Chapter 13

Friday was spent in a daze, the weekend much the same. Though I forced myself to work out, I couldn’t manage much more. My stomach was in knots, the idea of food nausea-inducing, and while part of me longed to drink to oblivion, I was careful not to touch so much as a single beer. I didn’t study or clean the house or do laundry; instead, I took long walks in the afternoons, rehashing every moment that Natalie and I had spent together, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. Where I’d gone wrong.

All signs pointed to the Other Guy, but I still couldn’t fully accept that. Less than a week had passed since we’d spent that unforgettable day and night together; even if she’d decided to rekindle that other relationship instead of making a go of it with me, why hadn’t she said anything? Why the flat request never to contact her again? Was this some kind of game to her? While I granted that she played things close to the vest, she didn’t strike me as inherently manipulative. Part of me was certain that Natalie would come around. She’d call and blame her words on the fact that she’d been drinking; she’d admit that she hadn’t been thinking clearly. She’d apologize and we’d talk about what was really going on. We’d work things out, and sooner rather than later, everything would go back to normal.

I carried my phone with me wherever I went, but my phone remained silent. Nor did I attempt to contact her. She’d asked me not to and I honored my promise, even as it simultaneously angered and confused me, even as my heart was breaking.

Gradually, my appetite returned, but I didn’t sleep well. In my waking hours, I felt more on edge than I had in a long time, and I was thankful that I’d be speaking with Bowen on Monday. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I really needed his help.

“It’s clear that you’re upset,” Bowen said. “Anyone in your situation would feel the same.”

I was in the kitchen, staring at Bowen on the computer screen. I had told him briefly about my trip to Easley before plunging into the events involving Natalie and me. I spoke in circles, repeated myself more than once, continually posing the same questions without really expecting an answer. On his end, Bowen waited for me to finally talk myself out before offering any response.

“I’m more hurt and confused than anything,” I said, running my hand through my hair. “I just don’t understand what happened, Doc. She told me she loves me. What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know that I can answer that question,” he said. “All I know for certain is that—according to you—she made her wishes known.”

“Do you think it’s because of the other man?”

“Don’t you?”

Of course I do. Why else would you end a relationship with someone you loved?

When I didn’t respond, Bowen cleared his throat. “How are you sleeping?”

“Not well, the last few days. Maybe three or four hours, with a lot of tossing and turning.”

“Bad dreams?”

“I doubt I’m sleeping enough to dream.”

“And during the day?”

“On edge. Tense. But I’m not drinking and I’m working out. Even though I’m not hungry, I’m still making sure that I eat.”

“How about your hands? Any trembling?”

“Why? Did you expect me to become a total wreck?” I snapped.

“I just asked the question,” he said. “I take it the answer is no.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Of course it’s a no. Believe me, I know my situation and understand the things I have to do to stay healthy. I’m under stress at the present time, but I’m doing my best, okay? I just want to know what to do about Natalie.”

I could feel him staring at me through the screen before he finally said in a neutral voice, “If it’s so important to you to understand, I suppose you could always go to her house and try to speak with her.”

“Are you suggesting that I do that?”

“No,” he said. “If you were asking my opinion, I wouldn’t recommend it. Not right now, anyway. Based on the way you described the situation, she seemed unequivocal in her decision. To try to revisit it against her wishes would likely backfire and make things even worse.”

“I don’t think they can get any worse.”

“Oddly, things can almost always get worse.”

I rolled my shoulders a couple of times before forcing myself to take a deep breath. “I just want…”

When I trailed off, Bowen’s eyes were empathetic. “I know what you want,” he said. “You want Natalie to feel the same way about you as you do about her. You want your love reciprocated, and you want a future with her.”

“Exactly.”

“And yet you also suspected that she was seeing someone else and was perhaps even in a serious relationship, prior to her actually admitting it. In other words, you were never sure what to expect. Now, couples’ counseling is not necessarily my area of expertise except in the context of PTSD, but one thing I’ve learned in the course of my own life is that you can’t force a romantic interest with someone who doesn’t want one with you.”

“But that’s the thing. I have the sense that she actually does want one with me.”

“Despite making it clear she wanted to end it?”

He had me there. Bowen went on. “Then the best you can do is wait until she changes her mind. In the meantime, it’s critical to take care of yourself and continue to move forward in your own life. It’s important not to dwell, since it’s likely to make you feel even worse.”

“How am I supposed to not think about it?”

“One thing you can do is stay busy. Stay focused on the things you need to do. Remember the lessons of CBT and DBT—that positive behaviors can help lessen the emotional turmoil you’re feeling. For instance, have you found a place in Baltimore to live yet? Tomorrow is the first of May.”

“Not yet,” I said. “I still have to figure that out.”

“It might help you feel better to get out of town. New environments, especially when combined with a specific, important purpose for the visit, can help distract from the emotions you’re experiencing.”

I knew that was true, but I nonetheless wondered if my trip to South Carolina had made Natalie’s decision to end it that much easier. Had I spent time with her earlier in the week, perhaps none of this would have happened. But who really knew for sure?

“You’re right, Doc. I’ll get on that.”

“You still have friends there, right?”

“A couple of guys from my residency are still in the area.”

“Maybe go to a ball game, or set up a lunch. Reconnecting with old friends is always good for the soul.”

Bowen, I knew, was a believer in any form of healthy distraction.

“I’ll think about it.”

“You also said that you wanted to speak with the owner of the towing company?”

Speaking with AJ had become a low, if not nonexistent, priority over the last few days. It had been all I could do to hold myself together.

“I’ll do that, too,” I mumbled.

“Good,” he said. “Keep in mind that as hard as things are, it is possible to find things to enjoy and to be grateful for the opportunities that life presents.”

Bowen used that expression frequently and while I recognized how important enjoyment and gratitude were when it came to good mental health, there were times it annoyed me. Like right now.

“Any other advice you can offer?”

“Concerning what?”

“What I should do about Natalie.”

“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re handling everything as well as can be expected at the present time. But I’m wondering if it might be a good idea for me to prescribe something that will help you sleep better. Extended periods without quality sleep can greatly affect how PTSD can manifest. Do you have any thoughts on it?”

I’d used sleep aids before, along with antidepressants. I understood well the benefits they could offer, but I preferred to avoid them.

“I think I’m okay, Doc. Let’s see how it goes.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. Remember that I’m around if you feel like you need to talk before our next session.”

“Will do.”

Despite my conversation with Bowen, I wasn’t inclined to find things to enjoy or to look for ways to be grateful.

Instead, I continued to dwell on the situation while pacing from one end of the property to the other. I tried to reflect on what Bowen had recommended; I did my best to accept the idea that Natalie had to make the decision that was right for her. Through it all, my emotions remained leaden and I could feel the tightness in my jaw coil into an ache.

To my chagrin, Bowen had been proven right again. He was like your parents when they told you to eat your vegetables as a kid: You might not like it, but it was indisputably good for you.

I knew enough not to risk going out in public in case someone cut in front of me in line or otherwise challenged my shaky equilibrium. I was self-aware enough to understand that it was sometimes better to hunker down and avoid human contact altogether.

Which is exactly what I did.

In the morning, I woke feeling more irritated at myself than Natalie. Though I hadn’t slept well, I knew it was time for the four-day pity party to end. That didn’t mean I was grateful—far from it. But I’d learned over time that CBT and DBT work. In other words, I had to stay busy and knock items off my to-do list.

After my workout and breakfast, I dived into the internet, reviewing descriptions and photographs of furnished rentals in the vicinity of Johns Hopkins. Because I’d lived there before, I knew the neighborhoods well and was able to find eight different units that piqued my interest.

Thinking Bowen was also right about leaving town, I called various brokers to set up times for viewings through the end of the week. Next, I booked a hotel, then finally emailed with an orthopedic surgeon who still lived in Baltimore and agreed to meet me for dinner Saturday night. I looked into catching an Orioles game as well, but they were playing away. Instead, I reserved tickets to the National Aquarium. I could practically feel Bowen patting me on the back for a job well done.

Toward the end of the day, I called AJ’s Towing again and left a slightly different message. I told him that after my grandfather’s passing, I had inherited the truck and asked point-blank for its return. If he didn’t comply, I would assume that it was stolen and alert the appropriate law enforcement authorities. I left my phone number and address, and gave him until the following Monday to get back to me, suggesting that he contact me sooner rather than later.

Leaving such an aggressive message might not have been the wisest thing to do. People generally don’t respond well to threats, though in my current mood it nonetheless felt good to lash out at something.

On Wednesday, I packed a bag, tossed it in the back of the SUV, and was out the door by seven. The drive, which has a tendency to put one in a reflective mood, naturally brought Natalie to mind, making the inevitable traffic in DC a challenge in my hair-trigger state. I became convinced that certain drivers were purposely trying to annoy me.

Fortunately, and despite myself, I reached Baltimore without incident and drove to my first appointment, where the broker was waiting for me. Functional place, halfway decent building, and while it would have sufficed, that was all the excitement it generated. The decor was dated and the furnishings worn, not to mention the view from the tiny porch was of a garbage-strewn alley. It was basically the same situation with the second unit, though the view was better if one was fond of staring into the neighbor’s place and wanted to lean out the window to borrow a cup of sugar. I struck both apartments off my list.

Stiff and out of sorts, I paced the hallways of the hotel for an hour before finally ordering room service. Though I fell asleep early, I woke in the middle of the night and finished an extra-long workout in the gym before anyone else even arrived. I splurged on breakfast, saw three more units for rent on Thursday, of which the second appealed to me. After indicating a strong interest in it, I promised to let the broker know by the end of the day on Friday.

On Friday, two of the three units were also promising, but I was still sold on the one I’d seen on Thursday. I called the broker again, set up a late-afternoon appointment, then signed the lease. Glad that I’d made a decision and taken care of it, I decided to celebrate by eating at the bar instead of ordering room service. I struck up a conversation with a woman who sold veterinary products. Attractive, an engaging conversationalist, and definitely flirty, she made it clear she’d be interested in whatever I happened to propose for later that night. But I wasn’t in the mood, and after I finished my second drink, I said my goodbyes. In my room, I lay on the bed with my hands clasped behind my head, wondering if Natalie was experiencing any regrets.

The aquarium was well worth my time despite the crowd; dinner with my friend and his wife was even more fun. Joe and Laurie had been married three years and had a young daughter at home. Laurie spent part of the evening trying to convince me that she had a friend that I really should meet. “You two would hit it off,” she said. “She’s just your type.” I demurred—I was leaving the following morning, I reminded them—but to Laurie, that made no difference. “You’ll be living here soon,” she said. “We’ll all get together then.”

Who knew? Maybe by then, I might be in a frame of mind to take them up on that.

Right now, I couldn’t conceive of it.

I made the drive home on Sunday. After tossing my dirty clothes in the laundry, I collected the mail that had built up in my absence. Generally, there wasn’t much—assorted bills and junk mail—but I was surprised to find a letter from an attorney named Marvin Kerman in South Carolina, addressed to me.

After tearing open the envelope, I read the letter while I walked, finishing it on the front porch. The attorney, who represented AJ’s Towing, had written to inform me that my grandfather’s truck had been auctioned off for nonpayment of the tow and automobile storage, in accordance with South Carolina law. I was further informed that a letter had been sent to my grandfather’s home the previous December, explaining that unless remittance was made, the truck would be considered abandoned and the towing company would take appropriate action. Toward the end, the attorney stated that unless I stopped harassing the owner, criminal or civil charges would be pursued against me.

More than likely, the original notice had been in the mail that I’d carelessly thrown away when I’d first moved in, and as my instincts had predicted, it had been a stupid idea to threaten AJ whatever-his-last-name-was. Which left me largely at a dead end.

But not entirely.

With the letter, there was one more angle I could pursue, even if I wasn’t sure it would lead anywhere. I had the name and number of the attorney, after all.

With my apartment secured, the move to Baltimore felt imminent, even though I still had a month or more before I had to go. Feeling nostalgic, I decided to spend some time with the bees before my session with Bowen.

I suited up, collected everything I needed, and picked four of the hives at random. Pulling out the frames, I noted that honey collection was well underway; the bees had been busy in recent weeks. Though my residency would be in full swing, I made the decision to return to New Bern in early August to harvest the honey. I could do it over the weekend and figured that it was something my grandfather would have wanted me to do. Claude, I assumed, would be thrilled.

In making that decision, I realized that I had no intention of either selling or renting the property. There were too many memories for me to reconcile and while I wasn’t sure what that meant for me in the future, I simply couldn’t imagine someone else living here. I wondered whether my decision was some sort of subconscious desire to be near Natalie but dismissed the idea.

I was keeping the house because of my grandfather, not her. Which also meant that I needed to hire a contractor because the house was in serious need of repairs. It was one thing to stay for a few months; it was entirely another to make the house permanently livable. It still needed a new roof and kitchen floor, I assumed there was termite and water damage affecting the foundation, and if I ever wanted to spend any time here in the future, the house was in dire need of a larger master bathroom while the kitchen needed work, too. For all I knew, there might be plumbing or electrical issues as well, all of which would keep the contractor busy for months. I’d need a property manager, someone to watch over the place and keep the contractor on task while sending me photos of the progress.

I wondered then whether Callie would help watch over the hives, adding the queen excluders and shallow supers in early spring. Since she passed the property on her way to work, it wouldn’t be out of the way, and I’d offer to pay her more than the work was probably worth. I was sure she could use the extra money, but I wanted to speak with Claude about her work habits first. Even if she had helped my grandfather once, I still wanted someone dependable.

My to-do list—which I thought had been completed—was suddenly up and running again. Contractor, property manager, Callie and Claude…people to speak with, responsibilities to arrange. Today was as good a day as any to get things started; aside from my session with Bowen, I had only one other item on my agenda.

I made the call to Marvin Kerman, the attorney for AJ’s Towing, immediately after finishing with the hives. His receptionist said that he was in court but would likely return my call later that afternoon.

I set up an appointment with the same general contractor I’d used months earlier, and he told me he’d be able to come by the following week. He also recommended that I get a home inspection beforehand, offering me the name of someone he trusted. The inspector, fortunately, was less busy, and said that he could inspect the home on Thursday. I was also able to find three potential property managers, and I set up times to have them come by, so I could interview them. My session with Bowen went well. He was a bit concerned that I still wasn’t sleeping well, but was pleased to hear I’d secured a new place to live in Baltimore. We discussed my continued agitation over Natalie, and he urged me to give myself time to heal, reminding me that it wasn’t possible to rush through what he described as a period of grief. I tried to deny my angst, but speaking about her made my emotions rise to the surface again in a way that they hadn’t in days. I was shaky by the time I hung up.

And for the first time since she’d ended things, I broke down and wept.

Marvin Kerman returned my call later that afternoon. It was half past five and I suspected I was the last call of his day. When he identified himself, he nearly barked his name into the receiver.

“Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Kerman,” I responded. “I was hoping that you might be able to help me.”

“Unfortunately the truck has already been auctioned,” he said. “As my letter indicated, the process was an entirely legal form of recompense for services rendered.”

“I understand,” I said in a conciliatory tone. “I’m not upset about the truck, nor do I have an issue with the fact that it’s been sold. I’m calling to ask if you might be able to contact your client about something else.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

Again, I recounted the story of what had happened to my grandfather and my nagging questions about it. “I wonder if AJ or someone else may have cleaned the truck and put the personal items in a box or in storage somewhere,” I added. “I was hoping I could get those things back.”

“You’re interested in his personal effects, but not the truck or the money?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened to him.”

“I don’t know if any personal effects were saved.”

“Would you be willing to ask your client?”

“I suppose. And if there aren’t any personal effects?”

“Then that will be the end of it. I can’t chase clues if there aren’t any.”

Kerman sighed. “I suppose that I can ask him, but again, I can’t guarantee anything.”

“I would appreciate it. Thank you.”

Drained by my tears on Monday and wanting to avoid a recurrence, I spent the rest of the week on autopilot while trying to stay as busy as possible. With the principles of CBT and DBT ringing through my head, I exercised longer and harder than usual, avoided alcohol, and ate as healthy as possible. I pressed forward with the things I needed to do. The inspector came and promised me that he’d have the report ready by Monday, so that the contractor would be able to use the information to put together an estimate. I interviewed property managers and settled on a woman who also worked as a realtor and whose husband was a contractor. She assured me that she had the ability to oversee a construction crew and promised to walk the property at least once a week while I was in Baltimore. I still hadn’t spoken to Claude or Callie, but I figured I could do that any time.

On Friday night, while sitting on the porch, I realized that it had been fifteen days since I’d last spoken with Natalie. Again, I had trouble sleeping, and when I woke in the middle of the night, I decided I was tired of staring at the darkened ceiling for hours. Crawling out of bed, I dressed and noted that it was a little past two in the morning. After a quick trip to the honey shed, I hopped in my SUV and drove to Spencer Avenue. Parking down the block, I walked to Natalie’s property. As I approached, I wondered if she was with the Other Guy right now; I wondered if they were in bed, or if they were out on the town. I wondered whether she was staring at him in the same way she’d stared at me. All of it made it difficult to swallow as I set two jars of honey on her doorstep.

There was no doubt she’d know who had left them, and I wondered what would happen if the Other Guy found them. What story would she tell him? Had she mentioned me at all? Had she even thought about me in the last couple of weeks, or had I already become a half-remembered memory, colored with regret?

Trudging back to the SUV, I heard only the echo of my unanswered questions.