The happiness I just felt is sucked out of me like a vacuum. “But why?”
He breathes into the phone. “It’s really not for me to say to you, Piper. And believe me, I hate being in the middle like this, but I care about you both. I’m trying to keep a bridge between you two. He talks about you a lot—more than he talks about anything else. He’s petrified. He’s not ready to face you and how he’s made you feel. He’s afraid it’s going to send him over the edge. He doesn’t know what to say to you to make things better. He feels like nothing is enough and he can never make this up to you. He’s afraid you might never feel the same way about him.”
The ache in my chest grows heavier. “He doesn’t have to say anything or make anything up to me. Please make him understand that. He doesn’t have to apologize. We don’t have to talk about any of it at all. I just want to hear his voice and tell him how much I love him and miss him. I want to tell him how Mickey learned how to sit up like a gopher and how Lyric is playing Pink Floyd songs on her harp and I want to hear if he’s seen any rainbows lately and—” A sob catches in my throat and I can’t say anymore.
“The doctor is working on all of that with him.”
“I just miss him so much.”
“I know you do. Don’t give up, sweetheart, okay?”
“I’m not. And I won’t. It’s just really hard because I feel so alone in this.”
“I get that you feel like he’s given up, but he hasn’t.”
I collect those words and wrap them up in a nice pretty virtual bow so I can unwrap them and hear them again later when I need them.
“Thank you…for saying that. It means a lot….”
“There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” he states. “Blue wants to come clean.”
“Clean?” I open one of the bedroom windows for fresh air and stand in front of it, looking out at the dragon statue Blue put in the rock garden. “About what?”
“About the suicide attempt, his mental illness, the drug use. Everything. He wants to let Vic release a new statement. He might do an exclusive interview when he feels up to it.”
This is unexpected news, especially after the band’s management and PR team went through so much to cover it all up.
“He really wants to do that?”
“It was his idea. He thinks people should be made aware of depression and mental illness, instead of hiding it like it’s some big-ass taboo thing. There’re other musicians in the facility, and they’re thinking of starting like a non-profit to help others. I think he wants to try to get some sort of good out of this, Piper. He’s got a massive fan base, he’s in a good position to spread the word, so to speak. I think it’ll get him a lot of respect. And if it makes him feel better, he should do it. I told him I’d do whatever I can to help him. The whole band’s behind him on this.”
I’m filled with pride for Blue—for wanting to face this and let the world know, and to try to help others. It shows he’s getting stronger. I just wish he could also face me.
“I think that’s great,” I finally say. “He’s right, it shouldn’t just be hidden away and swept under the rug. Maybe if it was talked about more, people suffering wouldn’t feel so alone. They’d be more open to talking about it, right?”
“Some might. That’s what he’s hoping.”
“Do the doctors have any idea when he might go home?” As the words leave my mouth I wonder where Blue considers home now. In Seattle? Here in New Hampshire with me? In California where the fancy facility and doctors are?
“Not yet. He’s not being kept there. Right now he wants to be there until he feels ready. It’s a good place. You’d be surprised how many musicians, actors, and actresses are there.”
I wish I could somehow get more answers. My therapist keeps telling me to just be patient and supportive with Blue, but to also live my life, and focus on what I need and what makes me happy. Much easier said than done, though. I’ve gone through so many stages of emotions—denial, anger, betrayal, abandonment, devastation. I’ve worked hard with my therapist to not let this all drag me under, but it’s hard.
“Well, I should get going. Lyric is waiting for her lunch,” I lie. “Thanks so much for calling, Reece. When you talk to Blue, please tell him I love him with all my heart.” I swallow and wet my lips. “And please tell him I’m not going anywhere.”
I end the call and stare out the window at the light drizzle falling, hoping a rainbow will appear to touch the sky with color. I’ll never be able to see gray clouds and rain without thinking of Blue.
I’ve become one of those women who deals with her problems by doing insane amounts of housework. As soon as I hung up the phone, I cleaned all the bathrooms, vacuumed the entire house, cleaned the cat box, and came close to re-painting the front door. I decided to save it for another day when I’m feeling emotionally neurotic.
And then, just to make sure I obliterate the past two hours of keeping my mind busy and in a healthy place, I put on the recording of Blue’s last performance—the live TV show he did. I haven’t been able to watch it before today, but now I suddenly feel like I can’t go another second without watching it. Maybe there was something I missed when I watched it live that night—like a sign that he was struggling. I sit on my bedroom floor with my face approximately two feet from the screen and watch the man I love come alive.
Seeing him so vivid, looking so confident and in control on the stage is a blow to my heart and only makes me miss him a hundred times more than I already do. Glued to the screen, I watch his every movement and look for a glint of sadness or mania in his eyes, but I don’t see anything out of the norm for him. Blue always has a darkish, sort of sensual and brooding aura on stage and this night was no different.
His voice does what it always does to me—caresses me like a warm breeze, leaving tiny goosebumps over my skin. But this time I listen to the lyrics of the new song more closely….
If I could stay, I think I would
If I could’ve saved you, I think I would
If I could bring you with me, God knows I would
But I’m on this road alone, doing nothing that I should
I wish I didn’t love you
I wish you didn’t love me, too
I wish I could change the things I do
I wish none of this was true.
A chill slides up my spine. Blue always expels his feelings through his lyrics. Were these words a cry for help? A surrender? A goodbye? Or just the words to a mellow love song that was suitable for a television audience?
And then there’s Acorn’s collar. Why didn’t I question him that night on the phone about the faded collar and tags that were wound around his wrist? I just assumed it was a tribute of some sort to his dog. Was he trying to say something?
I touch his image on the TV screen as the cameraman zooms to his face, and Blue gives a quick smile, then looks down, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
At the time, I thought his smile at the camera for me was sexy, but watching it with the knowledge I now have, his expression changes as the camera pans out. The smile fades, his eyes darken as they lower toward the floor, and he looks completely overcome with sorrow.
The camera moves to Reece, then Koler, and when it swings back to Blue, he looks normal again. But I saw it—that desperate, grief-stricken look.
I wish I had seen it that night, but would it have changed anything? What would I have done, other than ask him if he’s okay? And if I did, what would his answer have been?
“I’m just tired,” as he always says, or “I’m thinking of hurling myself off the roof”?
I’m sure the latter never would have come out of his mouth.
“Mom?”
I tear my eyes away from the screen to see Lyric standing in the bedroom doorway. “Hi, sweetheart. What’s up?”
She steps inside and looks at the TV just before I turn it off.
“Were you watching Blue’s concert?”
I nod. “Yeah, I miss him and just wanted to see him.”