“She begged me for just two more weeks,” Bruce sobbed. “Just two more weeks. But I’d already given her months, and I’d had enough. Tough love, right?”
Despite the fact everyone in the group had heard this story countless times before, nobody acted impatient, or bored, their attention fixed unwaveringly on Bruce as he struggled to live with something Lani wasn’t sure she herself could bear.
Once again, she breathed a silent prayer of thanks that her last memories of Tyler were good ones. Geo sat frozen next to her, the muscles of his thigh bunched tightly under her hand.
“The next morning she drove onto the bridge, parked her car and jumped off.” Bruce sucked in a breath. “I killed her!”
The people on either side of him reached out to grip his shoulders in support.
“No, Bruce,” Maura said. “She killed herself.”
“Because of me! If I hadn’t kicked her out, she’d still be alive!”
Lani’s heart ached as Maura took him through it once again, reiterating the fact that he hadn’t been responsible for Christie’s actions. “You were only doing what you thought was right at the time. If you’d known Christie was going to kill herself, you would have acted differently, but you’re not omniscient. You can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t know would happen.”
His face pale, Bruce whispered, “I’ve never told anyone this before, but—” He seemed to steel himself, then blurted, “A few minutes before the cameras on the bridge said she jumped, sh-she called me.”
Around the circle, eyes widened, and even Lani had to fight an involuntary gasp.
Maura remained unruffled, her voice calm. “And you didn’t answer.”
“No, I didn’t! I didn’t want to talk to her.”
“Because you were angry.”
“Yes. I wanted to teach her a lesson!”
Next to Lani, a giant shudder went through Geo’s body, and his fingers dug almost painfully into her arm.
“I wanted to show her that Dad wasn’t going to be at her beck and call anymore,” Bruce said raggedly. “I declined the call, and a few minutes later, she jumped. How the fuck am I ever gonna accept that or live with the guilt of knowing I killed her?”
The people next to Bruce continued to hold on to him as Maura got up from her seat and pulled her chair over to sit in front of him knee-to-knee.
“Let’s try something,” she said softly. “Let’s try replacing the word guilt with the word regret, okay? When you think of Christie, instead of ‘I killed her,’ try saying, ‘I regret that I chose that particular time to draw my line in the sand.’ Or, ‘I regret my anger in that moment.’”
Bruce mopped his face.
“Something else to add to that,” Maura said, “is to make what I like to call ‘living amends’ to your loved one, which is taking the action with others that you wish you’d taken with them in that moment. For example, Bruce, you might say: ‘My living amends to Christie is that I will always answer my phone, especially after an argument.’”
Bruce was already shaking his head. “That’s too simple—”
“But sometimes the simplest things are the most obvious,” Maura broke in gently. “Not answering the phone didn’t cause Christie’s suicide—her mental illness did. The fact you had a complicated relationship with her, and the fact that your last interaction was acrimonious, doesn’t negate the fact that Christie was ill and she lost her battle with that illness.”
She reached out and took Bruce’s hands in hers. “I’m not saying it’s easy, or that it ever goes completely away. Some days I struggle with regret so crippling I can barely breathe. Vincent was my son. As his mother, how could I not know he was in so much pain?”
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut.
“My work here is part of my own living amends to my son. Finding meaning in his death has helped me move forward, and I want to help others find their way forward, too.” Maura released him and sat back. “You regret the things you said to her. You regret not answering the phone that morning. But you’re not ‘guilty’ of anything except being human.”
Letting her gaze drift around the room, she said, “My friends, thank you for being here, for witnessing Bruce’s grief. Thank you for letting him witness your own. Sharing our pain, and having it reflected back at us, reminds us that we’re not alone.”
Next to Lani, Geo grunted, his hand slipping off her shoulder. Then he got up, yanked open the sliding glass door, and walked away.
* * *
“Should I go to him?”
Indecision roiled in her gut as Lani gazed out over the sand toward Geo’s distant figure. He sat facing the ocean, unmoving, his arms linked loosely around his upraised knees.
Next to her, Maura said, “I don’t know him as you do, my dear. What are your instincts telling you?”
“That if he really wanted to leave, he would’ve taken his bike and gone.”
“But instead, he’s sitting on the beach in plain sight.” Maura’s voice was soft.
Raking her hair back from her forehead, Lani bit her lip. “If I go to him, I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Well, to start with, just sit with him. Whatever he’s trying to work out, he’ll let you know if he wants to talk about it or not. If he does, then listen. That’s all.”
With a reassuring pat to her shoulder, Maura went back inside to join the rest of the group.
After another long hesitation, Lani finally made her way down the stairs and headed out across the sand. She could tell the moment he heard her scuffing toward him, because he turned his head slightly, shoulders bunching up.
She fought the impulse to turn and scurry away. What if he didn’t want her here? How dare she intrude?
Before she could retreat, Geo swiveled around to face her. “Hey,” he said, then reached out his hand.
Relief making her knees weak, she grasped it and lowered herself to sit at his side. For a while, neither of them spoke. She could see him watching her out of the corner of her eye, so she kept her expression smooth, serene.
“Are you mad at me?” he finally asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
“I’m sorry I left like that.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s just—” He combed his fingers through the sand, sifting it, his throat working “—that Bruce guy, you know? His story hit a little too close to home for me.”