Wicked Confessions (Excerpt Only)

chapter eight (confessed by Wally)

The house was quiet. These days that wasn't newsworthy. However, where was my wife? She wasn't home when the school called, and she didn't answer her cell. And she still wasn't answering her cell. I wasn't a controlling man, but it was highly unusual for Demi to be out of reach. Highly unusual as in, in our nearly sixteen years of marriage, it had never happened before.

Squirt was certainly old enough that I could leave her home alone and go back to the studio, but it just didn't feel right today. She was inexplicably sick. Or was it inexplicable at all? Why had she thrown up at school? Maybe it was a stomach virus. Maybe breakfast didn't settle well. Maybe she was stressed out. Maybe she was bulimic. Or, I don't know... maybe she was clinically depressed!

There, I said it. Nobody else would say it. Everyone else dismissed it away. "It's a phase." "It'll pass." Whatever. Jade had been dead since June. It was now September. My daughter wasn't getting any better. It wasn't going away. She needed help. As in, treatment, not a cover-up. Not more time. Not us tiptoeing around her with kid gloves and oversensitivity. She needed to confront Jade's death, deal with it, and get on with her life.

What happened at school today was what covering up an illness for months did to a person. They got sicker. And although I was Persephone's father, Demi was her mother, and Demi made it crystal clear that Persephone was not to go to the doctors for her depression.

I understood my wife's concerns. Long ago, Demi had been improperly diagnosed and treated for depression. Neither of us wanted our daughter to go through what she went through. However, when I was in my dark place in my life, my doctors provided me with exceptional help that got me through it. And I wanted that for Squirt.

I contemplated sneaking Persephone to the doctor under the guise of concern about her stomach illness, but I knew darn well it was merely a symptom of the depression. I'd gladly consult with my wife about it, but I didn't even know where she was.

Two hours later, she pulled into the driveway, eyeballed my car, and came into the kitchen on the verbal attack. "Wally! What are you doing home?"

"Where have you been?" I replied.

"I asked you first. What's going on?"

"Squirt threw up at school this morning. She's upstairs, resting. Your turn. Where have you been?"

"Out," she dismissed, hustling up the stairs. "My Little Dragon, are you feeling better?"

"No," Persephone muttered, turning over in her bed to look at Demi. "Is Katrina okay?"

"She threw up on Katrina," I summarized.

"I'm sure she's fine, my Little Dragon," Demi pacified, pushing the hair off of Squirt's forehead. "Does your stomach hurt?" My daughter shook her head. "Are you nauseated?" Again, she shook off the concept. "Well, what hurts?"

"Like you don't know?" Persephone scoffed, turning away from us. Ha. I so called it. But rather than gloat, I readied myself to witness yet another bout of the kid gloves and ineffective, novice treatment, courtesy of her mother.

"Persephone, I want to take your hurt away more than anything. Jade wouldn't want you to hide away in your room every day! She'd want you out there living life and flirting with boys in her honor!" Demi hypothesized.

"No, Jade would actually want to be alive, Mom!"

"And you've tried everything to bring her back to life, my Little Dragon. But God has called her to be an angel. His will is more powerful than ours. Jade is up there in Heaven, with no pain, looking down on us and wanting you to enjoy every day you've got."