Couple's Therapy

CHAPTER SEVEN

Brock slowly made his way back home. His mind was blank. He hadn't even realized he'd made it home until his hand was already on the doorknob. He sighed, then opened it.

Kyra was watching TV and turned the volume down when he stepped inside.

"Hey, Honey," he smiled.

Kyra didn't say anything for a minute; she just watched him with those knowing blue eyes that were so much like her Mother's.

"Did you just come from Mom's?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Is everything okay?"

He shrugged and started up the stairs but stopped in his tracks when Barbra Jean's voice called out from the kitchen.

"Brock, Honey? Is that you?"

He glanced at his daughter before answering. "Yeah, Barbra Jean, it's me."

"Can you come here for a minute?" she asked.

Kyra nodded at him, and he started toward the kitchen. He heard the television turn off and the front door open and then close as she left. She probably wanted to avoid what was sure to turn into another argument.

Barbra Jean was sitting at the kitchen table with one of Henry's blankets and a stuffed animal in front of her. She must've just put him down for the night.

"Where'd you come from?" she asked.

"Reba's," he replied.

"Reba's," she nodded. "Always Reba's."

Brock sighed. "Barbra Jean, don't start this again."

Barbra Jean neatly folded the blanket and pushed it to the middle of the table stuffed animal perched on top. "Start what, Brock?"

"Another argument," he said. "Can we just have one night where neither one of us has to raise our voice?"

She laughed, but not because what he'd just said was funny. "Brock," she began. "I don't know how to say this without it soundin' like I'm attackin' you, but," she sighed, "I feel like you care more about Reba than you do about me."

"What are you talkin' about?" he asked. "Where is this coming from?"

Barbra Jean rose from the chair and walked around the counter to the sink. "Every time we hit a rough patch, you go runnin' to her for advice, and then you actually listen to what she has to say. You don't listen to me; you won't even talk to me."

He put his hands on the back of the chair she'd just gotten up from and stared out the window. "I'm goin' through some stuff, Barbra Jean. She gets it."

She shook her head, "No, Brock, I get it. I'm the one goin' through that stuff right alongside you," she said. "But, that doesn't matter to you, does it?" she asked then waited a beat, "You still haven't told me what happened between you at Dr. Baker's office before I showed up."

"It's personal," he said. "It doesn't have anything to do with you."

Barbra Jean nodded sadly. "That's just it, isn't it? You don't want to have anything to do with me anymore."

He turned, "That's not true."

"Really?" she asked. "Whatever happened that day, it was big; I can feel it. Reba hasn't been acting like herself for weeks, and neither have you."

He pushed off the chair and came to stand behind one of the bar stools. "Barbra Jean,"

She shook her head. "You're always puttin' her wants and needs above mine. You go runnin' to her when she calls, and you always find a way to make time for her no matter what else is goin' on in our lives."

"Barbra Jean, I care about you and Henry more than anything else in this world."

She folded her arms over her chest, "Then why do I always feel like I'm competin' with her for your attention?"

Brock sighed, "You're not competing with her, Babra Jean. Reba and I have been through a lot together. We're still friends."

"I know you have history, Brock, but it shouldn't come before our marriage. I want to feel like I'm the most important woman in your life."

"You are the most important woman in my life, Barbra Jean! I married you because I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you!" he cried. "That doesn't change the fact that she's still the mother of my children; I feel responsible for her well-being too."

Barbra Jean shook her head and turned to face the sink. "No, it's more than that. You're always comin' up with excuses to be there for her, even when it means puttin' our family and our plans on hold," she turned to face him again. "You still have feelings for her, don't you? Don't lie to me, Brock."

"Barbra Jean," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

Her heart sank, "That's what it is, isn't it? You still love her," she nodded to herself and turned to leave.

"Barbra Jean, wait!"

She stopped, her back still to him, "Do you remember the day you won your last golf tournament?"

He nodded, "Yeah?"

"What I was tryin' to tell you when Reba stopped me, God love her, was that I called a divorce lawyer."

He froze, "You what?"

She turned to face him, and then walked to the fridge and took down a thick yellow envelope and slid it across the counter to him. "I called a divorce lawyer, Brock. She tried to get me to wait and work things out with you, but I'd already filed because I knew better. That day I saw you both huggin', I knew."

Brock picked up the envelope, dumbfounded.

"That's what Dr. Baker asked you that day, isn't it? If you still loved each other?" she asked, but his lack of response was proof enough. She stepped into the hall and rolled his suitcase into the kitchen. "You can sign those whenever you're ready."

"Barbra Jean," he whispered.

She waved him off, "No, it's okay; I've already come to terms with it. It's time you did too," she explained. "You still love her, and that's okay; heck, I do too. I just hope one day I find somebody who loves me half as much," she gave him a small smile and patted his shoulder before walking away.