PTSD and The Good Samaritan

In spite of the slight yellow color in her eyes, Heath thought Rachel was a very attractive woman. He loved the way she parted her hair to the side and the way it framed her face. And having spent a little bit of time with her, he also found himself oddly attracted to her. The 'odd' part, of course, was her being some 12 years older than him. Even so, she had this...this...'vibe' about her that he really liked.

"Would you like some more cake or maybe some more milk or a cup of coffee?" Rachel asked as he put the last bite on his fork.

"No, thank you. I'm stuffed. I rarely eat this much, but everything was just so good."

"I'll let my mom know," she told him before offering to take his plate.

Heath thanked her then told her he should probably get going.

He saw the disappointment flash across her face before she smiled.

"Oh. Okay," she said.

"Did you maybe want to talk some more?" he asked, the hopefulness in her face returning immediately.

Rachel smiled and said, "I'd love that. But if you need to be going..."

"No. In fact, if you'd...like to...we could go somewhere and maybe get a cup of coffee."

There was a fresh pot ready to be brewed, but Rachel didn't mention that.

"That sounds really nice," she told him, the smile now warm and sincere.

"Yeah? Okay. Let's do that then," Heath replied, his smile equally warm.

As they spoke, he was unaware that the darkness had been away for so long. When one wasn't depressed, one never thought of such things. Feeling good was the norm and only when one didn't feel good did it cause one to ask why.

"Let me go tell my mom and dad I'm heading out, okay?" she asked.

"Sure, and I want to say goodbye before we go, too, if that's okay."

"You can come with me if you like," she said very sweetly.

Heath loved her smile and realized that was just one more thing he liked about this attractive, older woman.

He thanked her mom and dad sincerely, but Brian said, "Nonsense! We're the ones who are thankful. If there's anything we can do...and we mean—anything—you just ask, okay?"

Heath promised he would then said, "And I'll have your daughter back home before midnight, sir."

Rachel laughed first before her mother did, and her father roared as he slapped the young man on the shoulder.

"If she'd found a young man like you in the first place..."

He stopped talking and laughing at the same time before looking over at his daughter.

"Rachel? Honey? I'm...so sorry."

"It's okay, Dad. I mean, the truth is, you're right. You're absolutely 100% right, in fact."

There was an uneasy moment before Peggy said, "It was such a delight meeting you, Heath."

"You, too," he told her before they hugged again.

He shook hands with her father then asked Rachel if she was ready.

"Let me just get my purse, okay?" she told him.

She came back with it and a thin cardigan sweater draped over her arm.

"Don't laugh, but anything under 70 degrees is chilly to me."

"I grew up here, too, remember?" Heath reminded her.

"Right. You did say that," Rachel said with a smile before saying, 'bye' to her parents.

When they got outside, she tried to remember the last time a man opened a door for her, and the only time she could recall in recent memory was her dad doing that whenever they went somewhere together.

"Thank you!" she told Heath sincerely when he waited for her to get in being closing it.

As they backed out Heath said, "I haven't been for coffee in so long, I can't think of anywhere to go."

"Gosh, it's been a long time for me, too, but I do remember this place because of the name. Do you know where The Drunken Monkey is?" Rachel asked, trying not to laugh.

"Oh, sure. It's over on Bumby Avenue, right?"

"Yes. The north end."

Neither of them spoke for well over a minute, and Rachel felt Heath had something important to say. Her fear he might change his mind was back again in spite of the bond they'd created.

"Back at the house I got the sense you wanted to say something. If you do, I hope you'll feel free to share it with me," Rachel finally said.

Heath let out a long sigh then looked over at Rachel for a brief moment.

"I wanted to answer your question about why this is so important to me, but I've never told anyone about it before. Except for my therapist."

"That's okay. I don't want to be pushy. I only wanted you to know I'm happy to listen. Anytime."

Heath shook his head then said, "I'm not sure I can share this."

"Okay. But in the meantime, if you don't mind, I'd like to tell you why I need a new liver," Rachel told him quietly.

"By all means. Please. I'm happy to listen."

It took her a little while to really open up, but eventually, Rachel got down to brass tacks.

"So...I don't know when this...massage parlor/prostitute thing started, but I know it was happening fairly often near the end of our marriage. When I learned the truth, I honestly thought nothing could hurt more than the feeling of betrayal."

"And then you learned about the infection that's destroying your liver," Heath said, understanding what she meant.

"Yes," Rachel quietly replied.

She was sitting with her hands in her lap, and although his still-foggy brain said not to, the human being in him said to do it, so he reached over and took her hand and squeezed it.

"I don't even have words to express how sorry I am," he told her.

Heath couldn't see the tears in her eyes, but he did feel the little squeeze she gave him back. He then slowly pulled his hand away and said, "Thank you for sharing that, Rachel. I feel like I'm really starting to know who you are."

He looked over at her then tried to smile and said, "And the more I learn, the more I appreciate what a really wonderful person you are."

Rachel pulled a tissue from her purse, dabbed her eyes, then said, "No. That's you, Heath. You're the wonderful person."

When they walked into the coffee shop, the place was packed.

"I didn't expect this," Heath said as another couple jostled their way around them.

"I really didn't want coffee. I mostly just wanted to be able to talk," Rachel told him.

"I don't want coffee this late at night, either," Heath told causing Rachel to smile sweetly at him.

"We could just sit in the car," she suggested.

"I'd like that," Heath told her as they turned around and walked out.

There was just enough light from a light pole in the parking lot for Heath to see her face as they sat there in silence. After two uncomfortable minutes passed, Rachel turned toward Heath but didn't say anything. She could tell that made him uncomfortable so she faced the front again when he finally spoke.

"I killed a man with a pistol at point-blank range and watched his..." he said almost inaudibly. "I...I watched his eyes until..."

This time it was Rachel who reached over for his hand.

"Heath. I...you...how did that...where were you when..."

"Afghanistan. Farah Province."

"My God. I can only imagine," she said. "No. Actually I can't. I can't imagine. At all."

"I saw worse things happen to the men I served with. Things I'll never talk about. Ever. To anyone."

Rachel leaned over the gearshift and tried to hold him.

Heath had never cried before, but tears filled his eyes as the horrors of war came crashing in. And yet, the touch of this woman made them less ominous. They somehow held less power over him as long as she was near.

"So that's why I see a therapist. And that's the basis for the reason I want to do this."

He paused then said, "No. That's the reason I need to do this."

"I think I understand," Rachel said as she put a hand on his cheek.

"I...I had to find something to make me feel alive again. I needed something positive to risk my life for; something to give me...purpose," he told her very quietly.

"Now I understand," Rachel said as tears fell down her cheeks again. "I do, Heath. I understand."

"Rachel?" he said just as quietly.

"Yes?"

"I'm so very glad it's your life I'm saving."

Her tears turned to sobs within seconds as she continued to hold him even as he turned to hold her back.

As her sobs subsided, Rachel said, "You're my life, Heath Thomas. You're my...Good Samaritan."

Heath then touched her cheek and tried to smile as Rachel moved away enough to look at him while she spoke.

"I'm not sure there's anything 'good' about me, but...you...make me feel like maybe there is," he told her.

"Heath. There's more good in you than in anyone I've ever met. So please don't ever say that again, okay?"

She cupped his face with her hands as she said that and Heath promised her he wouldn't.

"Rachel?" he began. "I'm also incredibly glad I met you."

Tears were still falling as she told him, "You, too, Heath. You, too."

They looked at one another for a second or two the way people often do just before they kiss when Heath looked down then slowly pulled his upper body away.

"I should probably take you home," he said unexpectedly.

Rachel also moved away and sat back in her seat.

"Yes. That's probably a good idea."

Heath started the car then looked over at her and, without smiling, said, "Thank you for letting me tell you that. I...I hope I didn't put thoughts or images in your mind that'll haunt you."

"What? Heath, no. Oh, my goodness. You actually saw those things. If you can see them and live through it, I can hear them and be just fine. Okay?"

She reached for his hand again then said, "I'm so happy you felt comfortable enough to share something so deeply personal with me, and thank you for telling me. I need to know who the man is who's saving my life."

Heath squeezed her hand back just before she put it back in her lap.

"Seatbelt," Heath reminded her with the best smile he could muster.

"Oh, right. Yes. Can't have something terrible happening to us now, can we?" she said, trying her best to be lighthearted.

Heath felt himself laugh and couldn't believe it happened.

"No. We uh, we don't that."

Rachel laughed, too, and although they didn't talk on the way back to her parents' home, nothing more needed to be said. At least not right then.

He walked her to the door and thanked her again for being someone so special; someone he could tell the one thing he'd never told anyone before outside of a clinical setting.

"It's funny, but I feel like I already really know you," Heath told her as they stood on the front porch.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Rachel replied. "I was even wondering if there was some kind of...I don't know...some kind of—connection—between us."

Heath smiled then nodded.

"Yeah. Maybe so. I have no idea if that kind of thing is even possible, but maybe we were...fated to meet or something."

"Regardless, I'm glad we did," she said quietly in the night air.

"Yeah. Me, too," Heath told her as they had an awkward moment as to what to do next.

He started to hug her then stopped, so Rachel, who smiled at his discomfort, put her arms around him again and just held him.

"Thank you again, Heath. From the bottom of my heart."

He ran his hand up and down her back and said, "Trust me. The pleasure is all mine, Rachel."

She pulled back slowly, smiled at him, then softly kissed him on the cheek.

"Goodnight," she said quietly.

"Goodnight, Rachel."

As her hands slid down his chest he took one of them briefly and gently squeezed it.

"I'd like to see you again," he told her.

"Huh. Imagine that. I was just thinking the same thing," she told him, a happy smile appearing on her face.

"You know, I still can't believe you're...the age you told me," he said.

"You can say '38'. Unlike Hepatitis, it won't kill me," she told him, trying not to laugh.

"Gallows humor. We Marines love that stuff."

"I've kind of become a fan myself in recent months. Sometimes it's been the only humor I've had of any kind."

Heath kind of laughed then said, "When you live with death, giving it the finger is about the only thing you can do."

Rachel covered her mouth as she laughed.

"I like that. Giving death the finger."

Heath flipped the bird to the sky and quietly said, "Kiss my ass, Death!"

Rachel laughed a little too loudly and said, "Shhh. But yes. Kiss my ass, Death!"

"Honestly? I haven't felt good for, well, a very long time," Heath told her. "But tonight, I felt okay again. I've even let myself believe things might one day BE okay, again."

Rachel's laughter and smile ended as she teared up again almost immediately.

"I wish I had the power to make promises that always came true," she told him. "But I don't, and I don't know whether or not things will ever be like they once were. But I do know that you and I have the power to make each other feel like they could be."

Heath blinked as hard as he could several times while he also tried to clear his throat which suddenly had a huge lump in it making it impossible to talk.

He settled down then looked at Rachel and told her, "I told myself I wouldn't care who you were, what you were like, what you believed, or anything else. I was determined to do this even if I didn't particularly care for you. But having met you, all I can say is you're as beautiful inside as you are on the outside."

Rachel somehow managed not to even tear up, let alone cry, before trying to be lighthearted again.

"Considering my...advanced years...liking me in spite of what you see could be something very unflattering," she said with a warm smile.

"Oh, trust me. It's...very flattering," Heath told her.

He reached up and touched her face again then, as he looked into her eyes told her, "You are beautiful, Rachel."

A thousand things ran through her mind, but all she said was, "Thank you."

"Well...I'll uh, I'll see you then, okay?" Heath said.

"I very much hope so."

"I have your number so I'll text you and we can make plans."

"Please do."

He waved as he turned to leave and Rachel said, "Goodnight, Heath."

He stopped, turned to look at her, smiled, then said, "Goodnight, Rachel."

When Heath got home, his dad was in bed, but his mom was still awake. It wasn't that late, but it was obvious she was waiting up for him.

"Hey, Mom," her son said the way he used to.

"Did you have a nice time?" she asked rather tentatively.

"I did," Heath told her, again in his old voice.

"I take it you must have found common ground with..."

"Rachel. Her name is Rachel. Owens. And yes, I did."

Heath smiled when he said that, and his mom not only noticed, it made her emotional again, too.

She moved closer and hugged her son.

"Then I'm very happy for you."

"Thanks, Mom. And I have to say I'm pretty happy about all this, too."

"I don't suppose you'd care to tell me a little about her, would you?"

"Actually, I'd love to."

Heath spent the next several minutes recapping the evening, and his mom loved the way he sounded as he talked. It was almost as though he we was home from college on a break telling her about some new girl he'd recently met. The fact that this 'girl' happened to be 38 years old would have normally caused her huge amounts of concern, but Heath was so...happy...she didn't care one whit.

"That's amazing, honey. To be 38 and look that young is really unusual."

"You know, Mom? She's unusual. In the best kind of way."

"She—and her family—sound wonderful. I'd love to meet them sometime."

"I gotta say, this decision to be a donor is quite possibly the best one I've ever made."

His mother swallowed her fears about him dying during the procedure or ending up...brain dead or severely...retarded...from it and told him she was very happy to see him so happy.

Heath gave her a kind of 'hmmm' look then said, "Yeah. I am happy. I honestly feel good for the first time since this sh...stuff all started."

His mom hugged him again then told him, "That's an answer to my prayers, Heath."

Heath swallowed his lack of belief and thanked her for praying for him. After all, he had no way to prove it hadn't been the thing that was turning his life around, and if it was, it was truly a miracle.

For the first time ever, just thinking about having PTSD didn't bring it back. He was able to be aware he'd dealt with this for a very long time without it sucking him back into its blackness. He had no idea how he'd do when he got up the next day, but for the first time in far too long he wasn't eaten up by thoughts from his own mind.

As he got ready for bed, he also realized he'd been thinking about Rachel the entire evening. He looked at his phone, and a surge of something coursed through his body.

He picked it up, opened 'Messages', then added her as a contact. When her name appeared, he smiled as he started texting.

"Rachel. I can't go to bed without taking the time to thank you for the best evening I've had in a very long time. It may quite possibly be the best one I've ever had. And the obvious reason for that is...you. I hope I'm not so mentally unstable that I'm making a serious mistake here, but I wanted to tell you I haven't been able to stop thinking about you or how happy I am you're the one I'm helping. Anyway, I really wanted to share that with you and let you know I'm looking forward to seeing you again. Heath."

Rachel saw the text within seconds of hearing the little 'ding' announcing its arrival, and as she read it, tears welled up in her eyes yet again. She knew she was hyper-emotional due to the illness, the stress, and yes, her fear of death. But this was different. These tears were the result of someone, someone who just happened to be a man and one who was very kind, caring, and giving, making her feel good again.

As she reread the short text, Rachel was trying to recall the last time that had happened, and although she knew she'd felt that good before at some point in her life, she couldn't recall when. All that mattered was that's how she felt at that very moment, and the reason to her was obvious, too. It was this very attractive, much-younger man. Her lifeline. Her second chance. Her...Good Samaritan.

"Hi, Heath," she texted back.

"I promise you nothing you wrote was a mistake. It was perhaps the sweetest thing anyone has ever told me. Or would that be 'texted me'? Truth be told, I haven't stopped thinking about you, either. But then, how could I? You're the man who's giving me another chance at life. And the fact that you just happen to be rather easy to look at is a very nice bonus. And I'm very much looking forward to seeing you again, too. Just let me know when and where, okay? With much love (in a friendship kind of way), Rachel."

Heath couldn't stop smiling when he read her reply until he got to the 'friendship' line. It was ridiculous, to be sure, but it completely knocked the wind out of his sails. He knew his recovery was tentative and fragile, but to be knocked off kilter so easily was very disturbing.

He fought off those feelings the best he could and decided to reply in spite of his brain telling him to leave well enough alone.

"I loved your reply. All the way to the 'friendship kind of way' part. But I suppose that's an accurate way to describe our...friendship."

He added some smiley emojis and hit 'send'.

Rachel read his reply and her heart began to race even though she knew she had to reading something into it that wasn't really there. It couldn't really be there. Could it?

That was the question she asked herself until she fell asleep, too afraid to answer it, because the implications were almost as frightening as the diagnosis had been.

The following morning, Heath had an appointment with his therapist, and as he walked into her office, he realized he wasn't dreading it.

When he smiled, she said, "Well, well. That's a very pleasant surprise."

"I've had a bunch of surprises lately," he told her as he sat down.