Keys of Fate

A Story in Serial - Part Ten

Lisa drove with one hand draped on the steering wheel. Her other hand was rubbing her forehead with her elbow propped against the driver’s side window. She didn’t think this road would ever end. Before her, the highway stretched across an endless horizon, narrowing to a pinpoint at the edge of the sky where it met the low, barren hills that felt a thousand miles away.

She drove in silence through the midday, marveled yet simultaneously unconcerned with the fact that the air conditioner, though on full blast, couldn’t begin to compete with the impossible heat and the penetrating rays of a sun that somehow seemed closer than the sun that gently kissed the rolling Appalachians. Yesterday she had sat on her porch, staring out at those mountains; today she was lost in the oil fields of another world, another life her husband had hidden from her for over a decade.

She ran her fingers through her hair as the memory of her conversation with Janice McElroy ran through her mind for the millionth time in less than forty-eight hours. She felt fresh tears, just like she had two days ago.

Lisa sat in one of Janice’s uncomfortable, squeaky leather chairs with a not high enough back and too high armrests. She gripped the edge of both armrests so tightly that she felt like she had just finished a shoulder routine at the gym, and she hated how calm the woman across from her seemed with her papery hands folded on top of the perfectly polished desk. 

Janice cleared her throat. “I should be upfront by telling you that I’m quite limited in how much I’m permitted to say.”

“How long have you been sleeping with my husband?” Lisa’s grip relaxed. She’d said it. No point in being tense, now. Across from her, Janice, ancient Janice, sat up straight. Her eyes widened, and she gasped.

“You are forward, aren’t you?”

Lisa felt her gaze about to stare a hole into the older woman. “You’re beating around the bush, aren’t you?”

Janice looked down at the desk and wiped away some dust that wasn’t thee. “No, Mrs. Baptiste, I’m not. I was trying to explain doctor-patient confidentiality to you, and you interrupted me with a horrific accusation.” She folded her hands and resumed her calm posture. “I see Viggo did not actually tell you what’s going on.”

Lisa snorted. “I asked him who you were. He gave me your name and address. What else is there to tell?”

Janice smiled, which enraged Lisa. “There is quite a lot, I’m afraid.”

Lisa felt her heart sink, replacing her anger. She immediately began to fear the worst. Did Viggo love this woman? This older woman? Did Janice care for him more than Lisa? Had she taken care of more of his needs? She fought back tears and maintained her angry expression.

“How about some straight answers?”

Janice nodded. “I am not having an affair with your husband, Mrs. Baptiste. The obvious age disparity aside, he’s madly in love with you and talks about you constantly in our sessions.”

Lisa leaned her head back. Her heart began to beat faster. “Sessions?”

Janice held a hand up and waved it around. “Did you notice where you are, Mrs. Baptiste?”

Lisa glanced at the wall behind Janice’s head and saw multiple degrees mounted there. Degrees in psychology and counseling. A million questions she’d asked about her husband for the past ten years were suddenly answered. All of the money missing every month, on the same day every month, suddenly made sense. That money wasn’t being spent on gifts for a mistress.

“You’re his therapist?”

Janice nodded.

Lisa sat forward and put her head in her hands with her elbows on her knees. She rubbed her eyes and felt warm tears on her trembling fingertips. After a minute, she sat up and looked at the woman across from her through a blur.

“Viggo has PTSD, doesn’t he?”

Janice frowned. “I’m not permitted to say much more than this, but yes. A very severe case of PTSD, in fact.”

“And I accused you—”

Janice held up her hand and smiled. “Honey, this isn’t the first time an angry wife has busted into my office and accused me of having an affair with her husband.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Oh listen, this might seem strange to you, but it’s just a Tuesday for me.”

Lisa laughed. She couldn’t help it, and fresh tears fell with it. Janice reached a box of tissues to her. Taking a tissue and sitting back, Lisa let out a relieved and heartbroken sigh.

“I should’ve seen it.”

Janice was shaking her head. “Honey, these men are so good at hiding anything they think is weakness. He didn’t tell you, and he should have.”

“But it’s not weakness,” Lisa said. “It’s an illness, right? Like a mental illness?”

Janice nodded. “Absolutely, one that can be managed but still claims the lives of thousands every year. And it’s not just men hiding it; though they’re usually the worst offenders. All that masculinity and pride keeps them from getting help.”

Lisa shook her head and looked at her legs. “That’s awful.”

“It sure is.” 

Their eyes met as Lisa looked up again. “Where is he? Did he tell you where he was going?”

Janice frowned again. “This is where I could get in trouble for saying too much.”

Lisa wadded up the kleenex in a fist. “How many veterans a day commit suicide because of this?” she asked.

Janice looked at her hands for a moment, then back up and sighed. “Twenty-two.”

“Tell me where my husband is before he becomes twenty-three.”

Janice blinked away moisture in her eyes and then gave a barely noticeable nod.

Lisa exhaled the memory of that conversation and breathed in resolve. She looked down at the map display on her phone and saw that she had an hour before she would arrive at the house she’d looked up on Google that afternoon. Janice had been forthcoming but didn’t have exact addresses. Viggo had told her that he needed to do something in this small, West Texas town. He’d been vague but had given her a name. After multiple web searches, Lisa had found the article and obituary that eventually led her to the address she was driving to.

She prayed she would find Viggo there. She also prayed she would know what to do if he was. And if he wasn’t. She prayed for wisdom, too, and forgiveness. Though she told herself it wasn’t her fault, she knew the things she’d said and done in response to Viggo’s behavior had likely made it worse for him. 

So she prayed. And cried. And drove on in silence across the lonely highway.

To be continued…

If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!