Dr. Rodriguez nodded. “I’d say the first order of business is to move on. We’ll tackle the PTSD you’re suffering from, and once you’ve resolved that, it’ll be easier to make those life decisions.”
“You mean it’s possible to get over PTSD? I thought it was something that sticks with you for life.” Was there really hope for him? Could he move on from the trauma and not be messed up forever by things he’d seen and done?
“While there can be some lasting impacts, there are new methods we’ve been doing to reprogram your brain as well as teach you coping strategies. I’d like you to see one of our counselors once a week to start. I’d also like you to join our PTSD support group that meets Tuesday nights at seven. Hopefully, you’ll see some significant progress within the next couple of months. I’m not saying you’ll be cured in that length of time, but you seem very motivated. Admitting the problem is always the toughest step. Now that you’ve done that, it’s like basic training. Put one foot in front of the other and do what you need to do. You build up your stamina, and soon you’re able to do things you never thought possible.”
Rob nodded. He didn’t know what it would require of him, but he knew from experience, a “can do” attitude would help. “Thank you, Dr. Rodriguez. I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
The doctor stood and so did Rob. “Stop at the desk and tell them you need an appointment once a week for the next few months. Have them also give you information on the Tuesday night PTSD group. Today’s Wednesday, so you’ll start next week.”
They shook hands, and Rob made an appointment for tomorrow, and appointments for the next several weeks. The receptionist informed him he’d be seeing a counselor named Michael Haggarty.
As he drove back toward Ridgeview, he noticed the rock-hard tension that usually lived in his shoulders wasn’t there. Maybe this would be a good thing. Well, good or not, he had to do this—for himself and for MJ.
***
MJ watched the minute hand of the big clock that hung over the library’s double entry doors. Whoever said “time flies” had never been waiting for news. She checked her phone again for a text. What if things hadn’t gone well for Rob? What if uncovering memories of Afghanistan made him worse? She shuddered at the thought. She had to take her mind off what was happening in Knoxville. She pushed a cart of books toward the stacks. She’d shelve these. Maybe that would help. She needed to trust in Rob. He was strong enough to do this.
She turned at the sound of the doors opening and sighed in disappointment. Not Rob. She forced a smile and gave a small wave at Rosalind Barnard and her daughter, Angela. They moved toward the children’s section. MJ went back to her task, and when the cart was empty, she rolled it to the side of the circulation desk.
The door opened again and her eyes met Rob’s. He strode across the room, and her heart leaped. She put her hand over it to keep it in her chest and broke into a big grin as she noticed the heat in his eyes. She came out from behind the desk and met him halfway across the cavernous entryway.
“How did it go?” she whispered.
“Good, I think. I came to take you out to lunch, if you can get away. If not, I’ll go pick something up and bring it back.”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him into her office, closing the door behind them. “It went well? Really? I’m so glad! I’ve been thinking about you and hoping everything was okay.”
He put his arm around her and pulled her in for a hug. “I was nervous about it. I met with a psychologist. He gets it. He thinks I have PTSD, but he was encouraging about resolving it. There are no guarantees, but he thinks I can do it.”
“You can! I don’t doubt it.”
“I want to celebrate. Can you get away?”
She looked around at the handful of people inside the library. “Sorry, I can’t kick people out. Why don’t you go over to Burger Barn and pick up something? We can eat in the break room, and you can tell me all about your morning.”
Twenty minutes later he was back with a bagful of burgers, fries, and two chocolate milkshakes.
MJ moaned as she bit into the juicy hamburger. “I’d forgotten how much I love these.” She swiped at her mouth to wipe off the ketchup that had escaped. “Now, tell me all about your appointment.” She paused. “If you want to, that is.”
A look of uncertainty passed over his face but quickly disappeared. Maybe she shouldn’t ask. “It’s okay,” she started, but he interrupted.
“I want to.” His soft voice belied any enthusiasm about discussing it. “You deserve to know.” He told her about his visit to the clinic, and the questions Dr. Rodrguez asked. “He was getting preliminary information about my deployments, the experiences I had, especially in Afghanistan. He wanted to know about my symptoms. I told him about the nightmares, and how they’ve increased in frequency. He told me that was a sign I was ready to address the trauma I experienced.” He looked at her face and ducked his head. “I hope you understand I never want to tell you about some things I saw or did over there. It isn’t because I don’t trust you. It’s that I don’t want you to have images in your head the way I do.”
