“I’ll never leave you alone, Gray. You can count on that.”
CHAPTER 2
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The second nameplate on the door read, Dr. Sylvia Ashburn-Wallace, LMFT, PsyD. When we first met three months ago, I joked that she had more names than I did. A little mythomania humor to break the ice. But she hadn’t even cracked a smile. I’d also hoped it would make her believe I was open to this little charade that Evyn “assigned” to me. The first step is admitting you have a problem.
So, why was I there…exactly? In a crazy jacked-up nutshell… I was a liar.
I know what you’re thinking. We’re all fucking liars. But I’m not talking about the lie you tell your Aunt Helen when she gives you that crappy sweater for your birthday. Or even the lie you tell yourself when you’re sleeping with someone for all the wrong reasons. I’m talking about bold-faced lies that spilled from my lips as easy as the breath from my lungs. Lies that ruined people, lies that protected people, lies for the hell of it. I ate, slept, and drank lies. I bathed in deceit. At one point in my life, I might not have recognized the truth if it bent me over and slapped me on the ass. And sometimes the chaos that was my life got me in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.
The pros will tell you that compulsive lying disorder is not actually a documented psychiatric disorder. Supposedly, it’s a symptom of some other underlying personality disorder, which for me shall remain nameless. Maybe I was just a crazy bitch. Dr. Wallace said many times a traumatic experience or childhood neglect could cause compulsive lying to develop early on and become a habit. I was never on a milk carton. Didn’t end up at the police station eating an ice cream cone while waiting for my parents. But I’d had my share of traumatic experiences. Some I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
I’d pressed the damn light under her name outside the lobby door ten minutes earlier, and I was still sitting in the meat locker, shivering. The other four lights were off in the empty waiting room. That pissed me off about the place. You never knew what was going on or who hid behind closed doors, so by the time it was your turn, you were already in a foul mood. What an inventive way for shrinks to create return business.
The door pushed open, and a Clark Kent looking guy stepped out holding a screwdriver. He gave me a nod as he walked by and over to a box on the wall. He used the screwdriver to jimmy the box open. “Are you cold?” he asked, not turning around.
Yeah, it was like The Shining in there. “No…I’m fine.”
“Then why were you rubbing your arm?”
“Tetanus shot,” I said, reaching for my arm again. “Still a little sore.”
He looked over his shoulder at me, and one corner of his mouth turned up. He wasn’t bad looking. I pictured him pulling his shirt open to reveal a giant “S” and bulging muscles. “Well,” he said, turning back to the box. “The owner of this building keeps this locked, so we won’t mess with the temperature.”
“It’s nice you respect their wishes.”
“They don’t realize they’re actually wasting money. Plus, we get a lot of complaints about the cold and well…”
“You wouldn’t want to have to slap a straitjacket on one of these crazies.”
“I didn’t say that. We want the people who visit this office to be as comfortable and relaxed as possible.” He closed the box and headed back to the door. He stopped when he saw the light. “You’re a patient of Dr. Wallace?”
“No…but I do need to see her.” I stood and walked toward him, drawing his attention to me. His gaze landed on the top button of my snug black top. In my heels, he still had a good four inches on me, so I guessed him to be around six-two. “Is she in?” I asked before his gaze bounced up to mine and then down to the screwdriver in his hand.
“I’m sorry. She’s not. Did you have an appointment?”
Then, he looked up at me with a pair of mesmerizing midnight blue eyes that made my throat dry up. I swallowed and upgraded him from not bad looking to sort of gorgeous. “I don’t… but it’s kind of important.”
“Do you have the number to her service?”
“I…” I glanced down to the phone in my hand. “My battery’s dead,” I said, tucking it into my back pocket before he could see it.
He narrowed his eyes at me, but he didn’t know quite who he was dealing with. I returned the same look back to him.
“All right,” he said, holding back a grin. “Why don’t you come back to my office, and you can use my phone.”
“Or, could I leave a note on her door?” I’m guessing innocent doe eyes don’t work on therapists, but mine instinctively came out when I wanted something. “I’d really like her to know that I was here.” Otherwise Dr. Buzzkill wouldn’t believe me. One of the many downsides to people knowing you’re a liar.
He pulled the door wide and stood, waiting for me to pass through.
“I really appreciate this, Mr..?” I said before moving.
“Dr.” He nodded. “Dr. Harrison.”
I walked toward him, and then just for the hell of it, I glanced up and gave him a sexy smile. “Thank you, Dr. Harrison.” I wanted to see if it would be easy to rattle Clark Kent’s cage.
His response was surprisingly impressive. His eyes challenged mine as if to say nice try, and then he gestured to the open doorway, to which I immediately obliged. I should have known these shrinks were always in character.
I stopped at the end of the hallway, so he could lead me to his office. As he unlocked his door, I took the opportunity to check out his backside. I really did need psychiatric help. Or, maybe I simply wanted this hot Superman to rescue me. His khaki pants were snug enough for me to see a pleasant shape beneath the material. He topped it with a dark blue casual polo shirt that told me he didn’t just sit on his ass listening to people’s problems. I briefly wondered what he did to build up that chest.
The sight of his office as he swung the door open pulled me from my virtual sexcapdes. I was starting to realize I was getting jipped with Dr. Wallace, whose office was like sitting in your grandma’s living room—knitted blanket over small tweed sofa, wooden rocking chair where she sat across from me, and the constant smell of an air plug-in that could only be described as a twenty-year-old bottle of cheap perfume.
He left the door open, possibly because I wasn’t a patient. “Wow, nice place you have here, Doc,” I said, stepping into the spacious room. The first thing I noted were the two large, floor-to-ceiling windows at the back behind one of two burgundy sofas placed in an L shape. Across from each sofa were two black vinyl chairs and in the middle of the four pieces sat a decent looking throw rug. This was more of a set-up for an intimate gathering than for lunatics to pour their heart out.
He ignored my comment and headed toward a lamp, which stood on a side table next to one of the sofas. “One moment.” He switched it on even though the sun hadn’t set yet and was still providing light to the room. Then, he strode over to the far corner where a small oak desk sat, dwarfed by a huge bookshelf. I assumed he sought a pad and paper as he opened a drawer, but I no longer cared. I moved to the window and gazed outside to the tall leafy trees billowing against the summer breeze.
“Uh, miss…” I heard him say behind me. The place was more appealing than my apartment, and I was in no hurry to leave. I took my time taking in the view before he spoke again. “I’m sorry…I didn’t get your name.”
“Sky,” I said before I had a chance to think. Damn. Something he can easily check with Dr. Wallace. I turned and walked over to his desk. “Um…Gray.”
He’d set a pad and pen next to a cordless phone at the edge of his desk. The rest of the workspace was tidy, spotless, and borderline OCD. Exactly how I would have arranged it. I broke into a wide grin, holding back a chuckle when I noticed a pair of black plastic glasses sitting next to his cell phone. It was all I could do not to call Clark out about his secret identity.
“Is there something you find amusing, Miss Gray?”
“It’s
just Gray. Sorry. And…” I started to speak again when the already open door pushed out further.
Right when things were getting interesting, Dr. Downer walked in. I didn’t even get to try out his couch.
“Gray, I thought I heard your voice in here.” Dr. Wallace did not sport her usual seventies retro business attire. I was surprised to find her in jeans and an Ole Miss sweatshirt.
Dr. Harrison came from around his desk. “Perfect. Hello, Dr. Wallace. Miss, uh…Gray was just going to leave you a message.”
He hobbled over my name and spoke in a much quicker tone than he had been with me.
“Hello, Dr. Wallace,” I said. I nodded, clasped my hands together, and stretched my lips, showing her my usual reticent demeanor. Dr. Harrison and I exchanged curious glances as we both seemed to slink into other people. Did Dr. Wallace have that effect on everyone, or did Clark have his own reasons for kowtowing to her?
“This seems to be good timing all around. I need to speak with you, Miss Donovan.” She grabbed the door handle as she eyed me in a way I couldn’t read. Then, she nodded at Dr. Harrison. “I’ll speak to you a bit later. There are some things we should discuss.”
Dr. Harrison trailed me to the door. “Of course. I should be here for about another hour.”
My comfort level went from semi-serene to ass-cringing as soon as I entered Dr. Wallace’s office. I made a beeline for my usual spot, at the end of the sofa that was pressed against the corner of the wall, even though this was not an official session. As soon as my butt hit the cushions, I found her behind her desk, lifting a box to the floor next to a smaller one. She grabbed a stack of papers and a pen before heading over to join me.
“Redecorating?” I said when she sat. I gestured to the boxes.
“If you hadn’t missed our last appointment, you’d know what this was about.” Her words were matter-of-fact.
I straightened in my seat, drumming up some courage. “Look, I know what this means, but…”
“Let me just stop you right there.” She held a firm palm up. “I don’t have time for this…nor do I care, frankly.”
“But, Dr. Wallace. You know what will happen to me. You know I’ll get fired.”
“You were aware of this fact as well, Gray.”
“Of course. Which is why I’d never have missed if it wasn’t for…”
“I’m done, Gray. It doesn’t matter anyway.” She leaned forward, handing me a sheet of paper.
I glanced at it to find a list of names and contact information. “I don’t understand.”
“My mother has Alzheimer’s. She lives in Oxford and has had a major setback. I can’t in good conscious stick her in a home. So, I’m moving my practice back to help with her needs.”
“Oh…I’m so sorry.” Suddenly, I saw Dr. Wallace in a whole new light. I’d like to think if I still had my mother I’d do the same, but it was quite a sacrifice.
“Thank you.”
“But…I still don’t understand. What are these names? What happens now that I’ve failed to comply?”
“Looks like you’re going to get a stay of execution.” She rose from her chair, leaving me with my mouth hung open.
Was I off the hook? I should have been ecstatic at the prospect. Instead, my head spun. This woman annoyed the hell out of me. I’d done nothing but fight this process the whole way. Then, why was my stomach becoming more knotted with every second? Evyn forced this on me, accused me of something I didn’t even do. She threatened to fire me if I didn’t get help and do this. Was it simply the separation anxiety I’ve struggled with or a belief that I needed help?
“Gray.” Dr. Wallace’s voice pulled me from my downward spiral. “I’ve already spoken with Evyn Langstrom and let her know that another therapist will be taking over your case.”
“What?” I hadn’t seen that coming.
“I’m sorry, Gray. I know how difficult this will be, but you didn’t leave me much choice. I either report that you’d failed to comply, leaving me to complete a lengthy exit process and summary to your employer, or I pass you off to another therapist who will begin anew with you.” She picked up the trash and swept a few loose papers and other items into the can. “I suggest you take this opportunity seriously this time.”
I watched her move a wet wipe around the surface of her desk and scrub vigorously at a spot. Yep, she had checked out on me, and I was a mere detail to tick off her list. Who could blame her? I got up from the couch, holding the paper and walked over to her. “So, my time starts over? Another six months? I should get some sort of credit for time served.”
She tossed the wipe into the trash and folded her arms. “We both know you didn’t like me.”
I averted my gaze down to the paper. “To be fair, I’m not going to like any of these people, either.”
She let a half-smile onto her face before pulling her indifferent expression back into place. “Think of it as a second chance. Perhaps this time you’ll open up. Figure some things out. I’m sorry you don’t have more time to digest this,” she said, walking toward the door. “But we should have had this conversation days ago. Now, I’m going to have to cut this short. I hope you understand.”
“Oh…sure.”
She held the door open for me, but I stopped just short. “I’m not sure how to start.” The first time around I’d had no choice but to see Dr. Wallace.
“I’ll touch base with you one more time before I leave. Check those names and make sure they’re on your plan before you make a decision. They’re all people I trust.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wallace,” I said, stunned, staring at the names in confusion. I turned to leave, but stopped once again. “Uh…I don’t see Dr. Harrison on this list.”
Her face turned to something I couldn’t read. Annoyed possibly. She was in a hurry, but my life hung in the balance. “This includes doctors I felt would be best for you, but also those who were willing to take you on.”
“Dr. Harrison said no?”
“There are plenty of choices for you on that list, Gray. Take some time to look it over, and call me if you have questions.”
When she closed the door behind me, I stalled in the hallway, staring at Dr. Harrison’s closed door. Had I been too crazy for him? Or, was it that I wasn’t classy enough to sit in his sophisticated shrink suite? I strode to his door and raised my fist to knock. Who was I kidding?
Back at my car, I tossed the paper onto the floor and climbed inside. It didn’t matter if Freud made that list. I wasn’t going to talk to any of them. She should have made it easy and picked someone. But I had felt…comfortable with Dr. Harrison. Something about him set me at ease. Maybe in time I’d be able to…
I flicked on the radio. None of that mattered, because he wasn’t on the list, and I was too chicken shit to knock on his door and ask why.
CHAPTER 3
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17 years earlier…
Noah sat patiently in his booster seat at the table waiting for his cake. Dad had gone to get it while Grandma secured a circus animals bib on Noah. Aunt Becca and Aunt Barb stood on each side like annoyed bookends. Dad had told Grandma that seventeen was too old to still be dressing like twins. Even I knew that at the age of eight. Their faces didn’t look like they were at a birthday party. That was standard for them anyway, but Dad and Grandma had the same look on their faces then, too. I wondered if those were the faces that Noah would get at every birthday for the rest of his life. It didn’t seem fair that his special day had to be both a happy day and a sad day. I thought that was why Dad let me pick out the cake at the store. Noah was too little. He probably hadn’t even known it was his birthday. But I knew what that day meant.
When Dad turned around holding the cake with the lit candle, Grandma started to sing. The rest of us joined in, staring at Noah as he stared at the cake with the flaming ‘Number One’ inching toward him. My eyes left the birthday boy quickly, more interested in everyone else’s faces. I needed to see if the
y were truly happy or only pretending. I tired of looking at pretend happy faces. I tired of everyone looking at Noah with tears in their eyes. At least I made sure that Noah had one person who gave him real smiles. They all thought I was too young to notice, but I noticed everything after that day. I noticed how Dad lost the light in his eyes. How he appeared tired all the time and hardly ever played with me anymore. Grandma had said things would get better soon.
Noah dug deliriously into the cake with his hands while Grandma took pictures of him covered in blue and white frosting. I didn’t even care that I wouldn’t get a piece. Noah was smiling and that was all that mattered to me. He stuck his pudgy arm out at me. I curled my fingers around his and licked some of the frosting off.
“Noah, honey. Look this way,” Grandma said.
Five minutes later, my twin aunts had lost interest and had already gone to the living room to watch TV. That’s all they ever did, besides talk about boys, even though neither of them had ever had a boyfriend.
Grandma looked at the pictures she’d taken and whispered to the screen, “Oh, God…you look just like Sara in this one.”
Dad pulled a beer out of the refrigerator, but Grandma sighed and looked down her nose at him. He put it back and slammed the door shut.
“Should he open his presents now?” I asked, hoping that brought everyone some happiness.
Noah raised his cake-layered limbs toward his gifts on the table. “This…this.”
It was my fault he used that word for just about everything he wanted. I couldn’t stand to hear him cry…probably because I could tell Dad hated it, too, but for a different reason. So I’d made a habit of running around desperately pointing to things asking “This? This?” to see what he wanted. Pleasing Noah had become my full-time job.
I pushed the pile of presents closer to him while Grandma washed him with a damp dish towel.
“Daddy, do you want me to help him open them?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sure, honey.” His thin frame leaned against the counter as he watched with his arms folded across his chest and one hand reaching toward his mouth. He rubbed across the short hairs on his cheeks and chin like he was thinking about something else.
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