Petite Madeleine: Drew's Story (Meadows Shore Book 3) by Eva Charles Page B
Authors: Eva Charles
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on the sidewalk, but she pulled it free. “I can’t do this. Go back to Boston, Drew. Please. Let me get on with my life, and you get on with yours.”
She started to hurry off, but he yanked her back, and this time he held both her arms so she couldn’t pull away so easily. “If I thought for one minute you meant it, I might actually leave you alone. Maybe. But I don’t believe you. You’re scared, and you’re hiding something from me.”
People were staring at them on the sidewalk. Someone was sure to recognize him, and tomorrow’s headlines played in his mind. Screw it —let them print whatever they wanted. Right now, he didn’t give a shit.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Look at me Cassie. Is it?”
“I can’t stop you from believing what you want to believe.”
He sucked in a long breath and blew it out slowly. Maybe she was right, maybe he was chasing yesterday’s dream, focused on what he wanted to believe was happening between them, and disregarding reality.
“I’ll take you home.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Dammit, Cassie! Can’t you cut me even a little slack? Can’t you give in on something as inconsequential as a ride home?”
* * *
Inconsequential to him, maybe, but not to her. Every minute she spent with him, every little thing they did together, meant something to her. And it was complicating her life, messing with her emotions and her head in a way that was becoming unbearable. She needed to sort through her feelings, but she couldn’t do it alone. The stakes were too high, and she was too confused, and too afraid, to be able to figure this out by herself.
Right now, all she wanted was to hurl herself into the safety of his arms, and let him comfort her. But there’d be no going back from that.
When she got to her apartment, she e-mailed Dr. Ritchie, hoping she’d have an appointment available next week. “I’ve reconnected with a friend from the past,” she wrote, “and a lot of my old anxiety has come rushing back.” They hadn’t spoken in well over a year, because her life had been on such an even keel, she hadn’t needed the therapist’s support. But now she was a mess again. A huge mess.
* * *
Cassie sat in Doctor Ritchie’s familiar office, and reached for one of the little widgets she kept around for patients to fiddle with during difficult sessions.
“I feel like a spoiled child, unable to make decisions about my life. I really thought I was beyond all that. Instead of feeling grateful that I’ve made a good life for myself, grateful that my cancer wasn’t as aggressive as some others’, grateful that I’m alive, I’m in a perpetual state of hand-wringing, and feeling sorry for myself. I’ve become insufferable, I don’t know how he can stand to be around me, I can barely stand myself.”
“Cassie, you’re a strong woman, and you have rebuilt your life. But you experienced a great deal of trauma in a relatively short period of time. There was little time to recover between the blows. It was unrealistic to think that the fear, the anxiety, and the grief wouldn’t resurface again. Tell me about reconnecting with your old friend.”
Cassie told her all about what had been happening with Drew.
“I thought I was finished with him.”
“Did you really?”
She shifted in her chair, and hung her head, examining a loose thread on the hem of her skirt.
“Because I never thought that.”
Cassie’s head shot up.
“From what you described, it always seemed like you’d avoided him. If I remember correctly, you were afraid that telling him about the cancer would add to his problems, and you were also worried about his reaction, afraid he’d be repulsed by the illness, by your breasts. So you never returned his calls or his letters. But avoiding someone is very different from being finished with them.”
“I never stopped loving him,” she whispered. “I didn’t allow myself to think about him when I was with Ned,
She started to hurry off, but he yanked her back, and this time he held both her arms so she couldn’t pull away so easily. “If I thought for one minute you meant it, I might actually leave you alone. Maybe. But I don’t believe you. You’re scared, and you’re hiding something from me.”
People were staring at them on the sidewalk. Someone was sure to recognize him, and tomorrow’s headlines played in his mind. Screw it —let them print whatever they wanted. Right now, he didn’t give a shit.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Look at me Cassie. Is it?”
“I can’t stop you from believing what you want to believe.”
He sucked in a long breath and blew it out slowly. Maybe she was right, maybe he was chasing yesterday’s dream, focused on what he wanted to believe was happening between them, and disregarding reality.
“I’ll take you home.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Dammit, Cassie! Can’t you cut me even a little slack? Can’t you give in on something as inconsequential as a ride home?”
* * *
Inconsequential to him, maybe, but not to her. Every minute she spent with him, every little thing they did together, meant something to her. And it was complicating her life, messing with her emotions and her head in a way that was becoming unbearable. She needed to sort through her feelings, but she couldn’t do it alone. The stakes were too high, and she was too confused, and too afraid, to be able to figure this out by herself.
Right now, all she wanted was to hurl herself into the safety of his arms, and let him comfort her. But there’d be no going back from that.
When she got to her apartment, she e-mailed Dr. Ritchie, hoping she’d have an appointment available next week. “I’ve reconnected with a friend from the past,” she wrote, “and a lot of my old anxiety has come rushing back.” They hadn’t spoken in well over a year, because her life had been on such an even keel, she hadn’t needed the therapist’s support. But now she was a mess again. A huge mess.
* * *
Cassie sat in Doctor Ritchie’s familiar office, and reached for one of the little widgets she kept around for patients to fiddle with during difficult sessions.
“I feel like a spoiled child, unable to make decisions about my life. I really thought I was beyond all that. Instead of feeling grateful that I’ve made a good life for myself, grateful that my cancer wasn’t as aggressive as some others’, grateful that I’m alive, I’m in a perpetual state of hand-wringing, and feeling sorry for myself. I’ve become insufferable, I don’t know how he can stand to be around me, I can barely stand myself.”
“Cassie, you’re a strong woman, and you have rebuilt your life. But you experienced a great deal of trauma in a relatively short period of time. There was little time to recover between the blows. It was unrealistic to think that the fear, the anxiety, and the grief wouldn’t resurface again. Tell me about reconnecting with your old friend.”
Cassie told her all about what had been happening with Drew.
“I thought I was finished with him.”
“Did you really?”
She shifted in her chair, and hung her head, examining a loose thread on the hem of her skirt.
“Because I never thought that.”
Cassie’s head shot up.
“From what you described, it always seemed like you’d avoided him. If I remember correctly, you were afraid that telling him about the cancer would add to his problems, and you were also worried about his reaction, afraid he’d be repulsed by the illness, by your breasts. So you never returned his calls or his letters. But avoiding someone is very different from being finished with them.”
“I never stopped loving him,” she whispered. “I didn’t allow myself to think about him when I was with Ned,
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