Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“No.” Dr. Alexander smiles. “It’s not important if you don’t remember. But if you can recall, I’d like to know. That is, if you’re comfortable sharing.”
I take a deep breath in and blow it out. “I left my house at four a.m. and stopped for some coffee. It was probably about four thirty when I arrived at his building to wait.”
He scribbles some more on his notepad. “So yesterday you followed him because you had witnessed Mr. Wright showing signs of happiness. You wanted to know if that was something fleeting or not, and you seemed to have gotten that answer. What did you hope to learn when you followed him today?”
“I’m not sure.” I shake my head. “I guess I just can’t believe he’s really moved on. So I went back to look for cracks in the mask he wears.”
“There isn’t a specific timeline on healing. I’m sure you know that from your own patients. Coping with loss is a unique experience for every person. We all grieve differently.”
“I know that, but…”
Dr. Alexander waits for me to continue, but I don’t. I can’t argue with what he’s said because he’s right. In theory, at least. It’s what the textbooks all say. Every person heals on their own timeline. Yet I know in my heart of hearts that Gabriel Wright can’t have moved on. Part of the process of healing from a tragedy is acceptance, and acceptance requires forgiveness. But some things in life are just unforgivable. Dr. Alexander can’t understand that, even though he thinks he does. You need to live it to truly understand it. And I don’t have the energy for that type of argument today.
So I force a smile. “You’re right. We’re all different.”
“Do you think you’ve gotten whatever compelled you to follow him out of your system?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
But a person who doesn’t plan to follow someone anymore doesn’t stop and buy a dark hoodie and baseball cap right before going to meet their therapist. They probably also don’t pick up a set of mini binoculars.
“Dr. McCall?”
I hear him call my name but I’m staring out the window again, mesmerized by the sway of the trees. They’re so peaceful to watch. My office is too high up for trees.
He smiles warmly when I eventually shift my gaze to him. There’s no sign of judgment on his face. “Is it okay if I call you Meredith, rather than Dr. McCall?”
“Of course.”
“Great.” He nods. “Anyway, Meredith, I think if you’re still curious about Mr. Wright, we should discuss that here, rather than you following him again. Aside from the obvious, that stalking someone is illegal and you’re already in trouble with the medical board, I think you’re playing with fire by becoming emotionally invested in the happiness of the survivor of your husband’s victims.”
“Gabriel Wright is not only one of my husband’s victims.”
Dr. Alexander’s brows puckered. “Who is he, then?”
“He’s the husband of my victims, too.”
CHAPTER 4 Then
Hey, Irina.” I took my usual seat, two rows behind the Plexiglas barrier, and unraveled the scarf hugging my neck while I searched the ice for Connor. When I saw him skating in one piece, I breathed a little easier.
My friend looked over and squinted. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’ve just had one of those weird feelings all morning. Not to sound dramatic, but it’s almost like a sense of impending doom. I forgot about it by midday when I got busy with patients. But then it came back on the way to the arena.” I sank back from the edge of my seat. “It’s silly. I know.”
“It’s not silly. I get that impending-doom feeling all the time.”
“You do?”
Irina grinned. “Yeah, it’s usually about ten minutes before my two-year-old twins wake up.”
I laughed. “Now, that makes sense.”
“You’re never late,” she said. “Did you get stuck on the A train? They’ve been having track-switch trouble all week. I got caught for over an hour this morning.”
My gaze followed Connor as he zigged and zagged, skates cutting into the ice. “No. My train was fine. My last patient was new and went long.”
“Don’t you have one of those timers? Like in the movies?”
“I have a clock, but if someone is upset and struggling, I can’t kick them out. So I don’t always stick to the hour allotted.”
Irina rubbed her seven-months-pregnant belly. “Shit. I would. Hell, I’d kick this one out if I had the chance. The struggle is real to not pee my pants these days.”
I laughed, and it felt good. Everything was fine. The game would end, we’d have a round of drinks, and I’d fall asleep next to my husband after celebratory sex. Yes, even after a game, he had plenty of energy. I smiled wider at the thought.
“Speaking of struggling,” she added. “Misery loves company. When are you and Connor going to take the leap and start popping out little ice skaters?”