"No, not the beach," Ray replied sternly.
Amelia dropped her dancing pieces of bacon and stared at Ray with incredulity.
Anyplace but the beach, Ray thought. A chill ran up the back of his neck. He hadn't meant for it to be so harsh, and he softened. "We can definitely go to the park, and the zoo. Other fun places too. Promise." Changing the subject, he asked his niece, “Did you hear the storm last night? All that thunder? That was something, huh? We definitely don’t get much of that excitement around here.”
Amelia sat, eyes wide, listening to him speak, as if he were telling her a fairytale, and not the real events of last evening. “I didn’t hear anything, I was sleeping.” She popped the last bite of melon into her mouth. “I saw Mommy.”
Ray’s toast got stuck in his throat. He coughed, hoping not to choke. Clearing his throat, he asked, “You mean, you had a dream about your Mom?”
Elena's voice interrupted from down the hall, "Come on little bunny, hop hop. Auntie Becky is gonna be here in ten minutes!"
Amelia jumped out of her seat and ran screeching down the hall, "I need my shoes! What shoes can I wear?"
"It’s raining outside and there are puddles everywhere, so its rain-boots today," Elena answered.
"I wanna wear my fuzzy boots! I never get to wear them!"
"Not today. Rain-boots on. Safe and warm and dry."
“But fuzzy boots will look better! I wanna wear them. Pleeeeease?”
Ray cringed at the sound of his niece’s begging. Her shrill tone jangled his nerves and reminded him how little sleep he got. If a little girl could rattle him this much, the rest of his day could prove a bigger challenge. He was losing concentration and patience not only at home, but at school as well. It was just a matter of time before it became evident. Realizing the time, Ray hastened to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work, and to put on a face of his own, leaving the girls to debate the appropriateness of shoes.
STEPPING outside to the car was a challenge. Immediately, they got pelted by a steady stream of large raindrops. “Watch your step!” Elena yelled, but not in time. Ray looked down a little too late as his foot smacked down in the middle of a giant puddle. The cold water ran into his shoe and soaked his sock.
Amelia giggled, pointing at Ray, as he stood in the puddle, defeated.
“I’ll be right back, quick change. I can’t go to work like this.” He didn’t wait for an answer.
Back outside, he waved goodbye to Amelia as Elena finished getting her buckled safely inside Becky’s car. Elena shut the door, waited for the car to pull away, then hurried to her own car and jumped in the driver’s side. Ray hustled to the passenger side, careful this time to avoid the puddles.
"Ray." Elena said his name in a way that sounded like a painful question. Her tone was like pinpricks on his skin. "They are getting worse, aren't they? The dreams."
Ray paused, listening to the sound of the rain beating against the car, and the wipers on full speed. Something about the combination made him both anxious and sleepy at the same time. He replied, "Yes and no honey. I mean, do I sleep well? No. I think the storm last night made things worse, though."
"But I mean," she hesitated, licking her lips, "you have them a lot. And it's been a year since she passed. Maybe you could go back and talk to Dr. Sheffield again."
"Honey, I know you are trying to help, but Dr. Sheffield didn't help me. From trying to treat me for anxiety and depression, none of his meds worked. You know it made me feel worse."
"Well, maybe you could try someone else? It's getting bad, Ray."
He knew what she was dancing around and hoped she wouldn’t say it. Maybe Dr. Sheffield missed the diagnosis. Maybe what he thought was grief was so much more. Maybe the old apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Maybe Ray would end up like his dad. Just like his schizophrenic dad who talked to Jesus and trees. Sure, his dad’s illness was treatable. He’d done really well once they found the right dose of medication, but up to that point, he’d been a mess.
They’d originally missed Ray’s dad’s diagnosis as well. Soon after Ray and Ravynn were born, he seemed stressed out all the time. What first-time father wouldn’t be with two brand new babies? But then he became detached. From stress to detachment in the blink of an eye. Of course, Ray’s mom thought that was how he dealt with the stress at first. Almost like meditating, taking himself out of a room or situation without leaving the room.
Even his calm conversations out in the backyard with the trees didn’t necessarily phase Mrs. Bradley right off. Not until it became that there were full-on conversations happening- and that the trees were ‘speaking back’ to him.
After getting help and medications, his mental health improved, for a while. Until he stopped taking the meds, claiming they dulled him. Made him dull and not feel. How many times had dad stopped his meds only to go back to talking to things and people that weren’t there?
How many times had he said he could see an angel hovering over his wife and daughter’s shoulders?
Ray shook the thoughts away. "I think once we wrap things up at school in a few days things will settle down. I'll sleep in a bit to catch up. I'll start running more like I used to. You'll see. I think things will shift this summer."
"I really think there's more to it than exercising. You need to talk to someone. Maybe you can try some different medications. Maybe even a more holistic approach.”
He wished she would stop. How many nights had he spent looking up his ‘symptoms’ on WebMD while she lay asleep? How many nights did he play over scenes with his father, on and off his own medications? "Maybe. But I think I can get this under control myself. Really."
“But I hear you talking…” she said this softly, Ray thought, like a child expecting to be scolded, “talking to her. Ray—”
He cut her off. “I don’t know what you think will make it all go away. I’ve tried the psychologist. And his drugs. I’ve tried acupuncture, yoga, and meditation. Nothing did one damn bit of good, Elena.”
“There must be something. If not Dr. Sheffield, then someone. You need to talk to someone about this… someone other than Ravynn. Don’t lie to me.”
“Like I said, I will sort this out when school’s done. It’s nothing but grief. Dr Sheffield knew it wasn’t schizophrenia. He knew. So do I. I’m not my dad.”
“That was then. Maybe things have changed. Maybe he missed something. I’m not saying you’re your dad, but… I think you just need some help, Ray.”
“Maybe nothing. Elena, please drop it and focus on the road, please.”
Her face grew stern. “Maybe I coddle you too much. Give you too much leeway. Too afraid I’ll be the one to push too hard and—”
“You think I am crazy?” he asked, balling his hands into fists by his side.
“I never said that.”
“And yet…” he trailed off. He took a deep breath before responding, “I’ve got this, Elena. I’ll work it out, myself, my way.”
"What a typical man thing to say, Ray. ‘I can fix it. I don't need help. I don't have to stop for directions.’ You can't do everything yourself."