He pointed to the fresh, dark brew in the coffeemaker. “High test, if you need it. And if you’re in the mood, I also picked up fresh bagels after my run this morning.”
I noticed that David was freshly shaven and had traded his running gear for a black tee and a pair of jeans. I spied the brown bag on the counter, peeked inside, grabbed a sesame bagel and took a few bites. It was still warm and smelled like a small slice of heaven. David’s tablet was on the kitchen table, open to the latest news. I picked it up and browsed through it.
David kept watching me. “I want to talk,” he said.
I put down the tablet.
He put down his coffee. “What got into you last night?”
“Neither of you believed me and, quite frankly, I got angry. I deserve better.”
“That wasn’t angry. That was … ” He stopped, thought for a few moments, and shook his head. “You were acting weird, Lottie. You know it as well as I do.”
We both sat at the table, neither looking at the other, and the psychologist in me imagined what another psychologist would have construed from our body language. We may have only sat three feet apart from each other, but it could just as easily have been three hundred.
David downed what was left in his mug, set it on the table, and focused all his energy on me. “Regardless of what’s right or wrong or real, you didn’t behave like yourself last night. I have no idea where the behavior came from, but it was childish and rude and I didn’t deserve it.”
“I wanted to be heard and understood,” I said. “And that wasn’t happening.”
“What did you expect, Lottie? The story you told made no sense because that’s just what it sounded like. A story.”
“It’s a memory. I don’t know how else to get this through to you.”
“And if the situation was reversed and it was me telling you all of this, what would you be thinking?”
I’d thought of that before and didn’t have an answer.
“I tried to be patient and listen, Lottie. I tried working with you and understanding what you’re going through. And the ironic part is, just when I agreed that Paul should come here and help, you had a meltdown and slammed a door in my face. I’m not kidding when I say that I came this close to sleeping in the spare bedroom last night.
“You’ve been reminding me lately about how far we’ve come as a couple, but last night I felt like we were children all over again. So just how far do you want me to go? How much do you want me to take without saying a word, despite the fact that we’ve promised each other over and over again to be honest with each other? Because after last night, I’m not so sure what the hell is going on and I’m not sure how much patience I have left. I gave it everything I had and I still got treated like crap.”
In my heart I knew he was right and yet I still felt like he didn’t understand, and nothing seemed to make a difference no matter how hard I tried. David didn’t believe me. No one, it seemed, believed me, and I desperately wanted to change that.
I checked my watch and used the time as an excuse to end the conversation. “I have to go to work.”
David grabbed my hand. “We’re not going to ignore this. This isn’t going to disappear just because you have to go to work.”
“I know.” Of course, I knew.
But how I desperately wanted to make him see. And maybe I was asking for too much. Maybe I was pushing the limits of a man who viewed life so differently from me that he couldn’t believe what couldn’t so easily be believed.
I disengaged from David, recognizing that he wasn’t wired that way and never would be. And, for the first time in years, it felt disappointing.
I grabbed my bag and keys and David walked me to the garage. Like always, he watched me pull out of the driveway but this time we didn’t kiss each other goodbye. By the time I pulled into Amrose’s parking lot, my head was full of David and everything unresolved between us and I was grateful for the steady flow of clients on my calendar. Anything that would help me keep him off my mind.
By the time noon rolled around and I had seen three clients, I felt hungry and ready for a break. While I was debating what to eat and from where, Alicia called from the front desk.
“Mrs. Reynolds is here to see you,” she said.
“Are you sure?” I checked my cell phone, thinking that someone slotted her into my calendar and forgot to tell me. But she wasn’t there.
Alicia responded with silence. She never made a mistake with clients or appointments, and she didn’t make one this time either. “Shall I send her in?” she asked.
I sank in my chair, wondering why Mrs. Reynolds changed her mind about meeting with me now. “Yes, please.”
A minute later, Mrs. Reynolds appeared at the doorframe and took a few steps inside. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a tight knot, her green Gucci dress looked brand new, and the small smile on her face seemed gentle and apologetic.
“Is this a good time?” she asked.
“Certainly.” I gestured to the sofa and made my way to meet her there.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I won’t be long.” She took a few more tentative steps inside. “I thought about our conversation the other day and I would like to arrange some sessions with you.”
“I’d be more than happy to arrange counseling with you, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Do you have something available right away?”
“You can check with Alicia at the reception desk. She handles all of my appointments.”
Mrs. Reynolds seemed pleased with the suggestion. “I will do that. Thank you.”
She lingered in the doorway.
“Is there something else you want to talk about?” I asked.
“No.” Then she turned and left, the remnants of her Chanel perfume trailing behind her.
The scent intensified, then changed, and I no longer smelled Chanel but something deeper. More powerful. My servant was at my side, rubbing myrrh and sweet wine on my arms and legs. She asked me if I enjoyed the new oils. I told her that I did.
Kesi.
The woman’s name surfaced from my unconscious mind and I knew that the voice I heard, the hands I felt on my body, belonged to her.
The memory disappeared and I hurried down the hall to Alicia, catching her in the middle of a phone call.
“Did Mrs. Reynolds make any appointments with you?” I asked.
Alicia disconnected the call and gave me a blank look. “Appointments for what?”
“She said she wanted to arrange therapy. Didn’t she stop by to see you?”
“I was at the printer for a few minutes and wasn’t watching the reception area,” Alicia said. “If she came back here, she definitely didn’t wait for me.”
I blew out a sigh, knowing I shouldn’t have been surprised but feeling it all the same. I spun around, headed down the hall, found Paul’s open door and strode inside. Paul looked up from his computer when I walked in.
“Something’s very wrong, Paul.”
And I felt pretty certain that it was with me.
Chapter Eighteen
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 s
he 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.
Chapter Nineteen
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.
In This Life Page 11