I... Well, we need to make some changes... With our wills. The kids need to be protected and taken care of." Henry starts on shaky ground.
"Alright." Will's voice is gentle like Henry is a skittish colt.
"Elizabeth and I had it set up before she died that the kids would go to my parents, and after Elizabeth died, I changed mine to Maureen because my parents are older now... But um... If something happened to just me, then..." Henry pauses.
"Jessica wants to adopt them, doesn't she?" Will whispers he can feel where Henry is going. He thinks about his sister cold in her underground box, rolling over. Beating on the top, stop him, will. He doesn't know where the thought comes from. But it's a sinking feeling that settles deep inside him. Lizzie needs this not to happen.
"Yeah." Henry sighs.
"She's not their mother, Henry." Will's voice is colder than he's ever heard it. The happy-go-lucky, almost reckless kid he met is gone. In his place is a man. A man whose sister was taken from him. He is the last man standing in the Adams family, and the guilt eats away at him. Those three kids are the last living proof that his big sister walked this earth. He feels her absence like a missing limb. He'll never again hear her laugh, never see her smile. They will never argue because she's being neurotically protective.
"She loves them like they're her own. And they need her, Will." Henry's voice is hard. This is his wife. He loves Jessica with everything he has left, and he will not stand by and listen to someone shit on her. Not even Will.
"You can't seriously be asking for my blessing for this. You want me to sit idly by while you erase my sister? I can't, Henry. I can't let you do that. I can't let her kids call some other woman mom. I can't do that." Will is crying. He's trying his hardest not to, but it's too much.
"They already call her mom," Henry admits. "They've called her mom for years. They love her."
"But you loved my sister." Will is quiet.
"I did, and I always will. But she's dead, Will."
Will's mind flashes back. He sees his mother in the car, struggling for air as he presses his new Reebok sweatshirt onto her wounds. He couldn't save her. He couldn't save Lizzie. And now Henry is asking him to sit back and watch helplessly as her kids slip through his fingers.
"No."
"Will,"
"Henry, I can't. I won't. They are your kids, and you'll do whatever you want. But please remember they're Lizzie's, too. Don't erase her. Don't erase my sister." Will hangs up the phone.
Henry sighs. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want Jessica to feel less than. She's not the second best. She's not his consolation prize. She is everything, but the kids are not her kids. They are his kids and Elizabeth's. And what would Elizabeth want? He thinks back over their conversations after Stevie was born. Her biggest fear had been for the kids to be parentless. To lose them. She had been adamant that if something happened to them, they would go to his family. His big, raucous family. But Elizabeth is gone, and their lives have evolved. Is an adoption really erasing her? She's not there to be a mother. If anything, he's not erasing her; he's just expanding his children's family.
…X…X…X…
Henry makes his way back to the house. Jessica is still up, sitting in bed, reading.
"You love them? When you look at them, you feel the same feelings you do for Bobby and Drew?" Henry asks. He has thought about it. He's looked into their faces and tried to imagine his life without them. But it's hard to be objective when it's your children. He has a biological connection to all five of them. So he needs to know that she doesn't see them differently.
"Of course," Jessica says. She's relieved that Henry is talking to her. And she does love them. There is not a single thing that could come between her and those kids. She would give her life for them. She would kill for them. She would feel all of their pain for them. They are her children.
"We have options... It doesn't have to be adoption. Guardianship? I mean, if you want a piece of paper that says they're yours. It doesn't have to be adoption." Henry says. He's trying to keep his tone even and steady.
"Yes, I want the kids, Henry. I want the piece of paper." She says. He nods. He understands the need to feel stable and safe. Henry climbs into the bed. He takes the book from her hands and puts it on the nightstand. He needs to make sure she knows how difficult this decision is for him. How much he is doing for her and his children.
"Elizabeth was terrified when she found out Stevie was on the way. She had lost her parents at fifteen, and she looked at me, and she said I want my mom. And I... I knew then the power the loss of her parents had on her. When they died, she had begged to stay in her home. So her aunt stepped up. And when Elizabeth died, leaving behind our kids..." He has to pause and swallow tears, "I think about it still... Her final thoughts... She had to have been so scared. Scared to leave them... And I think if it were me and I had to leave them... I want them to be with you. If something were to happen to me, I wouldn't want them yanked out of their home. And I'd want them to stay together. And I think that's what Elizabeth would want."
"Thank you," Jess says with tears of relief in her voice.
"I'm not done. I have a few conditions. First, Elizabeth cannot be erased. She grew them, birthed them, and loved them. God, Jess, she loved being a mom. And they need to know how much she loved them." Henry's voice is thick. "Second, it's their choice. I won't make them. Stevie, especially, is old enough to know whether or not she wants to be legally bound to you. So they have the right to decide if this is something they want. I want you to be their mother, but I will not force my kids to do something they don't want to. And lastly, If something does happen to me, you have to make sure Will is still involved in their lives. He loves those kids. They are his blood, Jess."
"Yes," Jessica says, nodding her head emphatically, "I promise, yes."
He cups her face in his hand. He leans down and kisses her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. You are my wife, and I love you. And we should have discussed it together."
"It's okay. I know how much Elizabeth meant to you."
He nods. He has no more words in him tonight. Instead, he makes love to her.
