Page 117 of Leave a Mark
“I get that.” Lee appreciated her loyalty, grateful that the woman he loved was at least safe tonight with someone who cared so much about her.
“She needs help,” she said again. “And she’s got it bad for you, so you’d better not give up on her.”
“I won’t give up,” Lee swore. “Not ever.”
He heard her breathe in relief. “Okay, so what do we do?”
Lee stood again and began pacing the bunkroom. “Do you think she’d be willing to see somebody?”
“A shrink?” The doubt in her voice left little room for misinterpretation. “Hell no. When that shit went down, social workers tried to remove her from her home, even from her grandparents. It was fucked up. She had to go to mandatory counseling for years, and that just pissed her the hell off.”
This didn’t surprise Lee at all. Not the fact that Child Protective Services tried to take Wren or her resulting resentment. That happened all too often, and it sometimes reinforced survivor guilt. Still, Wren was an adult now. Being in control might make it easier. And she didn’t have to be alone if she trusted him to help her.
Would she trust him to help her?
“Let me see what I can do,” Lee said, striking an idea. “Can I call you tomorrow?”
Lee wrote down Cherise’s number, thanked her, and left the bunkroom. He checked with the charge nurse to see if any deliveries were imminent, and when he learned that there were still none, he headed for the elevators.
The Rape Crisis Center served all of Lafayette Parish, and it was housed on the second floor of UMC. The hospital unofficially tried to keep it staffed with female doctors and nurses, but Lee had covered a shift there twice during his residency, and he liked and respected the director. The center kept at least one doctor, nurse, and social worker on site around the clock, seven days a week.
When Lee entered the office, he was relieved to find no police officer by the desk waiting to take a statement, and the door to the exam area stood open. The social worker — one he recognized — came through the office door wearing a puzzled look.
“Hi, Dr…” She drew the title out as she scanned his badge. “…Hawthorne. What can I do for you?”
He read her badge as well, remembering the name from his last stint at the center. “Lee, please… Sheila, do you have a minute?”
Keeping Wren’s identity private, Lee told Sheila Thornton the basics. He had a friend who’d suffered months of sexual abuse as a child, who’d lost her mother shortly after, and who was dealing with survivor guilt now in her mid-twenties.
As he spoke, Sheila nodded, her face clouding with concern at all of the details. “She’d benefit from compassion therapy,” she said once he’d finished.
“Compassion therapy?”
“Well, it’s self-compassion really. The survivors need to develop compassion for themselves. For who they were when the abuse happened and who they are now,” she explained. “It takes time, but it’s very effective. Survivor guilt, shame, and self-blame affect adult victims of rape and abuse, but, in victims of childhood abuse, the wounds go deeper.”
Lee took it in, ready for whatever needed to happen. “I want to help her. Can you give me a referral for somebody in town? Somebody you trust?”
Sheila smiled. “Absolutely.” She stepped to one of the desks and came back with a business card. “Evelyn Reed. She’s great. Your friend will like her.”
Lee took the card, and, for the first time since that awful morning, he felt something close to hope.
IT HAD TAKENfour days — four of the longest days of his life — to work out everyone’s schedule, but things were finally coming together. His residency had officially ended. Lee hadn’t seen or spoken to Wren since Sunday — giving her the space she wanted — and in that time he’d learned that longing could be almost as maddening as grief.
Each day, he dealt with the tangle of his emotions. Apart from missing Wren, he felt guilty about going behind her back. She’d be angry. He knew she’d be angry. This was Wren, after all. But, he also believed that what they were doing was right. He didn’t know for sure, of course. He could lose Wren forever, and every time he thought this, fear would suck down his insides. And to chase fear away, he’d turn to hope. Hope that a time would come when Wren would be ready to come back to him. Above all, that she’d want to.
He’d driven downtown and parked on Polk Street. He was early, but nothing could make him hang back any longer. As they did every Thursday, Wren and Cherise were having breakfast at Dwyer’s, just a few blocks away. Lee sat in his Jeep, parked across the street from The Children’s Museum, and prayed that they’d made the right choice.
After all, it was his idea.
Lee had read everything about self-compassion therapy he could get his hands on, and, as he read, a plan had formed. Cherise was onboard from the start, and she’d insisted on contacting Mamaw Gigi and Wren’s boss Rocky… who were just now parking a few spaces down from him.
Adrenalin set his heart thumping as he stepped out of his Jeep. Rocky and a woman Lee guessed was his wife were helping Mamaw Gigi out of the back seat when he approached.
Rocky shot Lee a cautious look. “I’m not sure about this,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s gonna be pissed.”
“I know,” Lee said, wincing as he read the shared doubt in Rocky’s wife’s face.
“She’ll be pissed as hell,” the woman said. Then she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Shelby.”
