An August Harvest Read online

  “You have to know the truth about what? What are you talking about?”

  “Did...did you crash that plane on purpose? Did you kill your wife and child just for the insurance money? Did you really?”

  I jumped to my feet. I could feel the blood rushing through my body. I wanted to scream, hit something, but I didn’t. Instead, I just stared down at her. “For you to even think that I could do something like that tells me more about you than I want to know. I used to feel sorry for you, because for years you didn’t have someone good like me in your life. You had someone dirty and evil. You had Jerry, but now I realize that you deserve each other.”

  For the next few days, I sat in my house, stared out my window and wallowed in self pity. I couldn’t get Melissa’s question out of my mind. I didn’t crash that plane on purpose. I loved Rita and Audrey with all of my heart...but I did just sit there. I didn’t try to save them. Why didn’t I do something?

  For three days, I didn’t eat or sleep. I just sat there, asking myself why I didn’t do anything. I knew I was treading in dangerous waters that had almost killed me a year earlier, but couldn’t seem to help myself.

  I wanted to get drunk, but every time I reached for the Jack Daniels, Charley would bite my ankle and growl. Being the coward that I am, I waited until he had to go outside before I poured my first drink. But when he got back, he didn’t bark or growl at me, he dropped my cellphone in my lap instead.

  “Slow down,” Brenda said over the phone, “and tell me exactly what she said.”

  I was trying my best not to sound drunk or cry, but I wasn’t doing a very good job. I finally got out the words, “Did you crash that plane and kill Rita and Audrey just for the insurance money?”

  “Oh God, Grant. She actually asked you that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where are you?” Marshall asked.

  “On my back deck, why?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t at some bar somewhere that you had to drive home. You sound a little drunk.”

  “I’m way passed that.”

  “Grant, you know alcohol is not going to help the situation,” Brenda said. “Do I have to jump on a plane, come down there and kick your ass?”

  “Whoa! That doesn’t sound very professional coming from a board-certified doctor of psychology,” I said, laughing.

  “Maybe not, but I will come kick your ass if you fall into that bottle again.”

  “Ok, ok. I swear, I’ve only had two Jacks, but I haven’t eaten in a few days. I guess it’s hit me a little harder than I expected. I promise I won’t drink anymore. But what do I do now?”

  “Grant, please listen to me, Marshall said, I know you’re hurt, pissed and drunk. But you’ve got to promise me that you won’t do anything tonight. Just stagger your drunk ass to bed and go to sleep. Get up tomorrow, eat some breakfast, go for a run and then call me. Brenda and I will talk about this and try to come up with a plan by then – a good one. Trust me, buddy, we’re gonna make this asshole pay for this.“

  11

  Blunt Force Trauma

  The next day, after my run, I saw Melissa sitting on her back deck. Charley ran up the stairs to say hello, but I didn’t stop.

  When I got back to my house, I made some lunch and had just settled around my patio table when my doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Brenda was standing there.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, it’s good to see you, too,” she said, hugging my neck. “I’m here to put an end to Dr. Dirtbag once and for all, and hopefully try to patch things up between you and Melissa.”

  After she unpacked, she walked next door and spent almost two hours talking to Melissa.

  When she came back, she walked to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of wine and popped the cork.

  She filled two glasses, took one, and handed me the other. “Are you up for a little heart to heart?”

  I followed her to the back deck, opened up the umbrella and settled next to her in the chair under the shade.

  “Grant, if I thought for a second you were an alcoholic, I would never have poured you that glass of wine. I may be wrong and I’ve only known you for a little over a year now, but you’re not an alcoholic.” She lifted her glass, took a sip and smiled, “You’re an ostrich.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “A what?”

  “An ostrich. They stick their head in the ground to hide. You do the same thing with alcohol. You get drunk to hide from the things you don’t want to see.”

  I didn’t respond and looked away.

  “Grant, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m trying to help you. I’ve wanted to talk to you about this for a long time, but Marshall was afraid that…” she stopped in mid-sentence.

  I looked back at her. “That what?”

  “Do you know what everyone at the hospital calls me behind my back?”

  I shrugged. “No, I have no idea.”

  “Miss Blunt Force,” she giggled. “As in Blunt Force Trauma.”

  I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t. “Why do they call you that?”

  “I really don’t mind, because it’s sort of true. There are a lot of different theories of how you should practice psychology. Some doctors believe in babying their patient along, pampering them, allowing them to slowly recognize their problems, pointing out the error of their ways. I am not one of those doctors. I have had great success by forcing my patients to face reality. By removing their excuses or the shells and barriers they have erected to hide behind. That’s what Marshall was afraid of… ‘my technique.’”

  “Good lord, I’m not really that sensitive,” I said. “Go ahead fire away, Doc.”

  She leaned forward and took a deep breath. “One of your brain’s functions is to protect you from pain. If you cut off your arm, it will immediately turn off the nerve endings so you can’t feel it. That’s why a brain hemorrhage is the most painful thing humans will ever experience, because the brain can’t numb itself.”

  “Ok…so what’s this got to do with me, Miss Blunt Force?”

  She smiled. “Grant, I’ve only known you a little over a year. In that year, you have fallen in to what I would call a clinical state of depression two times, and for the very same reason. You are convinced that your lack of action is what caused the crash. I know you don’t want to, but I think it’s time we finally talk about the crash.”

  I stood up and turned my back on her. “You’re right!” I snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Not that sensitive, huh? Ok, no problem. Marshall told me you wouldn’t talk to me about it anyway. I guess he’s right; you’re not ready to face the truth.”

  I spun around and glared at her. “The truth? I’m not ready to face the truth? What fucking truth have I not faced?”

  “Well, if you will stop cussing at me and sit back down, I’ll tell you.”

  I plopped down in the chair and looked at her. “I apologize for my language.”

  She gently took my hand. “Grant, there’s no need to apologize, but I have to tell you...I was pretty fucking offended.” She burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding, I live with Marshall, remember?”

  I grinned. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. What do you see in that trash mouth anyway?”

  We laughed for a few minutes and then just sat there quietly, listening to the ocean, sipping our wine.

  Finally, she broke the silence. “Are you sure you’re okay to talk about the crash?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I’ve heard you say many times that you froze, that you didn’t do anything to prevent the crash, right?”

  I dropped my head. “I can’t really remember, but I don’t think I did anything.”

  “Are you willing to try an experiment?”

  “What kind of an experiment? Where?”

  “Right here, now. Please?”

  I shrugged. “Okay, sure.”

  “Does your phone have a stopwatch setting
?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” I opened the app and handed her the phone.

  “Ok,” she said. “I want you to pretend you are flying the plane. On the count of three, the engine stops. Do what you think you should have done and yell now when you’ve finished the maneuver. Are you ready?”

  I lifted my hands to the invisible pretend wheel and extended my feet out to where the pedals would be. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Three, two, one, GO!” she shouted.

  I pushed hard on the left pedal while turning the wheel hard left. I also pulled out on the throttle trying to move at approximately the actual speed. “Now!” I yelled when I thought it was done.

  “Try it once more,” she said.

  We did it four times. The average time was 3.3 seconds.

  “Now I want you to read this.” She handed me a file. It was the final FAA report of my crash. “Flip to the last page.”

  The last page was the data gathered from four test flights done on a flight simulator. All four tests were done under the same conditions of my crash, by four trained experienced pilots. Two of the pilots currently worked for commercial airlines. All four were unable to pull out and prevent the plane from crashing. Even when they knew ahead of time it was going to happen, they couldn’t pull out. There just wasn’t enough time. From the time the engine stalled to impact was only 2.8 seconds.

  I wiped my eyes and read the report again. “This can’t be right. It’s seemed a lot longer than that.”

  “This is from the FAA’s measurements and your plane’s black box information. It’s accurate.”

  “Really?” I whispered, looking at her. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank Marshall. He paid to have the simulator tests done. He wanted for you to have proof once and for all. Grant, you didn’t freeze. You didn’t have time to freeze, you didn’t have time to do anything.” She hit the stopwatch on my phone and we watched it count to 2.8 seconds. She stared into my eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, Grant. Can you accept that now?”

  After we had dinner, Brenda left once again, but when she came back she had Melissa with her. When I saw them walk in together, I frowned and turned to walk outside. “Stop! Turn around and sit down!”

  “Yes, sir, Miss Blunt Force!” I said, with a salute.

  I started to sit on the chair. “Oh no, not there. Sit next to her.”

  I shrugged and plopped down on the sofa next to Melissa.

  “Now take her hand and tell her you’re sorry for saying all those awful things you said to her.”

  “But...”

  “No buts! You know you love her. And you know she loves you. You’ve just had your first fight, so stop all this wounded animal crap and lets get to the bottom of all of this. It’s not her fault and you know it. Tell her you’re sorry and kiss her. Now!” she yelled.

  I kissed her and looked in her eyes. “Do you really think I could have done...”

  Melissa stopped me, putting her finger over my lips. “Please don’t say it. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I could have ever thought that of you. Please forgive me, but Jerry’s always had this power over me. I can’t explain it.”

  Honestly, I was still hurt and angry. I wasn’t sure what to think, but she seemed sincere and when I touched her...well, you know.

  “Melissa, have you ever talked to a psychologist or a psychiatrist before?” Brenda asked.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. You need to understand that this power you’re referring to is not uncommon,” Brenda said. “Actually, it’s very normal between couples. I’ve seen it many times in my practice. And although you may not think it’s explainable, it is. It’s logical, but only if you will accept some hard truths about yourself and…Jerry.”

  Brenda flipped a page of a yellow pad she had placed on the coffee table. “I made some notes on the plane and I hope you don’t mind, but I think it’s important that I do this with Grant here. If there’s any hope for you guys, he needs to hear this, too. I wouldn’t normally do it this way, but Jerry crossed the line and has forced my hand. You said you were willing to do anything to fix things between you and Grant, but I need to warn you, this is going to be a little brutal. But I think it’s time you finally see the truth about Jerry – the truth that you have not been able to see or accept before.” She took Melissa’s hand. “If this is going to work, you have to answer these questions truthfully, even if they are painful to answer. Do you promise to answer truthfully?”

  Melissa nodded her head. “I promise.”

  “Ok, the first question is...who has the most personal wealth between you two? I’m talking family inheritance.”

  “There’s no question about that. Jerry’s family had much more wealth than my father.”

  Brenda glanced at me and smiled. “Ok, the next few questions are a little more personal, but very telling. Who is smarter, you or Jerry?“

  She dropped her head. “Jerry.”

  “Who is the most impressive and successful, you or Jerry?”

  “Jerry.”

  “Who is the better looking one, you or Jerry?”

  “Jerry.”

  “Who is the most dependent on the other? I realize you’re divorced, but he seems to still be a big influence in your life. So in other words, do you need him in your life or does he need you?”

  Melissa looked up at Brenda with tears in her eyes. “I guess I think I still need him.”

  “I know you don’t drink, but I do.” Brenda looked at me. “Grant, how about a little Chardonnay while I talk to Melissa?”

  I poured Brenda a glass of wine and a Diet Coke for Melissa, then sat back down and listened.

  “Melissa, your problem is you haven’t let your reality catch up with your thinking.”

  Melissa took a sip of her drink and frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t know anything about your past, but I bet I can guess,” Brenda said, “You were very shy in high school and didn’t date much, if at all. Did you have a date to your senior prom?”

  Melissa looked down. “No.”

  “Don’t feel bad, neither did I,” she said with a smile. “When you got to college, it didn’t change. All the hot guys didn’t even look at you. Am I right?”

  Melissa frowned.

  “Then here comes Jerry in his little red sports car, his long blonde hair, his fancy clothes and he swept you off your feet, right?”

  “Yes. He was so handsome.”

  “You didn’t drink at all before you met him, but because he did, so did you. You had never smoked dope before you’d met him, but because he did...”

  “I did,” Melissa said.

  “In fact, anything Jerry wanted, you did. Anything Jerry said, you believed.”

  “It’s like you’re reading my mind,” Melissa said with wide eyes. “Did you have a Jerry, too?”

  “No. My parents were poor. I went to college on scholastic scholarships. But for every rich girl I ever knew...there was always a Jerry. ”

  Melissa frowned. “Jerry was rich, he wasn’t interested in my money.”

  “I know that’s what he told you, but that’s just one more of his lies. And one more reason that explains his dominance over you.”

  “Are you saying his parents were not wealthy?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, but let’s talk about that later.”

  Melissa’s mouth was wide open in shock, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Please, Melissa, don’t get distracted. I need your full attention. Are you listening to me?”

  She nodded her head slowly.

  “Ok. Listen close, this is important for you to realize. When you first met Jerry, do you know why you were willing to do anything he asked and why you believed anything he said? The real reason you did it?”

  Melissa sat quietly for a long time, then finally said, “I was afraid…if I didn’t do what he wanted...he would leave me.”

  “And?�
�� Brenda said. “Tell me the truth.”

  “And...I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone that handsome that would even look at me again.”

  “So you did whatever it took to keep him.”

  “Yes, I guess so. I was very insecure back then.”

  “Back then? Melissa, do you really think you’ve changed? You are divorced, but you are still letting him control your thinking. In the last few days, Marshall and I have been doing some research, and remember you promised to answer truthfully. Who owns the building his office is located in?”

  “I do.”

  “Who paid to have it remodeled?”

  “I did.”

  “How much rent does Jerry pay you each month?”

  She lowered her head. “He doesn’t pay me rent.”

  “Whose name is the new Jaguar financed in?”

  “The bank wouldn’t finance him, so I...”

  “If he is so wealthy, why would the bank turn him down, and why would he need to finance it anyway?”

  “All his money is off shore, for income tax reasons...”

  “Of course it is. Melissa, are you still with me?”

  She was staring out the window with tears rolling down her face.

  “Who owns his condo?”

  She slowly looked down with understanding. “I do, but he pays me rent...sometimes.”

  “What was your grade point average in college?”

  Melissa thought for a moment. “I think it was around a 3.4.”

  “It was actually a 3.7. Jerry’s was a 2.8. He barely passed medical school and had to beg his way to get his degree in psychology. I talked to his professors. He was a terrible, terrible student.”

  Brenda stood up, walked to the couch and sat next to Melissa. “In college, you were shy and invisible. Jerry was handsome, flashy, flamboyant and fun. I can see why you may have thought you needed him then and that’s okay; you were young. But you need to know that even then, you were the winner and he was the loser. And trust me, he knew that. He’s always known that. That’s why he’s worked so hard all these years to intimidate you and keep you down. That’s why he’s so afraid of Grant. Because Grant is no loser and he knows it. Melissa, he is completely broke. His parents were never wealthy. His mother taught elementary school and his father was a plumber. They had to mortgage their house to put him through school. And he’s never paid them back a cent. You are his golden ticket and he’ll do anything to keep you. He took a confidential doctor-patient private and tragic conversation and twisted it to fit his personal needs. He broke doctor-patient privilege, one of the most sacred and protected rights in the medical profession, just to try to break you two up. He is a despicable and desperate man that you need to remove from your life.”