started to walk
past him along the dock, brushing his arm as she maneuvered by in the narrow
space.
“Well,
I hope you enjoy your stay,” he called out. Craig didn’t try to hide his harsh
tone; there was no need for her to brush him off.
Abby did not reply as she stepped off of the dock and onto her uncle's
houseboat, beating a hasty retreat. Craig watched her with a mixture of
curiosity and unease. There was something about her that did not feel right. In
a town of less than six hundred people, it was easy to notice a stranger. It
was easier still to peg someone who did not fit in the Winchester Bay
lifestyle. He shook his head and continued along the dock to his small fishing
boat. After all, it was Saturday - his day to enjoy the open water. A few hours
away from his responsibilities, and Abby wasn’t his concern.
* * *
Abby
emphatically closed the door behind her. She did not want to make any friends,
none whatsoever. She wanted to be left alone, to remain anonymous, and “enjoy”
time away from the chaos she left behind... chaos she felt entirely responsible
for. She wanted to lose herself in silence.
As
she stretched out across the bunk, she wondered, for the thousandth time, how
she had ended up here. Once she had been a prominent psychologist, specializing
in working with traumatized war veterans from the conflicts in Iraq and
Afghanistan. Abby was praised highly for her ability to reach the most broken
men and women who were returning from incredibly harrowing experiences. She
closed her eyes against the flood of patient faces through her memory. The vain
pride she once had in herself was gone. The pain rose within her – the
self-loathing and intense need to escape – it was enough to make her wish she
could disappear. That was why she was here. To disappear. Sadly, it would take
more than Winchester Bay’s soothing qualities to rescue a woman as lost as
Abby.
* * *
The
next morning, when she awakened, Abby could not immediately recall where she
was. The sunlight battled its way through the gritty window and splintered
across the white wall of the small bedroom. Abby sighed as the real world
unwound around her. Ready or not, she was being forced to face it. She always
treasured those few seconds just before opening her eyes; a few blissful
moments in which she was simply Abby, again. Although she had compassion for
her patients, she had never truly understood the depths of their despair, their
inability to release, to move on from a trauma. Now she did. Now she saw her
arrogance with such painful clarity - it wounded her.
I can’t believe I used to say, “Time heals all wounds,” or “Let's keep
focusing on the positive.” How utterly trite ! Abby groaned. Stupid,
stupid, stupid. She struck the pillow with her fists repeatedly, burying
her face in it. Sitting up, she grabbed each end of the pillow and yanked it,
this way and that, in a frenzied crescendo of fury. Arrrghhh! With the
pillow still clenched in her hands, she plunged her face into it again,
screaming her pain and frustration into its billowy softness - the down inside
muffling the tortured sound. Her fit of anguish spent, Abby pulled the pillow
down from her red, puffy face, hugging it as she rocked back and forth, sobbing
softly.A river of tears flowed down her
cheeks.
Her
stomach rumbled, distracting her momentarily from her grief. When was the
last time I ate? She didn’t want to go out. I can go another day without
food . I don’t have much of an appetite, anyway.
* * *
“So,
you make people feel better, Doc?” He had asked her, that first day they met.
The session had taken place in her large Philadelphia office. His deep brown
eyes had been so wide and desperate, like a trapped animal, seeking cover from
attack.
“I
try,” Abby replied with a cautious smile. “I can only guide you. Whether you
get better will depend on how much you are willing to participate in the
process.”
“I'll
do
past him along the dock, brushing his arm as she maneuvered by in the narrow
space.
“Well,
I hope you enjoy your stay,” he called out. Craig didn’t try to hide his harsh
tone; there was no need for her to brush him off.
Abby did not reply as she stepped off of the dock and onto her uncle's
houseboat, beating a hasty retreat. Craig watched her with a mixture of
curiosity and unease. There was something about her that did not feel right. In
a town of less than six hundred people, it was easy to notice a stranger. It
was easier still to peg someone who did not fit in the Winchester Bay
lifestyle. He shook his head and continued along the dock to his small fishing
boat. After all, it was Saturday - his day to enjoy the open water. A few hours
away from his responsibilities, and Abby wasn’t his concern.
* * *
Abby
emphatically closed the door behind her. She did not want to make any friends,
none whatsoever. She wanted to be left alone, to remain anonymous, and “enjoy”
time away from the chaos she left behind... chaos she felt entirely responsible
for. She wanted to lose herself in silence.
As
she stretched out across the bunk, she wondered, for the thousandth time, how
she had ended up here. Once she had been a prominent psychologist, specializing
in working with traumatized war veterans from the conflicts in Iraq and
Afghanistan. Abby was praised highly for her ability to reach the most broken
men and women who were returning from incredibly harrowing experiences. She
closed her eyes against the flood of patient faces through her memory. The vain
pride she once had in herself was gone. The pain rose within her – the
self-loathing and intense need to escape – it was enough to make her wish she
could disappear. That was why she was here. To disappear. Sadly, it would take
more than Winchester Bay’s soothing qualities to rescue a woman as lost as
Abby.
* * *
The
next morning, when she awakened, Abby could not immediately recall where she
was. The sunlight battled its way through the gritty window and splintered
across the white wall of the small bedroom. Abby sighed as the real world
unwound around her. Ready or not, she was being forced to face it. She always
treasured those few seconds just before opening her eyes; a few blissful
moments in which she was simply Abby, again. Although she had compassion for
her patients, she had never truly understood the depths of their despair, their
inability to release, to move on from a trauma. Now she did. Now she saw her
arrogance with such painful clarity - it wounded her.
I can’t believe I used to say, “Time heals all wounds,” or “Let's keep
focusing on the positive.” How utterly trite ! Abby groaned. Stupid,
stupid, stupid. She struck the pillow with her fists repeatedly, burying
her face in it. Sitting up, she grabbed each end of the pillow and yanked it,
this way and that, in a frenzied crescendo of fury. Arrrghhh! With the
pillow still clenched in her hands, she plunged her face into it again,
screaming her pain and frustration into its billowy softness - the down inside
muffling the tortured sound. Her fit of anguish spent, Abby pulled the pillow
down from her red, puffy face, hugging it as she rocked back and forth, sobbing
softly.A river of tears flowed down her
cheeks.
Her
stomach rumbled, distracting her momentarily from her grief. When was the
last time I ate? She didn’t want to go out. I can go another day without
food . I don’t have much of an appetite, anyway.
* * *
“So,
you make people feel better, Doc?” He had asked her, that first day they met.
The session had taken place in her large Philadelphia office. His deep brown
eyes had been so wide and desperate, like a trapped animal, seeking cover from
attack.
“I
try,” Abby replied with a cautious smile. “I can only guide you. Whether you
get better will depend on how much you are willing to participate in the
process.”
“I'll
do
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