Hope from the Ocean: 23

Dear Dr. Martino,

I had another dream, or maybe it was a remembering.  I don't know.  It is still very hard for me to tell which is which.  I feel confused.  And I need your help.

The dream was about Todd.  He was a beautiful little toddler then, and at three he was already walking and running and jumping, but not talking much.  He always had long hair, and I am not even sure Peter had it cut after I was gone, because it was long when he was a man.  I know because I saw pictures of him.  

When Todd was little, I let his hair grow and it used to curl on the edges.  He was a beautiful child.  He always cared about animals and plants.  He did not like how Peter treated the animals that were around the house, or his pets and he was very frightened of Peter, all the time, and used to shake when his loud voice would echo through the house.

As a small child, Todd had nightmares all the time.  He would often come into our room at night and crawl in the bed to be near me.  At the time in this dream, he was no more than three.  I remember him coming in, or I dreamed of him doing this, and he stood by the bed and said, "Momma.  Bad things."

I opened my eyes, and he was standing there, and his hair was shining in the moonlight.  He said, "Momma.  Bad things," again, but this time, he touched his head to let me know he was dreaming.  So I petted him, and smoothed his hair, and he came toward me and hopped up onto the bed and curled up next to me. 

But the next thing that happened, Peter woke up, and he said terrible things.  And he took his foot and kicked me out of the bed.  I hit the floor hard.  It hurt and knocked my breath from me.  Then I heard Todd, "No, Daddy," and saw Peter kick my little boy with a force that sent him almost across the room.  He tumbled to the floor, and knocked his head against the furniture.  He cried, but he cried silently.  He feared making noise, because he knew Peter would beat him.  I had to wait, in the dark.  If I went to Todd while Peter was awake, he'd beat us both.  He would say something, something like "Let him learn to be a man and stop coddling him," whenever I would want to comfort him.  

After a while of sitting in the dark, waiting for Peter to fall asleep, I began to sicken from the soft catches in Todd's breath as he tried to cry quietly.  With my back throbbing from hitting the floor, I remember crawling to him, in the dark, and bringing him into my arms, and rocking him.  He already had a lump on his head where it hit the bedpost, and he was crying softly and gasping.  And he was only three, but he looked up to me and he just said, "Why, Momma?  Momma, don't cry."

The next day, in the dream (or in my memory), I made Peter his favorite dinner and dressed Todd up in his football jersey and pants and took photos of him.  Peter was pleased.  I stayed.  And this repeated in different ways with different stories, but always the same.  "Why, Momma?"

Now I know I was wrong.  I caused everything that was bad in my boy's life.  He grew up to be angry, hateful and cruel instead of tender, loving and sweet, as he was as a young child.  After Peter hurt him, he was not the same.  I knew this.  And this is my fault.  So tell me, Doctor, how can I make this up?  How can I help him now?  I don't deserve this family.  I don't deserve to be well.  I don't deserve my son, or his beautiful wife and children.  What do I deserve?

Ray put the letter down, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.  Removing his reading glasses, he sat back in his chair, so that it creaked a bit, and closed his eyes.  He wanted to ask Todd, directly, if this were a true story, so that he could clarify for Bea whether or not it was a dream, but at the same time, did he want to bring up these memories for him?  He toyed with the idea of calling him, while rereading it, from start to finish.  He made side notes in a few sections, things to ask Bea, and then picked up the phone.

"Todd, Ray."

"Hey, how's it going?  Is my mother all right?"

"She's working hard, Todd.  Questioning herself mostly."

"In what way?"

"Her decisions, her choices.  Mostly regarding you."

"Sounds like what I do every day.  Blair left me."

"What?  No way."

"She did.  But it's not rational.  Right now, I'm trusting Dorian to work it out.  You must know how that feels for me."

"Hmf, sounds like things are changing a bit."

"Dorian suddenly decided I am right for Blair.  Don't ask, but it's like she decided I was, and Blair decided I'm not."

"I'm sure it's not that."

"No, it's not that.  It's her, Ray.  I've thought about bringing her to see you.  Would you, see the both of us, if I got her to come with me?"

"Of course, you know I would, Todd."

"She's got some terror going on, about this baby."

"Ah, fearful of losing another child."

"Yeah.  I knew you'd see it for what it is.  I just needed the reminder."

"Todd, you know you're welcome to come in any time, with or without Blair."

"Thanks.  But you called for a reason.  What's up with Momma?"

"She . . . is confused between reality and dreams, or thinks she is."

"Okay.  How can I help?"

"I . . . would like to ask you something.  Do you remember having nightmares as a child?"

"Yeah.  Constantly."

"Okay.  What happened when you had bad dreams?"

"I used to go to my mother, when I was really small.  I don't remember a lot of it, Ray, but I've also not tried to remember.  Peter used to razz me about it, when I was a teenager.  He used to bring up the things I did to humiliate me into being 'a man' I guess."

"What's your earliest memory?  I mean, how old were you, the youngest you were that you can remember?"

"I don't know, five or six maybe?"

"Okay.  Todd, I have to ask you something, and I hope you are not too upset by it.  I just feel it would help in your mother's treatment."

"Sure, shoot."

"Do you recall being beaten by Peter when you were younger than five, say, when you were three, or younger?"

He stopped.  He closed his eyes, but couldn't recall anything but blackness.  "I don't know."

"Do you remember being kicked out of your parents' bed when you were little?"

The other end of the line went silent.  Todd swallowed, and ran his fingers through his hair.  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and then opened them.  "Yeah.  I think I do.  He kicked her first, she got hurt.  I got a knot on my head.  I remember that, yeah.  It's real.  She wasn't dreaming or hallucinating, if that's what you're asking."

"Todd, I feel your mother is coming close to a breakthrough of major proportions.  But I have to say, it will get worse before it gets better."

"You don't have to tell me about that.  I am living proof."

"I thought you might say that."

"Whatever helps her, Ray."

"All right, Todd.  And just call and make that appointment, for you and Blair, anytime, all right?"

"Yeah, Ray," he said, and hung up.  Blair.  I need you, Babe.  Shit, I need you.

He picked up the phone, and dialed.  She answered, "What, Todd?"

"Blair, please, I . . . just want to talk, please?"

***

Jack finished his plate and looked to Lynnette, who was clearing the dishes.  "This was great.  I appreciate the snack."

"Some people would call that a whole meal," Jenna said, smiling.

He got up and brought his dish to the sink.  "Thanks.  It was really good."

Jenna said, "Well, wanna see the new painting I am working on?"

"Sure," he said, and they went into her room, where she had her easel set up.  "Wow," he said, "Is that a castle?"

"Yes.  It's Courtown Demesne.  I've seen all kinds of photos of the inside, the outside.  It's gorgeous."

"Well, this is a beautiful painting.  I didn't know that you did landscapes much."

"Well, I'm commissioned for this one."

"It's really good.  I'm sure whoever ordered it will like it."

"Me, too," she said, smiling.  "Now, help me pick something to wear for the opening."

"I'm not that good at that."

"Well," she said, going to her closet.  "There's this."

"Uh, I don't know, too regular."

"Well, I could wear the dress I wore for the art show?" 

"You could, or we could go shopping for a new dress."

"Well, I don't think Lynnie is going to have the money for that."

"No, but I have a credit card."

"Oh, Jack, I couldn't."

"Yes, you could.  Please?  I want to."

"I don't feel right about it."

"When you sell your first painting, you can pay me back."

"Deal," she said, extending her hand.

"Deal," he said, taking her hand and pulling her toward him for a quick kiss.

***

"Why, what's wrong, Todd?"  She said, and knowing him as she did, she could sense the pain in his voice.  "If this is about my leaving . . ."

"No, it's not.  It's . . . I just got a call from Ray.  Momma's therapy is going pretty well, and she's uncovering things.  He . . . wanted to ask me . . ."

"Todd, are you all right?"

"I'm . . . okay, I just wanted to talk to you, hear your voice.  He asked me about an incident, if I remembered.  I was three. . ."

Blair felt a large lump in her throat.  I need to go home, now.  He needs me, I can hear it.  "Oh, God," she said.  "I'm sorry."

"It's okay.  I'm better now, hearing you.  You know how your voice is to me and what it does."

She felt the tears stinging her eyes.  If I give in . . .  "Yes, I know," she whispered.

He longed for her so much, and it had only been an hour or two without her.  "I just . . . needed to hear it.  That's all.  Everything okay over there?"

"Yeah, the boys can stay there.  You've got Tina, it will be all right."

"Blair?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you leave me today?"

"I don't want to talk about it.  Let's just say, I know what you're doing, and I can't stay there, Todd."

"I'm not doing anything, Babe.  Can't we talk about it?"

"Todd, I have to go," she said, masking her tears, "I will  . . . call you later.  To check on you."

"I'm all right, I have the boys and Mixie.  I just . . . miss you, Babe."

"Good-bye, Todd.  I'll call you later."  She hung up, and sank to the couch, burying her face in her hands.  

Dorian walked into the living room at La Boulaie.  "Blair, want to talk about it?"

She shook her head "no" and continued to sob.

"If you're unhappy without him, maybe . . ."

"That's just it.  I'm devastated without him, and that's what I'll be if he goes to Ireland, Dorian.  Don't you see?"

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Your comments are 'payment' for the work of the authors. Our writers like to hear your feedback. Please leave a comment when you read.