“You told me that for weeks before the first confession.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“She knows the panic happened there.”
“Does she know the location has become a test in your head?”
“No.”
“That is the material part.”
I rubbed my hands together. The tingling had stopped. The memory remained.
“I want to go back,” I said.
“Today?”
“No.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Soon?”
I glared. Rose did not smile.
“What was the five-mile run for?” she asked.
“Not now.”
“It is exactly now.”
I studied a scuff in the floor.
“To feel strong before I got there.”
“Did it work?”
“Until it didn’t.”
I tried to make a joke out of the answer, but Rose’s expression left no room for it.
“Fitness cannot outpace an untreated trigger.”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
“I just changed the route.”
“Good. That was a healthy decision.”
“It felt like quitting.”
Rose leaned forward.
