Page 24 of Sweet Courage

Loaded question. “Present.”

Her mouth tipped up slightly. “That’s a start. Headache?”

“Not yet.”

“Fatigue?”

“Yes.”

“Sleep?”

Before he could answer, the heavy front door of the ranch house opened. “Good morning, Miss Alice!”

Hanson’s gaze snapped up from the computer screen. The heavy oak door to Charlie’s office hadn’t latched completely. It sat open just a crack, leaving a sliver of the hallway visible. Through that narrow gap, the bright, unmistakable sound of Kat’s voice drifted perfectly into the room.

“Good morning, Kat, honey. Mason is just washing up. He’ll be right out.” Alice’s voice echoed from down the hall.

Hanson stared at the cracked door. He could hear the soft thud of Kat’s footsteps on the hardwood, the rustle of her canvas bag as she set it down on the entryway bench. His pulse gave a traitorous, entirely involuntary kick. His ears were perfectly tuned to the sounds in the hallway, his mind slipping back in time to holding her as they danced.

“Hanson?” the therapist’s voice dragged him to the here and now. Too bad he liked last night more than he should.

“Sorry.” Hanson’s deep soothing voice drifted from Charlie’s office close enough for Kat to hear at the kitchen table. “What was that?”

“I asked if you got any sleep.” The new therapist’s voice held no censure, no irritation, just soft, easy patience.

He paused, his silence telling Kat more than what he might say next. “Some.”

“That usually means not enough.”

“That would be accurate.”

Just what Kat had thought. Shifting in place, she felt a tad guilty being able to hear the entire conversation so clearly, but without a kitchen door to close, what more could she do?

“We’ll keep today light. First session is mostly getting a sense of what’s happening in real life.”

“Real life seems to be where the wheels come off.”

“That’s useful to know. Clinic performance and real-life performance can be very different, especially when there’s noise, interruption, fatigue, or too many moving pieces.” The woman went quiet for a moment and Kat wondered if she was thinking or taking notes. “Tell me about one moment this week when the thread dropped.”

Thread dropped. The words clung to Kat’s racing heart. She’d known since meeting him that Hanson had struggled with memory issues. It had been clear he was trying so very hard to fit into what was once very normal for him. What she hadn’t realized until the prolonged silence lingered as he considered his answer, just how hard any of this was for him.

“I was helping with feed sacks,” he started. “I knew what I was doing when I started. Lift. Turn. Step. Stack. Then something changed. I don’t remember what, but I looked away. When I came back to it, I couldn’t tell if I was loading or unloading.”

“And what did you do?” The woman’s voice came across gentle and kind, again, no signs of judgment or impatience. Kat liked that.

“Stood there looking casual.” Kat could picture the man hefting one casual shoulder, doing his best to make everything sound… normal.

“Did that work?”

“No.”

“Did it fool anyone?”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Also no.”

Kat could picture his face now. The way he’d accepted all his challenges. Not giving in, not beating himself up. The thought brought a smile to her own lips.

“What you’re describing is consistent with impaired working memory and task sequencing, especially when divided attention is involved. Processing speed too. Executive functioning. The plain version is that your brain can begin the task, but when something interrupts the sequence, the thread snaps.”