In This Life (14 page)

Paul met me at the office door and escorted me to a chair. “You look white as a ghost,” he said, taking a seat beside me. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

My thoughts were racing too fast for me to make sense of them. Mrs. Reynolds was exhibiting erratic behavior and, if I wanted to be truthful, I felt pretty sure I was starting to do it, too.

“Logan’s mother wants to start therapy with me,” I said. “At least she said that she did, but she left without making any appointments.” I looked to Paul for answers. “I’m trying to understand why she’s behaving this way, but nothing’s adding up. It feels like she’s playing games with me, Paul. I realize that sounds a bit like paranoia, but I’m sensing that something else is going on with her.”

“Maybe you misunderstood her.”

“I didn’t misunderstand anything. What she said, and how she said it, couldn’t have been more clear.”

“You haven’t been well, Lottie. And, given what you’ve been experiencing lately, it’s entirely possible that this is a gross misinterpretation of reality.”

Paul reached for me but I stood up before he could make contact. I started walking the small office, trying to work out the details as I paced. “She’s manipulating me and telling me lies, which, I realize, isn’t anything new for a client to do.”

Paul patted the seat I’d vacated moments before. But I wasn’t in the mood to sit. Not yet. “You have to remember that you’re taking input from someone you hardly know, Lottie, and under circumstances that are trying, at the very least.”

“I know.”

“You don’t sound like you believe it.” Paul came to me and fixed me with sobering, brown eyes. “You’re experiencing gaps of conscious memory and creating alternative realities, but it’s not like this can’t be resolved.”

“I know that, too.”

“I hear a but in there somewhere.”

“I’m worried, Paul. If this gets out, if what I’ve been experiencing is discovered by the rest of the Amrose staff, or worse, Director Hanley, I could be put on medical leave or be suspended. I can’t have that happen. I don’t
want
it to happen.”

“That’s why you have me, right? I can provide the guidance and therapy you need and Hanley will never need to know.”

“Really?”

Because we both knew that we could hide one or two conversations, maybe even three, but not long-term therapy. I blew out a breath, hoping it wouldn’t come to that, brushed the hair off my face and sat down again.

“These memories are genuine,” I said, wanting desperately for Paul to see what I had seen and experience what I had experienced. “They’re not episodic or false. They are real images of things that actually happened.”

Paul sat down, reached over and took my hands in his. “Look at me, Lottie. I’m not here to argue with you, and if I were truly worried about you, we’d be talking about specific mental disorders and related medication and therapies. But we’re not doing that.”

And I felt grateful for it.

“Still,” he added, “we both know something is happening to you and I want to help you as much as you want to be helped. And you know that’s not going to work if you keep pushing back. You can’t do this alone. It’s not healthy or productive.”

I remembered saying similar words to Deborah just before she committed suicide.

Paul pressed his lips together and studied me from a new perspective. “How are things at work lately?”

I paused. “Is this the psychiatrist talking or the friend?”

He said nothing and waited for an answer.

“Fine. Work is fine.”

“You have a heavier workload lately? Too many challenging clients all at once? Too many long hours?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not stressed at work. And I’m certainly not transferring any personal issues onto my professional life, if that’s what you mean.”

“That wasn’t what I asked,” he said, and he tilted his head in that familiar way of his, making it clear that he was onto something else. “Is there a problem with your personal life?”

“Oh, come on, Paul. You of all people know that psychiatrists shouldn’t read minds.”

His expression flashed with brief annoyance before settling back into cool, professional mode. “Answer me, Lottie.”

I didn’t like his line of thinking and I definitely didn’t like the way he’d asked the question. It sounded much too subtle and far too personal.

“How are things with David?” he asked. “Is your relationship still satisfying?”

Now I was on the defensive. “Of course it is.”

“That’s not the impression I got last night.”

“Last night was not an overall indicator of whether or not our relationship is still satisfying. Occasional tension between couples is normal, Paul.”

“I agree, but I was there when you railed on David and I had a suspicion that something else may have been fueling it. Something other than the episode you had. That’s all, and that’s the only reason I asked. You’ve been dealing with a lot, maybe too much, and I’m trying to help you recognize the emotional and mental consequences of what you’ve been facing.”

He was right, of course, and I took the time to gather my thoughts. “Mostly I was angry that David didn’t believe me last night, and I reacted.”

“You can’t blame him for that, Lottie. Even I know a few details about David, including some things about his childhood. Not a lot, but enough to know that it didn’t match what you were telling us.”

“It wasn’t only that,” I admitted. “After the memory, I remembered how David used to pick fights with me when we were kids, just because he could.” Although now, I understood those fights for what they were — a boy’s way of trying to get a girl’s attention in an indirect, juvenile way. “I think those emotions flared up after the memory, and all I wanted to do was fight with him all over again. It was stupid and it was defensive, but it was how I felt.”

“And perhaps that residual emotion colored some of what you’re experiencing now?”

“Perhaps.”

Paul leaned in closer, his tone and expression becoming more serious. “You’re facing an emotional crossroads, Lottie, and it’s not just with you.”

“You mean David.”

“Yes. Your relationship is changing and I don’t think you’re prepared for that change.”

No, I wasn’t. And that bothered me.

Paul’s hand came up, like he was thinking about caressing my hair the way he used to, then he reconsidered and folded his hand over the other.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I really do believe that there may be, at this stage, a link between your episodes and your personal life.”

“Again, you mean David.”

Paul nodded. “It’s a strong possibility but we’d need to talk about this more. And I have a sense that what’s been happening with Mrs. Reynolds is also feeding your anxiety.”

I got up again and moved to his desk, overwhelmed by his presence and all the open-ended, unanswered possibilities. “But that still doesn’t answer how this all correlates with Logan.”

“I don’t know if it does but I’d like to help you find out.”

As I thought about it more, I realized it was probably the best decision. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Paul went to his desk and checked his computer. “I have this afternoon open, and a few spots here and there for the rest of the week.”

“I’d rather do this at my house,” I said. “Starting this afternoon, if possible. I don’t have any more appointments for the rest of the day.”

Paul looked ready to object but I cut him off.

“This isn’t something I feel comfortable doing at Amrose,” I explained. “Too many eyes and too many ears. All of them ready to psychoanalyze.”

And maybe put me on temporary leave.

Paul shifted on his feet, unsure. I knew he was thinking about David and if he’d be there when he met, but he never voiced the question. He pulled a set of keys from his drawer instead.

“I’m going to take a bio break,” he said. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot and then we can go.”

I went to my office, grabbed my handbag and keys, and headed to the parking lot and my Jeep, moving swiftly to avoid the day’s crushing heat.

I turned over the engine and sat, waiting in the air conditioning. I thought about what Paul had said, that maybe my emotional stress with David was exacerbating what I was experiencing now, maybe even causing it. It made sense. The mind used a number of defensive mechanisms to cope with problems and trauma.

As I scanned the forest of large oaks and scrubby pines that lined the parking lot, I thought more about my relationship with David. I didn’t like that Paul could see the tension between us so easily, but then again that’s what friends did. Saw the things you didn’t or couldn’t, and then helped you through it.

Only Paul wasn’t just a friend.

I sighed and stared out into the trees, trying to find answers. Something moved between a cluster of oaks directly in front of my Jeep. Or rather, someone. I leaned forward, trying to get a better look.

It was a woman with blonde hair.

“Mrs. Reynolds?” I said out loud, but only because I wasn’t sure it was her.

She was walking through the trees, her back toward me, and moving deeper into a thicket. I lost sight of her for a moment until she reappeared in a stream of sunlight that cut through the foliage, her blonde hair now the dark braided swathe that I’d seen on the servant in my memories.

I grabbed my bag, opened the door and stepped out into the heat, ready to give chase. Whoever had been there was gone.

If someone had been there at all.

My cell buzzed with a text message. I stood in the baking sun, dug out the phone from my bag and read the display.

You trust too easily.

A shuddering chill swept over me when I realized there was no name or caller ID. I fumbled with the small keys as I typed, determined to find out who’d sent the message.

Who are you?

I waited for a reply but nothing happened. I scanned the parking lot looking for the mysterious woman again, or anything else that seemed out of place, but came up empty.

I tried the same text again.
Who are you???

Several seconds ticked by.

You shouldn’t sit alone in a parking lot. You never know who is watching. Or why.

Someone tapped my shoulder and I jumped.

My hand flew to my heart, pounding like a caged animal inside my chest, while Paul stood at my side.

“Ready to go?” he asked. His expression turned grim when he saw the obvious terror on my face. “What happened?”

I shoved the cell phone at him but didn’t speak. Every word, every breath, stayed lodged inside my throat.

“Who sent this?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” But I knew how to find out. “I have to go,” I said, stealing the phone from him, getting into the Jeep and throwing it into reverse, and I sped off letting Paul decide whether or not to follow and hoping I didn’t get pulled over for speeding along the way.

When I got home, I revved the Jeep up the driveway and into the garage, jumped out and raced through the laundry room and the kitchen.

“David?” I did a three-sixty but didn’t find him. “David!” I yelled, running into the foyer. “Are you home?”

No one answered.

“David!” I checked the den and the backyard sliders and barreled right into his hard-muscled chest. The impact propelled me backward, and David grabbed me before I hit the floor.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

I jammed the cell phone at him, trying to catch my breath and my sanity. “Look at it.”

David’s face lost its color as he read the screen. “Who?” he asked.

“Don’t know.”

“When?”

“About twenty minutes ago.”

“Where?”

“Parking lot at work. Just after I met with Paul.”

I bent over, hands on thighs, realizing I was hyperventilating and working to get level-headedness back into my brain. There was a loud knock on the laundry room door off the kitchen, followed by a “Hello?”

I lifted my head at the familiar voice just as David gave me a look that said
Are you kidding me?

Paul walked in, looking as rattled as I felt. “You left the doors open,” he said, jamming a thumb in the direction he came. “I figured it was okay to come in.”

David shot me another look but I let it pass. Now wasn’t the time.

He pulled out his own cell phone from his jeans pocket, keyed in a bunch of numbers and turned all business when the connection went through. “Nat, come over. Now.” He disconnected and dialed again and as he waited through the rings, he started to curse. “He works at a goddamned phone company,” he complained under his breath, “and he doesn’t even pick up the goddamned phone.” When the connection went through, he fired off his demand. “Neil, it’s David. Call me ASAP.” Then he turned back to me. “Give me all the details.”

I shared a quick glance with Paul, deciding I’d give David only the most important ones. I left out the part about possibly seeing Mrs. Reynolds. When I finished, David’s expression looked darker and more threatening than before.

“You should know that Jim McKarren called while you were out.” David’s tone didn’t sound promising. “Like Nat, his search on the florists came up with nothing linked to you or this address.”

“But there’s a connection,” I said, stating the conclusion we’d both been considering all along.

David nodded.

My breathing started coming in fits again and I moved to the slider, leaning my head against a cool pane of glass with an irrational goal of finding more air.

I felt someone slip in behind me and heard Paul’s voice in my ear. “Focus on your breathing. Tune into the sensations of the cool and the warm. When the unsettling thoughts come, let them drift away without judgment or emotion.” He breathed out loud and in time with me, keeping me in rhythm and in sync, then his voice dropped even lower. “Focus. Let go, and focus.”

David sighed, disturbing the moment, and I captured his reflection in the slider. He was sitting on one of the leather chairs with my cell phone in hand, searching through it. For what, I wasn’t sure. The front doorbell rang.

“Unlocked!” David called out, and Nat trekked in.