The Darkest Corner of the Heart: Chapter 9

Unknown: We need to talk Two minutes after Shadow wakes me up, meowing for breakfast as if I haven’t fed him in years, my day is already ruined. Because of course it is.

I barely slept a wink last night, my mind fixed on the fact that I should stop going to Monica’s Pub with Graham if I don’t want to lose what little I’ve got left of my sanity.

There was no need for me to stay in the car for an hour after I parted ways with Graham. I could’ve argued I was just waiting for my alcohol levels to come down, but I’d only had one drink and I wasn’t drunk—not at all, or I wouldn’t have gotten in the car in the first place.

Twenty-one. She’s twenty-one and your goddamn patient.

It’s Mist meowing next that gets me out of my head this time, and I reluctantly start getting ready for the day.

That text haunts me at the gym, in the shower, and on my way to work, but I’m keen on leaving it unanswered. Just like the other seven he’s sent me.

He can go to hell for all I care.

I greet Barbara at the front desk as I sign in, and I manage to keep my shit together during my session with Maddie, but only because she barely speaks a word. Long gone is the bubbly girl I overheard last night at the bar, and it’s none of my business where she’s disappeared to.

Despite her outings to the bar, her ankle looks good. Everything tells me she’s been resting, and at the end of our session I let her know as much. “Recovery is going as expected.” I make a point to keep my voice as flat as possible. “You should be able to take short trips in moderation, but avoid stairs.”

I catch her nodding in the corner of my eye. She hesitates, moving closer to where I’m sitting. I keep my gaze trained on my computer screen. There’s nothing there but a spreadsheet I opened on accident and don’t need to check right now at all.

“I…” she starts before clearing her throat. She tries again, and I don’t like how small her voice sounds. How meek. “I wanted to apologize.”

That photo of her bright smile I refused to look at for more than two seconds on her dating profile makes my hands start sweating. “You’re good.”

“I know. That’s not… That’s not what I want to apologize for. This time.”

Slowly, I turn to look at her, curious as to what this apology she doesn’t owe me could be about. “What is it?” I ask, not because I’m particularly interested but because I can tell she needs a push.

Indeed, she doesn’t hesitate. “That night we saw each other at Monica’s Pub. I wanted to apologize for not following your instructions. I should’ve stayed at home.” She’s doing this. All right. “I was… I was scared going out would set me back on my recovery.”

Something akin to a grunt escapes the back of my throat. “Your ankle is fine.”

She stays silent for a few seconds, and I lock my eyes on the spreadsheet again. I get where she’s coming from. She’s scared her carelessness might have cost her the recovery she so desperately needs.

I’ve been there. I recognize that darkness a little too well.

“I wanted to apologize anyway.”

“Okay.”

But she still doesn’t leave. Maddie stays rooted into place for a few more moments until she reaches into her tote bag and gets something crinkly out of it. “Here.”

I look at her again. At her extended hand, and the piece of paper she’s holding in my direction. At the… Wait.

“This is for you.” Her voice comes out shy, unsure, and the shaking of her fingers is almost imperceptible. But I see it. “It’s silly, but… I’ve been apologizing to you way too often, and I thought you’d forgive me faster if I gave you this.”

It’s—

It’s a mandala.

She’s giving me a mandala.

I didn’t know you liked mandalas.

She noticed the coloring book the other day, didn’t she? And thought it would be a good idea to make me one?

Fucking hell.

“Did you draw this yourself?” I manage to ask. “By hand?”

Something warm and wrong stirs inside my gut. Heat climbs up my neck, and I know I’m blushing like a damn schoolboy.

“Yeah.” She releases her grip on the drawing, and I place it on my desk, unable to look away from it. “My brother is a tattoo artist, and I’ve always practiced my drawing skills with him. I sketch when I’m stressed, and I thought… Well, thinking of apologizing again was kind of stressing me out, so I made this for you.”

Speechless. I’m speechless.

“I should’ve stayed at home,” she continues. “But my mom called and… Well, it was important that I met with her. I don’t see her much. I also went to the bar the other day because I wanted a burger and some fresh air, but I took a car, so I barely walked. I used to work there, too, and my boss is like a friend to me, so I wanted to see her.”

I can’t even find it within myself to mask the relief I feel that she didn’t spot me last night. If she knew I’d waited until she got into her ride safely, we would be having a very different, very awkward conversation right now.

I also make a point to ignore the comment about her not seeing her mother much. The less I know about Maddie—Miss Stevens—the better.

The mandala is the safest thing I can focus on right now. It’s made of a circle with some kind of flower in the middle, and if I didn’t know she’d made it by hand, I would’ve mistaken it for one of the mandalas of my many books—it’s that stunning.

“Your brother is the man who came with you on your first appointment?”

“Yes,” she confirms. “He’s the tattoo artist.”

“You’ve never considered following in his footsteps?”

I don’t know why I’m asking. It’s not like I care. I don’t want to get to know her better. She’s my patient, my decade-younger patient, and there are boundaries I’d never cross. Unnecessary kinship with a patient is one of them.

“Oh, no way,” she says with a chuckle. The sound makes me look up at her, at that small tilt of her lips. “I’m not that good. I’ve always preferred ballet, anyway.” Her smile falters at that last sentence, and I remind myself I’m here to take care of her physical injuries, and that’s it.

“Thank you for the mandala,” I say as a form of dismissal. My next patient will be here any minute, but even if they weren’t, chatting with her isn’t a good idea. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I can tell my sudden brush-off has taken her aback, but she doesn’t miss a beat as she flashes me a bright smile that isn’t totally genuine. I only stare at her in response.

“Sure, yeah. See you, Doc.”

Doc. That’s a new one.

An eternity passes before the door clicks shut behind her, and only when the ticking clock on the wall is the sole sound in my office, do I allow myself to run a hand over my tired face.

Her mandala stares at me from my desk, daring me. On a whim, I shove it inside my backpack and refuse to think about it for the rest of the day.

✽✽✽

Maddie I order an Uber after my appointment with Dr. Stick-Up-His-Ass.

He’s earned that one.

Maybe it’s the mortification I felt when giving him the mandala, or maybe it was how quickly he dismissed me and the realization that hit me right afterward—we aren’t friends.

I thought I saw a blush on his cheeks when he saw my drawing, but with his dark stubble… The more I think about it, the less sure I am. I wouldn’t be surprised if I made him uncomfortable, so I tell myself this is going to stop. I tried, and he seemed to appreciate the mandala, kind of, but that’s it. No more gifts for him. No more friendly attitude toward him, no matter if it goes against my instincts.

The driver stops in front of The Norcastle Ballet twenty minutes later, and it dawns on me that I don’t know what I’m doing.

Why did I put in this address? Why didn’t I just go home?

I shut the car door once I’m safely holding my crutches on the sidewalk and watch as the Uber speeds away.

Breathing in through my nose, I dare to take in the building where all my dreams were meant to come true. I was supposed to come here for my audition and hopefully to work later.

Kyle got accepted.

Beth told me last night, and I couldn’t be prouder of him.

Of course he made it, because he’s the best, and I knew this place was for him. I knew they would see the star he turns into whenever he dances.

The most mature and compassionate part of me knows I need to speak to him. I really do. He isn’t to blame for my childlike behavior. I need to get it together and give him the apology he deserves.

I think of texting him for about five seconds before I decide to be honest with myself—I’m not ready, not yet. He’s been nothing but an amazing friend to me for years, and it isn’t his fault that he got accepted into TNB and I didn’t. It’s not his fault, damn it.

So why does it hurt so much to think about talking to him? Hearing him tell me how incredible it is to be living his dream? A dream we shared and now only one of us gets to experience.

My eyes zero in on a nearby sandwich shop, and my stomach growls in response. Okay, then, eating I can do. Plus, Dr. Simmons said I could take short trips and it wouldn’t affect my recovery, so I feel a little less guilty as I, once again, do everything but rest.

Ten minutes later, I’m sitting at a nearby park, munching on a tuna sandwich. The neoclassical-style building of The Norcastle Ballet looms in the distance, but not too far away I can’t see it, reminding me of the contrast of where I should be, versus where I actually am.

When the questions about my blurry future start piling up and the guilt and the anxiety make it impossible to breathe, I take my phone out of my bag and dial a number I should’ve called days ago.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Grace’s voice calms me down at once. Aside from being my ex-ballet teacher, my brother’s wife is one of the people I love the most in this world.

She’s my go-to person to talk about my issues, and I feel calm knowing she always has an answer. But then I remember why I called her in the first place, and my nerves skyrocket once more.

“I had dinner with my mom on the weekend,” I blurt out.

Silence greets me from the other line.

“Okay,” my sister-in-law says after a moment. A sister-in-law who feels more like a mother than my actual mother does. “I’m guessing you haven’t told Cal.”

She calls my brother Cal, not Sammy. His name is Samuel Callaghan, but everyone calls him Cal except for me. I guess Sammy just stuck when I was little because I found the name funny, and I don’t feel like changing it now.

I swallow. “No.”

“Okay,” she repeats in that soothing voice I’ve missed so much. I know what she’s not saying, though—that my brother will be upset I’ve kept this from him. “What did you talk about?”

And so, I tell her. About David, or Dave, or whatever his name is. About how she’s suddenly worried for my safety, how she frowned upon my job as if she had any right to. About how she’d made a face when I told her Sammy paid for my living expenses in Norcastle.

I let it all out in the same breath, afraid I’ll lose momentum if I stop, while she listens and doesn’t interrupt me once.

When I’m done, the last thing I expect Grace to do is to let out a deep, almost frustrated sigh. “Your mom…” she starts, but she seems to hesitate. “Your mom has been through a lot, but it’s not an excuse. You don’t deserve this weight on your shoulders, Maddie.”

I look up at the midday sun, hoping the light will keep my tears right where they are. Not rolling down my cheeks, basically.

“I’m not sure I want to see her again,” I mutter under my breath, shame coating every word. This is my mom, damn it. I shouldn’t be feeling like this. “For… For now,” I add to convince myself that I’m not a monster. Not fully. Not like she insinuated I was.

“You don’t have to,” Grace assures me in that firm voice she uses when Lila refuses to eat her broccoli. And as if she’s just read my mind, she says, “Listen to me, Maddie. I don’t care that she’s your mom, that she’s family—if you don’t feel comfortable around her anymore, you don’t have to see her. For now, or ever again. You’re an adult now. You’re the only one who can make that decision.”

I let out a shaky breath I’m very aware I’ve been holding but my body wouldn’t allow me to release. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. I won’t be upset if you decide to cut her off, and your brother won’t either.”

I’m not so sure about that. “But he…” I squeeze my eyes shut. Damn it, these tears are not coming out. “He tried so hard to keep the peace. He—”

“He tried, but your mother didn’t, and there’s nothing you or he can do about that.” She cuts me off, her words freezing me in place. Your mother didn’t. “She made her own bed, and now she has to lie in it. If you don’t want to see her again, she shouldn’t blame anyone but herself. Not your brother, and definitely not you.”

Grace has always been the voice of reason in our family. While Sammy gives great advice, sometimes his overprotectiveness gets the best of him. This doesn’t happen with my sister-in-law. If you mess up, she’ll tell you. And if something isn’t your fault, she’ll work her way through your thick skull until you see it too. That’s what she’s doing to me right now, and I know she’s right, but…

“But she’s my mother,” I mutter, because at the end of the day, it all comes down to that undeniable fact. No matter how much she deserves less effort from me, there’s a small part of my heart that withers just thinking about how selfish I’m being. She might not be the person I need, but my mom tried. I saw it in the way she’d take me out for pancakes on weekends or to the mall after my ballet lessons, even after I’d already moved in with Sammy and Grace. She wouldn’t have bothered if she didn’t care about me. “I know she loves me.”

“That’s not enough,” she tells me softly, as if she is afraid her words will break me. I’m not completely confident that they won’t. “Sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes people have to show you that you matter, and you do. You matter to all of us, Maddie. Don’t ever forget it.”

I gulp, tears now running freely down my cheeks. “I won’t.” I quickly wipe them away with my sleeve. “Thanks, Grace. I’m just… I’m not having the best week, I guess.”

“Did something else happen?” she asks, concerned.

I hesitate. “No.”

Very much like my brother, his wife doesn’t buy my lies either. “I can tell something is up,” she insists. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”

Her teasing brings a smile to my face. “Take a wild guess.”

“Mm.” She pretends to think about it. “I think I got it.”

“Doubt it,” I say, still smiling through the remaining tears.

“Does it have to do with a guy?”

After so many years of knowing Grace, I’m still convinced she has some kind of weird psychic powers.

“Kinda,” I admit, hearing her chuckle in the background. “It’s weird. It’s not that I like him or anything—”

“Sure.”

My heartbeat picks up. “Beth and I did something stupid, and now it’s awkward between this guy and me. I don’t think he likes me very much anyway, so yeah.”

“First of all, who wouldn’t like you? You’re a gem. And secondly, am I allowed to know what that stupid thing is all about? Or is it too humiliating?”

“It’s definitely humiliating.” I sigh, scooting back on the wooden bench. The sun hits my face, and I close my eyes, letting the heat dry the tears on my skin. “Beth thought I needed to dip a toe into the dating pool, and somehow she convinced me to set up a dating profile on some app. Long story short, I swiped up on someone I know, and now it’s awkward between us.”

There’s no way I’m telling her this “guy” is my physical therapist. Over my dead body.

Grace, the traitor, full-on laughs. “Yeah, that’s pretty horrifying.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan.

“Oh, Mads, you know I’m just joking,” she says, and I can still hear the remains of her laugh. “Did you talk to him about it?”

“I apologized for swiping up because, well, it wasn’t even me who did it,” I explain. “He said it’s fine, but I don’t know.”

“If he says it’s fine, then it must be. Is he acting normal around you?”

If normal means grouchy, then… “Yes.”

“There you have it. All’s good, then.”

I snort. “Love your positivity, Gracie. I needed it today.”

Her voice softens. “You can call me anytime, sweetheart. I promise I won’t tell your brother about the dating app fiasco.”

Phew. I love Sammy, but he can be an overprotective papa-slash-brother-bear sometimes. Who am I kidding? All the time.

Deciding to change topics for my sanity’s sake, I ask her, “How’s the new book coming along?”

When I first began therapy as a kid to cope with my parents’ abandonment, I wouldn’t open up. I couldn’t understand my own feelings, lost in the loud voices in my head. Because even though I’d always loved my brother, going from living with my parents to moving in with him permanently was confusing for a four-year-old.

Until my therapist tried a new approach.

It was through books, and characters that were dealing with the same issues as me, that I finally started healing. There was one story in particular, a story about a little fox who went to live with his older sister in the forest after her parents left on a very long hunting trip, which helped me come to terms with my new reality.

“It’s going well,” she tells me. “My deadline ends in two weeks and I’m running on caffeine and little hours of sleep, but I can’t complain.”

As my progress in therapy moved along, Grace took her career as a children’s author to the next level. She teamed up with several therapists specializing in bibliotherapy to write self-help books for children and young adults.

We have a whole collection of her books at home, all of which Lila knows like the back of her hand. From consent to fear to adoption, Grace has written about many difficult topics in a way that children and teens can understand and relate to.

To put it simply, Grace is a true angel on Earth.

I smirk. “Please tell me you have Sammy on coffee duty.”

“Coffee, laundry, groceries, dishes…” she lists before letting out a happy sigh. “I don’t think I could do it without him, if I’m being honest.”

“Husband of the Year,” I tease, knowing if that was a real award, he’d win it every year. My brother is too good for this world, and I’m happy he ended up with a woman who deserves him as much as he deserves her. “We’ll video chat over the weekend, yeah?”

“Of course. Take care of that ankle. I love you.”

“I love you. Tell Lila I love her too.”

“She’s at school now, but I’ll tell her when she gets back.”

I smile, picturing my niece’s sparkling eyes when her mom tells her she talked to me today. I miss her the most, that pip-squeak. “All right, I love you all.”

“We love you too, Maddie.”

When I hang up, a new resolve settles in my bones. Maybe Grace is right. Maybe love isn’t enough, not if that’s all there is to the feeling.

When people don’t go out of their way to show you that you matter to them, is it really love? Or just an empty word?

And am I really showing Kyle that I love him, that I appreciate him as a friend when I can’t swallow my own pain and apologize?

I gather all my trash to throw it away and hold my crutches tightly as I make my way out of the park. I need to talk to Kyle, and I refuse to let this situation go any further.

Getting my phone out of my bag, I scroll down his unanswered texts, feeling like shit for ignoring him, and type him a response that is long overdue.

Me: Hey, Ky. I’m sorry for the radio silence. I understand if you hate me, but if you don’t, I’d love to invite you over for pizza tonight at my place so we can talk. Let me know.

He doesn’t reply right away, but I don’t let it bother me. I went days without acknowledging his existence, so it’s only fair.

Now that short trips are allowed, perhaps I could talk to Monica about taking a couple of shifts again. I could stay in the kitchen and wash the dishes, no problem, and use the money to stop living off my brother again. It won’t be much, but at least I’ll have a reason to get out of my studio.

A new, light feeling bubbles in my chest, and for the first time since my injury, I feel somewhat optimistic, despite the uncertainty.

But as I turn to head for the taxi stop, a prickling sensation travels up my spine, and I stiffen.

A sudden urge to run away invades all my senses, and I know.

Call it intuition, a sixth sense, but I just know.

Somebody’s watching me.

The park is crowded with men and women dressed in suits, out on their lunch breaks, so I don’t feel particularly threatened. A busy road is right there, and so are multiple shops and buildings. Nothing is going to happen to me here, yet I can’t help but feel that something is very, very wrong.

Not with me, but around me.

As discreetly as I can manage, I scan each and every one of the faces I see. There are too many people walking around, most of them in a rush, to tell much of anything.

I don’t make eye contact with anyone, and nobody is blatantly staring at me, but I want to get out of here. Fast.

Luck is on my side as I spot an empty taxi right away. I rattle off my address to the driver and don’t peel my eyes off that park until we drive away.

Someone was watching me. I’m sure of it.