started. He couldn’t wait to change those up, now that he knew what equipment he had to work with for labs.
He was in his car on the way home when his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and answered without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Ben?”
He inhaled deeply and signaled to get off at the next exit. He had a feeling this was a conversation he didn’t want to be driving for. “What’s wrong, Barbara?”
“Whitney’s friend called today.”
Ben swore and pulled into the parking lot of a department store. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s worried about Whitney. She won’t get out of bed, refuses to eat. She’s been . . . saying things.”
Ben knew exactly what that meant. Whitney was suicidal. Again. His heart twisted in terror and he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. So many times he’d been scared to come home, scared of what he might find.
Was it his fault for not answering her texts?
“This is what happens when she’s off her meds,” he managed to croak out.
“I know, I know. Russ and I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t even answer the phone. We finally called her friend and she took the phone in and put it on speaker. I could hear Whitney breathing but she never responded to anything we said.”
Whitney needed to be hospitalized. Again. He was certain of it. Ben gripped his phone. He wanted to flip on the car engine, jump back on the interstate, and drive one hundred and ten miles an hour until he was in Las Vegas. Then he would find Whitney and physically drag her to a hospital if necessary. Anything to keep her safe.
He closed his eyes, pushing back the tears fighting their way through. “I’m so sorry, Barb. I think this might be my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“Whitney’s texted me a few times, asking if we could talk. I never responded.”
Her heard Barbara’s breathing on the other end of the line, rapid and panicked. “Will you call and talk to her now? I know you’ve made your decision, but I’m so scared.”
Maybe he should call and talk to Whitney. She needed him. If he didn’t she might . . .
Ben swallowed hard, trying to think clearly. If he called, she would reel him back in. And they would be happy, for a while. But in the end, he’d be right back where he was now. Because it might take six months, or a year, or even two, but she’d leave him again. He shut his eyes tight, gripping the phone. “You know I can’t do that,” he whispered.
“Please.” Her voice choked on the word. “I’m so terrified.”
So was he. But he knew he’d made the right decision for himself, and he had to stick to that. Whitney had left him, not the other way around. “I’m sorry.”
Barb let out a sob. “You were so good to her. I wish things were different.”
“Me too.”
“We’re leaving for Vegas tomorrow to check up on her. I hope you change your mind and come with us. We’d cover all your expenses for the trip.”
“Tell Whitney I’m sorry,” Ben said. “Maybe we can talk in a few months. But right now I can’t. Bye, Barbara.”
He hung up the phone and clenched it in his hand. Then he pounded the steering wheel. Why was this happening? Why couldn’t Whitney admit she was sick and accept the help he’d spent four years trying to convince her to get?
He’d talked until he was blue in the face, trying to convince her the pills were helping her, not hurting her. He’s taken every accusation and blame she’d hurled his direction without complaint. He’d saved her life more than once, taken financial responsibility for her when she couldn’t work, and done his very best to do right by their relationship. In return, he’d been handed a broken heart. Three times.
Feelings raged inside him, and he longed to let them out. For four years he’d kept his emotions to himself. He’d handled everything alone. For once in his life he wanted to be the one to talk while someone else listened. He wanted to be understood.
Ben
He was in his car on the way home when his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and answered without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Ben?”
He inhaled deeply and signaled to get off at the next exit. He had a feeling this was a conversation he didn’t want to be driving for. “What’s wrong, Barbara?”
“Whitney’s friend called today.”
Ben swore and pulled into the parking lot of a department store. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s worried about Whitney. She won’t get out of bed, refuses to eat. She’s been . . . saying things.”
Ben knew exactly what that meant. Whitney was suicidal. Again. His heart twisted in terror and he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. So many times he’d been scared to come home, scared of what he might find.
Was it his fault for not answering her texts?
“This is what happens when she’s off her meds,” he managed to croak out.
“I know, I know. Russ and I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t even answer the phone. We finally called her friend and she took the phone in and put it on speaker. I could hear Whitney breathing but she never responded to anything we said.”
Whitney needed to be hospitalized. Again. He was certain of it. Ben gripped his phone. He wanted to flip on the car engine, jump back on the interstate, and drive one hundred and ten miles an hour until he was in Las Vegas. Then he would find Whitney and physically drag her to a hospital if necessary. Anything to keep her safe.
He closed his eyes, pushing back the tears fighting their way through. “I’m so sorry, Barb. I think this might be my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“Whitney’s texted me a few times, asking if we could talk. I never responded.”
Her heard Barbara’s breathing on the other end of the line, rapid and panicked. “Will you call and talk to her now? I know you’ve made your decision, but I’m so scared.”
Maybe he should call and talk to Whitney. She needed him. If he didn’t she might . . .
Ben swallowed hard, trying to think clearly. If he called, she would reel him back in. And they would be happy, for a while. But in the end, he’d be right back where he was now. Because it might take six months, or a year, or even two, but she’d leave him again. He shut his eyes tight, gripping the phone. “You know I can’t do that,” he whispered.
“Please.” Her voice choked on the word. “I’m so terrified.”
So was he. But he knew he’d made the right decision for himself, and he had to stick to that. Whitney had left him, not the other way around. “I’m sorry.”
Barb let out a sob. “You were so good to her. I wish things were different.”
“Me too.”
“We’re leaving for Vegas tomorrow to check up on her. I hope you change your mind and come with us. We’d cover all your expenses for the trip.”
“Tell Whitney I’m sorry,” Ben said. “Maybe we can talk in a few months. But right now I can’t. Bye, Barbara.”
He hung up the phone and clenched it in his hand. Then he pounded the steering wheel. Why was this happening? Why couldn’t Whitney admit she was sick and accept the help he’d spent four years trying to convince her to get?
He’d talked until he was blue in the face, trying to convince her the pills were helping her, not hurting her. He’s taken every accusation and blame she’d hurled his direction without complaint. He’d saved her life more than once, taken financial responsibility for her when she couldn’t work, and done his very best to do right by their relationship. In return, he’d been handed a broken heart. Three times.
Feelings raged inside him, and he longed to let them out. For four years he’d kept his emotions to himself. He’d handled everything alone. For once in his life he wanted to be the one to talk while someone else listened. He wanted to be understood.
Ben
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