“Good Morning, Tim.” she half whispered as to not wake the rest of the house, while I was still blinking at her in surprise.
“Morning. Why are you up? Everything alright?”
“John called me a few minutes ago.” she explained, giving me a meaningful look.
“Oh. Sorry about that.” I said, looking back out the windows to hide my embarrassment.
John, that damned traitor! That’s why he didn’t ask questions. He must have called her the moment I had hung up instead. Meaning, she possibly had just stood there watching me for a while.
“So ... you make rounds through the house?” she asked, walking to stand next to me, “In the middle of the night?”
“Yes. So?”
“You do that often?”
She tried to sound casual, but I could also hear a distinct tone of professionalism, telling me this wasn’t just idle conversation with my Aunt. It was more likely a session with my Aunt the therapist. I looked at her, contemplating whether I should - or rather wanted to - tell her. And if so, how much.
“Most nights, yes.” I answered blandly. Noticing her look I added. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
She grabbed my drink out of my hand, brought it up to her nose, and sniffed it.
“Yeah, sure. Waking up in the dead of night to check on us, and then drinking alone in a dark room, basically screams ‘I’m fine’, Tim!”
“Who says I wake up to check on you people? I just make sure the house is Okay.”
“So you do wake up to check, instead of checking when you just happen to wake up? And if it’s not to check on us, why did you call John to make sure he was Okay?”
Obviously I wasn’t as quick-witted as I thought.
“Where the fuck’s all that perceptiveness suddenly coming from that you’ve been missing for the past four years?” I muttered under my breath, taking my drink back from her hands, and causing her to wince and regard me with sad eyes.
“I know I failed you, Tim. I’m sorry.” she responded after placing a hand on my biceps, “There isn’t anything I could say in my defense that wouldn’t sound like a cheap excuse, or like I’m trying to shift the blame. All I can say is, I’m trying to do better, because I do care about you.”
Hearing that almost knocked me on my ass. It was the first time I had heard any of them fully acknowledge my grief, while actually apologizing for the part they played in the shit I had endured. No ‘I’m sorry, BUT... ‘, or ‘I’m sorry you feel that way’. She actually admitted that my aversion towards them was fully warranted, without any attempt to play it down or relativize her part in it. Even Claire had, the night we had sex, only apologized specifically for not realizing that Tess had died, and gave me a ‘I didn’t intend to... ‘ for all the other crap.
“Well ... try me.” I challenged her.
“What?”
“Now that you said you’re sorry and want to do better, I’d like to hear the reasons, even if they sound like excuses. Because I really would like to understand how in the hell we reached this point.” I clarified, and saw her body slump in on itself. “You are a psychologist after all. So, I have a little trouble understanding how anything you just claimed is possible, after you let it all happen.”
She thought about it for a while, looking at her feet, before she sighed in resignation.
“I could tell you that we don’t live together, so I never directly witnessed the signs of depression in you. I could tell you that you had already withdrawn yourself and kept your distance from us when you entered high school, so I never directly witnessed the signs of you being bullied. Or I could tell you that I specialized in couples therapy, not child psychology, so I wasn’t able to see the signs from a distance either. But the simple truth is ... that you were right with what you said to me. The mere fact that a fourteen year old child withdrew himself from his family should have made me ask questions, but I was content with my life and the fun we were having, so I readily accepted Aaron’s remarks about harmless sibling rivalry.”
By the end of her explanation, she had to strain her voice to keep her embarrassment out of it.
“And what about after you finally found out?” I asked quietly. “I suspect John told you about our little talk in the car?”
“Yes.” she nodded somberly, “He has. Tim, after we tried to make them remember your birthday last year, your Grandmother justifiably dressed us all down and demanded of Claire and Aaron to fix what was wrong. And, despite what you think, I did talk with them. One of the reasons I hounded you for the last year was that I wanted to help that process along. When you kept refusing to talk with me, I relied on what I heard from your parents and siblings, who made it all sound like you just weren’t interested.”
“Really!?” I asked in a sarcastic tone.
“Yes, Tim, really.” she said in a sad voice, “Your brother and father sounded very convincing. Especially since, until two weeks ago, I had no idea how bad things really were from your perspective.” She paused to sigh again. “So, there you have your answer to why we never offered to take you in. John and I also talked about introducing you to our family activities ourselves if Claire wouldn’t, but it simply wasn’t our place. It’s the parents’ responsibility to decide when their children are ready for it. All we knew was that we forgot your birthday, and that Aaron preferred Logan over you. So, honestly, we had little reason to doubt their words when they claimed you simply didn’t want to. At least not until your grandfather called and told John about your disappearance.”
She was right. To me, this did sound like a bunch of excuses. But she had already acknowledged that she simply screwed up, and seemed to genuinely regret that.
“So ... what’s the plan now?” I asked, and noticed her acting pensive all of a sudden.
“There are ... other concerns.” she replied carefully, “Now that I finally realized my mistake and started looking at things a little more ... critically ... I’m afraid there are a lot more things going wrong. I’ll have to talk with the others about it. I think we need to make some serious changes about the way we handle things.”
“I think that’s obvious.” I injected, which she ignored.
“Right now, my main concern is you. I will make this right, Tim. I will not fail you again. So, right now, I need to make sure you’re actually Okay like you claimed you are.”
“Well, fine, I’m not Okay. Happy?” She grinned. “But I will be.”
“Meaning?” She insisted on keeping this talk going.
I realized how long we had already stood around while talking, and it seemed like this talk would go on for a while longer. So, I moved over to the loveseat and found my shirt from the day before draped across a chair. I guess they weren’t sure if they should try to wash out the blood or just throw it away. I took a seat, fully expecting her to sit in the armchair opposing me to complete the picture of a therapist in session. She surprised me, however, by sitting right next to me instead. I took a sip of my drink, more to buy some time than to sort my thoughts.
“The last two weeks were just ... a little stressful.” I started,
“That’s slightly understated, but go on.” she smiled.
“And ... I haven’t slept that well in a while. I just need to realize we’re finally out of the woods; it’ll fix itself.”
She nodded, stood up and walked into the kitchen. Then she came back with a drink of her own, though she preferred a glass of wine I had no idea we even had in the house. Then she sat back next to me, and gave me a searching look.