to pour down his throat. That feeling was coming again. The one where he felt as if he was stuffed in a tube, his arms and legs cramped against his body, a constricting tube sealed top and bottom.
It happened every time.
“I grew up an only child.” Those were more words he hadn’t meant to say. It was a testament to Melissa’s importance to him. “My father was a great guy—a hero to me not just while I was a kid but until the day he died.”
She was watching him, her expression open. And somehow, under the protection of the dark desert night, he spoke of things he’d never before put into words.
“And my mother…” Luke stopped as shame spread through him. “My mother was—is—needier than a newborn babe.”
“Needy how?” Her words were like whispers of wind, encouraging him, without judgment, to continue.
“There’ve been various diagnoses over the years—pretty much every time a new professional was consulted—and the new medications or treatments that accompanied them. My father tried everything, from the purely scientific to the holistic, and even saw a medical intuitive for a while. But the upshot is that she suffers from several different anxiety disorders that, taken together, cripple her. The experts are pretty solid on panic and obsessive-compulsive disorders, plus agoraphobia, which comes from severe social-anxiety disorder. All I know is that emotionally she’s about as stable as a rotted-out, three-legged wooden chair.”
“That’s pretty unstable.” Melissa moved closer. She didn’t touch him, almost as though she sensed that doing so would be too much for him. With that feeling there, invading him, her touch wouldn’t be helpful.
It was over between them. He knew it. Just as he knew that he owed her this explanation. Something he’d given none of the other women he’d dated.
“She should have been hospitalized—or at least could’ve been, very easily—but my father would have no part of that. My whole life I watched him give first consideration to her emotional health in every decision he had to make. He tolerated her clinging, her dependency on him. From canceled trips, missed parties, to having to uninvite friends he’d asked over, my father just took it all in stride with a cheeriness that never seemed to falter.”
The man was unbelievable. Everything Luke was not.
“Why?”
“He loved her.” He’d never gotten why that meant his father had to be a prisoner. “He said her condition was part of who she was and he accepted that. He got her the best help money could buy. And the rest, he just…accepted.”
“Must’ve been hard for you, growing up with that.”
Yeah. It had been. Until sometimes he’d wondered if he was going to join his mother in her inability to handle life.
But he’d made it through. He just wished he could have done it the way his father had, with heroism intact.
“I resented the hell out of her.”
“I’m not surprised.”
He glanced at her, read the understanding in her eyes. With raised brows he asked a silent question he’d never voice.
“It’s a natural reaction, Luke. You’d have to be pretty much inhuman not to resent her. It sounds like her illness robbed you of a good deal of your childhood.”
“I had to step in when my father’s promotions required some business travel and late-night meetings. My plans were always subject to cancellation based on her mental state.”
That was why—about two minutes after his father’s retirement—Luke had joined the marines for the sole purpose of getting out of Las Vegas as fast as he could.
“Like I said, you’d have to be inhuman not to resent that.”
“My father didn’t.”
“Your father was an adult when he took on that responsibility. He’d already had his formative years. Had a chance to be formed into a man.”
Luke grinned at her, though he didn’t feel at all lighthearted. “You sound like a juvenile counselor.”
“I am one.” She played along with his pitiful attempt to introduce a little levity into an evening gone to hell. “So…I’m fairly certain there’s a reason you chose to tell me all of this now.” She sat with crossed legs, her hands resting behind her.
“I was in the marines during my twenties and when I dated, it was with some vague idea of escaping my childhood, my family, by marrying and starting a family of my own. On terms I could live with.”
Raising her knees, she rested her arms on them.
“And every single time I developed an intimate relationship with a woman, I’d start to feel trapped.” There, the truth was out. Hurting her was hell. Worse than hell.
He met her gaze, braced for whatever anger she might send his way. Although he hadn’t meant to mislead her, he’d obviously done so, and he’d take the full blame. A little smile tilted her lips.
“How could you expect anything else?” she asked. “You were trapping yourself. Trying to control things that aren’t meant to be controlled. Trying to fit life and love into a box into which it couldn’t possibly fit.”
She was good. He’d give her that. He also trusted her. “How so?”
“You were going about the whole process for the wrong reasons with the wrong goal in mind. There was no possible way for your heart to find peace.”
He was sure she was right. But what, exactly, was she trying to tell him? What should he do? What should he have done differently?
“Dating—marriage—isn’t supposed to be an escape,” she said softly. “And love can’t be forced. From what you describe, you were looking at each woman you dated, not for who she was, but as a means of escaping your mother. You wanted escape, but what you were attempting to do would only have trapped you further. In a loveless marriage you didn’t really want.”
Maybe.
“You know what gave your father the ability to remain cheerful despite the stress of coping with your mother’s situation?”
He shook his head. Lord knew he’d tried. Sober. Drunk. Sick. Healthy. He’d tried. He’d tried figuring it out while floating in the sky all by himself after he’d jumped out of a plane at twenty thousand feet. He’d tried praying. He’d even gone to a psychic once.
“It was love.” Melissa’s whisper pierced the warm night. “All you have to do is fall in love.”
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